I stretched a string across the Atlas, and got a thousand miles to LA from here, more by sea, so even a fairly fast ship would take more than two days to even get there. I supposed some people would go for it, for sure the price of tickets were going to be at a premium. I sent Greek and Pat down to the docks to take a gander, talk to a few people, see what they could find out. Worth a little shoe-leather. For sure there were a lot of small craft in Frisco, safe bet a bunch of them were headed south right the hell now.
I started poking at a story, without much enthusiasm, but you have to do what you can. Who knows? I might do some good. Hilda woke up, gave me blurry kiss, grabbed a coffee, came back and sat close to me. “I worried. Did you have any trouble?”
“Just went down to place on the Fraser, saw some mockups of some new weapons. A milk run. I’m not supposed to say much more.”
I expected her to jump on that, but she just said, “I am pretty tired of all this shit. I was thinking about your bogus countesses. They tried every trick in the book to get here, and now I want to go to Dalny or someplace safe. But, I guess there is no place safe, is there?”
“Not in this world. The fucking krauts lost a zeppelin and thirty trained crewmen to kill less than a hundred civilians and burn down a lumberyard and a few other buildings. They can’t keep that up for long. I think Vancouver is as safe as anywhere. You haven’t heard, but the Anglos are fleeing your old home town. It’s a fucking mess down there. Count your blessings.”
“Fuck my blessings. I know you’re right, but I don’t feel right.”
“I know. And I can’t make it any better. I’m sorry.” I hugged her, for all the good that might do.
“You are a pretty good guy, you know what?” She sighed. “I need a cigarette. One with some mezz in it. You know what I mean?”
“Reefers? I don’t know of any, but I bet Dougherty does. And if he doesn’t, Demetri will, for sure.”
“I was kidding, but that might be a halfway good idea. You a viper?”
“Once or twice. It doesn’t do much for me. But I was a bad drunk back when I tried it. You like it?”
“It’s just something to take the edge off. It does not mess you up like booze or junk does. I’d feel real stupid if I got bombed when I was bombed and got killed.”
“That was a joke, right?”
“These days, who knows?”
I hugged her again, she looked like somebody that needed it, and I was just about to call it a night, when the phone rang. Arbuthnot again. “Miles, the Bell is headed down to Long Beach. I assume you are up to date on this development?”
I muttered something, which he took for assent. “You want to go for a nice cruise?”
“I… Damn you, James. I have an upset wife here, and I know I am not going to ask her to come along for the ride.” Think fast. “Do you need me? Really me? Can I just send a reporter? Is this one of your double trouble deals? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that I don’t trust you.”
“Ah… You do have a point. No, there is no reason for you to come. This is a simple little propaganda mission. I’m not even going, I have enough to do up here. Run down there, take some pictures of the evacuation, radio back a few reports, and head home. Three days is all it should take. We do not want to risk the Bell, at least without good reason.”
“How soon?”
“Immediately.”
“I’ll have a guy ready in a half-hour.” He didn’t even say goodbye. I looked around. George and Charles were the only ones paying attention. “Okay, who wants to be a hero? You get a three-day boat ride, shoot some pictures, send a couple thousand words back on the radio, and zoom back. Could be a cakewalk.” Or not. I didn’t say that.
George held up his hand. “Me. Let me grab some socks and some more film. I’m your man.”
“On your head, so be it.” Ah, youth.
>>>>>>>>>>
We decided we had had enough fun, we left Buster manning the phones and the radio, Dougherty and Tommy the Cork were still burning the brain waves in the kitchen, we headed to the rack. We slept the sleep of the just worn out, with no alarms and no excitement, it did us a world of good.
Most of that was dissipated by the morning news. The Anglo-German Navy had just been unified into one outfit, finally and officially, and renamed the Kriegsmarine. My German is weak, but I was pretty sure that meant “War Navy.” Even before they got their new uniforms, they sent capital ships into Houston and Mobile, to “show the flag,” and convert civilian facilities into Naval Bases. As soon as the Confederates got their shit together enough to fake up a government, it was obvious that they would join the Reich good and proper. Adios America.
The Mississippi Thrust was opposite Memphis, roaring through Arkansas, five hundred miles from Houston, less than seven from the new nation’s capital of San Antonio. Call it less than two weeks until they hooked up with the Kriegsmarine. And there was a not a single goddamned thing anybody could do anything about it. They could take their time now, and gobble up the last few free states at their leisure.
And then it would be our turn.
I was flipping through the stack of local papers to try and distract my bile, and saw that the Pacifica Constitutional Convention was underway, at an “undisclosed location” somewhere nearby. Well, that was more like the newspaper business. We hadn’t gotten credentials in the mail, but a few phone calls straightened all that out. They had been sent up to CKYZ, and somebody had left them in an in-basket someplace. I had an idea that Hilda would enjoy a nice boring conference more than another battle, and I was proven right.
A few more calls, and a quick trip to a haberdashers to get me a decent suit coat and hat and tie, and off we went, notebooks at port arms. I even had my shoes shined, the sacrifices I make for my country to be. We swung past CKYZ, gave Peaches a ration of shit she didn’t deserve, and rolled on to the conference. It was up in a hilltop mansion that had been converted to a resort at some point, farther out of town than Crazy House, and real hard to spot from the air. A lovely spot under towering evergreens. Eagle Mountain it was called, and with good reason. We actually saw a couple eagles fishing, where the road ran past a stream for a few miles, and were inspired and saddened again for the former states of America. But the eagles didn’t seem t care much, as long as there were fish in the stream.
We had to get through a couple three checkpoints to gain admittance, the troops looked like ex-RCMP or better, now they had on real uniforms. Nothing flashy, business-like combat gear in that same dark blue. Progress was being made. The mansion was quite impressive, easily big enough to hold a dozen or more delegations, and somebody had erected that many flag poles, with, we noted, all the expected flags, but also those of Australia and the Philippines. There was the pine tree of Dalny, the old wavy blue bands of Vancouver Free Port, the California State Flag, with the Grizzly Bear, and a few I hadn’t ever seen before, that had to be Alaska, Baikal Republic, Hawaii, and Seattle.
The two center poles flew the midnight blue and stars of Pacifica. Silly how much a few colored bed sheets can affect your emotions. Of course, I had shed a few drops of blood for three or four of those rags. There were plenty more guards, quite a few tastefully sited AA guns, and the hedges around the grounds were not quite concealing dozens of rocket cluster drums. All good. The guards had us sign in at the gate, and we were directed around the back of the mansion to a damn near palatial servant’s quarters. Better than any place I had ever lived in on my own hook, for sure. Hilda said, “I could grow to like this, in a year or two. Are we too late for lunch?”
“Dinner, you mean. This is pretty high on the hog for sure.” We checked in at the Press Table. Got our room and meal tickets, and looked at the schedule to see where were supposed to be. All this day was Orientation, with a dinner and opening speeches at eight tonight. Blah, blah, blah, and chicken. Or salmon. We dropped off our stuff, and decided to mill about and meet people. There was a cafeteria set up for us lower ranks, which see
med like the smartest move available, so there we went.
To my complete lack of surprise, I saw Justine Lowell there, we exchanged a few words, she said that Barbara sent her regards, and what a good worker she was proving to be. “I admit I underestimated her, when she first arrived in Dalny, but she is coming along quite nicely. Working on her book, you know. And Janis is a treasure, of course.”
I managed to make a few polite noises, and off I went, licking my wounds, like the kicked cur I am. Hilda hugged me in the tray line, said, “What a bitch. She wants you, but won’t let herself admit it. I can read people like her like a book.”
“Thanks, dear. You are about five times the woman she will ever be. And I appreciate it. That little dagger she stuck in me was just about the final blow to get me over Barbara. Let’s just hope her puppy is a girl, it would make life a lot simpler in the long run.”
“Not a noble point, but a point.” She pointed at the meatloaf, the girl behind the counter nodded and grabbed a slice with her tongs. “I’m getting a little tired of fish, you know?” As if the one was as important as the other. Works for me. I had the chicken.
“You know, Hild, I think the war, at least for us, has gotten a lot better.”
“For Pacifica?”
“For us. For me, to be selfish about it. We went to the last two conferences, one in Urum-chi, and one in Omsk. Those were to end the Trans-Siberian War, and were pretty rough and ready. This is a lot more genteel. We got shot at in Urum-chi, it was an accident, more or less, but this is a lot easier on the digestion.” The chicken was making my mouth water already. “The food is a lot better, for one thing.” We had had Chinese versions of western Army food over there, it had been edible, but not restful.
We finished our meal, walked the grounds looking for chance interviews. She had a camera, I had my notebook, as usual. Our next encounter was more pleasant, if a bit disconcerting. Someone called my name, I turned to see the king of all bad pennies, my old buddy Ken Inahara. He had been my ward-mate in France, he had a broken leg, and I had shell shock so bad I could not eat, had lost more than a hundred pounds. Next time I saw him, he was Press Attaché from the Imperial Japanese Navy to Dalny, when it was a struggling US Expeditionary Force Siberia base.
He moved right in, proved useful as a conduit to the Japanese in any number of ways, spoke better English than I ever would, and proved irreplaceable to our efforts to survive. He helped establish the airframe industry in Hong Kong, and facilitated construction of the rocket cluster AA weapons. As soon as the Omsk Peace Treaty was signed, a magic wand was waved, and good old Ken became the Vice President of the new Free State of Dalny. All in a spirit of Pan-Asian unity, of course. Jimmy Bolton, the ex-used car salesman turned motor magnate at the DAT Lila warehouse, was President, and the fact that he had a close working relationship with the Japanese auto factories was just a coincidence, of course. Of course.
And here he was, wearing a silk suit of such subdued elegance, it must have cost as much as a new car. He was followed by a dozen lackeys, I mean aides, but he was hurrying toward me, hand outstretched just like I was somebody important. My suspicious bump twinged a little, but who am I to fight the inevitable? “Ken! Come up in the world, I see. Looking good.”
“I can say the same, say the same. And who is this lovely creature?” He said, facing Hilda. I could have told him she does not like being called any cute names, but let him figure it out. “This is Hilda Jensen, my partner at the Grizzly Bear Express newspaper. Hilda, meet Ken Inahara, my old buddy from the AEF in France, back in the bad old days, and now Vice President of Dalny Free Port. Ken, Hilda.”
“Not for much longer, Hilda, as soon as we hammer out the details, write a constitution, I will be a mere private citizen again, vice-governor at the very most. And even that might take up too much of my time. I made certain small investments that are bearing fruit, and they are requiring more and more of my attention. We have plans to establish some sort of Bourse, a Stock Exchange, once that is up and running, I will have no time for anything else.”
“Well, I always knew you had more in you than was apparent on the outside. I’m glad to hear your hard work is finally paying off. You deserve all that and more.”
He paused for a long second, parsing my words for some hidden dagger, but decided I was not being sarcastic. And I wasn’t. Much. “I owe a certain amount to you, Miles, you and your famous sideways thinking. I think you can expect a… call it a little bonus, sooner rather than later. And if you ever decide to leave the newspaper business, I’m sure we can find you a position worthy of your talents.”
“You flatter me, Ken, I am almost blushing. But we do need to keep in touch. This war is not over; it might not even be starting good yet. Not to give away any secrets, but if I was in manufacturing, which is what I gather from what you say, these hydrodomes are absolutely revolutionary. The world is changing in a hell of a big hurry.”
“I understand both your points. A word to the wise, and all that. Now, if you will forgive me, I must run off to another meeting. My life is one meeting after another. Best wishes, and all the best. I have your address, so do expect a little something in the near future.” He pointed to one of his men, the man produced a notebook and pen, had a note jotted down without breaking stride. And away they went. Impressive. And a little cash on hand would not hurt. Maybe I could buy Hilda a new car, or something. I had a lot of money in the Express accounts, but I suspected that if I started blowing cash on my personal possessions, I would dry up the well, PDQ. The only way to find out was the hard way, and then it would be too late.
>>>>>>
A bit later, after we changed for dinner, Hilda said, as if it wasn’t important, “That guy wants you to do him a big favor. I wonder what it can be?”
“Ken? How could I have anything he wants? He’s hooked up with INN Intelligence somehow, is the fucking Vice President, for Christ’s sake. I’m just an ink-stained wretch. I know my place, I do. Down with the worms.”
“Still and all.”
“I hear you. Nobody does nothing for nothing.” I was thinking so hard about all that, I couldn’t really focus on the after-dinner speakers, not that they were saying all that much anyway. Not the time and place for that. Neither the Provisional President Roosevelt, or his vice. Churchill were in attendance, Carl Timmons, the new Prime Minister of Vancouver Free State opened the festivities, I had never seen him before, but he looked competent enough, another bristly mustached Brit, reassuring and blunt.
Ken spoke next, he was sort of the elder spokesman for Pacifica, Dalny was the first Free Port. I didn’t know the woman, Laura Caudle, who was the head of Alaska, but she looked like she could beat Annie Brennan in a fair fight, and take a chunk out of General Ruby before she went down. The next speaker looked like a weak reed in comparison, his white suit might have had a faint mauve tint, but I knew better. His name was Ivan Hodak, a displaced Siberian nobleman, and the leader of a band of crazed Mongol motorcycle bad asses. He was the President of the Baikal Republic, and one of the men responsible for the Black Bear Expeditionary Force victory over the Germans and their allies south of the Trans-Siberian Railroad.
He spoke softly, but one look at his two body guards let intelligent people know he was not fucking around. More platitudes, this was just a butt-smelling session. The envoys from Australia and the Philippines did little more than wave hello, and the Seattle and California delegates didn’t even do that much. They were introduced, stood up, got their applause and sat down. Timmons announced that there would be a group photo session tomorrow at nine, after breakfast, and led all the dignitaries into a back room for more drinks, and more backslapping. The press was left to its own resources and an open bar, but I looked at Hilda, she looked at me, and we decided to call it a night. Clean sheets that somebody else had made up, and a hot shower sounded like the most desirable commodities in the universe at the moment. And also, if we passed out right now, I would not have to fence with fucking Justine
for at least ten hours.
>>>>>>>>
A little unscheduled pseudo-marital exercise left us wide awake and starving by dawn’s early light. An unusual sight for the both of us. The cafeteria was not open, as such, but a few piteous pleas and a couple bucks got us a couple of bacon sandwiches and thermos of coffee. We carried our loot out to the formal gardens in front of the mansion, where we found a croquet pitch or whatever they call it, a lovely little fountain, and a secluded marble bench. Hilda pronounced it perfect for dalliance, which led me to believe that she had further designs on my body. How I suffer.
She had been right, I had not been ready for a fully-grown real woman, but I am a quick study, so when she drained her cup and straddled my lap, I was not taken completely by surprise.
>>>>>
After an interval, it dawned on us that we were if not falling down on the job, we were certainly neglecting our duty. She had brought the camera, I always have a notebook and indelible pencil, so all we had to do was be where we were supposed to be in, I checked my watch, four minutes ago. “Shit! We’re running late. Let’s go, girl.”
We left the gardens, and were headed for the front lawn, the ellipse with the flag poles, when some subliminal sense made me look back over my shoulder. “Crap!” I yelled, and threw her down to the ground. She called me a name, I just pointed up into the sky. She closed her mouth and grabbed her camera.
To our east, out of the sun, a stream of boxy winged airplanes were silently diving out of the sky, aimed right at the mansion. Somebody was on the job, the AA cut loose, raggedly and not on target, and a half minute later, somebody triggered the rocket cluster drums. All sorts of shit happened all at once.
Those were the kraut troop-carrying gliders, but like I had seen in Jiu-quan, they had filled them with tons of explosive, found some fanatics to fly them, and used them to blow the shit out of anything they felt like blowing the shit out of. I hadn’t heard any tow planes, they had loosed them miles away at a high altitude, and let them glide to the target. My personal ass. We might have been a hundred yards away from the manse, less than that from the dignitaries under the circle of flags, but it was too fucking close, all the same. The gliders were in vees of three, they hit in formation, and made the actual earth slam up and hit us with each detonation.
Brown Bear Blues Page 13