Ride of the Valkyries

by Stuart Slade

  "And another thing. Notice how none of the satrapies came to assist any of the others? That's really strange, we got pretty well no opposition when we overflew satrapies on the way in, not until we shot up that complex in Syria at any rate. No real defense in depth at all. It's as if the other Satrapies simply didn't care."

  "What are you getting at, Seer? Nixon sounded impatient.

  "Mister President, we've always known we don't understand the Caliphate, how it makes decisions, how its ruled or anything else. We know it has a ruling council, they pretty much surrendered to us once, but that's it. It's internal structure, both social and political, we know nothing about. We know that there are many different religious sects inside Islam, how those are accommodated by their system we just don't know. Because of our space-based assets and Open Skies, we can put our finger on any tangible asset they have and say, ‘that is where it is, this is what it is'. But what they think, how they think. . ."

  "If they think." Power's voice cut in dryly.

  "Oh, they think Tommy. The way the Iraqi missile crews fought back shows that. They stuck to their sites right to the end. Or at least we're pretty sure they did. We don't know how many didn't of course. But the ones that fought, they held fire until the bombers were right on top of them. ‘Whites of their eyes' and all that. Anyway, as I was saying, we don't understand what or how they think. For that we need human intelligence assets and we just don't have any. We've got better human intelligence on Chipan than on the Caliphate. It's telling the best on-the-ground data we have on the Caliphate comes from Geneva, not Tehran or Kabul or Baghdad. The most important thing about today may not have been the damage we've inflicted but the graphic illustration of how little we understand about the entity that is now very obviously our prime enemy."

  Nixon had started slightly at the names of Caliphate cities, as if he was reading them from a tombstone. "Any idea of losses?"

  "Two RB-58Fs down, three more are landing in Russia with severe damage. The Russians are holding their crews for ransom."

  "WHAT!" Nixon was furious. "I thought they were supposed to be allies."

  "They are, Mister President." The Seer thought he'd better explain before Nixon had a stroke. "It's an old military custom. When aircraft land at the wrong base, the parent unit has to pay a ransom to get them back." The Seer looked at his clipboard and shuffled some papers. "I believe the Russian First Guards Fighter Division are asking for a Sammy and Sherry concert."

  "They want a Sammy and Sherry concert?" Nixon's temper was subsiding as quickly as it had flashed up. "No accounting for taste I suppose. But I didn't mean our casualties, what about the people on the other end?"

  "We estimate around 200,000 military casualties, mostly the crews of the air defense installations and about 1.4 million others. After Bahrain, Iraq's been the worst hit, the industrial complexes were clustered around big cities. By the time it's all over, probably a total of more than two million. That'll rise in the aftermath of course."

  "Dear God." Nixon was stunned. "Nobody told me. . . ."

  "Sir, how many people do you think are dying in Algeria from blackpox? The latest extrapolation from the French is that the death toll there could hit at least 10 percent of the population. That's over 1.4 million dead there alone. And we're getting blackpox outbreaks all over the place. We know that blackpox has washed back into the Caliphate but how widespread it is, guess what, we don't know.

  "Sure, we dodged the bullet but a lot of places haven't. Colombia and Mexico have outbreaks and we can't make vaccines fast enough to prevent them spreading. If it hadn't been for that French doctor right at the start of this thing, we'd be even further behind the curve. You know Sir, for the length of time this war has lasted, it's certainly the bloodiest in human history. And I very much doubt if that'll be understood out there. In a few years time, people will write this off as a minor affair, a bump in their otherwise tranquil worlds.

  "And that's why we need Lifeboat Mister President. This was a half-baked plan, carried out using minimal resources and with very limited success. We lucked out. We got very lucky in fact, and they tried to be too clever. Also, they got carried away. They used a disease that was painfully obviously not natural. So we knew what was going on and we were able to offset the worst of it. And still, almost four million people will have died.

  "One day, they're going to cut loose with those things and we won't be lucky and they won't mess up. The Good Lord only knows what the death toll will be then. We have to have a secure place to go to, somewhere enough people can shelter so they - and all of us through them - can survive. There's only one place for that Mister President, up there."

  The Seer pointed skywards. "We're running against the clock Sir, and we don't know when the alarm bells will ring again."

  Military Command Center, Dezful, Iran Satrapy, The Caliphate.

  The American bombers had gone, mostly westward but a few heading north to Russia. The carrier planes had gone from the south, the Russian bombers from the north. The storm had passed, leaving destruction and chaos in its wake but it had passed. There was evidence of that not so far away. The airfield at Vahdati was a ruin; destroyed as thoroughly as the missile batteries that surrounded it. But this complex, buried deep underground had survived.

  Briefly, Morteza Farzaneh wondered if the Ruling Council in their sumptuous palace near Teheran had survived. There had been strikes up there; at least two targets had been taken out. There was still no word on what had been destroyed and what had survived. Not that it mattered very much; that bunch of posturing fools counted for very little.

  Farzaneh looked again at the plots of the bombers that had struck the targets in Iran and Iraq. The patterns were very striking. Over Iraq, the bombers had flown straight to their targets, fought their way in and destroyed them. The defenses the Satrap of Iraq had erected had proved of little value. They had shot down two bombers. That would become two hundred for public consumption in the Caliphate, but that hadn't stopped the assault. Over Iran it had been different. Farzaneh looked at the tracks, saw the bombers circling, looking for their targets. They'd had problems finding them although they'd managed it in the end.

  An elegant concept had been born in Frazaneh's mind as he had watched them hunt. The Americans could destroy anything they wanted, their bombers could punch though any defense that could be mounted and the destruction they wrought was terrible beyond belief. Yet, they couldn't destroy what they couldn't find. They couldn't send their bombers if they didn't know there was anything to send them against.

  There were times when differences were valuable and this had been one of them. Sometimes, Farzaneh wished that the Caliphate really was the great monolithic block that its enemies believed. Reality was that it was a very loose aggregation of virtually independent states whose allegiance to the greater whole was dubious to say the least. This whole affair had kicked off because of that. The satrapies competed for power and influence two ways. Internally they directly conflicted with each other. Externally they tried to spread the Caliphate as far as they could. Each extra territory they brought in added to their own power and prestige. The Council was where they fought out their political battles, where the influence they had tried to gain was put to the test and proved or lost. Iraq had started the whole affair by its attempts to expand into Algeria. Then, when that attack had been defeated, they'd developed this plan to save the situation.

  There was a gentle knock on the steel door. Doctor Abdolali Shamsae, better known as Doctor Germ entered. His arms were loaded with files.

  "‘Doctor. How bad?"‘ Farzaneh looked over at his visitor. Not too gloomy. There is hope.

  "The facilities in Iraq have gone, all of them. The Americans destroyed them all. Here in Iran, there are some survivors. A few the Americans missed, some others they didn't know were there. Not enough to restart what we had. We have lost all the cultures, the equipment, almost everything. But we didn't lose the people. We have evacuated most of the researc
hers in time and got them to safety. We still have the cadre of skills we need. We cannot restart what we had but we can rebuild from new. Those few hours delay, that was priceless."

  "Then start again. Only this time, no more great complexes, no more installations that can be seen from hundreds of miles away. Build the plants small, hide them away. In villages, in isolated farms. No more plants built of imported equipment. If we cannot build it ourselves then we will do without."

  "Iraq will not like that."

  "Iraq does not matter anymore. It was their insistence on launching this attack now that brought this down on our heads. The Council warned them against it but they ignored those warnings. They will have little influence now."

  "Does that matter?" Shamsae almost laughed.

  "Not really." And that was true.

  No, the Caliphate had to introduce a new policy. They would have to fly under the radar, keep their biological programs hidden, low-key, out of sight. Industrial development would have to go the same way, dispersed, low-key, hidden. And undefended. Defenses just marked out a place where there was something worth destroying. It would be down to the Ruling Council to find the theological justification for the new policy. And they would, if they knew what was good for them. The days of a theocratic Caliphate had just ended.

  Chittagong House, New Delhi, India

  "It is an inspiring thing to see a democracy at work." The King's Personal Ambassador-Plenipotentiary leaned back in her seat, allowing herself a small and entirely genuine sigh of satisfaction. Sir Eric Haohoa attributed it to the excellence of their evening dinner. His domestic staff had really done him proud and he was quietly pleased that his old friend had been properly entertained. He was, however, slightly mistaken on one point. The sigh of satisfaction was only partly due to the superb food. The rest was because, in the Ambassador's own unspoken words, she loved it when a plan came together.

  The Indian political crisis had been headline news right up to the time the Americans made their announcement of the origins of the blackpox epidemic that was threatening to tear across the world. They'd also announced that their bombers would be destroying the source of that plague. That pushed the Indian crisis to the bottom of the innermost page. In every newspaper in the world except The Hindu and the other Indian nationals. There, the crisis into which the BJP Government had plunged was still on the front page. While the world held its breath and the American bombers had crossed the Atlantic to burn out the plague pits, the Indian government had made a brave and unique decision.

  When the Congress Party had presented its motion of ‘No Confidence in the present government,' the Indian Parliament had announced that the debate would be shown, live, on television.

  Cynics suggested that this had been an attempt to delay the debate by opening the doors for "technical difficulties" but they had quickly gone quiet and red-faced.

  Despite the technical difficulties and the unique problems in broadcasting from the Indian parliament building, the television network had managed to put it together. The sound wasn't good and the visuals were poorly-constructed but they'd done it. Now that the American bombers were back home, the debate was on every television in India. The Indian political crisis was working its way back towards the front page.

  "This should be interesting, Madam Ambassador. The next speaker is the Minister for Foreign Affairs, a BJP stalwart. His defense of the government will be critical. If he drops the ball here, the vote could go badly."

  "The BJP could lose Sir Eric?"

  Sir Eric thought for a second, "I don't think so, not unless something startling happens. But with a no confidence motion. It's not so much whether the Government wins but how well they win. If their own supporters hold solid, then the Government really does win and all is well for them. But if a significant number of their members vote for the opposition, then their authority is fatally weakened and they will fall eventually. In that sense, yes, the BJP could indeed lose." He turned the sound on the television up slightly.

  "My friends, fellow members of Parliament, let us review the events of the last few weeks. We had a claim to the Paracel Islands that we attempted to exert. We did so on our own, without the assistance of our allies, as an example of India's growing strength and position as a regional power in the world. We successfully occupied those islands and raised our flag over them. Despite enemy air attacks our gallant troops held on. When the enemy fleet tried to intervene, our gallant seamen in their Indian-designed and Indian-built ships took them on, head to head. It was a terrible and costly battle. Many of our brave men lost their lives as they laid their ships alongside the enemy and fought them to the last round of ammunition. The great hero Admiral Kanali Dahm died on the bridge of his cruiser, leading his fleet to victory. Who of us, watching his funeral but a few days ago did not have tears in his eyes as we paid our respects to the man who brought so much honor to India?

  "And then my friends, our pilots fought on, defeating the Chipanese enemy in the air. Our ships fought on, sinking enemy submarines. Our troops on land fought on, shooting down the enemy aircraft that attacked them. Yes, my friends our gallant men fought on. But who, I ask you, did not fight on? Why, our Government did not fight on! Yes, I see you are as shocked as I! Despite all the sacrifices made by our Army, our Navy and our Air Force, our Government threw away the fruits of their struggle. They have agreed to withdraw from our islands. They have even agreed to the Chipanese name of the Southern Pescadores as a sign of our defeat. Our defeat my friends. Not a defeat suffered on the battlefield but one suffered here, at home, by a government that has lost its nerve. The deed is done. The peace agreement.....No, let us give it its proper name, our surrender, is signed and being an honorable nation we cannot go back on our word. But we can think what we wish about those who gave that word.

  "What have we won for the sacrifice of so many ships and men? A shelter on one island and some fish! Some fish! If Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee likes fish so much I have a gift for him." The Foreign Minister paused dramatically, reached into his pocket and brought out a small paper packet. He laid it on the podium in front of him.

  "I am sorry it is such a small fish but it was caught only a few hours ago by a lady who is one of my constituents. A lady whose eldest son died on board the Indian Naval Ship Ghurka in the Battle of the South China Sea. But perhaps a small fish is appropriate for I have so little confidence in the government of Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee that I no longer wish to be part of it."

  There was a gasp around the gathered Parliament as the Foreign Minister stepped away from his podium and ostentatiously took his seat with the Congress Party rather than his own.

  "Sir Eric, I am not that familiar with Parliamentary procedures. In my country, votes of no confidence in the government tend to be much more emphatic and involve the use of tanks. But, to me, that did not sound like a defense of Government Policy."

  "No my dear." It was a mark of how surprised Sir Eric was that he forgot to use the customary title for his guest. "That wasn't a defense. That was something startling happening."

  "Will the Government survive, my friend?"

  Sir Eric absorbed the familiar address with pleasure. Then he thought for a few seconds. "No, not from a speech like that, not from one of its own ministers. It's not just a blow; it's the death-stroke. The BJP will split, probably three ways. One part will stick with the Prime Minister. One part will condemn him for giving up. The third will condemn him forever starting this mad venture. The Congress Party will vote in a block of course. The smaller parties will split evenly. When the vote is taken, the BJP will lose and lose heavily. If it hadn't been for that speech, it would have hung together but not now. My dear, you have just seen a very public political assassination."

  "How much will this affect you Sir Eric? I know the Cabinet Secretary is a part of the Civil Service and not affected by changes in ruling party but how much practical effect will this have?"

  "Well, Madam....."
/>   "Sir Eric, we have known each other long enough I think. My name is Suriyothai Bhirombhakdi na Sukhothai. The ‘na Sukhothai' part is just a courtesy. It means I am distantly related to the Royal Family." The Ambassador carefully refrained from saying which Royal Family. "And we very rarely use our family names. So please call me Suriyothai when we are having a pleasant evening like this."

  "Thank you Suriyothai. In answer to your question, this will mean everything will be very much back to usual. The rule of the BJP, relatively brief as it has been, will be seen as a gamble. Could India stand alone and ignore its allies or does it need the alliance structure that the Congress Party had constructed?

  "Had the Paracel operation succeeded, the BJP would have made its point and we would have seen India progressively turn its back on the Triple Alliance and attempt to stand on its own. But the Paracel Operation was a disaster and we have been defeated. The BJP Hindu nationalist position has been discredited and they have lost public respect. Their hold on power was tenuous at best. In the election to come they will be defeated.

  "The Congress Party has always been internationalist in outlook, I suppose their origins as a socialist movement is at the root of that. No matter what the reason, they favor international alliances and multi-national organizations. As a result, when they win the next election, as I am sure they will now, the Triple Alliance will be safe."

  The Ambassador leaned back once more, watching the minor speakers making their plays for and against the BJP government. Her political antennae, honed by more years of experience than Sir Eric would believe possible, were telling her that it was all over. The Foreign Secretary's ringing denunciation of Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee and the BJP had been decisive. As she had guessed it would be although she had been delighted to have Sir Eric's confirmation of that fact.