by Billy Roper
“So,” the Frenchman from the Front Nationale’s home office resumed, “We have Greater Germany on one side, whose interests are for free trade with Texas in order to recoup their investment there, and expand that partnership, and oil exporting nations such as England and Russia on the other, whose interests are in maintaining a tighter market. And in the middle, the rest of the world.”
“Perhaps a solution can be found by determining what we have, that the wild cowboys need.” the clipped Oxford accent of the British gentleman, Runplen, intoned. “Supply and demand and all that, what?”
Gerta nodded in acknowledgement of this small succession. “Texas needs advanced technology, specifically electronics, metallurgical, and industrial production refinements. They need help with their space program, as well as their nuclear program, as we all know. Having an unsafe nuclear arsenal is more dangerous than not having one at all. We must acknowledge that they have one, and deal with that reality.”
Runplen made the first offer: “We could perhaps ease their manufacturing problems, in exchange for certain assurances.” He and the Russian diplomat exchanged nods.
“So, we offer to help them with their space program, and in exchange they pledge to market their petroleum outside of Europe?” the Czar’s right hand asked, hopefully.
After a few minutes more of negotiation, a rough agreement had been reached. It was one that Gerta would have to bully Hampton into accepting, but she felt sure that she could convince him to redirect his petroleum exports to South America, Australia, New Zealand, and Southern Africa, in exchange for an influx of technological assistance from Russia and England. During this time, the French and Greek representatives had been in quiet consultation.
“We also have, in addition to negotiating territorial claims in near-Earth orbit and space, another problem which does not have an economic solution”, the diplomat from Paris mentioned. “The problem with Java.”
“a tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket, I wrote a letter to my love, and on the way, I lost it…”
The Boers who made up the core of the Orange Free State and its’ territorial possessions south of the Sahara were a hard-bitten, Calvinist driven lot. The Dutch Reformed Church had never allowed much leeway for an influx of either the Christian Identity theology prevalent in New America, or the Mormonism of Deseret. A few of the Afrikaaners practiced polygamy, just as some New Americans did, but for the most part, the L.D.S. missionaries were just tolerated as guests. Because of a generation of little brother dependency on St. Louis, the attitude towards C.I. was more open, but it was still viewed as a bit out there by the older Orangers. Hope and her children, though, had always been welcomed warmly, and not just because of their diplomatic status. They had made many friends in Jo’burg, and Mary almost stayed behind to be with a Boer young man she was in teenaged love with. There was a small changing of the guard ceremony as the new ambassador and his wife took over the embassy and were introduced to the staff. After showing them around and making the transition with the Orange government agencies he would be working with, Kip and Hope and the kids said their goodbyes. They would all miss the dark continent, which had become so much lighter.
After two weeks of travelling by ship so they could haul all of their household belongings with them, they arrived in San Francisco, and from there rode the rails East. The stops along the way in Perth, Darwin, and Oahu had been a thrill for Hess, who loved adventure and new places. Finally, they arrived in the Capitol once more, and began settling into the Warehouse. Kip, after an in-depth discussion with Speaker Balderson, was nominated as the new Secretary of State, to deal with international relations. The New American Congress unanimously approved the nomination. Any concerns about further inquiries into the alleged Bellefont assassination plot seemed to have evaporated. Kip was soon talking to the fragmented Council in Salt Lake about their border security issues.
There were so many people in the largest city on the continent, and so much to see and do! The school system was more advanced than they were used to, but the kids were determined to study hard and catch up. Hess, for his part, wanted to follow in the footsteps of his cousin Jack, and enter the Academy. Hope was reluctant at first, then relented when Kip sided with Hess. Despite his academic disadvantage, Hess’s family connection got him in. The other kids made friends, and Hope soon found that her father’s old friends had not forgotten her, either. Their family began to become something of a New American nobility, once again.
“People try to put us d -down (Talkin' 'bout my generation) Just because we g-g-get around (Talkin' 'bout my generation) Things they do look awful c-c-cold (Talkin' 'bout my generation) Yeah, I hope I die before I get old (Talkin' 'bout my generation)…”
The Walker residence was a rambling three bedroom farmhouse on the edge of a cluster of homes being built by the growing Reformed Latter Day Saints community in their corner of SouthWestern Colorado. Along with the houses had sprung up a tabernacle, school, general store, and café, as well as a volunteer fire department. All of this, in typical Mormon fashion, so they could be as independent as possible from the gentile population down the road in Alamosa. As the population closed in on two thousand residents, Kelly was disappointed not to be the obvious choice for Mayor. After all, it was because of her that all of these people were there, in the first place, she reasoned.
Josh tried to keep her busy and occupied, and help her avoid the inconvenient truth. Left to their own devices, even the more progressive Mormons who saw polygamy as an alternative lifestyle they personally eschewed were not comfortable with a female leader. Not dictatorially as a Prophet, or as a Chief Executive, or as Mayor, either. Kelly had been vocal against the first suggestions that they elect a male leader, as soon as one was nominated. Especially since they were nominated as a male leader, rather than simply as an alternative candidate. Not that Jed Smith was a bad guy. He was a decent, honest sort. And, among their religion, his last name alone would normally carry enough weight to swing an election. She just didn’t like it being made that obvious that they didn’t want her, or any woman, in charge.
To counter the move, she had nominated Josh, who hadn’t really wanted to be nominated for Mayor or Bishop or anything else, but before he could figure out how to decline the nomination without causing a domestic dispute, the non-Deseret immigrants into their community had declined him. Apparently they weren’t comfortable with a convert holding public office…or the spouse of a former office holder.
That was why, this morning, Kelly was angrily cleaning the house and yelling at the girls to straighten their rooms and finish their chores outside. Julia was old enough to respond rebelliously to that kind of ultimatum, she had that much of her mother in her. Abby was still more reserved, and seethed quietly. Josh decided that he would spend the better part of the day checking on the cattle, and the fences, and the watering troughs, and counting the leaves on the sparse trees, himself.
He understood that for someone like Kelly who had worked so hard and for so long to get to the top, being told that she couldn’t stay there because she was a woman was an insult she couldn’t bear. The husband side of him wanted to defend her, right or wrong. The rational, political side of him understood, however, that among conservative people, even the most open minded wouldn’t accept a female leader, if it were left up to them. If it were forced on them, half or more of them would walk away, and go somewhere else.
The system worked differently in Germany, where Gerta was Chancellor only because she was the seasoned voice of the NPD advisory council in the parliament. She was safe because she was merely a spokesperson. In the early years of her ascendancy, Gerta had nearly been removed from authority by the NPD when her natural feminine compassion almost led to her forgiving two key party members who had been disloyal, and asked for forgiveness. After that, she had learned only to reflect the will of the Party.
Here, and especially among Saints, the natural inclination was towards a much more conservative base, one
which would have been alienated by a female leader. They had been when she was the Prophet, even. Now, with that temporary and forced situation over, a male leader was desired…as a clean break from the scandals and accusations, if nothing else. They wanted to grow their potatoes and lettuce and wheat in peace. The fact that the San Luis Valley was within the borders of New America made a difference, too. Most of the trade from Alamosa, Monte Verde, and Center was with Pueblo and northern Colorado, not Deseret. That made it easier to not be fundamentalist, and harder to not want to put their pasts behind them, at least so far as their most recent pasts were concerned.
Half the families either were into the cattle business, or wanted to be. As a former Texican, they expected Josh to know one end of a steer from the other. In reality, he was a lot better at helping them work out water rights with their neighbors, than branding heifers. He hoped that once she found her niche, Kelly would be content again, too. It was a hard pill for her to swallow, but the truth was, life was too hard out here for the refinement and luxury of feminine leadership. There was just no room for the kind of error in judgement which an emotional reaction might cause. He got that. Their girls would grow up to be schoolteachers or wives, hopefully first wives, or even merchants, but not politicians. That was fine by Josh. To his way of thinking, the destruction of traditional gender roles had done as much damage to pre-Balk society as anything else. He was glad to be shut of it.
It was going to be a different world that the girls would grow up in, and probably a healthier, saner, less dramatic one, once things were through settling out. Julia was close to marrying age, by LDS standards, and had never dated. It was amazing to him to think that they had never endured government-school taught sex ed classes, or diversity education, or anti-bullying seminars. They could ride a horse and drive cattle already, and by this fall, they would be able to help with the roundup of the church’s community herd. Kelly would, too, once she got over sulking.
The one person who had really surprised him was Karen. She was out in the garden every day at dawn, then feeding and doctoring the sick animals they had up in the coral behind the barn. She seemed to have a real knack for farm life. Already, a couple of the gentlemen ranchers who had moved in from LDS areas of Oklahoma had come around courting her as a solid second or third wife candidate. Of course, their negotiations would be with him, not with her, but he wouldn’t make any choice for her that she couldn’t live with. He loved his wife too much to do that to her sister. Besides, as the head of the household, it was his responsibility.
In the next few days he had to go over to Trinidad to pick up a flatbed truck load of solar cells for the farm. He had been thinking about taking the girls, so they could go shopping, but maybe it would be a better idea if he and Kelly went, instead. He ruminated on the idea while he watched a neighbor hand-crank open a sluice to fill his cistern. The neighbor waved, and Josh returned the friendly gesture. Folks around here were friendly enough to the Walkers, even those who weren’t necessarily their supporters. They just didn’t want a woman in charge. Well, it would be a day’s trip each way, so that’s what he would do. She’d like the theater, he’d take her to see a show, and they could spend some time in a town where folks didn’t all know them. That would be nice. He decided he’d head home and tell her. Maybe that would bring back the smile for a moment that he’d been missing.
When Josh rode back up to the gate, he noticed a strange horse tied up out front. The JS brand on the buckskin surprised him even more. He dusted himself off to be presentable before casually walking up to the porch, where Kelly was entertaining Jed Smith, in open and public view and with Karen as a chaperone as was proper for a good Mormon woman to do with a visiting male. She heard his boots on the steps, and turned to smile at him, with that old politicking gleam in her eyes.
“Why Josh, look who stopped by to visit! It’s Brother Smith. We were discussing what we might be able to do to support his campaign for Mayor. He also came to ask you about seeing Karen.”
Josh swallowed his smirk and shook hands with the man who stood, hat in hand, to ask for their endorsement, on two separate matters. Some things never changed. They just kept going full circle.
“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will, but what a thrill. Goodness gracious, great balls of fire.”
The Caliphate’s surviving navy regrouped in the Javan Sea, careful to keep the island between themselves and the New American and Australian fleet. As the days passed and the attack wasn’t pressed, or followed up by a larger land invasion, they listened to the news of the New American and Texican conquests of the pirate strongholds in the Caribbean with relief. The Caliph licked his wounds, and ordered his servants to speed up the refurbishment and replacement of ships. He wanted to be ready, the next time the Allied fleet came.
The Imperial Russian Navy, consolidating their holds on Busan, Yokohama, and Osaka, began patrolling the East China Sea more aggressively. The Czar’s mobile infantry found it slow going in East-Central China, where a generation after the Turkish Flu there were tribes of Han several thousand strong in the fertile river valleys. The Russian field officers decided to engage them, rather than leapfrog their settlements. In essence, this loosened the pressure on Moerdani from the North. It was simply a question of manpower and geographic area. The Russians were too far away to matter to the Caliph. While his navy scavenged the Philippines and Vietnam and Malaysia for salvageable ships, the former doctor turned Muslim dictator drafted every healthy male between the ages of fifteen and fifty into an army that he believed could consume any number of invaders. He was not willing to die like the stupid black pirates had died. Allah would preserve him.
Around the globe, Gen. Matt Ball studied the map again. He and Tommy Bullens had earlier been calculating the risks of fallout to northern Australia if they just stood back and nuked Java down to the water level. Now he traced the prevailing wind current chart overlain with the topographical map. Tommy followed along, making checks wherever there were dips in the highlands that the wind currents slipped through.
“Here, East of this ridge, a strong wind could carry contaminants inland, through this valley.” He indicated the gap to Tommy.
“So, that’s an area for potential temporary evacuation,” the intelligence division chief noted.
“And for those who won’t relocate voluntarily, we’ll have to hold back the manpower to enforce a mandatory quarantine, just in case of a worst case scenario.” Matt said.
“I know.” Bullens replied. “Better to be safe, than sorry. Balderson won’t like us forcing this on the Australians, though.”
“I’d like them all turning Muslim even less.” the Speaker spoke, from behind them. Neither had heard him enter the strategy room of the Old Capitol. “If it’s the best way, it’s the best way. What’s good for the race is good, right?” They both grinned at Randall quoting McNabb. That about cinched it.
Based on their interrogations of Ray Ray and some of the Church of the New Dispensation Faithful who had been captured when they occupied Nassau, the pirates hadn’t been working with the Caliph, or for him. They had just been doing their own independent thing. If they had been tied up with the Javanese, they might have fought harder, at the beach. They probably would have made the New Americans pay for every foot of sand they took. Definitely, they wouldn’t have gotten drunk or stoned and passed out, or surrendered.
What that indicated was that a seaborne invasion of Java, with its’ mobilized population of over a hundred million, would be a bloodbath. Even using conventional bombing runs and bombardments for days or weeks, the projected troop loss on the Allied side would be astronomical. Upwards of a million casualties, a number that they could not afford…and that Moerdani was not worth, really.
One plan in play was the idea of using the orbital habitat platforms to divert one or more than one asteroid or other large space rock into the atmosphere at a trajectory which would inundate Java w
ith a massive tsunami. There were over eight hundred people living on the New American Lunar colony, now, along with nearly as many on the Russian habitat, even if they were in much more confining quarters. The Greater German habitat had half as many people, but greater technical sophistication, so they were better equipped to handle such an ambitious project. The British habitat was stalling discussion of the project because they didn’t want to reveal how limited their resources were. All in all, the diplomatic back and forth between the habitats and the lunar colony and St. Louis made for an interesting political circus. Interesting enough, at least, to camouflage the true plan, exactly as Tommy had designed. This would take, in its’ own way, greater planning and coordination than any science-fiction like asteroid strike. It just might work, though, if everybody did their part.
Speaker Balderson reached across Matt, to press the intercom button on the edge of the desk. “Jenny, ring up Attorney General Roberts, and ask him to bring up those legislation drafts authorizing biological warfare measures, please.”
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Speaker, right away, Sir.” There was a brief pause as she rang Jason’s office. “And Dr. Edwards, too, Sir?”
The three men shook their heads at the eavesdropping secretary. “Yes, Jenny, call up Tina, too. Tell her we’re going to find out if she’s smarter than the average Moerdani.”
“The path that I have chosen now has led m e to a wall, and with each passing day I feel a little more like something dear was lost. It rises now before me, a dark and silent barrier between all I am, and all I would ever want to be.”
A week full of days on the beach and evenings with the nurse had helped the newly promoted First Lieutenant’s bruises heal, inside and out. Sgt. Chittum crawled inside a bottle of tequila, or a succession of bottles, donated by their new Republic of Texas allies, and left Jack without any parental role models or guardians for the last three days of their R & R in Florida. The junior officer and his candy striper stayed out too late skinnydipping in the ocean, his last night there. Somehow, he lost his glasses on the beach. It almost got him arrested, but one of the M.P.’s recognized Jack from his dad’s funeral a few months before, and didn’t write him up for a curfew violation. His head still buzzed the next morning when the Captain had sent word that they were to pick up replacement newbies at the Company HQ.