“I see,” Mutaro commented. “Why did Colonel Coldewe select them, do you think?”
Remmar looked to Coldewe again. “A 97FA generates a muzzle velocity of 1150 meters per second with armor-piercing ammo, which makes for a serious hole, and there's not much noise to it-- just a pop when the shell passes the sound barrier. We figured out how to reduce the electromagnetic force when we fire high-explosive shells, which lets us use a thinner-walled casing without having it deform in flight, and you don't know you've been fired at until the shell blows up in your face. I expect Colonel Hans thinks that that might be useful on a trip like this.
Coldewe coughed. “An additional consideration is that we captured quite a few of them intact, and Sergei Okladnikov might not be too happy with me if I made him take a couple of his 97E1s out of service to make sure that the 97E1s we send along continue to run.”
Mutaro nodded approvingly. “And I understand that you are this vehicle's gunner, young lady. Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me how your cannon operates.”
Her father nodded, and Valeska turned on her screen. “This joystick here, the left one, controls your sight. I can flip between visual and infrared by toggling left or right, and I can increase or decrease the magnification by moving forward or backward.” · She demonstrated.
“Unless the vehicle commander overrides, my right joystick controls the turret and the main gun. The red button under my thumb is my firing control. With this system I can get off a main gun round every four seconds.”
“Thank you very much. I am most appreciative,” Mutaro said. Lange helped him exit.
Coldewe explained as they walked away, “Mikhail was a rifleman before he lost his knee. He's actually the slowest gunner in the family, and they kid him about it a lot.”
“His daughter is so much taller than he is,” Mutaro observed. “So is Mikhail's wife. which is another cross he has to bear. Valeska's kind of a tomboy, and Mikhail's given up on his son, so I guess he figures bringing her along is his best chance of having grandkids someday.”
“I see.” Mutaro's eyes twinkled.
“Come inside for a minute,” Coldewe suggested, and Mutaro followed him into the main barracks. As he passed an object hung in an alcove by the door, Coldewe paused to rub it for luck. “This is our battalion crest, a white salamander on a sable field. He's looking backward-regardant in heraldic terminology-but the boys usually say he's chasing his tail, which is only fitting in a military organization.”
Mutaro studied the beast’s single, glittering green eye. Coldewe explained, “Of the people we brought here, there is a solid core-Finns and Russians mostly-that never laid down roots. A lot of them are coming.” In the evening when the Finns and Russians sang old songs together--the ones they made up and the ones from a home that didn't quite exist anymore--their eyes sometimes filled with tears. The older men had little to lose, except perhaps their spirit and their comrades.
Coldewe spotted Company Sergeant Isaac Wanjau. “Isaac, can you come here for a minute?”
Wanjau was very tall and very black, with a hint of gray in his hair. He patted the private he was talking to on the shoulder and walked over with an easy grace.
”I am showing Commissioner Mutaro around. Commissioner, may I present Company Sergeant Isaac Wanjau.”
“So desu,” Wanjau said politely, inclining his head to the proper angle.
“My pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Mutaro replied, returning the courtesy. “Your accent is quite superior.” Wanjau smiled genially. “I lived in Tokyo for a year. “Indeed, what part?”
Wanjau's smile broadened, and Coldewe coughed. “Isaac went along on the Tokyo raid. He, ah, stayed behind to cover our retreat. It took us a while to get him back.”
“Other than the food, your jails are very nice,” Wanjau said politely.
Mutaro raised an eyebrow.
Coldewe grinned. “Jan was planning on fighting it out despite a bullet in his shoulder, and approving Isaac's leave was the last thing he remembers doing before Isaac popped a gas grenade under his nose and he woke up with a headache on the Hendrik Pienaar. After they let him go, Isaac went home to Nigeria on leave until he could get passage to Suid-Afrika.”
Mutaro cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should not ask this, but it appears somewhat unusual for a person of your ethnic background to be a soldier on Suid-Afrika.”
“That was Major Sanmartin's doing,” Wanjau said, enjoying some private joke. “We met on a mountain.”
“A mountain?”
“It was called the Jebel d'Aucune. It was on a planet called Ashcroft. Major Sanmartin was an Imperial soldier then, and I was a caco, a rebel. When he led C Company up the side of the mountain, I decided that I wanted to be a soldier, too. We met a few months later, and I became one.”
Wanjau grinned hugely, but his eyes misted over. “At night, I tell recruits stories about the mountain, and about Tokyo and Krugersdorp so that they understand what it is to be a soldier. My wife complains about living in the barracks and not having any children, but the barracks is a fine place, and I have lots of children. 'They are all my children.”
“Isaac's wife is a fine nurse,” Coldewe added.
“I met her on leave. Although,” Wanjau added wistfully, “it is sometimes difficult to get her to stop talking.”
“And you decided to come back to Suid-Afrika?”
“I was the company sergeant,” Wanjau replied, clearly viewing it as a complete answer.
Mutaro bowed “Thank you, Company Sergeant”
Wanjau grinned “Your hospitals are also very nice, Commissioner.” He bowed correctly. “Arigato.”
“Arigato,” Mutaro said, tight-lipped but obviously amused.
As Wanjau strode away, Coldewe said very quietly, “People who do what we do are crazy as bedbugs, and company sergeants act even crazier to keep their people straight After a while, it becomes a habit Isaac is tolerably sane on most subjects.”
He studied Mutaro's face. “When Isaac surrendered, the Imperial defense forces didn't quite know what to do with him. There was some question raised about his sanity because he sponded to questions with his name, rank, and service number, including questions like, 'Would you like more tea?' “ Coldewe coughed. “Anton says he learned his sense of humor from me.”
“Please go on,” Mutaro said politely.
“After about six months of this and a fair number of beatings, the prison authorities sent him to a hospital for observation. Isaac stayed insane until our local agent managed to let him know that the political climate had changed, whereupon Isaac had the most miraculous recovery in the history of psychiatry.” Coldewe looked away. “We left nine people behind--that never sat right with Matti Haljalo, although Matti knows he's not quite rational on the subject--and Isaac was one of the few we got back, so somebody, of course, was silly enough to interview him and asked whether he had fought to the last bullet. Isaac responded, 'Oh, no. Once we saw the shuttle off, it wouldn't have been fair to keep shooting those poor policemen,' which says worlds about why I'm keen to have him along. He and Jan Snyman are very close, and I think the two of them would flat out mutiny if I didn't take them both.”
“I believe that I have seen enough,” Mutaro said politely.
Thursday (1173)
“WELL, SERGEI, THE IMPERIAL SHIPS OUGHT TO BE HERE BY THE END OF THE WEEK,” Major Danny Meagher commented, “and they are tallying results as we speak, which means that you're a major again if Ssu miscounted, which, of course, he never does. Are you ready for the hand over?”
“Not until I can make the accounts balance once.” Sleepless nights had affected Acting Lieutenant-Colonel Sergei Okladnikov's normally good humor.
Hans Coldewe gazed up at the ceiling. “Just tell Saki Bukhanov to take it out of the flower fund as usual. We've been cooking the books for so many years that it would be a shame to do things honestly.”
Oldadnikov tore the pr
intout in his hand into confetti.
Friday (1173)
SUID-AFRIKA'S CONSTITUTION PERMITTED A NEW EXECUTIVE TO take office as soon as election results were validated. Andries Steen announced the results at midnight, and with the same painstaking care he gave to all of his endeavors, he cleared his office within the hour to make way for his successor.
HOPE__________________________________
Some people dressed in silver with the money that they had,
They struned in their costumes 'til they made the piggies mad
They made themselves a nuisance when they tried to legislate,
But pigs who like to whistle also like affairs of state.
-”The Whistling Pig”
Saturday (1173)
“HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE HOME?” VERESHCHAGIN ASKED, PULLING away a corner of the curtain to view the crowd beginning to gather in Johannesburg's Vryheidsplain.
“Good.” Hendricka Sanmartin took a deep breath. “Numb.” She ran her hand along the marble of the desk that had once belonged to her foster father. “What happens to Steen now?”
“He resigned his party offices at a party caucus early this morning. So did his leading supporters. That was Christos Claassen's price for picking up the pieces. The Nationalist party knows that the party needs Christos more than he needs the party.”
She didn't ask him how he knew. “He could have been a very good president Steen, I mean.” She stared out the window.
“Nothing about what he wanted makes sense to me.”
“Even brilliant men sometimes allow their fears to rule them. Andries Steen feared greatly. He chose not to be a good president” Vereshchagin asked. “Are you ready to go down?”
“No.” Sanmartin took a deep breath. She said softly. “You know it is my mother they want”
“No, not her. They want you.” He squeezed her hand. “Or Joan of Arc.”
“If you have visions, pass them along.” She looked at her watch. “If my father could have been here, what would he have said?”
“Raul would have chosen Horace. 'Exegi monumentum aere perennius.' 'I have raised a monument more enduring than brass.',
She smiled wanly.”Exegi? I feel more like exodium, the farce that follows a tragedy.”
“The quotation he used most frequently about me behind my back was 'Fortitur in re, sed suaviter in modo.' 'Unflinching in principle, but gracious in method'. “ Vereshchagin closed the curtain. “If your father and mother were here today, they would be very proud. Are you ready to go down?”
She took another deep breath. “Yes.”
In accordance with the wishes of the candidate-elect, the minister who invoked God's blessing on Suid-Afrika, its people, and its new president took his text from the sixth chapter of Isaiah,
which speaks of the wolf dwelling with the lamb, the leopard lying down with the kid, and the calf and young lion browsing together, with a little child to lead them.
Sunday (1174)
VERESHCHAGIN SET ASIDE THE BOOK HE WAS READING WHEN GU ENTERED. “WHAT IS IT?”
“You have a visitor, Father Nick. You have time to see him.” Gu made little secret of his likes and dislikes. “Please show him in.”
Born in Calgary of Croatian parents, Nicola Bosenac was a member of the small Franciscan mission in Upper Marlboro that ministered to the Catholics in the cowboy backcountry.
The 1/35th Rifle Battalion's original complement of Lutheran Finns and Orthodox Russians had thinned substantially over the years, and the battalion's Orthodox chaplain, Ivan Zakhariev, never fully recovered from a bad pelvic wound he took when A Company stormed the spaceport during the second rebellion. After Zakhariev died, Matti Harjalo persuaded Father Nick, an unassuming man fluent in four Slavic languages, to address the spiritual needs of the remaining Orthodox faithful.
With the muted and perhaps less than enthusiastic approval of Suid-Afrika's only Catholic bishop, Father Nick had performed Orthodox services once a month in what could accurately be described as an ecumenical spirit.
Vereshchagin rose when Gu ushered the priest into the room. “Father Nicola, how good to see you. Please sit. I can offer you tea, and I think that someone brought by a nut roll earlier this morning.”
Bosenac dropped himself into a chair and patted his thickening middle. “No, thank you, Colonel. I'm still on my diet from Christmas.” He glanced around the room. “I thought you might be too busy to see me.”
Vereshchagin drew himself a cup of tea from the samovar. “Hans Coldewe is handling military preparations, and Simon Beetje is finding scientists for me. I learned years ago that the most effective way to prepare is to select good people and to stay away from them. Until Commissioner Mutaro's ships arrive, I really have very little to do.”
This was a moderately transparent falsehood, but Bosenac allowed it to stand.
Vereshchagin looked around for the sugar. “What brings you to me?”
“I've spoken to Colonel Coldewe informally, and be advised me to see you.” Bosenac leaned forward in his chair. “I would like to go with you.”
Vereshchagin sipped at his tea. “I am severely constrained in the number of persons I can take. Our expedition has a place for God, but the physical space allocated is small.”
“A lot of the old soldiers are going. You can hardly ask the Erixons to look after them-they're expecting another child next month--and I've noticed you don't enjoy the closest ties with the Dutch Reformed Church.”
Vereshchagin chuckled. “This might have something to do with the number of Dutch Reformed ministers we shot during the first rebellion.”
“I had hoped that you might consider me.” When Vereshchagin made no immediate effort to reply, Bosenac went on, “I also feel that I can help. Religious faith plays an important role in human behavior, and human ethics and morality aren't easily separated from a belief in some form of god. I can't conceive of an intelligent species without some form of religious belief. I don't think you can understand the ethics and morals of this alien people without trying to understand their religious beliefs.”
“The points you make are well taken, although I do not completely agree with your implied assertion that only a man of faith can adequately study the manifestations of faith in an alien species.” Vereshchagin stared into his tea. “Your bishop is a charming man. I assume that you have spoken to him. How lukewarm is be about sending you?”
“He is excited about our encountering another intelligent cies and agrees that I am the logical person to send” Bosenac stroked his thick black beard. “Although I think he feels that God might have exercised better care in selecting tools for His work.”
Vereshchagin smiled wryly. “I appreciate your candor, and I owe you mine. I can only afford to take one chaplain, and in accordance with political realities, I have asked President Sanmartin and the legislature to suggest a suitable candidate.” For a few seconds, Bosenac sat without moving. Then he smiled and reached out to shake Vereshchagin's band firmly. “I had hoped. I hope you won't mind when I say although I can't go with you, my prayers will go instead.”
“Thank you. Your prayers will be greatly appreciated.”
Gu materialized to see Bosenac out. A few moments later, he reappeared and eyed Vereshchagin reproachfully. “Why didn't you tell him the truth?”
“I did”
“When are you going to tell him the rest of it?”
”Never, I trust” Vereshchagin refilled his teacup. “I have his bishop to do that for me. Charming man, the bishop. He has not been here very long--I think be arrived seven or eight years ago--but I think be understands me quite well. I told him be should have been a Jesuit”
He took a sip of tea. “Our choices are limited. The cowboys, as is typical for a frontier community, have always been terribly short of educated clergy and lost some of their best when Reading was obliterated, while the dominees of this planet’s Dutch Reformed Church were handpicked for their i
ntransigence and have attempted to perpetuate it. Even the ones educated after Raul and Christos shook up the university are remarkably narrow-minded. The exceptions are, largely, married and unavailable.”
Left unstated was Vereshchagin's conviction that the participation of the few open-minded Dutch Reformed ministers was essential to the shaping of Suid-Afrika's future, and that removing even one would be a serious error.
“After the legislature ties things in knots with help from Adriaan and Rikki, I will reluctantly drop my request for a chaplain and add a theological scholar at the last moment”
“You should add a request for a conscience,” Gu scowled. “And what if one of the scientists coming from Go-Nihon turns out to be a theologian?”
“Religion is a blind spot of a sort for His Imperial Majesty's government. Both Shinto and Japanese Buddhism are so closely identified with Japanese nationalism that it is sometimes difficult for Japanese to think of religion as something other than a form of cultural identity. In Father Nicola's terms, obtaining a theologian from Go-Nihon would require a miracle.”
“You still could have told him,” Gu reproached. “Unfortunately, Father Nicola's capacity for duplicity is limited.” Vereshchagin stirred his tea. “We have enough lay ministers for the Calvinists aboard, but our Lutherans will be unrepresented. I should ask Pastor Erixon for an extra prayer book. It would be interesting to see just how far we can stretch Father Nicola's ecumenical principles.”
Gu sniffed. “If you are finished being pleased with yourself, you should go over to Colonel Coldewe's headquarters. He says the Imp ships have arrived.”
Vereshchagin sat upright. “When did this occur?”
“Hours ago.” Gu put his hands on his hips. “I told him you couldn't come until you saw Father Bosenac. He laughed.”
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