“Buy a girl a cup of coffee, soldier?” Eva Moore croaked raucously.
Vereshchagin winced. “Tea.”
“Done!”
Graying hair and lieutenant-colonel’s rank had hardly changed her. Vereshchagin walked over to the samovar and came away with a mug in either hand and a few lumps of sugar. He squeezed behind the rickety plastic table. “Hello, Eva. You seem to have expected me. It’s been a long time since Cyclade.”
“Six years. Plus a few extra months for time dilation for me. Have you been avoiding me?”
“Stop teasing, little dove.” Vereshchagin gestured toward a table of suddenly silent lieutenants. “The children don’t know any better.”
“It would only help my reputation.”
“Eva?”
“Truce.”
"Truce. ’ ’ He placed a sugar cube between his teeth and took a sip of the hot tea. “The metal fragments are still in there, you know. I have never had them removed. They make cold weather uncomfortable. I was expected?”
“My sources on Colonel Lynch’s staff are impeccable.” “How have you managed to avoid attendance at staff meetings?”
“I had Molly bribe Dong. Do you know him?”
“The little catamite? When I buy a man, I prefer one who will stay bought.”
“That’s him. Did you warn your battalion that the white typhoon was on his way?”
“Colonel Lynch directed me not to do so.”
“And?”
“Fifteen minutes after the supply run is overdue, Matti Haijalo is going to ask what in the name of heaven is going on. Matti is perfectly capable of counting to two on his fingers. Do you know Matti?”
“No, I don’t remember him.”
“I will introduce you at the first opportunity. Matti is a true gemstone, the pearl of great price.”
“Congratulations. Congratulations on your battalion.”
“And you as well. Six years ago, who would have thought it?”
“Don’t fool yourself, Anton. They need us out here on the fringes where the golden boys won’t go.”
“Perhaps. How is Miriam?”
“Dead. A contact mine on Albuera.”
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s been two years. The wound is healing.” “Are you seeing anyone now?”
“No, the girls all seem much too young. They’re like the daughters I never had. I hold them at arm’s length.”
“You never worried about that before.”
“It is not tactful for you to point that out. How about yourself, Anton?”
“There is no one, of course. How could it be otherwise? And who would have me?”
“You should meet my orthopedic surgeon.”
“Slender? Brown eyes and short dark hair? I saw her when I went to see the two of mine you still have lying around shirking. Thank you, no.”
“At least you’re still alert enough to look. She’d be perfect for you.”
“Eva, stop playing matchmaker. It does not suit you.”
“I should think I’d be perfect. Neither one of you is my type, and I like you both.”
“Oh, stop it, Eva.”
“No, I’m serious this time, Anton. My little Natashenka is a very nice girl from Tyumen. I truly think you and she should know each other better.”
“Eva, the woman must be a meter eighty. How can you possibly call her little? ’ ’
“Stop quibbling.”
“Eva, this is neither the time nor the place. Even if the inland cowboys do not explode into revolt in the next ten minutes ...” “Anton Aleksandrovich,” she said in a firm, quiet voice, “cease this nonsense immediately!”
Years of discipline had left their mark on Vereshchagin. “Look at who they’ve sent here. You and I and Eybl are expendable. Kimura has a father-in-law, so it would have been impolitic to shoot him outright. Higuchi couldn’t keep his mouth shut and made old Kajitani look like a fool. Colonel Lynch is a fool, and Rear-Admiral Irie, who hasn’t set foot off GrafSpee, makes Lynch look smart. Admiral Lee is too smart to be Korean and too Korean to be left near the thrones and powers. I could go on if you like. A merry hand of brothers, are we not? Just how long do you think we’re going to be camped out on this mudball?”
Vereshchagin blinked.
“Anton, I’m going to be a nice girl. When you come to see Colonel Lynch next Tuesday, don’t plan on flying out. Instead, bring along your manners. Now, how long do you have before you go?”
"About two hours."
“Get me lunch and we’ll talk old times. ”
They did, and Vereshchagin still had an hour’s delay on the runway.
AS THE AIRCRAFT APPROACHED THE CASERNE, VERESHCHAGIN noted the sea change in the knoll C Company tenanted. Makeshift bunkers had been formed from long, stone sheds reinforced with concrete, steel, and a meter of earth tamped and impregnated with a chemical solvent to give the resulting mass elasticity. The farmhouse itself had been radically transformed with the addition of steel cribs packed with fill and faced with tough plastic foam. Work had begun on other structures, including a sauna.
To the fury of the dispossessed farmer and adjoining landowners, outside the perimeter, the waist-high wheat was laced with feathery vaalbush and laid with cleared fields of fire. Warning wire delineated devil’s gardens a half kilometer in depth.
Vereshchagin saw Colonel Lynch’s mouth tighten. He recollected that Kimura’s caserne at Reading was laid to a different pattern, cropped as smooth and orderly as a parade ground.
Like matchstick figures, sentinels stood smartly in front of the bunkers, not sprawled in the fighting positions on top. Idly, Vereshchagin wondered how much prompting Matti Harjalo had found necessary. He set the thought aside as the transport touched down.
They stepped off into the sunlight. A sentinel in a freshly pressed uniform presented a rifle salute which Colonel Lynch returned, open-eyed.
Hans Coldewe emerged immaculate from a bunker and snapped off a hand salute. This Colonel Lynch returned brusquely. “Are you in command?”
“I am at present in command of the company, sir!” Coldewe replied, only the faintest trace of a smile on his face.
“Lieutenant Coldewe is the executive officer for C Company,” Vereshchagin explained helpfully.
“All right, Lieutenant. Shall we start with the mortal- pits? The unmanned mortar pits I spotted during the approach?”
Coldewe coughed. “Not those two mortars, sir. They’re sheet aluminum which we polish up for the locals to admire. We’ll have to go through the downstairs. If the Colonel would permit?”
Colonel Lynch started inside the bunker and stopped. A platoon was sitting around in sections in pressed battledress with hammocks slung and equipment laid out. They were sipping tea with elaborate unconcern. It was a little much, even for Colonel Lynch. Vereshchagin ruefully conceded that it was a little much, even for Raul and Matti.
“Where is Captain Sanmartin?” Colonel Lynch hissed, eyeing Coldewe as if he’d sprouted wings and begun singing chorus parts from Die Walkiire.
“Captain Sanmartin is in his quarters, sir. He left orders that he was not to be disturbed.” Coldewe inclined his head toward a partitioned space at the far end.
“He did what?” Colonel Lynch asked, astonished.
“He left orders that he was not to be disturbed,” Coldewe said, carefully accenting each syllable. “I believe he is working on his monograph, sir.”
“His monograph?” the colonel replied, nonplussed.
“Yes, sir. I believe he’s working on the distribution and interrelationships of the Erosaria."
“Shall we go inside?” Vereshchagin inquired.
“Lieutenant, would you please be so kind as to tell me what in the depths of hell the Erosaria might be?” Lynch demanded.
“One of the most widespread subgenera of the Cypraeidae. They are widely spread throughout the Indo-Pacific region,” Coldewe replied blandly.
“Cowrie shells,” V
ereshchagin inteijected firmly.
“Cowrie shells?” Colonel Lynch questioned.
Vereshchagin decided that greater clarification was in order. “Sea shells,” he stated.
“Sea shells?” Colonel Lynch repeated in evident disbelief.
“Captain Sanmartin is an amateur authority on cowrie shells. His company has taken a great deal of interest in his hobby,” Vereshchagin offered dryly. “Lieutenant Coldewe, would you please be so good as to convey my respects to Captain Sanmartin.”
“At once, sir! ’ ’ Coldewe saluted again and departed. Lynch and Vereshchagin were left standing in the bright sunshine.
“Vereshchagin, I have never seen a company with such an obvious lack of discipline and fighting spirit,” Lynch began.
Sanmartin appeared with suspicious alacrity. “As directed, sir,” he said, saluting. “I have been told the colonel has expressed interest in my monograph.”
“Captain Sanmartin, your command could be involved in desperate combat at any instant. Am I to understand that you squander your time on a monograph concerning Erosaria?”
Lynch rolled the unfamiliar word around on his tongue and fairly spat it out.
“I regret to say, sir, that you appear to have been misinformed,” Sanmartin replied.
Colonel Lynch halted in midtantrum.
“My current monograph concerns the shells of thefimhriata complex, specifically the position of serrulifera Schilder and Schilder. I concluded my monograph on the Erosaria in the course of an extended firelight on Ashcroft. ’ ’
Colonel Lynch opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Would the colonel care to inspect my specimens?” Sanmartin asked politely.
“I seemed to recall in an afteraction report the part played by, what was it, the thick-sided cowrie?” Vereshchagin commented.
“The caurica, sir. While we were waiting for Glowworm to interdict their retreat, the cakes seemed to take my discourse on the species as a personal affront, which exacerbated their problems with fire discipline.”
“Raul, we should like to inspect your unit,” Vereshchagin said pleasantly. “You have five minutes to prepare. Colonel Lynch and I are going to take a short walk and have a nice, quiet chat about the nice medal Admiral Nakamura gave you for that bit of inspired lunacy.”
He led the unresisting Colonel Lynch, waving the colonel’s entourage to the manor house. “Why don’t you all go inside and ask Kasha for a cup of tea?”
“Well, Hans,” Sanmartin said, rubbing his hands together briskly, “shall we prepare for inspection?”
“Raul, would you please tell Kasha that Colonel Lynch is going to want a nice hot cup of tea when he comes over to check the menu,” Vereshchagin added over his shoulder, watching little warning lights go off in Sanmartin’s eyes.
Sanmartin sidled over to Coldewe. “Hans, what are we eating?”
Coldewe shook his head. Drops of morning rain began to fall.
“Send Rudi, I’m on my way.” Taking advantage of a momentary hesitation, Sanmartin vaulted past the huddle of staff hangers-on, darted inside the farmhouse, and shut the door behind him.
“Kasha! Zdrastel”
Kasha laughed, the muscles rippling under her apron. “You do that good, Captain. What do we got?”
“What are we eating? I’m supposed to be inspecting.
“That stuff again. They must think you don’t trust me.”
“We got a colonel, and the Variag’s going to bring him here as. soon as he’s off the can.”
“Hokay. We got no fish, and that battalion sergeant, Malinov, says we use local produce because we’re short of rations. So bitochki for supper and blinchiki for dinner. Maybe shashlik tomorrow, we got a lot of meat. ”
“Wonderful. You ready for inspection?” Sanmartin found himself saying, acutely aware of the presence of Hanna Bruwer, lured from her work station by the commotion.
Kasha bellowed with mirth.
“Hokay, there are five staff officers and some aides who'll. be here in a minute. Feed them some tea and keep them from mischief.” Outside, he grabbed his company sergeant by the arm. “What in hell are bitochki and blinchiki, Rudi? ’ ’ he whispered.
“I just eat them,” Scheel admitted, eyeing the bewildered staff officers, “but bitochki are like meat patties, and blinchiki are pancakes with stuff on them.”
“Well, Colonel Lynch won’t know either. Please, get the computer to spit it out and post it.”
“Posted. The Variag eyed it on his way through.”
“Oh.”
Sanmartin watched his brigade commander’s flower boys walk past with sidelong looks. “Do you know, Rudi,” he said with finality, “after all that time chasing cakes, I forgot what being in the military was like.”
At length, departing with Lynch in tow, Vereshchagin noticed the word “helicoprolite” circumspectly stenciled on to the high split tail of the tilt-prop. He considered it painting the lily.
THAT NIGHT, VERESHCHAGIN HEARD A RESPECTFUL KNOCK AT
the door to his quarters. He unlocked and opened.
Standing at the threshold was Matti Haijalo, bending a piece of wire into a picklock with short, powerful fingers. “Hello, Anton. I figured this would be less messy than breaking down the door,” Haijalo said cheerfully in a soft voice.
“Please, join me. Is this you or a delegation?” Vereshchagin asked.
“Nobody here but Haerkoennen manning the com, and he’s silent as death and snow. The battalion sergeant and I cut cards to see who would have the privilege of stopping by. We used my deck.” Haijalo sat and took out a bottle and two glasses, pouring out some of the raw spirit. He lifted his glass, waiting, as Vereshchagin shut the door.
Vereshchagin lowered himself slowly into his spider chair. Inclining his head, he tapped the other glass with a thumbnail. “Kippis.”
“Skoal!” Haijalo replied with morbid good humor, and downed the liquor. He reached into yet another pocket to extract a small container and shook it.
“Chicken?”
The unfortunate chicken in question had been skinned and boned, cut and quick-steamed with spice and vegetables. Vereshchagin extended his curled fingers slightly in a gesture of negation. Haijalo shrugged slightly. He pulled out his pocket-knife and began spearing pieces rapidly with the point. Vereshchagin absently watched the play of the tendons in his hand. Ashcroft’s desert sun had burned away the fat, leaving muscle and tendon sharply defined.
“That mewling Ivan never uses enough salt,” Haijalo complained.
“With salt, as with many things, too much is ultimately as fatal as too little,” Vereshchagin observed.
“Well?” Haijalo asked, setting aside his knife.
“So it begins.”
“It never changes.”
Vereshchagin sipped the liquor in his glass and made a face. “I sometimes think that we kill men with the same callous indifference that we chop at trees, a word of regret and it is done.” “I won’t argue poetry with you, you’ll have to get Coldewe,” Haijalo said with a smile. “What is it, Anton? Premonitions?” “Perhaps. Recruit Private Novelo, today.”
“Novelo deserved it.”
“No one deserves it, Matti. Ib train a man and send him all this way to put a bullet in his head? I deplore the waste.” “Waste of five good bullets. Did Raul have trouble putting together a firing squad?”
“He had to turn away volunteers, I believe. This is the fourth we have had to execute in what, five years?”
“Four it is. Just relax and talk, tomorrow you can go back to being infallible. Did I tell you that little cretin, Dong, called up to express outrage on behalf of Colonel Lynch? It seems that when we shot him, Novelo was still assigned to brigade.”
“I am aware. What did you say?”
“I offered to send Novelo back, only slightly used and almost as good as new. While Dong was puzzling that one over, 1 had Timo cut the circuit.”
Vereshchagin laughed. He set his glass a
side. “Did I mention Claude to you?”
“Dapper Doctor Devoucoux? He’s already telling me this place is ‘unutterably’ tedious. Labrador without snowshoes.” Vereshchagin idly reached for his pipe and tapped it against his knee. “Despite appearances, Claude is a sensitive soul.” He meditated briefly. “This planet troubles him, as well. He recalled to me a phrase which Jacques Cartier committed to his journal to describe the New Found Land.”
“Which was?”
“ ‘This is a land God gave to Cain.’ That skirmish with the cowboys, we will have trouble with them.”
Haijalo nodded.
“Did I ever tell you that I wanted to teach?” Vereshchagin said, settling back into his chair.
“Yes, several times.”
“I wanted to teach.”
“You mentioned that.”
“I hate sending them out, Matti. It has barely started, this time. I feel a goose walking across my grave.”
“What’s this about a goose? That’s one I’ve never heard before.”
“An English premonition. How little the language changes.” “Can I offer you more of this?” Haijalo said, shaking the bottle.
“Like Latin, a language for business and soldiers, belonging to every man and to none. Thank you, no,” Vereshchagin answered, staring at the tiny light.
“Your choice. And if you think English doesn’t change, go listen to the cowboys.”
"Eddies swirl in and out of the main current; the current runs true. The cowboys, Chalker’s cowboys, are going to hit Piotr. I feel it. I demanded fire support from the warships since Lieutenant-Colonel Kimura does not seem inclined to use them. The admiral agreed.”
“Good job. What else?” Haijalo asked.
“I saw Eva Moore today.”
“How is she?”
“Miriam is dead.”
"Her girlfriend? I’m sorry for her. And for you. ’ ’
“She has walled away her grief and set it aside. It has given her a sense of mortality. She was playing matchmaker.”
“The devil! What, is she seeing gooses, too?” Haijalo asked with a faraway look.
Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 01] Page 8