by Barney Broom
Cosima sat back, reflective.
“The Light family has been pretty screwed up. Dad linking up with Podric creating UAR has given us a dimension to life we lacked. It has actually made us come alive. After getting Podric to programme me, I couldn’t wait to be here.”
“Presumably that is why your father followed you in.”
“Wanting to keep an eye on me, you mean? Worried about his little girl getting into trouble.” She laughed.
“He has his reasons.”
“Why didn’t your father programme you?”
“He’s not entirely up to speed with alternative reality. Podric knows it and Dad needs him.”
So, the girl’s father was the weak link. Bonaparte had thought as much. In contemplating his strategy, he reflected that this knowledge could be useful when battle commenced.
“When will they challenge me?”
Cosima was thoughtful.
“I don’t think you’ve studied the whole game.”
“Which includes my mortality.”
“Each adventure has progressed through your life.”
“Only a bad general would allow an enemy to select the battle.”
Fiddling with his wrist, Napoleon was glad he’d taken the girl. Talking to her had sharpened his focus. He would study Napoleonic Wars. There was some battle ahead that he had lost. That was the challenge and it would be his to rectify. This time victory would be assured.
***
Barney having left the groundsmen’s shed, Catherine sat down.
“When are we going in?”
Podric looked at her, resigned she would be coming with him.
“Tomorrow, end of the day. It’s the beginning of the weekend.”
“I want to be with you, wherever we are.”
“I don’t want to go in from Archie’s. He’s there with Cosima. Wouldn’t have to be chasing after him if it wasn’t for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“He went in directly she did. I still don’t trust his knowledge – or lack of.”
“You like her.”
Podric banged the bench.
“You like her because she’s difficult.”
Catherine smiled. “My parents are away.”
She was shy. Podric hadn’t been to Catherine’s house and it suddenly occurred to him that in some ways he knew so little about her.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
Catherine shook her head. “I’m the spoilt brat, an only child.”
“And your parents leave you in the house on your own?”
“My real mother died and Dad remarried.”
Podric was going to commiserate but something in Catherine’s manner stopped him.
The two looked at each other.
“How are you going to fight him strategically in the game? You’re too young to be the Iron Duke and Blücher was nearly late.”
Becoming animated, Catherine picked up a gardening cane.
“Technically, playing the game, we can be anyone in any challenge.”
“But you’ll be inside, won’t you? – fighting Napoleon in combat on the battlefield, so to speak.”
Catherine stood up. Podric was cool.
“Napoleon wants to rewrite history. That’s what this is all about for him. Creating UAR has given him that opportunity. You’re right though. For it to mean anything, we have to fight him but using the advantages of UAR.”
“How will that work?”
Podric tapped his left wrist.
“Repositioning of troops, changing tactics, creating the unexpected.”
“All things Napoleon’s famous for.”
Catherine’s brain was in overdrive.
“How’s the game configured?”
“Shut your eyes.”
For a second, Catherine was hesitant.
“It’s okay. Just easier to see.”
Removing the cane she was holding, Podric took Catherine’s wrist, placing the fingers of her right hand over the microchip.
“You’re not going into UAR but I’m activating the game.”
The vision revealed the Waterloo battlefield. Guiding her over it, Podric highlighted Napoleon and Wellington’s opening positions, the Hougoumont château, La Haye Sainte farm and Prussian movements – ordnance, the terrain, weather conditions – the details were amazing.
“You having been inside UAR properly, the experience is totally different because you’re actually living in that world but the detail and accuracy you’re looking at in the game is how it was written.”
“By your partner.”
“He did great work.”
Podric moved her fingers across the chip.
“Now watch.”
Blocks of red-idented troops suddenly switched positions.
“You can move anything anywhere as long as it’s supported. It has to be feasibly practical. Get the picture?”
Podric shut down the game.
Catherine shook her head, clearing it.
“It’s amazing; incredible.”
Podric checked his own wrist control.
“I’m going to fight inside UAR but have it constantly engaged.”
“You mean it’ll be real, but you’ll manipulate events.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Think it’ll work?”
“Find out soon enough. Got one advantage though.”
Podric actually smiled.
“As he said, he’s not so good with his right hand.”
***
The partly frozen Berezina River cut like a blackened scar through the vast snowbound wastes of the Russian countryside. The freezing scene was only broken by the glow of forges. Active on the banks of the river, men carried iron fittings to a pontoon bridge that was being constructed.
Although the instigator of this industry, Napoleon stood with his back to it all. His energies were concentrated on surveying the battlefield before him. Russian infantry had formed up and were preparing to attack. Raising a telescope, Bonaparte eyed a lone rider making his way at a gallop through his tired troops. A minute later the horseman pulled up and dismounted. Ney’s attaché, De Fezensac, bowed.
“Emperor, the Marshal says Kutuzov is moving to outflank us.”
“How far?”
“Five, six miles.”
Napoleon turned to an aide.
“The bridgehead?”
The man looked over his shoulder at the pontoon workings which had begun to span the river.
“Eblé says four hours, Emperor.”
“Tell Marshal Oudinot I desire his presence.”
The marshal summoned, Napoleon resumed his classic stance. His brooding gaze studied the activity. Oudinot arrived.
“Emperor.”
Napoleon turned to the marshal and indicated a portable campaign table. Several maps were clipped to it.
“I have a difficult task for you, Marshal.” Oudinot made no reply.
“The admiral prepares for battle but I do not wish to fight him here. Kutuzov approaches and I desire you engage Chichagov – draw him off, allowing the Grande Armée to make good its retreat.”
“Sire.”
“Kutuzov’s forces number fifty thousand which is why we must strike now.”
Oudinot gave the map a last glance and looked across at the enemy.
“Then I must not delay.”
“You have your orders, Comte. The glory of France awaits!”
Twilight on the river found engineers struggling in the swirling current. The weather freezing, conditions could not have been worse but the pontoon bridge was nearing completion. Sporadic artillery fire could be heard in the distance and what was left of Napoleon’s army had bivouacked nearby.
&nb
sp; Drawn and fatigued, the emperor finally entered the encampment late in the evening. Heading directly for his quarters, he dined in conference with his staff. The meeting concluded in the small hours when General Rapp brought more papers for Napoleon’s signature.
“The young lady, sire. You wished to see her?”
A cannon shell exploding nearby ended their conversation. The earth shook and a lump of scorching metal flew through the tent. The emperor avoided being hit but a shard nicked Rapp’s arm, which started to bleed. Getting to his feet, Napoleon whipped the neckerchief from his stock and quickly began wrapping it around the general’s wound.
“Emperor, you must attend the army!”
Rapp ministered to by an aide, Napoleon went outside. The encampment was in chaos as further shells exploded amongst the massed troops. Soldiers needed little spurring as men and materiel – infantry, cannon, horse and gun cart – began to pour across the pontoon bascule. At times the unstable structure wavered alarmingly, the river’s strong tide threatening to sweep all away. But discipline finally reasserted itself and the French continued to evacuate their position in some order.
Pressed against the bank in the icy river downstream, Cosima and Dog watched the activity. Having already decided to make her escape, the Russian bombardment provided perfect cover but knowing she couldn’t stay in the water for long, Cosima climbed out. Hiding in some snow-covered bushes near the water’s edge, she hugged Dog for warmth.
The French army preoccupied with its egress, the last broken gun limber rolled off into the darkness. The bombardment fell silent and the stillness was intense.
From her hidden position, Cosima caught her first glimpse of pointed enemy hats as Cossack soldiers rode stealthily forward mounted on their shaggy ponies. Wild-looking, they seemed ominous and barbaric.
Spying a rowing boat tied to a ramshackle jetty, Cosima decided to make for it. She and Dog wormed their way towards the craft. Spotted, shots rang out and as she leaped for the tiny vessel, the girl concussed herself hitting her head on its combing.
Coming round moments later, Cosima stared at a large pair of fur boots. The Cossack – moustachioed and grizzled – gazed down at her. The man was taken by surprise when Dog barged him aside, knocking him off balance.
With shaking hands, Cosima managed to untie the rocking dinghy and Dog scrambling in, she cast off. More pistol shots rang out, but the little boat was gripped by the current and quickly began drifting downstream into the murky night.
27
All Aboard!
Podric felt strangely void of emotion as he accompanied Catherine up the drive to her house on the outskirts of Wendbury that Friday night. A sizeable property, to Podric’s eyes it lacked character, a sentiment shared by his girlfriend.
“We had an old place near the river. Bit ramshackle, I loved it, but when Ma died, Dad lost the plot. Stella came along, discovered he had a bit of money and the rest is history.”
She unlocked the front door and deactivated the alarm.
“I was sent off to stay with an aunt in Yorkshire for a few days. When I came back, he was married and we’d moved here. All my things were in my room, unpacked. It was surreal.”
They went into the kitchen. Podric leaned against a counter checking messages on his iPhone as Catherine sorted drinks. A beer for Podric and a glass of wine for herself. The kitchen was spacious and looked out on a rear garden bordered by woods. They swigged and sipped their drinks.
“How do you feel now?”
“Okay.”
Catherine put down her drink and came over to Podric, putting her arms around his waist.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about UAR, particularly the chosen few you’ve programmed. By all accounts, Archie’s pretty screwed up. I haven’t figured out his daughter yet, but from what you say, she also seems a little twisted. Then there’s Barney and we know what a delinquent he is.”
Letting Podric go, she had another sip of her wine.
“And me. It’s an interesting selection you’ve made.”
Podric didn’t reply but had another swig of his beer. Catherine continued.
“Of all of us, the choice that interests me most is Barney.”
“There’s more to him than meets the eye. Besides, I wanted him for a UAR experiment.”
“Are you always so calculating?”
“Yes.”
They both laughed.
“But you’ve forgotten the most important participant. He’s the greatest question of all.”
“Think you’ll get to know him?”
“After I beat him, you mean?”
“Good luck with that. He’s one of history’s all-time great commanders.”
“Better get going then. No time like the present.”
With reluctance, Catherine led him through to her bedroom.
***
Pressed on all sides by marauding Cossacks, the coach carrying the wounded Prince Poniatowski lurched along the track. Protected by a column of Polish hussars, the prince still lay on a seat inside, but Count Byrenski was now positioned beside the driver with a rifle to his shoulder. Mounted on a cavalry charger, Colonel Swiatto covered a flank. If the Poles had any advantage, it was the atrocious weather and moonless night.
Battling on, some of their number were picked off but the bulk of the force approached the river. Arriving a little way downstream from the crossing the French had constructed, glimmers of light could be seen at the far end of the pontoon. The remnants of Napoleon’s army continued to struggle across the bridgehead.
Taking temporary command, Count Byrenski held a brief conference. It was decided a battalion would engage the Russians and harry them while the main force bivouacked, ate and rested in preparation to cross the Berezina at dawn. Electing to be a part of the combat unit, Archie led off a troop and moved up to the empty French encampment. Engagement with the Russians became intense. Small arms were fired at close quarters and men were in hand-to-hand combat.
***
Podric lay on Catherine’s bed. His having entered UAR several minutes previously, Catherine sat beside him gently stroking his hair. She was curious to see how he looked in his state of Ultimate Alternative Reality. Although his eyes were closed, it wasn’t like sleep. It was more meditative, as if transcendental – his being removed from his body. It was strange, looking at somebody in another world. It added an incomparable dimension.
She got up. What had he said? In a few hours’ time she could go in herself. Even with the UAR encounters Catherine had already experienced, she knew that alternative reality time had no bearing on its normal counterpart. By now Podric could be anywhere in Napoleonic Wars, meeting up with Dr. Light and having the adventures they both loved.
She hadn’t really understood what a clever guy Podric was –not just bright, but original. She knew Dr. Light had been integral in providing the mathematical calculus necessary to create their alternative reality, but it had been Podric’s creativity that had inspired it.
Catherine thought how attractive he was in his slightly gangling way. There was a diffidence about Podric which had immediately attracted her when they first met. Although Catherine had been dated plenty of times she was still a virgin. Without being prudish, committing herself physically to someone would, in her eyes, be the ultimate sense of giving. She was certain she would make love to Podric – she wanted it to happen but it would be when the time was right. Meanwhile, their Ultimate Alternative Reality experiences would give them both climaxes of a very different kind.
Twilight gathering, the clock beside Catherine’s bed indicated that it was 7.48pm. Lying down beside Podric, she’d go in at 8.30pm; it would be one hell of a weekend.
***
On the far bank of the Berezina, the last of the Grande Armée got ashore as sappers working with night lamps busily prepared to blow what had been the
ir means of escape.
The road west to Poland running parallel to the river for several miles, Napoleon’s field HQ had camped in a village near Borisov. An aide galloped in, asking for Oudinot. Directed to the marshal who was at conference with his staff, young Lieutenant De Willoughby hurriedly reported.
“The last of our men crossing advise that the Poles are preparing to get on the bascule, Marshal.”
“What of it?”
“You instructed it should be blown.”
“Well?”
“Our allies, sir. Shouldn’t we assist them?”
Oudinot glanced at the lancer dismissively.
“Your task, ensign, is to obey my order.”
For several seconds, De Willoughby didn’t move.
“Return to your post immediately and see that they are.”
Coming to attention, the lieutenant departed, leaving behind him a wake of arrogant disdain.
Thwarted by overturned transport and dire conditions, De Willoughby’s return journey proved difficult. He finally arrived at the bascule just before dawn to discover the engineers he’d left laying charges had disappeared.
The pontoon was supported by timber struts. Peering underneath, De Willoughby saw that all the explosives were in position but looking around, the only people he could see were the approaching Poles, who had begun to set off across the rickety structure.
“Wonker.”
De Willoughby looked around.
“Wonker Will, a Frenchie officer. Ha!”
Emerging from snow-covered bushes, Barney Sturridge looked a rare sight. His tunic was now a foot soldier’s uniform of the Vistula legion but he still wore his red cockade hat from the revolution! De Willoughby eyed him stupidly.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t be dumb, Wonker. You know who I am.”
But only UAR profiled, De Willoughby didn’t. To him, the scruffy figure was some sort of deranged ragtag militaire.
Removing a pouch of slow-burning fuses from inside his tunic, De Willoughby selected one.
“No, Miles, you’re not going to do that. Podric said the pontoon isn’t to be blown yet.”
De Willoughby was thrown – Barney was using his forename.