by David Drake
He had only been at the villa for forty-eight hours when Todd rushed into the room he was using as a study. He was working on his report but the words wouldn’t come and the numbers he tried to marshal made no sense. The symbols squirmed on the screen as if they were trying to escape.
“Uncle, I’ve just been notified that Colonel Kaspary has phased in over Paxton and wants to speak to you urgently.”
“What the hell is he doing here?” Allenson asked, horrible possibilities gnawing at the fringes of his mind.
Todd looked down.
“Brunswick’s fallen and the army’s been destroyed.”
Allenson’s heart stopped. The world became monochrome and contracted until Todd’s face floated bodiless at the end of a long dark tunnel.
“Uncle, Uncle?”
Todd sounded worried and his face was screwed up in some strong emotion. His voice echoed as if it was coming from the end of a vast hall. Allenson tried to speak but his tongue would not move.
Then it went black.
Allenson dreamed the weirdest dream. He lay in a bed in a strange white room that smelt of death. Todd was there, not his nephew but his elder brother.
“But you’re dead, Todd,” Allenson said, stating the sheer bleedin’ obvious.
“Of course I am, Allen,” Todd replied. “I’m only in your head you know. The smell of the treatment room pulled me out of your memories.”
That made sense but then Todd always made sense. His advice was invariably good.
“’Fraid I’ve made a bit of a cock-up, sorry,” Allenson said, but Todd had gone.
He went back to sleep.
Voices arguing in the corridor outside woke him. It sounded like Stainman and Evansence from the Assembly. Trina gave them hell but they kept demanding to see him.
“Who the feck let these people in,” Hawthorn’s voice cut through the conversation. “Out! I’ll tell you when the general is available.”
It went quiet so he drifted back to sleep. When he woke again, Trina sat by the bed.
“Good morning,” she said.
“I slept all night?” he asked.
“You slept for three days. The doctor diagnosed complete nervous and physical exhaustion. The genosurgeon kept you under while she flushed out your system.”
“I see,” Allenson said.
“I doubt that,” Trina replied. “How could you be so bloody stupid?”
“What?” Allenson asked, surprised by her vehemence.
She fished around in her bag and held up a tube of Nightlife.
“Ah,” Allenson said.
“Ah! Is that all you have to say?”
“Sorry,” Allenson proffered.
“These things are for partying kids not mature generals.”
“I had to cut through the fatigue. People depended on me.”
“I depend on you. You would be no use to anybody dead, would you?”
“I suppose not. Sorry,” he tried again.
“How are you feeling?” she said somewhat mollified by his contrition.
“Pretty good,” he replied.
Oddly enough it was the truth.
“I dreamt Todd, my brother, was here and Hawthorn.”
“Hawthorn was here.”
“Really, so I didn’t imagine the assemblymen either.”
“They wanted to see you and wouldn’t take no for an answer from me. Fortunately I anticipated something of the sort. I arranged for your friend to be on hand to underline my wishes.”
“He can be most persuasive,” Allenson said with a grin.
She nodded.
“I didn’t think you were particularly fond of him but the two of you seem to have reached an accommodation.”
“We have a shared objective,” she replied.
“Indeed?”
“To try to keep you alive and healthy despite your best efforts.”
She grimaced.
“I never doubted Hawthorn’s loyalty and affection for you, Allen, but having him around was like storing a box of unstable explosive in the cellar. It mightn’t mean you any harm but one day it’d still bring your house down round your ears.”
“So what changed,” he asked, curious.
“In times of trial, explosives have their uses. I would have preferred a life that had no requirement for the Hawthorns of this universe but if that’s what it takes to be your wife then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Tell me about the estate,” he said, changing the subject.
He listened happily as she discussed the various small defeats and successes that marked the progress of his demesne like milestones along a road. A terrible weight had gone from his soul leaving calm, like gentle weather after a great storm. He had been afraid of failing his family, the army and his people but now it was complete. He had done his duty, given his best shot and he had failed. So that was an end to the matter.
Allenson discharged himself the next morning. He returned to the villa Trina had rented and made an appointment to see the leading assemblymen that afternoon. When he lunched with Trina she kept darting sharp glances at him. No doubt she was curious about what he planned and puzzled by his good humor. He couldn’t resist teasing her a little but eventually came clean about his intentions. They had her blessing. Indeed, she cried with relief.
After lunch he went to his room where Boswell waited with a new dress uniform. He donned it and let Boswell fuss around getting various embellishments into the correct position. Servants set great store by such matters.
Trina saw him off at the door. She had wanted to go with him but he had politely, albeit firmly, declined.
“Your uniform doesn’t hang right. I think you’ve lost weight,” she said, eying him critically.
“Army food will do that,” he replied.
The villa came with a suitable carriage. Boswell brought it around to the front door. Allenson boarded and they were off. He flipped through his report on the short journey but found nothing he wanted to add. He put the report aside. For good or ill it would have to do.
Hawthorn and Todd waited for him in the vestibule of the Assembly Hall. They went into the meeting room together. Allenson reflected that the last time he had been here the Assembly had made him captain general. A somewhat ironic thought to surface given the current circumstances.
Allenson stopped dead. Dead bodies sat in the ranks of chairs. Some missed limbs, some had smashed skulls while a few were completely unmarked like poor Fendlaigh. Blood and tissue smears desecrated the walls as if some giant had sneezed while suffering a nose bleed.
Allenson shut his eyes tight. When he reopened them the corpses had vanished. Evansence, Stainman and a half dozen others sat in a semicircle in front of a single chair.
“Please sit down, General,” Evansence said, gesturing at the chair.
Allenson glanced at it disdainfully. The set up reminded him of a court with himself in the position of the accused. He had offended most of the assemblymen present at one time or another during his term as captain general. Now it appeared that they intended to put him in his place. They were too late. He intended to put himself back in his place. It just wouldn’t be the same place as they had in mind.
“That won’t be necessary, sars. I’ll keep this short. My report is in here. It tells you everything you need to know.”
He handed Evansence a plastic folder.
“This is intolerable,” said an assemblyman called Roiter, his face turning florid. “You are in the presence of your superiors, sar. Sit so we can examine you.”
Hawthorn chuckled.
“My superiors,” Allenson raised an eyebrow. “I think not. Good day, gentlemen.”
He nodded at the assemblymen and turned.
“Where are you going?” Evansence squeaked.
“Why home, of course,” Allenson replied, turning back. “My strategy has failed so I have offered my resignation.”
He gestured at the folder. Evansence still held it but seemed to have forgott
en its existence.
“No doubt you will wish to appoint a fresh mind to the task.”
“Like whom?” Stainman asked, looking thoroughly alarmed.
Allenson considered.
“That’s not really my decision but as you’ve asked my opinion I suggest Kaspary or Ling. Both are good men who will serve faithfully.”
“And no one’s heard of them,” said Assemblyman Distan.
“Some consider Colonel Buller would make a suitable captain general,” said Allenson.
“Colonel Buller for one,” Hawthorn said.
“Unacceptable,” Stainman replied.
Allenson shrugged.
“Well, no doubt you will give the matter some thought, sars.”
He walked to the door in complete silence. There he paused.
“The other alternative would be to ask the Brasilians for terms.”
“Terms!” Assemblyman Distan said weakly. “Their terms are likely to include hanging the lot of us as rebels.”
“That’s possible,” Allenson conceded. “But the Brasilians aren’t barbarians and this war must be costing them a fortune. I’m sure something acceptable could be thrashed out. For what it’s worth, my advice would be to open negotiations while you still have some cards to play.”
There was a dead silence as the terrible reality of their position sank into the assemblymen’s minds like acid eating through a rusty plate. Something about the Hall struck Allenson now that his business was done.
“Why is this place so quiet?” Allenson asked.
He wondered where the rest of the assembly and their aides and servants were.
“The rest of the Assembly have evacuated to Agnew,” Evansence said, looking thoroughly miserable. “We stayed behind to meet you.”
“Agnew on Munchausen?” Allenson asked, surprised.
Munchausen was a quiet rural backwater of a world known mainly for its mushroom crops. Agnew was little more than a market town although it had an agricultural polytechnic. No doubt the Assembly planned to relocate to the college buildings.
“You can’t just go home and leave us in the lurch,” Stainman said.
“I promised my wife,” Allenson replied.
“But what about your duty to the Colonies,” said Assemblyman Chung.
“Are you refusing to accept my resignation?” Allenson asked.
“Absolutely,” Evansence replied.
Roiter verbally pirouetted through one hundred and eight degrees, from accuser to supplicant. “It’s your duty,”
Allenson blinked. He walked back to the delegates and thought the matter through before replying.
“I must warn you there are conditions.”
“Name them,” said Stainman.
“Very well, I will have to build a new model army and I will have to use it like a rapier against the Brasilian’s club tactics. We’ll never match them for strength so we have to substitute speed.”
At that point, a private hologram signal flickered on the edge of Allenson’s vision indication an incoming priority message on his pad. He decided to read it. The delegates could wait. With any luck they would take offence and fire him. He really didn’t care.
The message was from Trina. It expressed her love and wished him good fortune. Allenson smiled, lost for a moment in his private life.
Stainman coughed.
Allenson dragged himself back to the task in hand.
“Where was I? Oh yes, my conditions for withdrawing my resignation. I can’t keep referring back to you on Munchhausen to ratify every political decision. The place doesn’t even have a proper port. Accordingly, you must grant me plenipotentiary powers.”
There was a chorus of outrage.
“Very well.” Allenson turned to leave.
“Stop!” Stainman said sharply.
His voice silenced the committee and caused Allenson to pause.
“Make out the necessary documents and we’ll all sign them,” Stainman said to Evansence.
“Do we have the authority?” asked Roiter. “Shouldn’t this go before the Assembly?”
“Of course it should and it will—right now,” Stainman replied. “The motion is to give Allenson plenipotentiary powers, all in favor?”
He raised his arm and looked around the empty meeting room. The rest of the committee held up their hands
“Anyone against?”
No one moved.
“The ayes have it by six votes to none. The Assembly has voted according to the constitution. The motion is carried.”
“They’ll have our heads if this goes wrong,” Chung said.
“I fancy the rest of the Assembly’s opinion will be the least of your problems if Allenson fails,” Hawthorn pointed out with a malicious grin.
The committee squirmed.
“Very well, sars, on that basis I will continue to serve,” Allenson said.
Chung led the rush to the door. The assemblymen had a fast packet boat to Munchausen to catch. Allenson found himself alone in an empty hall with Todd and Hawthorn.
“The king is dead, long live the emperor,” Todd said obliquely.
Hawthorn shook his head and laughed out loud.
“Amazing, they try to give you a Grade A bollocking and by the end are begging for your help.”
“This wasn’t actually the outcome I intended,” Allenson replied. “I meant what I said about resigning and going home.”
Hawthorn chuckled.
“I know. They believed you. That’s why they were so terrified. They had the look of small children who tell daddy to go away then are horrified when he opens the front door. Under the bluster they know you are the army of the colonies. You’re the only thing standing between them and a Brasilian firing squad.”
“Be that as it may, the tricky bit is still to come,” Allenson said.
“What’s that, Uncle?” Todd asked.
“I have to explain to my wife that we’re not going home yet.”
CHAPTER 28
Restoration
The next few weeks were inordinately busy but eventually the situation stabilized enough for Allenson to chair a strategy meeting for his senior officers.
“So how much of a force do we have left, Colonel Kaspary?” Allenson said in his role as chair of the Recruitment Committee of the New Model Army.
“Precious little,” Kaspary replied. “Casualties amounted to somewhere between one third to a half of the army at Brunswick, mostly as Brasilian prisoners. Another one third or more deserted in the rout. Many of the militia reckoned that their term of service was up so they just went home, their obligations completed at least to their satisfaction. We have about twenty percent left of which about half are from the 1st.”
He said the last with a certain amount of unit pride that softened his expression for a moment.
“I take responsibility for the Brunswick debacle.” Kaspary slid an envelope across the table. “My resignation, sir.”
“Declined,” Allenson replied, ripping the envelope in two. “Don’t look like that, Colonel. If the Assembly refused my resignation I see no reason to accept yours.”
There was no answer to that so Kaspary didn’t try to make one. Hawthorn filled the gap in the conversation.
“My agents tell me Brasilian officials are granting Loyalty Certificates to any residents of Trent and Brunswick who present themselves and take an oath to the Government of Brasilia.”
“There’s a lot of Home World feeling in both colonies anyway” said Ling.
“What are they offering?” Kaspary asked.
“The usual, peace and security,” Hawthorn replied. “Many people will settle for that.”
“We will consider a response in due course but we have more pressing issues . . .” Allenson replied.
The door was flung open and Buller lurched in. He was sweating and his collar was soiled where it had rubbed on his stout neck. From the evidence of his jacket he had garnished his breakfast with blackberry sauce. He flopped down
in a chair without bothering to proffer an apology for his lateness.
Allenson continued as if nothing had happened.
“Our primary task is to rebuild the army, gentlemen. Desertions cost us more troops than combat losses and sickness combined. We did our best to transform militia into regulars but failed. I propose to start again with a New Model Army of professional soldiers. They will answer direct to the Assembly through the powers that our masters have chosen to delegate to me.”
Allenson paused to let the implications of the power change sink in.
Buller tilted back his head and stuck out his chin aggressively. “I propose we reform our people as guerrillas and adopt a scorched earth policy. We burn out anyone who supports the Brasilians and assassinate their officials in the bloodiest manner possible. We can pick off individual soldiers while avoiding serious battles—”
“We have discussed this before, Colonel,” Allenson replied, eyes as hard as granite chips. “The Brasilians will respond in kind to terrorist tactics and our civilians will bear the brunt of it.”
“So much the better,” said Buller. “Every farmer they hang and farmer’s wife they rape will add to our support: nothing like a good massacre or two to whip up a bit of patriotism, what?”
“I said no!”
Allenson voice was cold and final.
Buller flushed and lost his temper.
“You never learn, Allenson, that’s the trouble with bloody amateurs. You tried matching colonials against regulars and got your clock cleaned. How the hell you weaseled out of being sacked for the mess you’ve made I’ll never know. Suppose you have old friends in the Assembly who pulled strings.”
Hawthorn’s eyes blazed and Allenson had put his hand down hard on his friend’s shoulder to keep him in his seat.
“One more word, Colonel, and I’ll have your commission.”
Buller choked but shut up.
Ling hurriedly jumped into the conversation.
“The Lower Stream want a local commander to oversee preparations for their defense in case the Brasilians move their way. I’ve told them such a move is unlikely but they’re insistent.”
Ling spread his hands apologetically.
Allenson said. “Very well, you will command the lower Stream militias, Colonel Buller.”