Manna
Page 18
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“I didn’t see you after you left the C-Cubed meeting with Ali, remember?” She sighed heavily and shook her head sadly. “Sandy, that was a risky thing you did, thinking you could clean out the terrorists in the tower. You got yourself shot up in the process. What ever possessed you?”
I thought about that for a moment and finally told her, “Somebody had to do something, Vaivan. And none of the Landlmpy warriors were doing anything. I know why. Remember my confrontation with Tonol Kokat?”
She nodded.
“Nobody really wanted to fight,.” I observed. “The Commonwealth code duello has made you too polite. You act like you’ll fight, but you won’t.”
Vaivan’s hand dropped to her iklawa. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. And get your hand away from your iklawa,” I snapped with irritation. “That motion’s almost automatic, but it doesn’t make a fighter.”
“We’ll fight if we’re pushed,” Vaivan insisted. “We’re closer to our savage ancestors than you.”
“Matter of opinion. My forefathers in the last century engaged in sports that killed people while they were playing for fun. And they rode pell-mell across the English countryside to watch a pack of dogs tear a fox to bloody pieces.” I stopped because I was getting angry.
My legs hurt in spite of Commonwealth folk medicine.
I calmed down and went on, “Vaivan, I don’t doubt you’ll fight if attacked. But Commonwealth people aren’t used to sticking their necks out as far as they can, then sticking them out a little more.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The French call it elan. American military manuals name it ‘aggressive motivation.’ In the Aerospace Force, it was ‘letting it all hang out.’ Not bravery. Not heroics. Seeing a challenge and taking it…”
“The sort of thing you did in Kulala?”
I nodded.
Vaivan sighed. “You’re crazy. So’s Omer.”
“I know it. What brought him to mind?”
“He stole an aerodyne and flew it to Kulala to get you,” Vaivan explained. “Nobody could stop him. The weather was impossibly dangerous—hundred kilometer winds through Sayhuto Pass, extreme turbulence and heavy icing over the Dilkons, and American and Soviet space cruisers orbiting at a hundred-fifty kilometers.”
“I owe him one,” I muttered, “and we need more like him.”
“Why do you say that, Sandy? Our professional impys are well equipped and well trained.”
“From what I saw at Kulala, they may not be well led,” I observed, “Vaivan, I was told to stay put, keep down, play it safe, and don’t try anything because it’s dangerous or impossible. So I pulled an old military leadership trick: I stood up, moved forward, and hollered, ‘Follow me, men!’ And they did because nobody else was leading them.”
“Have you mentioned this to Abiku and the indunos?”
“I will.”
“Can we do anything about it?”
“No, it’s too late. Takes four to ten years to develop leadership abilities. There’s no time left,” I said glumly. “We’re about to be tested.”
“For what? We’ve withstood the test of fifty years’…”
“…During which all you did was keep your klutzy kalakak neighbors out of your backyard. That wasn’t done well at Kulala, although we muddled through to victory anyway. Shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
“Why not? What went wrong?”
“The indunos are enamored with their own staff studies. They may be competent—time will tell—but they’re complacent.”
“That’s hard to believe. My commercial intelligence net and their military sources were waving red flags all over the place. There’s nothing wrong with our system.”
“Maybe, but you’re going to find out how good it really is by going up against others.”
“It’s good. We’ll win.”
“Saying it doesn’t make it so.”
“You told me not to underestimate the enemy,” Vaivan said. “Sandy, I’m telling you not to underestimate your colleagues and friends. The years since the Founders’ War may have mellowed us and taught us to control our violent tendencies, but it’s a pretty thin shell.”
“I hope so.”
“Plans can and will be changed, Sandy,” Vaivan went on. “You’re keeping our thinking from becoming inbred, something far more dangerous than getting physically soft or letting defenses grow lax. I’m reassigning you here to Vershatets to keep on doing…”
“Vaivan, I’ve got to get back to Ell-Five!” I objected. “We’ve got to head-off a modern version of Space War One. There’s a ten-gigawatt powersat idle at one-zero-five East Longitude. We’ve got to support Rutledge and his RIO teams! They may need our muscle because they’re unarmed.”
“I don’t believe you’ve got a case there, Sandy,” she told me. “The major action is going to be here on the ground, and your job will be helping Abiku fight off our nasty neighbors.”
If I could get the indunos to listen, she might be right, I told myself. But I knew she wasn’t.
If I stayed in Vershatets, it would be a major change of plan. The worst military mistake any general can make is to change his carefully-made plans before the battle instead of letting the action take shape before moving opportunistically. A good general, which automatically means a winning general, knows when to throw out the prearranged plan and go with the flow.
Maybe Vaivan knew something I didn’t, but I doubted it. Regardless of what her little black spies said, my military background told me there was no way any of our neighbors could handle the professional impys, to say nothing of the Citlmpy. And I couldn’t see the Tripartite becoming involved in a long and drawn-out war to break up the Commonwealth.
Military action against the Commonwealth would have to come from another source, if it came at all. I didn’t know what it might be. There had to be something we hadn’t considered, but I didn’t know what it was.
I had time to think about it. I began to feel better as my body recovered from the shock of wounds and blood loss.
Although Vaivan’s regular daily visits fed my libido, I also looked forward to seeing Omer who came daily bringing both the flowers of Tartar tradition and a half-liter of either strictly verboten vodka or supaku.
We swapped stories about the Good Times we’d both had in our respective former services. Aerospace jocks are the same everywhere, letting it all hang out as far as possible in the hottest machines available, then sticking it out a little more just to tell the world to go to hell because you’re the best. It’s still called “hangar flying.” Omer and I flew a lot of hangars.
I tried to follow what was going on in the world through the telenews nets and got different slants depending on whether I watched the internatnet or the Commonwealth net.
But Omer always brought me the piece of hot skinny that filled in the whole picture.
I still may not have the whole story of what happened and why, but I understand why Due Francois de la Rochefoucauld said that “history never embraces more than a small part of reality.” The history books do lie! The General was right. Kivalina and I had been caught in a guerrilla operation at Kulala. A Kalihol group wearing Citlmpy brassards took over the Kulala Despatch tower, killing the ComTrans people. Then they permitted their compatriots, also marked as Citlmpy, to take the food train up Sayhuto Pass instead of continuing northbound to its supposed destination in the Ilkan Empire.
They wouldn’t have gotten caught if the signals man at the Sayhuto Pass station hadn’t noticed Singh’s report of going in the hole to cross the unscheduled food train. Sayhuto Pass was the changeover point between the Oidak and Kulala divisions and normally got signals from both. Oidak Despatch had given Singh a green board out of Sayhuto Pass because they knew of no train coming up the west side of the Pass. And Kulala Despatch hadn’t told Sayhuto Pass of a southbound special. So the Sayhuto Pass signals man called Kula
la for confirmation of the unscheduled train and couldn’t get an answer. He called Oidak Despatch and reported it. They in turn told Vershatets where Pahtu ordered her garrison in Kulala to investigate.
Meanwhile, the Kalihol crew deliberately derailed the train in a tunnel on the west side of Sayhuto Pass, effectively blocking the line, after which they disappeared into the hills.
That’s the way Omer and I pieced it together.
Omer added, “When we found out at Vershatets, they pushed panic buttons. They wouldn’t let me fly. Bad weather they said. But Frontovaia Aviatsiya flies in worse. I stole an aerodyne from the Vicrik Airlmpy Base.”
“Risky, Russkie.” I was the only one he allowed to use that nickname.
Omer shrugged and grinned. “I know how to steal aircraft. It was not difficult. Compared to the Frontovaia Aviatsiya, Airlmpy security is nothing.”
The world press thought it was despicable that the profit-mad Commonwealth, “already suffering hunger and privation from the trade embargo, would hijack a train carrying food to the starving natives of the Ilkan Empire.” The Commonwealth got a lot of bad press which is just what somebody wanted.
The Kulala Incident also caused the Emir of Kalihol to send a warning note to Commonwealth President Conobabi Nogal through the legation in Topawa. The Emperor of Ilkan puffed himself up on telenews, his medals glittering, and demanded the release of the train and its contents within 24 hours.
ComTrans CEO Kohato Tatri himself was on the scene with the crews trying to get the Sayhuto Pass line open again. There was no way ComTrans could return the train immediately. President Nogal said as much in a telenews statement that wasn’t seen outside the Commonwealth. The Commonwealth President’s offer to permit both Kalihol and Ilkan observers on the scene was ignored.
ComTrans met the ultimatum by cutting the derailed Rhodes Railway Diesels off the front end of the train, coupling ComTrans units from Kulala on its rear end, backing it down to Kulala, and hauling it north to the Ilkan border.
Since Ilkans didn’t know how to operate ComTrans’ advanced technology coal-burning units and wouldn’t permit ComTrans crews to take the train into the Ilkan Empire, the train sat at the border for two days. ComTrans ran ice from Kulala to keep the reefers cool, but almost half the food aboard either spoiled or was stolen by Ilkan looters. The spoilage and theft were blamed on the Commonwealth by telenews, but not one word of ComTrans’ gut-busting effort to keep the reefers iced was mentioned.
I’d been in sick bay for about 10 days and was getting restless when Omer burst into my room shortly after breakfast. He had a hard copy in his hand.
“Sort of early, isn’t it, Russkie?” I asked.
“Not early. Almost too late. Look!” He thrust the hard copy in front of me.
120450
0317Z
MESSAGE 12037
VERSHATETS DEFENSE HEADQUARTERS SIGNALS FROM TOPAWA SIGNALS MONITOR
URGENT
KALIHOL RADIO REPORTS COMMONWEALTH LANDIMPY ATTACKING RHODES RAILWAY KHIBYA STATION JUST INSIDE KALIHOL BORDER
MESSAGE 12037
0318Z
END
120450
0320Z
MESSAGE 120311
KULALA SIGNALS FROM VDH SIGNALS
REPORT STATUS OF GARRISON AND CITIMPY
CONFIRM NO REPEAT NO CROSSING OF KALIHOL BORDER TO KHIBYA
CODE NEGO
MESSAGE 120411
0321 Z
END
120450
0330Z
MESSAGE 120312
VDH SIGNALS FROM KULALA SIGNALS
CONFIRMING GARRISON IN CASERN
CITIMPY ON STAND DOWN IN HOMES
CONFIRM CONFIRM NO NO CROSSING REPEAT CONFIRM NO CROSSING OF KALIHOL BORDER TO KHIBYA BY ANY LANDIMPY
CODE TRANCILETO
MESSAGE 120412
0331Z
END
120450
0345Z
MESSAGE 120313
VDH SIGNALS TO ALL SIGNALS STATIONS
RED ALERT
RED ALERT
RED ALERT
THIS IS NO DRILL
STAND BY FOR ORDERS
CODE PASKO
MESSAGE 120413
0346Z
END
“Where’d this come from?” I wanted to know.
“Vaivan’s teleprinter. What you think?” Omer asked.
“Terrorists,” I replied. My hands were shaking slightly as they held the hard copy.
“Da! Ilkans in Landlmpy uniforms paddled across Lake Nyira and hit Khibya station. Khibya is another Gleiwitz.” He was referring to the German radio station on the Polish border that was attacked by German troops in Polish uniforms the night before the Germans invaded Poland in 1939.
I’d suspected something like this was going to happen ever since the Kulala incident.
The Khibya attack was a propaganda ploy. The one it was patterned after hadn’t worked, but that didn’t stop them. “We’re about to be blamed for starting a war with our neighbors because we got caught stealing a food train…which nobody knows we don’t need because everyone else around us is starving. We’re embargoed, so we’re supposedly starving, too.”
“Sandy, it is time to act. We have our job to do.”
“Vaivan thinks I can do a better job telling the indunos how to fight here.”
“Your job is not here.”
“I know. But I may not be allowed to leave.”
Omer grinned broadly again. “I get out of Soviet Union. I show you how to get out of Commonwealth!”
I still had three holes in my legs, but I could walk. Once in space, I wouldn’t need my legs anyway. And I knew a beautiful doctor in L-5 I wanted to see in the worst way because I had to tell her something I’d neglected to mention before.
And I was worried about ten billion watts available from Powersat One-Zero-Five-East.
“Got a spare pair of pants with you?”
He had a Spaclmpy flight suit in a package under his arm.
We walked out of the medical R&R center together acting like we’d just visited a friend.
Omer had “borrowed” a landcar somewhere. I let him drive…and was sorry. “I cannot steal another Airlmpy aerodyne. They know me at the Airlmpy Base. But I have Landlimo aerodyne borrowed from Vamori-Free. I almost did not get here, so we may have to bootleg back because there is a big political fight now between business and military because of Red Alert.”
“I’ll bet Abiku was pressured into drastic measures by the impy indunos,” I guessed.
“Da. Captain Kevin Graham tells me they are arguing about it right now. Abiku wants to suspend all non-military transport operations.”
“Omer, that’s almost impossible! Abiku can’t stop the system with a snap of his fingers; it’s big and has too much inertia. Any suspension order would bring incredible pressure on President Nogal!”
Omer nodded. I just hung on. “Graham is fighting for freedom to move. It will make some delay for Abiku. We will use it. Politics are bad. I do not like politics. I am a warrior and I go where I must to do my job.” He grinned. “But not as Frontovaia Aviatsiya or Kosmonautika or Airlmpy or Spaclmpy now. As Landlimo pilot. It makes difference. Hah!”
“Uh, Omer, I know we’ve got to get to Ell-Five before they try to shut everything down, but this is too fast for this road!” I complained.
“This is good road! You must see roads around Magnitogorsk or Chimkent. Very bad.”
I was in the hands of the Mad Russian Space Jockey, and there was nothing I could do.
But it was impossible to relax and enjoy it. Omer was letting it hang way, way out.
He brought the car to a halt on the edge of a mountain meadow. A Mikasa Facel aerodyne was parked there.
My legs hurt as I got out, but I could fly. I’d rather fly than let Omer do it. “Russkie; you know the country. I’ll drive.”
“You know how to drive a Mikasa Facel?”
“I owned one once.
Just right for this hop. It’s fast at low altitudes.” A Mikasa Facel had won the Madras-Colombo Classic two years in a row. I scanned the sky before stepping in. There were scattered clouds about 1000 meters above us.
“We’ll go visual in spite of the weather,” I decided. “See and be seen. We’ll have no hassle with traffic control and it’ll save us trouble if Abiku tries to shut down everything.” I strapped into the familiar seat, punched the start code—Commonwealth Founding Day—and felt the old surge of excitement as the big turbines came to speed. The Mikasa had gobs of Coanda-lift surface and big turbines to blow them.
“Go visual direct VIC direct DEK direct VOL direct VAM,” Omer remarked, setting the nav station identifiers into the computer. “Course does not contain rocks if you do not descend below two-six-zero-zero meters to DEK nav station. Bust clouds. Prodolzhate!”
The flight was not for the faint-hearted. I used tacair procedures but without the benefit of tacair equipment. There were times when I bent rules and entered clouds. I wasn’t worried about ATC waiting for us when we landed at Vamori-Free, but that the clouds might contain rocks because I’d always been taught they did. Omer assured me they didn’t. He was right.
We monitored comm but heard nothing except routine traffic. We kept a silent radar profile, not using forward scan or radar altimeter, only the required radar transponder with a visual flight code.
I wanted to look like Bill Flannelmouth The Travelling Salesman starting to make his rounds for the day.
Once we’d cleared the rocks and crags of Vicrik and Dekhar Gorge, the weather broke into high thin clouds with visibility reduced only by haze.
I flew not more than a hundred meters above the savannah and the spring crop of hypergrains. There are detectors that can spot a target on the deck, but I was counting on the traffic overhead to mask us. I was also counting on (a) my absence from the hospital being yet undetected and therefore they weren’t looking for me, and (b) nobody suspecting we were sneaking out of the Commonwealth.
“What happens at Vamori-Free?” I asked Omer as we sped eastward over the Toak Plains.
“I’m scheduled to lift the Tomahok to Ell-Five at noon local time,” Omer explained.