“It is a biography of Abraham Lincoln, by a man named Sandburg. It is very old, but very well written.” Seeing Watanabe’s lack of comprehension, Vereshchagin added, “Lincoln was president of the United States of America during the American Civil War.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Watanabe nodded. “He freed slaves.” “It became necessary for him to do so,” Vereshchagin replied.
“And how do you see President Lincoln?” Horii asked. Vereshchagin waited a moment before replying. “Lincoln was a very great man and a very human one, who understood other men’s weaknesses as well as his own. I am amazed by his insight into the hearts of men, and by his courage and humor.” “Yes, a most interesting man. And a most interesting rug,” Horii said, pointing to the brightly colored wool rug, partially woven and partially knotted, on Vereshchagin’s floor. “Very artistic.”
“My ryijy. Some men in A Company made it for me.”
“I regret that I have not been able to make time to speak with you at greater length.”
“I understand completely.”
They chatted, inconsequentially while Vereshchagin waited for Horii to make the purpose of his visit clear. At length, Horii said, “And how do Major Haijalo’s operations to eliminate the Afrikaner Resistance Movement fare?”
“I was planning to visit with him, unless, of course, you have other duties for me. One of his companies is holding an orienteering competition which they would like me to umpire,” Vereshchagin said cautiously. “As to his progress, guerrilla movements are exceedingly difficult to destroy as long as conditions favor their continued existence.”
“War is a dialectic of wills, Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin,” Horii said didactically. “One achieves a decision by producing a
psychological effect on the enemy such that he becomes convinced that it is futile to continue the struggle. We must produce such a psychological effect on the members of the ARM and their passive supporters.” He smiled. “Your record would indicate that you understand such movements very well. I have been told that Admiral Nakamura christened you Sertorius.”
“Admiral Nakamura was very kind,” Vereshchagin said, bowing.
“You are a native Russian, are you not?”
Vereshchagin nodded. “My mother was Finnish, but my father was from St. Petersburg.”
“People do not realize how much the crack-up aided Russia,” Horii said. “The people had no food, no hope. Although many Russian cities were obliterated and the remaining population was decimated by the plagues, the survivors emerged with a sense of pride. AIDS and other debilitating diseases almost disappeared. Russia is a far healthier nation today because of the crack-up, don’t you agree?”
“In the long run, perhaps. But the cost was terrible,” Vereshchagin said inflexibly,
“Sometimes harsh measures are called for in extraordinary situations,” Horii said apologetically. He fell silent for a few minutes, then said, “I read from your file that you are able to recite the Kalevela.”
“Parts of it.” Vereshchagin chanted, “ ‘I know the origin of iron/1 know the beginnings of steel/ Air is its first of mothers/ Water the eldest of brothers/ Iron the youngest of brothers/ Fire in turn the middle one.’ It mostly consists of charms and stories.”
“Yes,” Horii said, “in this regard it resembles our earliest chronicles, the Kojiki and the Nihon-shoki, to some extent.” “To some extent,” Vereshchagin responded.
“Yes, cultural heritage is very, very important. Major Har-jalo’s battalion was originally raised in Finland and has been away from Earth for many years. It would perhaps be appropriate to return it there if all goes well here, don’t you think?” “I am sure that a number of Major Haijalo’s men would welcome the opportunity,” Vereshchagin said carefully.
“It is a difficult matter, but we must discuss the possibility again at another time. Please keep me informed of Major Haijalo’s progress.”
“I will do so. Hopefully, his efforts will be successful.” “We shall see. I am a pessimist, Vereshchagin. I have always
been a pessimist, but I quite enjoy it. Pessimism is an art form. Military affairs are always unpredictable, but we shall see.”
As Horii walked down the corridor, he said to Watanabe, “Of course, the reference to Sertorius puzzled you.”
“Yes, honored Admiral.”
“Plutarch compared Sertorius to Philip of Macedon, Antigonus, and Hannibal, and thought that although none of them surpassed him in intelligence, all surpassed him in good fortune. He was born in Nussa and served Rome against the Cimbri, against the Celtiberian tribes, and in the Social War where he lost an eye. In Rome’s first civil war, he secured Italy for Cinna, and after finding himself a lone voice against excesses, he exiled himself to Hither Spain. He was not a fortunate man, just as Anton Vereshchagin is not a fortunate man.” “I do not understand, honored Admiral.”
“Had Sertorius been born a Roman, he would have been fitted for the highest offices. As it was, despite his immense talents, he was fated to serve. He was a man of great integrity, and lived in a time when integrity was despised.”
“I see the parallel. Thank you for making it clear to me.” “Vereshchagin undoubtedly is aware that foreign officers are no longer welcome in Imperial service. His first concern will be for the welfare of his officers and men. Understand that I held out hope to him in the form of repatriation back to Earth. This will make him zealous in pursuit of our interests.” Watanabe pondered this. “May I ask what happened to Sertorius?”
“You may. The Lusitanians made him their war leader, and for a number of years he defied the dictator Sulla and Rome’s might. He defeated many Roman armies, including armies led by Metellus and Pompey the Great. But it ended, as all such endeavors must end, when the favor of the gods left him. He was betrayed, and grew bitter and careless. Eventually, he was assassinated by exiles he had fostered, and his state disintegrated.”
“Each man must accept his destiny.”
“Of course, Watanabe. I have read what Plutarch wrote very carefully. It is clear that Sertorius knew what his murderers planned for him and accepted his fate.”
“It was a very subtle message you intended to convey. I hesitate to ask this, but will it be comprehensible to a foreigner?” Horii smiled, showing all of the points of his teeth. “When I discovered that Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin would be
commanding the battalion here, I read all of his professional writings. His thesis at the War Collegium was entitled ‘Combat as an Application of Turbulence Theory.’ Turbulence theory comes from fluid dynamics. It is a way of describing interactions as controlled chaos.”
“Is that so? I am not sure that I understand, honored Admiral. Isn’t combat an orderly application of force to achieve an objective?”
“Yes, however, also no. The article was profoundly disturbing, Watanabe. You should read it carefully. Despite being a foreigner, Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin is a complex and veiy subtle man.”
As they reached Horii’s quarters, Horii said, “Please come inside for a moment, Watanabe.”
Watanabe bowed, somewhat startled. “Of course, Admiral.” As soon as the door closed, Horii pointed to a cabinet. “There is a bottle of good whiskey in there and some glasses. Pour yourself a glass and another for me. Bring the bottle here.” He sat down behind a low table.
Watanabe did so, still somewhat bewildered.
As soon as Watanabe sat down, the admiral said, “Kampai!” and drained his glass, constraining Watanabe to do the same.
“Now, you are trying to understand the point that Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin made about Lincoln, aren’t you, Watanabe?”
“Yes, honored Admiral. I regret my lack of comprehension.” “Lincoln was a truly great man, Watanabe. He was bom into poverty, don’t you know? There was a photograph of the place he was bom in Kentucky—our country was poor at the time, but you would not see many houses like that even in Japan. And yet by the time his life ended, he had become
the champion of human freedom.”
“But he made many mistakes, didn’t he? Weren’t the generals he chose very poor ones?”
“A man of true purpose, Watanabe, puts his faith in himself always. Sometimes he refuses even to put his faith in the gods. So—from time to time, he falls into error. Lincoln often fell into error, but this does not detract from his greatness. A man isn’t a god. Lincoln was a very human man—he often recognized flaws in himself, which made him willing to view flaws in other persons in the best light. This inspired a feeling of warmth toward him and so aroused devotion and admiration. Only if people have this quality can they forgive each other’s mistakes and help each other. But do not ever forget, Watanabe,” he said bleakly. “Each man must accept his destiny. One person cannot change things.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
“Drink up, then, Watanabe.” Watanabe did so. After the third toast, Horii finally broached the subject on his mind. “Watanabe, you listen to the other young officers, don’t you?” “Of course, one always listens to what other people have to say.”
“What is it that you hear them saying, Watanabe?”
“Oh, the usual things, I am sure,” Watanabe said uneasily. “I will tell you what they are saying, Watanabe. As if I did not know what they were thinking already, a delegation of them came to see me last night.” Horii held out his glass, and Watanabe filled both of them. “They are complaining about the absence of fighting, aren’t they, Watanabe?”
Watanabe did not reply.
“Yes, they came here to fight a war, and there is no war,” Horii drained his glass, seemingly oblivious of Watanabe. “They were sent all of this way, and if there is no war to fight, they will be behind all of their peers. They are afraid that they will never receive promotions, is this not true, Watanabe?”
“It is possible that some persons might feel this way,” Watanabe conceded.
“It is important to see distant things as if they were close, and close things as if they were distant. The ones who came to see me were disturbed because Afrikaners who fought in the rebellion were not dealt with ‘appropriately.’ They want to cleanse this world of all ‘anti-imperial’ influences. You know what they mean when they say ‘cleanse,’ don’t you, Watanabe?”
“I have heard some persons say this, but young officers who have had too much to drink often say things that they do not mean,” Watanabe said, frightened.
“And who complains the most, Watanabe? The officers of the Lifeguards battalion?”
“It is possible that they are among the ones who say the most,” Watanabe admitted.
“And members of my staff as well,” Horii said, reading Watanabe’s face.
Watanabe tried to evade. “They are mostly disappointed that they are not allowed to take action against the Afrikaner Resistance Movement, I am sure.”
“The Afrikaner Resistance Movement is nothing. A handful
of fools.” Horii took the whiskey bottle out of Watanabe’s hands and poured himself another drink. “So who pays for these young officers to drink and complain—Sumi or Matsudaira?”
Watanabe looked down and made no answer.
“It is both of them, isn’t it?” Horii said, having found the answer he was looking for. “Careless of them. So apparent. Or perhaps they don’t care whether I know. Do you agree with these young officers, Watanabe?”
Watanabe made no effort to look up. “It would appear that they have some sincere opinions which require consideration, honored Admiral.”
“So how long will my young officers give me before they start taking action against the Afrikaners without orders, Watanabe?”
“Oh, I am sure that they would never be disloyal to you,” Watanabe said miserably, staring at the glass in his hand.
“Yes, the delegation of young officers repeatedly assured me of their absolute loyalty. They merely disagreed with the ‘bad advice’ I was being given. So when will they start killing people without any orders from me, Watanabe? Two months from now? One month?” Horii radiated contempt.
“They seem very impetuous,” Watanabe admitted.
“And who do they think is giving me ‘bad advice’?” Horii asked.
“The foreign officers, of course,” Watanabe said, astonished. “Who else would do so?”
Horii stared impassively at the wall for several minutes. “No man ever escapes his destiny,” he finally said.
“Did Colonel Sumi mention to you that our technicians have tapped into Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin’s data bases? He was boasting of it,” Watanabe volunteered, anxious to restore himself to his admiral’s good graces.
“No, but it would appear to be a prudent move for us to know as much as Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin does about these people,” Horii said sadly.
WELCOMING VERESHCHAGIN IN, ABRAM VAN ZYL HANDED HIM A
glass of wine.
“Thank you, no,” Vereshchagin said automatically.
Van Zyl waved aside his protest. “I’m drinking it, and it’s not good for an old man to drink alone. Besides,” he smiled shrewdly, “you look like you could use a drop of something. Now pull up a chair and tell me what is going on.”
A close associate of Albert Beyers, Abram van Zyl was a crafty old advocate, or so his friends said. People he had beaten in court called him a shifty old shyster, which delighted him to no end. Vereshchagin had appointed him brigade advocate, which gave him an excuse to consult him about matters which had very little to do with law.
Vereshchagin made himself comfortable on a stuffed settee. “I would have thought that you had prised that information from Albert.”
“He’s been quiet, but I have known both of you far too long for either one of you to fool me,” the old advocate said complacently.
“Perhaps,” Vereshchagin said.
“Well, I know it was not good news. I won’t ask you for secrets. Tell me about these new armored cars I see.”
“I am surprised that you noticed.”
“How could I not notice with those fancy new guns they have. They look like something out of a science fiction film.”
“Electromagnetic cannon. They impart a very high muzzle velocity to the round, much higher than our guns do,” Vereshchagin said absently.
“Oh, something new then?”
“In a manner of speaking. The technology has been around for at least a century, but they have never tried to use it on Type 97s.”
“Why not? You would not have to fool with gunpowder anymore I would imagine, although I understand what you use to fire your cannon is a liquid, not a powder.” The brigade lawyer was proud of his military learning.
“Like anything, it involves trade-offs. For one thing, the change must have been hideously expensive. For another, an electromagnetic gun takes up considerably more internal space than a simple kinetic weapon. They had to redesign the turret and most of the internal compartmenting. It might actually have been cheaper to design and build a new vehicle.” Vereshchagin considered.
“The change affected the vehicle’s operational radius. While the space used for storing propellant can be used for fuel, I understand they had to convert the two forward fuel tanks. With the added weight of the increased armor on the forward glacis, the vehicle has approximately 15 percent less range than one of ours. Switching to electromagnetic guns also increased the maintenance costs. I know they have had to add an extra mechanic with specialized training for every two vehicles, although these modified Type 97s are still far less costly to ship and maintain than tanks would be.”
Van Zyl grinned. “Now seriously, Anton. As tight-mouthed as this new admiral is, how can you possibly know about these extra mechanics?”
Vereshchagin leaned back in his chair. “Well, it so happens that Senior Intelligence Sergeant Aksu is an avid amateur photographer, and he persuaded a company maintenance section to allow him to take a group photo.”
“Anton, I sometimes forget just how devious you are.” “Actually, I believe th
at that was Raul Sanmartin’s idea.” “It is the same principle. I know Raul learned it from you, and Hanna learned it from being married to Raul.” Van Zyl puffed on his cigar. “So tell me why this is not a good idea. It seems to me that you would want a gun that would shoot faster. Isn’t faster better?”
“Not necessarily,” Vereshchagin said distantly. “The muzzle velocity for our guns is quite satisfactory for targets we are likely to engage. It probably makes some types of ammunition more expensive because they have to design the rounds to withstand greater stresses without disintegrating in midflight. And remember that the increased maintenance and decreased operational radius are detriments. There is really only one application where the increased velocity would be a significant advantage.” “And that is?” Van Zyl leaned forward and ground out his cigar, conscious that he had evoked something significant from his witness.
“Antiarmor applications. The electromagnetic guns make their vehicles much more effective at destroying other armored vehicles, which no one on this planet has, apart from Uwe Ebyl and I.”
“Do you mean to say that they designed these just for us?” “Oh, no. It took years to change the design.” He paused. “I am disturbed by the thought that changed political circumstances on Earth prompted the change. Many of the affiliated nations on Earth still have tanks in their inventories.”
“Dear God,” van Zyl said. “Are things as bad as that?” Vereshchagin said simply, “Yes.”
“Anton, I can see you sitting here wrestling with your conscience. Lawyer-client privilege, now. Tell me what is running through your mind. Let me help.”
“You are my brigade advocate. I cannot very well involve you in personal matters,” Vereshchagin said half-humorously.
“Anton, I am a crusty, old, and very stubborn Afrikaner. I don’t work for the Imperial Government, I work for you, and I can claim to be deaf and senile when it suits me. You and I both know that I am more your court philosopher than I am your lawyer.” Van Zyl picked up the cigar stub and began shredding the unbumt tobacco into a pouch. “I would like to think that I am your friend.”
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