- Location
- Leeds
Yes, but acknowledging that kills my joke.
A Young Girl's Delinquency Record (Youjo Senki/Saga of Tanya the Evil)
- Thread starter Gremlin Jack
- Start date
- Mature Fantasy Alt. History
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- Tags
- youjo senki
It isn't? VIP is the private security company, Cold Steel is the trading organization that sells things like entrenching tools i.e. collapsible shovels.
Actually, it's all Colombian military surplus and VIP is the one holding the license. Cold Steel was buying from VIP before selling them in the Congo. But Abyssinia is far enough from Congo it's easier for VIP to directly sell to them.
Chapter 31
A\N 1: Working draft of Chapter 32 also available on my Patreon
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 20 on Questionable Questing
Chapter 31
August 27, 1930, Abyssinia - Eritrea border
In a somewhat ironic twist, I was now experiencing the one aspect of soldiery that I had skipped over entirely during my career in the Imperial military. I was standing watch on a dangerous post while reading letters from home.
Well, if one could classify the pseudo-family I had established with Lena and Jenny in New York as 'home'. I suppose in this life they were the closest thing that counted. And at least their letters made for interesting reading.
Lena was coordinating with her not-boyfriend Murdoch to make sure Abyssina's arms and supplies were delivered in a timely manner. She was also apparently having great success selling the Scorpion machine pistol to the domestic American market. Knowing the kind of people who were likely to buy such an item, I could only wonder if the Scorpion would replace the Thompson as the signature 'gangster gun' in American cinema.
And speaking of the cinema, apparently Jenny was spending her summer vacation in Reina del Angel, shooting for Hughes' latest masterpiece, an espionage thriller of some kind. She was also doing her best to scandalize Hollywood by being openly seen courting both men and women, and along the way had become an outspoken advocate for gay rights, as well as a harsh opponent of media censorship.
I could only sigh. I recalled how Visha had racked up a string of arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct and seditious activity when she was the same age. And they say teenage boys are troublesome! Thank goodness I wasn't a father. Even the little bit of responsibility I felt towards Jenny was enough to give me a headache.
I decided that as soon as I was back in Addis Ababa, I would write back to Lena instructing her to put Jenny's nose to the grindstone. Maybe an after-school job at Velvet Iron or Household Magicks. School, work, and combat training. That should surely be enough to keep Jenny out of trouble, at least during the school year.
Her vacations would remain a source of anxiety if Hughes kept dragging Jenny off to Hollywood, but I knew better than to try and tell a teenage girl that she isn't allowed to become a movie star. The best I could do was tell Lena to keep Jenny's escort on task and a lawyer on retainer. I was frankly dreading the day when Jenny would reach her age of majority and even Lena's nominal control would disappear. Particularly when one considers all the money Hughes was paying her, money Lena was locking up tight in trust funds, money that would become available as soon as Jenny hit the appropriate age. Thankfully, the age of majority in the state of New York was twenty-one. Maybe Jenny would have calmed down a bit by then. One could only hope.
Jenny's own letter was at once more and less informative. While containing very little in the way of news about the wider world, it was chock full of details on her personal life. I had to give her points for honesty, she was pretty open about all her misdeeds. Of course, she didn't see them as misdeeds. She presented her actions as perfectly logical, and they really were once you rejected societal mores as artificial and irrational constructs.
I couldn't in good conscience reject an argument rooted in rationality, so my response would instead draw her attention to the idea of the cost-benefit analysis, and ask her if the benefits of her actions (whatever they were) would outweigh the cost of effectively rendering herself unemployable by any respectable organization. Hopefully, she would draw the right conclusion.
Jenny was also eager to tell me all about the plot of the movie she had been recruited for. I immediately recognized some of my own exploits, crossed with what felt like 'Heart of Darkness', assuming that book existed in this world. I had no idea if anyone would be interested in such a thing, especially considering how the plot seemed to take a dim view of western society's treatment of Africa's natives at a time when racism and segregation in the US were very much alive and well. Well, if the movie bombed, at least Jenny's acting career would be over and Lena would have one less thing to worry about.
Sighing, I put away the letters. I could see why soldiers always looked forward to these, they were the best cure for the tedium that filled most military duties. Now I was wishing I had dragged along all the other messages that arrived over the past week from my various contacts and businesses. I'd already read them, but re-reading them to make sure I didn't miss anything would have at least been a productive use of my time. I had honestly forgotten how boring soldiering could be when someone isn't trying to kill you.
As fate or Being X would have it, the thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard the radio squawking.
I looked into our little dugout towards Barrow and Olonga. The three of us represented one of two border patrols currently being operated by my new mercenary company, Silver Lance. Taking Barrow out on this patrol was a bit of a risk. Even though he was a veteran of the streets of New York and Londinium and a master of close combat, his flight training was barely complete. Olonga might never have seen battle, but he had been the first of Koenig's Rhodesian recruits, so he was actually the best trained of the non-203 members of my company.
It felt strange to be flying without Visha at my side, but it had occurred to me that I had put personal comfort over properly developing my most valuable subordinate. I had long since promoted Visha from adjutant to second-in-command, yet ever since the mess in Colombia I hadn't really allowed her an independent command without me looking over her shoulder. Putting her in charge of training the Abyssinian recruits while I ran border security several hundred kilometers away was my way of showing my confidence in her ability.
That, and I really needed to get my hormones in check before I did something inappropriate. While it was flattering how much she had pouted when I insisted on us working separately, I had to remind myself that Visha was simply a very affectionate girl and that I shouldn't let wishful thinking lead me into ruining an excellent friendship and working relationship.
I snapped myself out of thinking - again! - about Visha. Really, I couldn't wait for this second bout of puberty to be over. Forcefully focusing on where Barrow was waving me over, I said, "What news?"
"Scanner B-126 again, ma'am," replied Barrow. "Four contacts flying along that ravine, same as last time. 2,200 meters." I could feel my lips stretching into a shark's grin as I heard that report. Truly, being predictable on the battlefield is the greatest sin.
Scanner B-126 was one of the many mage detection arrays that I had talked King Tafari into paying for. This particular one had been placed to plug a gap in the coverage of the border with the Ildoan colony of Eritrea. When I had first proposed these arrays, I hadn't really expected to find anything except perhaps the occasional European mage patrol testing the waters by toeing the border. However, within weeks of going operational, several scanners had started reporting repeated incursions from Eritrean Ildoa. One particular platoon had been in the habit of using this particular route that went right by Scanner B-126.
These incursions could not be explained away as mere misunderstandings. Our location was currently a good thirty kilometers on the Abyssinian side of the border.
The mystery behind these incursions could be explained by one who followed the news. When Ildoa had originally allied with the Empire during the war, their then government had promised massive territorial gains and the wealth to alleviate Ildoa's ongoing problems with unemployment and poverty. However, the war had ended with the Empire doing pretty much all the fighting. Ildoa's contribution had amounted to a single disastrous attack across the Alps and having their navy be stalled by the Commonwealth without firing a shot. As a result, when the time came to divide the spoils, they had to be satisfied with a meager chunk of North African coast bordering their Libyan holdings. This naturally upset the voters, and in Ildoa's 1928 general elections, a new party had come to power, one with a highly expansionist foreign policy. Conquest, glory, riches, all that good stuff. The new government had started a large rearmament program and was now spoiling for a fight. It was perhaps not too surprising they'd start eyeing Abyssinia. Their failed attempt to conquer the country forty years ago was something of an embarrassment that their new firebrand of a leader was undoubtedly eager to erase from history.
So far, at least, there had been no reports of major troop movements. These mage incursions were more likely early scouting runs in order to judge the feasibility of an attack. The King had given me discretion on how to handle this, and I had decided that the Ildoans needed a good sharp shock. Better to put them on notice that Abyssinia is far from being easy meat, lest the lack of opposition encourage adventurism.
This brought us to now, and why my patrol was hiding on the ground instead of being up in the air. We wanted the Ildoan scouts to come in deep… deep enough that we could cut off their retreat.
After confirming the location of the patrol, I told Barrow, "Get in touch with Ernest. Tell her to get in position to screen any reinforcements. We're going in."
Ernest, along with Vogel and Staelle, the girl Shaman Abara had recommended, formed the other patrol. It was their job to make sure no other Ildoans showed up to interrupt my chat with these four interlopers.
Going up against four mages only backed by two rookies was a bit of a risk, but I was confident. I might not have the Type 95, but I'd faced worse odds without. Besides, if the Ildoans were anything like the Imperials, none of them would think to check for illusions.
Within seconds, our patrol had reached 4,000 meters, close to the operational ceiling of our orbs. I'd also placed us so we'd have the sun at our backs when facing the Ildoan patrol. Yes, the sun. It was actually around 11 in the morning. Why bother scouting at night into a country without mages when you can fly across in broad daylight and get a good look at the terrain?
Amazingly, we got all the way into position before my magnified vision told me that the Ildoan mages had suddenly stopped flying slowly and instead were climbing rapidly. Either they'd seen us or their own border scanners had picked us up and relayed a warning. No matter the reason, it was far too late.
"Unknown mages! This is Colonel Jennifer Ecks of the Abyssinian Armed Forces!" I shouted on open comms in Albish, using my Abyssinian military rank to let them know who I represented. "You are in violation of Abyssinian airspace! Surrender immediately or be fired upon!" I wish I had someone who spoke Ildoan, but alas that was one language skill currently missing from Silver Lance. Becker spoke it, but he was still in the Congo, working for Cold Steel. Hopefully, my tone was enough to convey my message. Just in case, I repeated myself in Francois.
The second one did the trick, and a voice came back. "This is Lt. Jilani, we are sorry for the error in navigation, we shall be leaving imme - "
"Tell it to the judge!" I barked back. "Now surrender or be fired upon!" No way was I letting them simply waltz back. No country would permit such a blatant border incursion to happen unopposed, not unless they wanted to be thought of as weak.
The Ildoans did not slow down or give any sign of submission. Instead they angled themselves to race for the border. Disappointing but not unexpected. I led my own patrol on an intercept course.
"Back off," the Ildoan lieutenant growled. "We have you outnumbered, and we are just going to leave. No one has to get hurt."
"Unless I see you heading for the ground, someone is definitely going to get hurt," I replied. "Surrender. Now."
Their only response was an adjustment to their course. Now they were angling to meet us head on, clearly planning to blast past us with numbers. My world slowed down as I poured on the reflex enhancement, and sped ahead of my companions.
As I expected, they took the bait. All four of their guns immediately started tracking me. Once the distance closed to eight hundred meters, all four fired a volley of homing-explosive spells, the bread-and-butter of mage combat.
Now, homing spells are not by any means guaranteed hits. At the speeds involved, they allow for a slight bit of course-correction, and that's about it. It's why both the Francois, and apparently the Ildoans relied on volley fire. By saturating a target's location with homing spells, they can usually generate a hit against a moving target.
Unless, as in my case, the target has vision keen enough to see which way their guns are pointing and reflexes fast enough to make full use of the half a second the bullets take to travel the distance.
The first volley missed when I applied thrust straight up, suddenly gaining ten meters in height while still maintaining my forward momentum.
The second volley exploded off to my left as I jinked to the right.
The third volley was less well placed as they tried to anticipate my maneuvering. A quick stop- and-reverse was enough to throw off their aim.
Their fourth volley was interrupted by a bit of volley fire from my own side, as two shots struck their radio operator. The first explosive shattered his shield, and the second sent his broken body spiraling out of the sky.
The Ildoans' surprise was understandable. After all, Olonga and Barrow were still over two hundred meters behind me, and neither had their weapons ready. Or rather, the illusions of them were. In the meantime, my two companions had snuck in much closer under camouflage, and landed a flawless first strike.
With the odds now even, I breathed a sigh of relief as I dismissed the illusion and shunted the power to my shield spell. Dodging explosive spells without the benefit of a shield had only been practical because we were still over half a kilometer from each other. Being able to cast shields and illusions at the same time was a luxury I'd left behind with the Type 97.
I could tell the Ildoans were badly shaken by my little sleight of hand. It really was amazing how many combat mages ignored the utility of illusions. It was probably because they didn't want to leave behind the safety of shields. I could understand the sentiment - I too felt much safer inside a bubble capable of stopping light artillery. But as Sun Tzu said, all war is deception, and ignoring the possibility just opens you up to being deceived in turn.
With no more need for tricks, my patrol reformed ranks and charged forward, exchanging shots with the Ildoans. The enemy patrol's training wasn't terrible, but it was clear no one had taught them proper aerial maneuvering. My team's full use of all three dimensions threw them off their game, and by the time the range reached two hundred meters another enemy had bit the dust.
Not that their efforts had been entirely futile. They managed to land some glancing hits, and Olonga may well have died if I hadn't interposed myself. That had certainly stressed my M27, but not beyond its capacity.
Now outnumbered, the Lieutenant and his surviving flight member began clawing their way towards the border. I let them, rather than try to fight desperate men. For a moment they must have thought they were going to get out. Then they came to a dead halt. I knew what they had seen - Ernest's team, standing between them and escape.
At that point, Lieutenant Jilani realized the same thing I had. Even if there were other Ildoan mages in Eritrea, they wouldn't be able to reinforce him before he was blown out of the sky. And even if there were some of his fellows close by, he wasn't going to be able to contact them without a radio operator.
Formally accepting his surrender took but a minute. By that evening, I was back in Addis Ababa, this time with two captured mages to prove that Ildoa had been violating Abyssinia's sovereignty.
King Tafari definitely looked surprised when he heard my report. I guess he was so used to having European mages running roughshod over his forces that actually having some captive was taking some getting used to.
He still seemed puzzled by what to do with them when I left. Well, not my concern. I was no longer Boris, I was Jennifer Ecks, and politics was not my bailiwick.
Instead, I headed over to the training grounds to let Visha know I was back. She greeted me with her usual exuberance. She also tried to express her feelings using the orbless empathic communication spell we'd discovered so long ago, but it quickly became clear to me she was no closer to mastering it than I was. Some of the emotional data was badly garbled, leaving me feeling all hot and tingly but no closer to understanding what she had been trying to convey.
I was still happy to see her, and the temptation was strong to spend a few days enjoying her company. Still, I had a job to do, and I couldn't afford to lollygag. Until the first generation of Abyssinian mages were ready for combat, Silver Lance was the only thing keeping the Abyssinian sky safe.
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October 17, 1930, Zueri, Waldstatten Confederacy
Anton Jaffe had been a banker since he turned twenty, over fifteen years ago. In that time he had heard every single Merchant of Venice joke from tasteless friends and not-so-clever rivals, and had long since learned to ignore the idiots.
Unlike Shakespeare's Shylock he lent no money himself. Rather, he was a confidential account manager for the Credit de Confederation, one of the Waldstatten Confederacy's largest and most prestigious financial service providers. Or, as crude people would put it, a very fancy bank.
As his title suggested, a confidential account manager saw to the needs of those clients who wanted to remain confidential. It was a post of considerable trust, and it was a testament to Anton's excellence that he had been entrusted with the title after a mere eight years of flawless service.
He managed dozens of accounts on a day to day basis and so he usually didn't remember individual accounts, unless they did something to stand out. Something like, for example, incurring some of the highest service fees charged to a single account relative to its size.
The thing about confidential banking, the kind where the customer would only ever be known by an account number and a password, is that the tighter you want your security, the more inconvenient it becomes to access your money. At the highest levels of security, money would only ever be released if the proper codes were given in person at a specific branch of the bank.
If, on the other hand, you wanted both security and accessibility? That's when things got expensive, with entire books' worth of codes, countersigns, and routing numbers. And if you wanted access to your money from places which simply didn't accept wire transfers, like say in Central Africa? Sending a trusted courier on a weeks-long journey with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist was not cheap.
The thing was, confidential accounts like this one were usually used for storing money, often away from the prying eyes of the tax collector. It was unusual to see this much back-and-forth activity. Anton had never laid eyes on Ms. Jasmine Smith, but his instincts told him this was a person who liked to see her money put to work -- and judging by the inflows, someone who had an eye for good returns on investment.
So when instructions came to almost empty the entire account and send it all to the Congo? Anton decided to take a bit of a risk. When he sent the courier with his briefcase full of banknotes, he also included an offer to extend a line of credit to the tune of a million francs.
The offer was accepted. The credit was used. And the bank started charging interest at 3% a month. When a year went by with not a single missed payment, Anton received a quiet word of commendation from his immediate superior.
Now though, things were getting interesting. Some months back the account had seen a massive inflow of cash. All loans were squared, all dues paid, several purchases made, and at the end of it, the customer for the first time chose to make use of the bank's mutual investment funds. A corpus of ten million francs, all available to the bank to invest on her behalf.
Ten million francs was hardly a big deal to the Credit de Confederation. It was, however, big enough that Anton's boss' boss had sent him a commendation. Buoyed by this accolade, Anton decided to spread the good cheer. In short order he had the paperwork ready to increase the account holder's credit limit to three million francs at only 2.6% monthly interest, as well as pre-approve her for a loan of up to fifteen million at 12.5% per annum.
He was just putting the finishing touches on the letter to convey this to his client when the secretary informed him that someone wished to speak to him, and regarding the very account number that had been on his mind recently.
Anton could confess to some mild excitement as he made his way to the meeting. Certainly, the pretty and stern looking young brunette looked like the sort to represent the mysterious Ms. Smith. Considerable, then, was his disappointment when she identified herself as a member of Interpol.
Anton had heard from his colleagues about visits such as these. They were rare, because the police knew better than to approach them with anything short of ironclad evidence of wrongdoing, which the very nature of a numbered account made doubly difficult to prove. This would be the first time he had heard of Interpol approaching this bank, though, and he wondered if this international force had actually managed to meet the evidentiary criteria needed to get access to his customer's information.
It turned out they hadn't. Instead what the young Ms. Sioux had, was a whole lot of bluster and ill-defined threats. Anton wasn't too upset though. It was his first occasion to refuse cooperation with law enforcement, and so he found himself enjoying the experience for the novelty value.
No, he couldn't give access to anything about this customer until certain criteria are met.
No, Waldstatten being the host country of Interpol made absolutely no difference.
Yes, it would be sad if America and the Empire were to make this bank persona non grata. No, that's still not going to get you your information.
The only time anything even came close to cracking Anton's composure was when Sioux revealed that the account was suspected of being operated by no less than Tanya von Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine herself.
Anton had contemplated this new information for a moment, then shrugged and said that it didn't change a thing. The law was the law, and it was high time Interpol left instead of wasting everyone's time.
Eventually he got back to his office. While he'd done his best to shrug it off, he couldn't help but consider if the Devil of the Rhine really was Jasmine Smith. Sitting at his desk, he spent a while contemplating what he knew about Tanya von Degurechaff, and comparing it to what he knew of Jasmine Smith. After some deliberation he came to a decision. Tearing up the letter he'd written, he started writing a new one. Just in case there was something to Interpol's suspicion… Perhaps a credit limit of five million francs would be more appropriate.
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"I warned you, Miss Sioux," came the smug words from Interpol's local representative. "We here in Waldstatten take our laws very seriously. We will certainly continue to gather evidence in the hopes of conclusively linking that account to criminal activity. But until then, there is no chance the banks will compromise their reputation for confidentiality."
Mary's heated response was cut off by Paquet. "So you have said. We thank you for your time. Now, it is a fine day, and my colleague and I will take a little walk to clear our heads."
Mary scowled at her partner for this trip, but didn't say anything. Paquet too seemed willing to keep the silence until several minutes into their walk. "Do not feel too upset, mademoiselle. It was a long shot to begin with that these bankers would see reason. After all, their fortunes were built on being unreasonable about their customers' confidentiality. At least this journey was not entirely a waste of time."
"You found anything?"
"Straws in the wind. The CEO of Velvet Iron, for example, visited the country four years ago, around the time the company was first being established."
Mary huffed. Tiny bits and pieces were all they got these days.
"On the other hand, I hear those we left behind in Berun are having a bit more luck tracing the money in the other direction. Oh, and Jennifer Ecks has resurfaced."
"What?!"
"Oh yes," Paquet mused, tugging at his moustache. "The confirmation came this morning. I hope you will forgive me for holding on to it till now, but I thought you would need the good news after your meeting with the bank. Jennifer Ecks has been identified as acting as a military adviser to the newly crowned Emperor of Abyssinia."
"Abyssinia? Damn it! Can we go after her?"
"I'm afraid not. As you may have surmised, the African nation's relations with Europe are mostly contentious. Assuming Miss Ecks maintains her usual standards, I very much doubt the Emperor will be inclined to part with her services. Either way, it is now a diplomatic matter. The best we can do is focus on what the rest of our team found in Berun."
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November 5, 1930, Berun, Chancellor's Office
"Have you seen the latest that Interpol turned up?" muttered Zettour as he went through his reports. "Some mysterious party in Albion, the Crown Prince of our Empire, and unknowns from the US have all purchased large amounts of stock in Cold Steel, and all going to considerable length to conceal their identities during the purchase. Purchases that were made directly from one private major shareholder. Just what is going on there?" The Chancellor leaned back to tap his clean-shaven jaw and narrowed his eyes at the table.
"Fascinating," rumbled Rudersdorf, mustache twitching in annoyance and chair creaking beneath his bulk as he shifted forward to glare at his old friend. "Now quit dodging the question. What are you going to do about this Ecks person? Who we all suspect to be Degurechaff? The Ildoans are screaming about her whittling away at their mages. The Albish are nervous about her growing influence with the Emperor of Abyssinia. And the Francois - the Francois! - are actually appreciative of how she's helped expand their influence in the country. The Kaiser is raring to start another war by ordering the 207th into Abyssinia! So now what?"
"That is indeed the question, is it not? You know, Tirpitz was in here the other day. He seems to think Degurechaff is drawing a bit too much attention and I should order her to lay low."
"And will you? Order her to lay low?"
"If I thought for a minute that she'd listen to any order from anyone in Berun," came Zettour's dry response.
Rudersdorf huffed. "Your deception is coming home to roost my friend. Do we now admit you have long since lost control over her?"
"Sometimes I wonder how much control we ever really had over her. No my friend, you do not control someone like her. You give her an objective worthy of her attention, then stand out of her way," mused the Chancellor as he started pacing the room, his thin frame and grey hair giving him the air of an aging wolf. "Degurechaff seems to be operating almost openly as a mercenary now. She seems to feel she has enough aerial mages under her banner to fight off or evade capture attempts."
"Yes?" agreed Rudersdorf doubtfully.
"So what does any mercenary want, but a big juicy contract with an employer powerful enough to shelter her? And which of our friends is in desperate need of a modernized mage force to help stabilize things, and rich enough to make it worth even Degurechaff's while?"
Rudersdorf blinked and went over what few nations could be called the Empire's 'friends'. Then his eyes widened. "You don't mean the Turkmen Empire!"
"Indeed I do. Incessant Albish and American meddling has left their empire on the verge of collapse, and they are now our biggest source of oil since the Kaiser refuses to lift his trade embargo against the Americans. We need to keep a friendly government in power there - or at least one willing to take our money. And since they are flush with cash, they can offer enough to make it worth Degurechaff's while. We can even throw in a little bit on top to make sure."
"And the fact that the current government is closely tied with their religious fanatics? Or that their state religion has very firm views on a woman's place in society?"
"Well, it's not like we're asking Degurechaff to settle down there or anything. Just stay long enough to whip their mage corps into shape. We'll even dangle the new Standard Type 30 in front of her. That ought to get her attention."
Rudersdorf winced. "To give up our latest single-core design…"
"A small price to pay to put her out of harm's way," replied Zettour firmly. "I even have the perfect man in mind to accompany the Turkmen representative in presenting our offer to her. I believe Brigadier Lergen can take a few weeks' leave without drastically affecting things in the Congo."
"Lergen? But his opinion of Degurechaff almost matches the Republic's!"
"And yet, for whatever reason, he seems to have a knack for earning her trust. Let's hope he can once more work his charm."
"You are gambling, my friend."
"In this world of confusion, gambles are all we have left."
"Indeed. And speaking of orbs, any news on Schugel?"
"No." For the first time, the Chancellor's face showed genuine anger. "That lunatic has disappeared with all his research notes. At least some of his test subjects are showing signs of recovery… the ones that are still alive."
"How could the Kaiser let him get away with this… madness?!"
"I don't think anyone realized exactly what he was doing. We'll put out discreet warnings. Hopefully no one will be so desperate as to give him shelter once they hear of what he has done."
"Hopefully."
The two friends spent a long time in the darkening office, pondering on the costs of failure.
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 20 on Questionable Questing
Chapter 31
August 27, 1930, Abyssinia - Eritrea border
In a somewhat ironic twist, I was now experiencing the one aspect of soldiery that I had skipped over entirely during my career in the Imperial military. I was standing watch on a dangerous post while reading letters from home.
Well, if one could classify the pseudo-family I had established with Lena and Jenny in New York as 'home'. I suppose in this life they were the closest thing that counted. And at least their letters made for interesting reading.
Lena was coordinating with her not-boyfriend Murdoch to make sure Abyssina's arms and supplies were delivered in a timely manner. She was also apparently having great success selling the Scorpion machine pistol to the domestic American market. Knowing the kind of people who were likely to buy such an item, I could only wonder if the Scorpion would replace the Thompson as the signature 'gangster gun' in American cinema.
And speaking of the cinema, apparently Jenny was spending her summer vacation in Reina del Angel, shooting for Hughes' latest masterpiece, an espionage thriller of some kind. She was also doing her best to scandalize Hollywood by being openly seen courting both men and women, and along the way had become an outspoken advocate for gay rights, as well as a harsh opponent of media censorship.
I could only sigh. I recalled how Visha had racked up a string of arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct and seditious activity when she was the same age. And they say teenage boys are troublesome! Thank goodness I wasn't a father. Even the little bit of responsibility I felt towards Jenny was enough to give me a headache.
I decided that as soon as I was back in Addis Ababa, I would write back to Lena instructing her to put Jenny's nose to the grindstone. Maybe an after-school job at Velvet Iron or Household Magicks. School, work, and combat training. That should surely be enough to keep Jenny out of trouble, at least during the school year.
Her vacations would remain a source of anxiety if Hughes kept dragging Jenny off to Hollywood, but I knew better than to try and tell a teenage girl that she isn't allowed to become a movie star. The best I could do was tell Lena to keep Jenny's escort on task and a lawyer on retainer. I was frankly dreading the day when Jenny would reach her age of majority and even Lena's nominal control would disappear. Particularly when one considers all the money Hughes was paying her, money Lena was locking up tight in trust funds, money that would become available as soon as Jenny hit the appropriate age. Thankfully, the age of majority in the state of New York was twenty-one. Maybe Jenny would have calmed down a bit by then. One could only hope.
Jenny's own letter was at once more and less informative. While containing very little in the way of news about the wider world, it was chock full of details on her personal life. I had to give her points for honesty, she was pretty open about all her misdeeds. Of course, she didn't see them as misdeeds. She presented her actions as perfectly logical, and they really were once you rejected societal mores as artificial and irrational constructs.
I couldn't in good conscience reject an argument rooted in rationality, so my response would instead draw her attention to the idea of the cost-benefit analysis, and ask her if the benefits of her actions (whatever they were) would outweigh the cost of effectively rendering herself unemployable by any respectable organization. Hopefully, she would draw the right conclusion.
Jenny was also eager to tell me all about the plot of the movie she had been recruited for. I immediately recognized some of my own exploits, crossed with what felt like 'Heart of Darkness', assuming that book existed in this world. I had no idea if anyone would be interested in such a thing, especially considering how the plot seemed to take a dim view of western society's treatment of Africa's natives at a time when racism and segregation in the US were very much alive and well. Well, if the movie bombed, at least Jenny's acting career would be over and Lena would have one less thing to worry about.
Sighing, I put away the letters. I could see why soldiers always looked forward to these, they were the best cure for the tedium that filled most military duties. Now I was wishing I had dragged along all the other messages that arrived over the past week from my various contacts and businesses. I'd already read them, but re-reading them to make sure I didn't miss anything would have at least been a productive use of my time. I had honestly forgotten how boring soldiering could be when someone isn't trying to kill you.
As fate or Being X would have it, the thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard the radio squawking.
I looked into our little dugout towards Barrow and Olonga. The three of us represented one of two border patrols currently being operated by my new mercenary company, Silver Lance. Taking Barrow out on this patrol was a bit of a risk. Even though he was a veteran of the streets of New York and Londinium and a master of close combat, his flight training was barely complete. Olonga might never have seen battle, but he had been the first of Koenig's Rhodesian recruits, so he was actually the best trained of the non-203 members of my company.
It felt strange to be flying without Visha at my side, but it had occurred to me that I had put personal comfort over properly developing my most valuable subordinate. I had long since promoted Visha from adjutant to second-in-command, yet ever since the mess in Colombia I hadn't really allowed her an independent command without me looking over her shoulder. Putting her in charge of training the Abyssinian recruits while I ran border security several hundred kilometers away was my way of showing my confidence in her ability.
That, and I really needed to get my hormones in check before I did something inappropriate. While it was flattering how much she had pouted when I insisted on us working separately, I had to remind myself that Visha was simply a very affectionate girl and that I shouldn't let wishful thinking lead me into ruining an excellent friendship and working relationship.
I snapped myself out of thinking - again! - about Visha. Really, I couldn't wait for this second bout of puberty to be over. Forcefully focusing on where Barrow was waving me over, I said, "What news?"
"Scanner B-126 again, ma'am," replied Barrow. "Four contacts flying along that ravine, same as last time. 2,200 meters." I could feel my lips stretching into a shark's grin as I heard that report. Truly, being predictable on the battlefield is the greatest sin.
Scanner B-126 was one of the many mage detection arrays that I had talked King Tafari into paying for. This particular one had been placed to plug a gap in the coverage of the border with the Ildoan colony of Eritrea. When I had first proposed these arrays, I hadn't really expected to find anything except perhaps the occasional European mage patrol testing the waters by toeing the border. However, within weeks of going operational, several scanners had started reporting repeated incursions from Eritrean Ildoa. One particular platoon had been in the habit of using this particular route that went right by Scanner B-126.
These incursions could not be explained away as mere misunderstandings. Our location was currently a good thirty kilometers on the Abyssinian side of the border.
The mystery behind these incursions could be explained by one who followed the news. When Ildoa had originally allied with the Empire during the war, their then government had promised massive territorial gains and the wealth to alleviate Ildoa's ongoing problems with unemployment and poverty. However, the war had ended with the Empire doing pretty much all the fighting. Ildoa's contribution had amounted to a single disastrous attack across the Alps and having their navy be stalled by the Commonwealth without firing a shot. As a result, when the time came to divide the spoils, they had to be satisfied with a meager chunk of North African coast bordering their Libyan holdings. This naturally upset the voters, and in Ildoa's 1928 general elections, a new party had come to power, one with a highly expansionist foreign policy. Conquest, glory, riches, all that good stuff. The new government had started a large rearmament program and was now spoiling for a fight. It was perhaps not too surprising they'd start eyeing Abyssinia. Their failed attempt to conquer the country forty years ago was something of an embarrassment that their new firebrand of a leader was undoubtedly eager to erase from history.
So far, at least, there had been no reports of major troop movements. These mage incursions were more likely early scouting runs in order to judge the feasibility of an attack. The King had given me discretion on how to handle this, and I had decided that the Ildoans needed a good sharp shock. Better to put them on notice that Abyssinia is far from being easy meat, lest the lack of opposition encourage adventurism.
This brought us to now, and why my patrol was hiding on the ground instead of being up in the air. We wanted the Ildoan scouts to come in deep… deep enough that we could cut off their retreat.
After confirming the location of the patrol, I told Barrow, "Get in touch with Ernest. Tell her to get in position to screen any reinforcements. We're going in."
Ernest, along with Vogel and Staelle, the girl Shaman Abara had recommended, formed the other patrol. It was their job to make sure no other Ildoans showed up to interrupt my chat with these four interlopers.
Going up against four mages only backed by two rookies was a bit of a risk, but I was confident. I might not have the Type 95, but I'd faced worse odds without. Besides, if the Ildoans were anything like the Imperials, none of them would think to check for illusions.
Within seconds, our patrol had reached 4,000 meters, close to the operational ceiling of our orbs. I'd also placed us so we'd have the sun at our backs when facing the Ildoan patrol. Yes, the sun. It was actually around 11 in the morning. Why bother scouting at night into a country without mages when you can fly across in broad daylight and get a good look at the terrain?
Amazingly, we got all the way into position before my magnified vision told me that the Ildoan mages had suddenly stopped flying slowly and instead were climbing rapidly. Either they'd seen us or their own border scanners had picked us up and relayed a warning. No matter the reason, it was far too late.
"Unknown mages! This is Colonel Jennifer Ecks of the Abyssinian Armed Forces!" I shouted on open comms in Albish, using my Abyssinian military rank to let them know who I represented. "You are in violation of Abyssinian airspace! Surrender immediately or be fired upon!" I wish I had someone who spoke Ildoan, but alas that was one language skill currently missing from Silver Lance. Becker spoke it, but he was still in the Congo, working for Cold Steel. Hopefully, my tone was enough to convey my message. Just in case, I repeated myself in Francois.
The second one did the trick, and a voice came back. "This is Lt. Jilani, we are sorry for the error in navigation, we shall be leaving imme - "
"Tell it to the judge!" I barked back. "Now surrender or be fired upon!" No way was I letting them simply waltz back. No country would permit such a blatant border incursion to happen unopposed, not unless they wanted to be thought of as weak.
The Ildoans did not slow down or give any sign of submission. Instead they angled themselves to race for the border. Disappointing but not unexpected. I led my own patrol on an intercept course.
"Back off," the Ildoan lieutenant growled. "We have you outnumbered, and we are just going to leave. No one has to get hurt."
"Unless I see you heading for the ground, someone is definitely going to get hurt," I replied. "Surrender. Now."
Their only response was an adjustment to their course. Now they were angling to meet us head on, clearly planning to blast past us with numbers. My world slowed down as I poured on the reflex enhancement, and sped ahead of my companions.
As I expected, they took the bait. All four of their guns immediately started tracking me. Once the distance closed to eight hundred meters, all four fired a volley of homing-explosive spells, the bread-and-butter of mage combat.
Now, homing spells are not by any means guaranteed hits. At the speeds involved, they allow for a slight bit of course-correction, and that's about it. It's why both the Francois, and apparently the Ildoans relied on volley fire. By saturating a target's location with homing spells, they can usually generate a hit against a moving target.
Unless, as in my case, the target has vision keen enough to see which way their guns are pointing and reflexes fast enough to make full use of the half a second the bullets take to travel the distance.
The first volley missed when I applied thrust straight up, suddenly gaining ten meters in height while still maintaining my forward momentum.
The second volley exploded off to my left as I jinked to the right.
The third volley was less well placed as they tried to anticipate my maneuvering. A quick stop- and-reverse was enough to throw off their aim.
Their fourth volley was interrupted by a bit of volley fire from my own side, as two shots struck their radio operator. The first explosive shattered his shield, and the second sent his broken body spiraling out of the sky.
The Ildoans' surprise was understandable. After all, Olonga and Barrow were still over two hundred meters behind me, and neither had their weapons ready. Or rather, the illusions of them were. In the meantime, my two companions had snuck in much closer under camouflage, and landed a flawless first strike.
With the odds now even, I breathed a sigh of relief as I dismissed the illusion and shunted the power to my shield spell. Dodging explosive spells without the benefit of a shield had only been practical because we were still over half a kilometer from each other. Being able to cast shields and illusions at the same time was a luxury I'd left behind with the Type 97.
I could tell the Ildoans were badly shaken by my little sleight of hand. It really was amazing how many combat mages ignored the utility of illusions. It was probably because they didn't want to leave behind the safety of shields. I could understand the sentiment - I too felt much safer inside a bubble capable of stopping light artillery. But as Sun Tzu said, all war is deception, and ignoring the possibility just opens you up to being deceived in turn.
With no more need for tricks, my patrol reformed ranks and charged forward, exchanging shots with the Ildoans. The enemy patrol's training wasn't terrible, but it was clear no one had taught them proper aerial maneuvering. My team's full use of all three dimensions threw them off their game, and by the time the range reached two hundred meters another enemy had bit the dust.
Not that their efforts had been entirely futile. They managed to land some glancing hits, and Olonga may well have died if I hadn't interposed myself. That had certainly stressed my M27, but not beyond its capacity.
Now outnumbered, the Lieutenant and his surviving flight member began clawing their way towards the border. I let them, rather than try to fight desperate men. For a moment they must have thought they were going to get out. Then they came to a dead halt. I knew what they had seen - Ernest's team, standing between them and escape.
At that point, Lieutenant Jilani realized the same thing I had. Even if there were other Ildoan mages in Eritrea, they wouldn't be able to reinforce him before he was blown out of the sky. And even if there were some of his fellows close by, he wasn't going to be able to contact them without a radio operator.
Formally accepting his surrender took but a minute. By that evening, I was back in Addis Ababa, this time with two captured mages to prove that Ildoa had been violating Abyssinia's sovereignty.
King Tafari definitely looked surprised when he heard my report. I guess he was so used to having European mages running roughshod over his forces that actually having some captive was taking some getting used to.
He still seemed puzzled by what to do with them when I left. Well, not my concern. I was no longer Boris, I was Jennifer Ecks, and politics was not my bailiwick.
Instead, I headed over to the training grounds to let Visha know I was back. She greeted me with her usual exuberance. She also tried to express her feelings using the orbless empathic communication spell we'd discovered so long ago, but it quickly became clear to me she was no closer to mastering it than I was. Some of the emotional data was badly garbled, leaving me feeling all hot and tingly but no closer to understanding what she had been trying to convey.
I was still happy to see her, and the temptation was strong to spend a few days enjoying her company. Still, I had a job to do, and I couldn't afford to lollygag. Until the first generation of Abyssinian mages were ready for combat, Silver Lance was the only thing keeping the Abyssinian sky safe.
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October 17, 1930, Zueri, Waldstatten Confederacy
Anton Jaffe had been a banker since he turned twenty, over fifteen years ago. In that time he had heard every single Merchant of Venice joke from tasteless friends and not-so-clever rivals, and had long since learned to ignore the idiots.
Unlike Shakespeare's Shylock he lent no money himself. Rather, he was a confidential account manager for the Credit de Confederation, one of the Waldstatten Confederacy's largest and most prestigious financial service providers. Or, as crude people would put it, a very fancy bank.
As his title suggested, a confidential account manager saw to the needs of those clients who wanted to remain confidential. It was a post of considerable trust, and it was a testament to Anton's excellence that he had been entrusted with the title after a mere eight years of flawless service.
He managed dozens of accounts on a day to day basis and so he usually didn't remember individual accounts, unless they did something to stand out. Something like, for example, incurring some of the highest service fees charged to a single account relative to its size.
The thing about confidential banking, the kind where the customer would only ever be known by an account number and a password, is that the tighter you want your security, the more inconvenient it becomes to access your money. At the highest levels of security, money would only ever be released if the proper codes were given in person at a specific branch of the bank.
If, on the other hand, you wanted both security and accessibility? That's when things got expensive, with entire books' worth of codes, countersigns, and routing numbers. And if you wanted access to your money from places which simply didn't accept wire transfers, like say in Central Africa? Sending a trusted courier on a weeks-long journey with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist was not cheap.
The thing was, confidential accounts like this one were usually used for storing money, often away from the prying eyes of the tax collector. It was unusual to see this much back-and-forth activity. Anton had never laid eyes on Ms. Jasmine Smith, but his instincts told him this was a person who liked to see her money put to work -- and judging by the inflows, someone who had an eye for good returns on investment.
So when instructions came to almost empty the entire account and send it all to the Congo? Anton decided to take a bit of a risk. When he sent the courier with his briefcase full of banknotes, he also included an offer to extend a line of credit to the tune of a million francs.
The offer was accepted. The credit was used. And the bank started charging interest at 3% a month. When a year went by with not a single missed payment, Anton received a quiet word of commendation from his immediate superior.
Now though, things were getting interesting. Some months back the account had seen a massive inflow of cash. All loans were squared, all dues paid, several purchases made, and at the end of it, the customer for the first time chose to make use of the bank's mutual investment funds. A corpus of ten million francs, all available to the bank to invest on her behalf.
Ten million francs was hardly a big deal to the Credit de Confederation. It was, however, big enough that Anton's boss' boss had sent him a commendation. Buoyed by this accolade, Anton decided to spread the good cheer. In short order he had the paperwork ready to increase the account holder's credit limit to three million francs at only 2.6% monthly interest, as well as pre-approve her for a loan of up to fifteen million at 12.5% per annum.
He was just putting the finishing touches on the letter to convey this to his client when the secretary informed him that someone wished to speak to him, and regarding the very account number that had been on his mind recently.
Anton could confess to some mild excitement as he made his way to the meeting. Certainly, the pretty and stern looking young brunette looked like the sort to represent the mysterious Ms. Smith. Considerable, then, was his disappointment when she identified herself as a member of Interpol.
Anton had heard from his colleagues about visits such as these. They were rare, because the police knew better than to approach them with anything short of ironclad evidence of wrongdoing, which the very nature of a numbered account made doubly difficult to prove. This would be the first time he had heard of Interpol approaching this bank, though, and he wondered if this international force had actually managed to meet the evidentiary criteria needed to get access to his customer's information.
It turned out they hadn't. Instead what the young Ms. Sioux had, was a whole lot of bluster and ill-defined threats. Anton wasn't too upset though. It was his first occasion to refuse cooperation with law enforcement, and so he found himself enjoying the experience for the novelty value.
No, he couldn't give access to anything about this customer until certain criteria are met.
No, Waldstatten being the host country of Interpol made absolutely no difference.
Yes, it would be sad if America and the Empire were to make this bank persona non grata. No, that's still not going to get you your information.
The only time anything even came close to cracking Anton's composure was when Sioux revealed that the account was suspected of being operated by no less than Tanya von Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine herself.
Anton had contemplated this new information for a moment, then shrugged and said that it didn't change a thing. The law was the law, and it was high time Interpol left instead of wasting everyone's time.
Eventually he got back to his office. While he'd done his best to shrug it off, he couldn't help but consider if the Devil of the Rhine really was Jasmine Smith. Sitting at his desk, he spent a while contemplating what he knew about Tanya von Degurechaff, and comparing it to what he knew of Jasmine Smith. After some deliberation he came to a decision. Tearing up the letter he'd written, he started writing a new one. Just in case there was something to Interpol's suspicion… Perhaps a credit limit of five million francs would be more appropriate.
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"I warned you, Miss Sioux," came the smug words from Interpol's local representative. "We here in Waldstatten take our laws very seriously. We will certainly continue to gather evidence in the hopes of conclusively linking that account to criminal activity. But until then, there is no chance the banks will compromise their reputation for confidentiality."
Mary's heated response was cut off by Paquet. "So you have said. We thank you for your time. Now, it is a fine day, and my colleague and I will take a little walk to clear our heads."
Mary scowled at her partner for this trip, but didn't say anything. Paquet too seemed willing to keep the silence until several minutes into their walk. "Do not feel too upset, mademoiselle. It was a long shot to begin with that these bankers would see reason. After all, their fortunes were built on being unreasonable about their customers' confidentiality. At least this journey was not entirely a waste of time."
"You found anything?"
"Straws in the wind. The CEO of Velvet Iron, for example, visited the country four years ago, around the time the company was first being established."
Mary huffed. Tiny bits and pieces were all they got these days.
"On the other hand, I hear those we left behind in Berun are having a bit more luck tracing the money in the other direction. Oh, and Jennifer Ecks has resurfaced."
"What?!"
"Oh yes," Paquet mused, tugging at his moustache. "The confirmation came this morning. I hope you will forgive me for holding on to it till now, but I thought you would need the good news after your meeting with the bank. Jennifer Ecks has been identified as acting as a military adviser to the newly crowned Emperor of Abyssinia."
"Abyssinia? Damn it! Can we go after her?"
"I'm afraid not. As you may have surmised, the African nation's relations with Europe are mostly contentious. Assuming Miss Ecks maintains her usual standards, I very much doubt the Emperor will be inclined to part with her services. Either way, it is now a diplomatic matter. The best we can do is focus on what the rest of our team found in Berun."
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November 5, 1930, Berun, Chancellor's Office
"Have you seen the latest that Interpol turned up?" muttered Zettour as he went through his reports. "Some mysterious party in Albion, the Crown Prince of our Empire, and unknowns from the US have all purchased large amounts of stock in Cold Steel, and all going to considerable length to conceal their identities during the purchase. Purchases that were made directly from one private major shareholder. Just what is going on there?" The Chancellor leaned back to tap his clean-shaven jaw and narrowed his eyes at the table.
"Fascinating," rumbled Rudersdorf, mustache twitching in annoyance and chair creaking beneath his bulk as he shifted forward to glare at his old friend. "Now quit dodging the question. What are you going to do about this Ecks person? Who we all suspect to be Degurechaff? The Ildoans are screaming about her whittling away at their mages. The Albish are nervous about her growing influence with the Emperor of Abyssinia. And the Francois - the Francois! - are actually appreciative of how she's helped expand their influence in the country. The Kaiser is raring to start another war by ordering the 207th into Abyssinia! So now what?"
"That is indeed the question, is it not? You know, Tirpitz was in here the other day. He seems to think Degurechaff is drawing a bit too much attention and I should order her to lay low."
"And will you? Order her to lay low?"
"If I thought for a minute that she'd listen to any order from anyone in Berun," came Zettour's dry response.
Rudersdorf huffed. "Your deception is coming home to roost my friend. Do we now admit you have long since lost control over her?"
"Sometimes I wonder how much control we ever really had over her. No my friend, you do not control someone like her. You give her an objective worthy of her attention, then stand out of her way," mused the Chancellor as he started pacing the room, his thin frame and grey hair giving him the air of an aging wolf. "Degurechaff seems to be operating almost openly as a mercenary now. She seems to feel she has enough aerial mages under her banner to fight off or evade capture attempts."
"Yes?" agreed Rudersdorf doubtfully.
"So what does any mercenary want, but a big juicy contract with an employer powerful enough to shelter her? And which of our friends is in desperate need of a modernized mage force to help stabilize things, and rich enough to make it worth even Degurechaff's while?"
Rudersdorf blinked and went over what few nations could be called the Empire's 'friends'. Then his eyes widened. "You don't mean the Turkmen Empire!"
"Indeed I do. Incessant Albish and American meddling has left their empire on the verge of collapse, and they are now our biggest source of oil since the Kaiser refuses to lift his trade embargo against the Americans. We need to keep a friendly government in power there - or at least one willing to take our money. And since they are flush with cash, they can offer enough to make it worth Degurechaff's while. We can even throw in a little bit on top to make sure."
"And the fact that the current government is closely tied with their religious fanatics? Or that their state religion has very firm views on a woman's place in society?"
"Well, it's not like we're asking Degurechaff to settle down there or anything. Just stay long enough to whip their mage corps into shape. We'll even dangle the new Standard Type 30 in front of her. That ought to get her attention."
Rudersdorf winced. "To give up our latest single-core design…"
"A small price to pay to put her out of harm's way," replied Zettour firmly. "I even have the perfect man in mind to accompany the Turkmen representative in presenting our offer to her. I believe Brigadier Lergen can take a few weeks' leave without drastically affecting things in the Congo."
"Lergen? But his opinion of Degurechaff almost matches the Republic's!"
"And yet, for whatever reason, he seems to have a knack for earning her trust. Let's hope he can once more work his charm."
"You are gambling, my friend."
"In this world of confusion, gambles are all we have left."
"Indeed. And speaking of orbs, any news on Schugel?"
"No." For the first time, the Chancellor's face showed genuine anger. "That lunatic has disappeared with all his research notes. At least some of his test subjects are showing signs of recovery… the ones that are still alive."
"How could the Kaiser let him get away with this… madness?!"
"I don't think anyone realized exactly what he was doing. We'll put out discreet warnings. Hopefully no one will be so desperate as to give him shelter once they hear of what he has done."
"Hopefully."
The two friends spent a long time in the darkening office, pondering on the costs of failure.
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- Location
- Leeds
This is UNACCEPTABLE!!!
Chojomeka
Behold! QUEEN MONKE!
HON HON HON!
- Location
- California
That moment when you realize that Tanya is going around accelerating decolonization around the world, instituting globalist businesses that don't abuse their workers, provide goods and services at affordable prices, helping small nation's develop their economies and militaries, and at the same time doing things like preventing the Italian invasion of Ethiopia. Potentially arrests the fall of the ottoman enpire. What's next, she helps the Qing empire? I'm excited. I could see her trying to prevent the rise of communist china.
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Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
It's all just a cover. The ceremony needs to be public, so that no-one will suspect their cover identities aren't actually married. An ironclad alibi.
...yes, she's still wearing the ring. Visha gets very upset when she takes it off, which makes sense; it'd obviously be a waste of money to just get rid of such a fine souvenir.
Pandora
Gotta say, blood IS as tasty as I make it look~
- Location
- Brazil
Hon hon, oui oui, baguette omelette. May the Francois expand ever further into infinity, AND BEYOND!
Small Nerd
Meganekko
- Location
- Out There
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'm just waiting for the day Tanya wakes up and realizes she's accidentally become a hero of communists across the world by alleviating the plight of the worker and all that. The existential crisis will be glorious.
Santander
Verified Beachresort
- Location
- Not Brockton Bay
Tanya as Che Guevara ?
Small Nerd
Meganekko
- Location
- Out There
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'm not sure, the parallels would have to be with someone a leftist would definitely have mixed feelings about. A "Degurechaff did help a lot of working people, but also was a committed anti-communist, so..." kind of thing. In my experience, El Che is pretty popular among lefty types.
serra2
Himouto! Sylvanas-chan
Their second kid will be going off to college before she realizes something is amiss.
Chapter 32
A\N 1: Working draft of Chapter 33 also available on my Patreon
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 24 on Questionable Questing
Chapter 32
November 12, 1930, Point Noir, Imperial Congo
Franz Murtaugh had had a profitable, but fairly nerve-wracking two years. Certainly on more than one occasion he had wished that when the mysterious green-eyed woman calling herself Elsa Eckhardt had offered him the position of chief executive of a new trading company, he'd had the good sense to tell her no.
Particularly when Eckhardt, speaking on behalf of the anonymous owner, insisted on implementing concepts like 'customer loyalty' and 'brand value' with the local savages. It was a simple idea, at its core. Instead of treating the natives as primitive thugs, to be bribed with booze and trinkets, they were instead to be treated as valued partners with whom one intended to do business for years to come like you would a fellow white businessman. You did not cater to their needs, you anticipated them. Instead of trying to sell high and buy low, you bought at the best price you could afford and sold as cheaply as you reasonably could, all so they'd keep coming back. And instead of sending your profits back to the home country, you invested it right back here to help make them richer so they would in turn spend more money with you.
Murtaugh had studied economics, and knew such logic flew in the face of all accepted wisdom regarding wealth and trade. Yet, against all odds, it seemed to work. And so he had stopped questioning and started applying these lessons.
He had also done his best to get the identity of the visionary businessman who had founded Cold Steel to implement this bold plan, but Elsa Eckhardt had proven completely immune to his best efforts to charm the identity of her benefactor out of her.
Murtaugh wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was secretly pleased that Eckhardt showed up so rarely in person to Cold Steel's offices. It just wasn't seemly for a girl so much younger than him to walk into his office and order him around like some kind of lackey. A man had his pride, dammit! But every time he'd tried to assert his authority, something in her eye had stopped him cold. It had reminded him very uncomfortably of his former drill sergeant. He knew that a few women had in fact served in the Empire's front-line units, and he wondered if Eckhardt was one such. It would explain why ordering around men came so naturally to her. There were even times he wondered if Cold Steel was truly her brainchild. An absurd idea of course. You could teach women to fight, but they were invariably fools when it came to the world of business.
It was part of the reason he'd worked so hard to expand Cold Steel. Whoever the power was behind Eckhardt, he wanted to prove to them that he didn't need some girl holding his hand. The arms and survival gear trade had been by far the most valuable for Cold Steel, so he'd pushed hard to expand the market. How was he to know those guns would be used to kick off a rebellion? And would lead to the Kaiser banning the sale of arms to the locals?
At that point it was either admit his miscalculation had cost Cold Steel one of its biggest sources of income - or continue to supply the natives in defiance of the Kaiser's orders, and hope for an enormous dividend payout to buy him forgiveness.
Except, once again, much to his frustration, instructions had come in from that infuriating girl ordering him to pour most of his profits into setting up some mining company in Rhodesia. Didn't she realize their shareholders were actually expecting some return on their investment at some point? He'd tried to get in touch with the company's owner directly, only to get slapped down and told to follow orders.
As 1929 turned to 1930, more monies had poured out, even as the instruction to cooperate with the new and extremely strict garrison commander meant drastically curtailing their gun-running. Even the new market opened up in the Albish Gold Coast didn't benefit Cold Steel much - with Brigadier Lergen breathing down their necks, they had to give up and let their supplier Velvet Iron take over the arms shipments entirely.
And then came the order, verbally delivered by yet another intimidating Amazon (where did they keep coming from?!), instructing him to commit mining fraud, right on the eve of Cold Steel going public on the Berun stock exchange.
He could follow the logic. With dividend payouts non-existent over the past two years, they needed something to drive up the stock price, and few things could be better than a provably productive gold mine. Except if the trick got found out, it would be his head on the chopping block. He'd tried to protest as much, but a single casual allusion to Cold Steel's history in the arms business had stopped him cold.
He'd already suspected that Eckhardt knew about his little indiscretion with the local arms sales, in spite of his best efforts to keep it quiet. Now that heinous bitch was blackmailing him into committing fraud, lest he find himself answering to the Kaiser for what could be called treason. And she didn't even have the decency to do it in person, instead sending another female to emasculate him.
As a preliminary to planning his revenge, he'd tried to put his chief of security Klaus von Becker onto finding out everything he could about Elsa Eckhardt and her coterie. That had been a mistake. After Becker got done laughing, that scion of Imperial aristocracy drew upon thirty generations of good breeding to flense him to the bone without once raising his voice. After Becker was done, Murtaugh was left in no doubt that as far as Cold Steel's pecking order went, he was somewhere between the dirt and a footstool, whereas Eckhardt stood somewhere at the right hand of God.
Then the company went public, and performed superbly. So superbly, that Cold Steel's mysterious founder chose to sell out entirely.
At first, it had been a relief. With the vanishing of Manpower Plus from his board of directors, he no longer had to deal with Elsa Eckhardt, and he could also fire the treacherous Becker. Except the moment he tried, he received messages from the other two original shareholders letting him know that firing Becker would be looked upon very poorly. It was enough to make a man scream. Becker, Eckhardt and all the rest had been involved at the behest of Manpower Plus. What was Velvet Iron and Sunrise Botanicals' sudden interest in them?
He'd held out a faint hope that the new shareholders would prove more amenable and help him oust whatever mysterious power stood behind Becker. Then he actually met them.
The Albish, the Americans, and even the representative of the Crown Prince all seemed determined to go through the company's records with a fine tooth comb, and seemed to view his every word with suspicion. All of them had their own ideas about where Cold Steel should next extend their influence and they were too busy spying on each other to deal with his staffing problems.
And now here he was, in front of a full board, as he tried to explain to them why their company was coming under investigation for mining fraud.
"So, once the inspectors reach the mine, they will find a perfectly functional mine with proper gold-bearing ore?" asked one director, his voice laced with skepticism.
"Absolutely! This entire inspection is nothing but an exercise in excessive zeal after the recent scandals rocking our competitors," assured Murtaugh, trying hard not to sweat. His subordinates were scrambling like crazy to get some semblance of a proper mining operation started. At least the ore was genuine.
"And what of the natives? I understand several of the tribes in those mountains recently got their hands on modern weapons, and have taken to raiding and banditry?" asked the Velvet Iron representative.
Murtaugh mentally cursed. This was the gun-running coming back to bite him. By this point, firearms had spread far and wide in the Congo, the initial supply having been traded and resold to the point where Cold Steel weapons were in the hands of natives who had neither heard nor cared about Cold Steel. They were out to line their own pockets at the expense of everyone else, and the Army was more focused on maintaining peace in the settled areas. The Empire had neither time nor resources to police the remote mountains containing Cold Steel's claim.
"I wonder where the natives keep getting these guns," an Imperial drily commented.
"Well, this is a fine pickle," said an Albishman. "We need to do something about this. I'd say we need some solid security of our own." He leaned forward. "The simple thing is to get in touch with one of these tribes, and promise to arm and supply them if they are willing to fight to keep their fellows off our back."
"Absolutely not!" burst out the Imperial that Murtaugh was half-sure represented the Imperial family. "These rebellious schwarzer need to be hunted down, not encouraged! Besides, it would be treason."
"Not if we hire an Imperial subcontractor," mused Velvet Iron's man. "What we need is a white Imperial citizen who will purchase supplies from us. A citizen who will also be hired as a security consultant. The methods he uses to keep local bandits in check… well, that is hardly our concern is it?"
"A capital idea!" broke in the Albishman cheerfully. "After all, what's it matter how the cat is skinned, eh? As long as we're not breaking any laws, I trust."
"And where will we get such a convenient patsy?" growled the Imperial.
"I'm sure one will present itself once we spread the word." replied the American.
Murtaugh could feel the temperature plunging as the Imperial glared at the Albish and American directors, but the motion was passed.
The next motion then came forward - a very generous offer had come from an outside source to take over Cold Steel's subsidiary Black Diamond.
"Good riddance!" exclaimed the Albishman eagerly. "They've been steadily losing money, even with the order from Abyssinia they're barely in the black. That's too good an offer to refuse."
The Imperial, naturally, wanted to hold on to the company as it provided Cold Steel a firm foothold in Rhodesia, but once more, he was outvoted. Murtaugh himself was glad to see it go. He had no idea why Eckhardt had insisted on building a copper refinery and mineral warehouse in an oversaturated market, or why someone else was now willing to pay good money for it, but selling it would make Cold Steel's balance sheet very happy indeed.
The final discussion was about future expansions to Cold Steel. Here, the Imperial finally got his way. One resolution was to further support the development of the Seychelles and East Africa using Black Earth, even though the Albishman got very sour when he heard how much penetration the agricultural company had in the Allied Kingdom's island colonies.
The second resolution put forth was to take advantage of the political turmoil in Ispagna to expand into Angola. With the entire Ispagnian colonial army gathering in North Africa in expectation of having to intervene at home, the rich diamond producing regions in Angola were largely unsecured. Of course, there was not going to be any official forces committed - that would be an act of war! - but if a private company wanted to hire copious mercenaries to ensure the security of their operations, well that was just business.
The Albish director had looked increasingly alarmed as the plans were laid out for what amounted to corporate takeover of another nation's territory, but the Imperial and American shareholders were all in favor. The redoubtable Becker, naturally, would be in overall charge of both implementing the plan and making sure they kept - however tenuously - within the bounds of legality.
Murtaugh could only look on in quiet horror as he saw representatives of multiple countries glaring across at each other, each of them committed to pushing his company into a more and more reckless course.
Three years, he thought to himself. He only needed to last another three years. At that point he could exercise the stock options awarded him as part of his contract, collect his reward, and flee as far as he could from Africa.
Once again he quietly cursed that bitch Eckhardt for getting him into this mess.
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December 7, 1930, Addis Ababa, Abyssinia
Viktoriya Serebryakov - Visha to her friends - tried not to sigh. It had been almost two years since she had realized her feelings for the Major - no, for Tanya - ran much deeper than simple friendship. And while they had been two very exciting years, sometimes she wondered if her concern for her wonderful, fascinating, infuriating superior would end up driving her prematurely gray.
Truth be told, she would never have realized that Tanya was interested in her that way, or that she returned her feelings, if it wasn't for their last meeting in Londinium, when for the briefest moment the younger girl had bared her soul before fleeing into the streets.
At that time, Visha had put it down to the emotion of the moment. She'd tried to persuade herself that she was only imagining things. Especially since having such feelings for a girl who wasn't even in her teens would have raised eyebrows in even the most permissive societies. But the next time Visha had met the Major, her first thought on beholding had been to realize that Tanya had turned fourteen, and was thus past the age of consent in the Empire.
Elya might have accused Visha of being a prude, but that did not make her naive. She was perfectly aware that sometimes people found love with other people of the same sex, and while such couples might not have been considered normal, they were accepted in the Empire as long as they were discreet. The age gap between her and Tanya was significant for now, but four years would shrink to nothing as they both grew older. And anyone suggesting that Tanya wasn't mature enough clearly had never met the girl.
What had followed was month on month of carefully feeling out her intimidating superior. Teasing and innuendo and revealing clothes and simply being there for each other, trying to see if there really was something between them that was worth pursuing
Occasionally her enthusiasm got away from her. Visha still winced at the memory of the incident involving the dog collar. Yes, Tanya's face had been hilarious and it had been a pretty good revenge for all the grief and teasing the girl had piled on her, but afterwards it occurred to Visha that it might have been too much too soon. By this time Visha had figured out that, amazing as it may seem, when it came to romance Tanya was naught but a talented amateur.
Which, in hindsight, made sense. Tanya had first been raised in a nunnery, then by soldiers, and hadn't even reached puberty when she had gone on the run. Being around grown men might have given her some idea of the language, but it was clear to Visha that Tanya didn't know how to go beyond flirting. It would explain why after every significant step forward Tanya would try and retreat into professionalism. Well, that, and Tanya's very strange objection to having an affair with a subordinate. Visha didn't know where she got it from, but on more than one occasion Tanya had expressed a negative view of pursuing romantic relations with one's juniors. It was an odd point of morality, but one Visha knew she couldn't simply ignore.
So, for some time now, Visha had opted for slowly increasing their level of intimacy, and always giving Tanya space when she started showing signs of discomfort. Visha saw nothing wrong with romancing one's superior if it was the subordinate's idea, but she had to take it slow to overcome Tanya's natural stubbornness. It was even fun in a way - each new assault on Fortress Tanya was a bit like falling in love all over again.
Visha had to admit though, Boris and Svetlana had been the best idea yet. For the first time Tanya had actually seemed to relax into physical intimacy. It had been honestly painful to leave such enjoyable disguises behind to once more take up the role of stern superior and dutiful subordinate, and all the professional distance that implied.
There was however one important caveat that had led to Visha accepting the change. When Tanya had assigned her the role of chief trainer to the Abyssinian mages, it had been with the words, "You can't simply stay my adjutant forever."
That told Visha something important - it told her that Tanya was seeking to move Visha out of her role as the Major's subordinate. Which could only mean one thing - the same legal mind that had so often cunningly twisted the rules of war to her own benefit had finally found a way around her own moral objections. As long as Visha could prove able to stand on her own two feet, she would no longer be someone with whom Tanya would have to maintain her distance.
Visha had been surprised at how difficult it was. Without the Major there to instantly correct her if she did something wrong, she'd had to rely entirely on her own judgement. But she powered through it, taking advice from her fellow Imperials whenever she could.
The hardest part, though, was watching Tanya fly off into danger without being there to watch her back. Even as Visha helped the Abyssinian mages slowly grasp the intricacies of aerial spellcraft, Tanya was out there every day skirmishing with Ildoan interlopers, and even occasionally staging raids into Eritrea to scout and disrupt enemy preparations.
For months Visha had been seeing Tanya only for a day or two before they'd be separated for weeks on end. With only a single company of battle ready mages, they had to maintain an operational tempo matched only by their time on the Rhine front. Even Visha had to take her turn, leading her own three-man squad.
And now, Visha was facing something which almost guaranteed that she wouldn't be seeing Tanya in the Abyssinian capital anytime soon.
"It is good to see you again, Brigadier Lergen. You certainly deserve the promotion."
Erich von Lergen sipped his coffee before replying. "Thank you, Ms. Serebryakov. It is good to see you doing so well. Although it is a shame you no longer wear the Empire's uniform."
"I had my reasons, I'm afraid. I hope you can forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive. But in case you have second thoughts -"
"Not at all, sir. I'm very happy where I am," insisted Visha.
"Good, good. But I hope you don't mind, I was hoping to meet Ms. Degurechaff. Is she available?"
"I haven't seen the Major since Londinium, I'm afraid." Visha shook her head sadly. "Besides, why should a fugitive from Imperial custody want to see you?"
"I am merely here as an ambassador, Ms. Serebryakov," replied Lergen placidly. "I have neither the authority nor the inclination to pursue the former Major for whatever crimes she may or may not be accused of. In fact, I might even have some things to say that might be advantageous for her to hear."
"I'm glad the Empire is turning away from that ridiculous vendetta. But I'm afraid you're mistaken. To the best of my knowledge Tanya von Degurechaff is nowhere near Abyssinia."
"An, of course." Lergen gave a sage nod of understanding. "Well, my offer really is for any capable aerial mage. And since Degurechaff isn't available...I've heard impressive things about the leader of the Silver Lance Company. A Ms. Jennifer Ecks, I believe?"
"Oh, she certainly is quite impressive," agreed Visha. "But I'm afraid she's not available either. I can take a message, if you'd like. I am her second."
Lergen's demeanor grew stern. "I'm afraid this is not the sort of thing that you can pass on in a message. May I know when she will be available?"
Visha's expression grew regretful. "I'm afraid our company is completely stretched running aerial patrols on the whole country. Colonel Ecks is scheduled for roving patrol for the next several weeks at least. We need to make sure the Ildoans are kept off balance at least until the first class of Abyssinian aerial mages are ready for duty."
"Ah, a Colonel is she?"
Visha had to keep from bristling at the skeptical eyebrow. "The Emperor saw fit to grant us all temporary ranks in his army for the duration of our contract. I'm a Major myself."
"I see." Lergen took another sip of his coffee. "Nonetheless I must insist on speaking to her. I too am under orders, you see. Perhaps transport can be arranged to wherever she is based?"
Visha gave a bland smile. "There is no way we can risk the life of the Empire's ambassador by allowing you to enter a potential combat zone. Not without a direct order from Emperor Tafari himself."
Underneath her blank exterior, Visha wondered what it was the Brigadier wanted to say to Tanya. Alas, Tanya was adamant. Even if Lergen was all but sure she and Ecks were the same person, actually meeting face to face might just give the Imperial officer confirmation. And with confirmation, the Empire would have reason to start putting pressure on Tafari to hand her over. Assuming, of course, that the Empire didn't discard all diplomatic niceties and simply send the 207th for a romp through Abyssinia.
Visha spent another half an hour stonewalling the Brigadier before he left. She couldn't help but worry, though. She knew Tanya was more nervous about pursuit than she let on. There was a possibility that Lergen would actually get Tafari to sign off on heading out into the border regions for a face to face with Tanya. At which point Tanya might just decide to cut and run.
Which would be a shame. Visha really was curious as to what Lergen was here about.
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January 4, 1931, Abyssinia-Eritrea border region
I had to give Lergen points for persistence. He actually did manage to get the Emperor to sign off on a tour of the border, including a meeting with yours truly. Well, I suppose those are the perks of representing Europe's pre-eminent power.
The meeting itself, when it happened, passed fairly easily. To all appearances, he was here to offer a well-known and capable freelance aerial mage an extremely lucrative contract to do what she was already doing, only somewhere else.
I didn't let that fool me for a second. If Lergen didn't spend the entire meeting trying to trip me up, then that could only be because he'd already satisfied himself as to my true identity within the first couple of minutes.
The only question remained, what was the real reason behind this offer?
"It is surprising," I ventured, "That the Empire would reach out to a freelancer like me to train the Turkmen's mages. After all, the Empire's mage corps is renowned for their skill. Surely official Imperial mages can provide a far higher standard of training than my ad hoc company?"
"It is a delicate situation," he replied. "Right now the Albish and Americans have come out in strong support of the various Arabian principalities struggling against the rule of Istanbul. If the Empire directly supports the Turkish government, it might put us in conflict with them. A freelancer, on the other hand, well, there's not much they can do about that."
"You know I'm Albish, right?" I pointed out. And it was true, I had modeled my Jennifer Ecks persona after Jenny, accent and all.
"Strange, how the Albish deny ever training a mage with your description. Still, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."
"Of course," I said, trying to keep my poker face. I should have known Lergen would have done his homework. I tried a different tack. "I'm concerned that the Turkmen might not be very welcoming. I'd heard that their religion takes a dim view on unmarried women going around openly fighting." This was a bit of a stab in the dark. While I knew an analog to Islam existed in this world, I had no idea what their stance on female aerial mages were, or if the Turkmen Empire was particularly devout.
"As a foreigner, you would of course be outside such strictures," came the response. Meaning the Turkmen were a bunch of religious nutjobs. Joy.
"That still doesn't sound very comfortable," I demurred.
"If it is a question of compensation…" he trailed off.
"The compensation is fine." In fact, it was more than fine. One hundred and twenty Turkish lira a month for every aerial mage I supplied. At a little under twenty marks to the lira, that was around twice what I had made as a Major. And that was just the basic rate. Each officer would be paid two hundred lira, and I myself would be paid four hundred. Not to mention combat bonuses. The money didn't matter that much to me, seeing as how I was a multi-millionaire in marks. But it would very much matter to my troops. If Lergen publicized his offer, he could probably buy everyone but Visha out from under me.
And that was leaving out the real prize. Every mage reporting for the assignment would be given the Imperial Standard Type 30 computation orb, gratis. Apparently they still hadn't figured out how to mass-manufacture dual-core orbs, meaning each one was hellishly expensive and limited only to elite battalions. So the Empire kept updating their single core orbs for the rest of their mage forces, and the Standard Type 30 was the latest fruit of that research. From the spec sheets Lergen had handed me, it outperformed the Standard Type 24, the Elenium Type 93 and the Hughes M27, though the M27 still had it beat on mana efficiency.
I wanted it, there was no denying that fact. Yet I was aware that it could just be very juicy bait in a trap. The Turkmen government was clearly very friendly with the Empire, it wouldn't take much to convince them to set a trap once I was deep in their territory.
I couldn't say that out loud though, because there was no reason for Jennifer Ecks to be worried about a trap. No matter how threadbare my disguise, the first law of the criminal must be followed - deny, deny, deny. So instead I tried a different tack. "No matter how excellent the offer, I still have a duty to my existing client. Surely the Turkmen do not wish to hire a contractor who is willing to abandon their contract for the highest bidder."
"The first Abyssinian mage companies are entering the field as we speak. I would say that's an adequately completed contract."
"Their training was rushed for the sake of putting warm bodies in the air. You probably know this, but it takes two years to fully train an aerial mage."
"That is in the normal course of events. In an urgent situation with a sufficiently skilled trainer, I know for a fact that training periods can be cut to just months," came the bland response.
I mentally cursed the reference to my extremely abortive training of the 203rd. That crazy promise I'd made had resulted in unreasonable expectations following me throughout my career in the Empire. It seemed I wasn't free from that albatross yet.
"Months can be enough to train a barely adequate mage. But not to train officers. I cannot possibly leave until the Abyssinians have reliable officers for their mages." There, that was something he could not gainsay. And no matter how much money he dangled, I felt I could hold on to at least the ex-203 members by appealing to their professionalism.
"I see, yes that is true. Still, I hope it doesn't take you too long. After all, the Ildoans are rather furious about their recent losses. They are willing to negotiate a peace agreement with the Emperor, but as a prerequisite they want what they see as foreign influence removed from Abyssinia's court."
That was a hard threat to ignore. While the recent skirmishes might have all gone our way, that was because the Ildoans weren't really trying except with forces the Eritrean garrison had on hand. If the Ildoans ever mobilized their full army, they would steamroll the Abyssinians. Forty years ago the Abyssinian Empire had something approaching technological parity with European powers, but that era was long past. In spite of my best efforts, the only parts of the Abyssinian military that was even approaching modernity was their infantry and their mages. Modern heavy artillery and armor was non-existent, and while they'd managed to get some Great War surplus aircraft and light artillery, those numbers were small.
True, with a decent infantry and mage force the Emperor could carry out quite the guerilla campaign if he was determined enough. But that was one quagmire I had no interest in getting caught up in. That didn't mean I couldn't talk tough, though. "If the Ildoans attempt to take Abyssinia they will find the country a tough nut to crack, that much I can assure you."
"Ah, well, while true, there's a possibility that other European powers might get involved. The Empire feels such an escalation would be in no one's interest."
And there it was. The threat that I'd been hoping would not come. I should have known better. The Empire was clearly willing to commit considerable resources to see me dislodged, including backing any Ildoan attempt on Abyssinia. This didn't mean all hope was lost. War is a chaotic thing, and I was fairly sure any invasion of the country would create enough confusion for me and my company to slip away. And now that I'd been warned, I could start putting resources towards a secure escape route. I just had to get rid of Lergen and his obviously fake offer without causing a diplomatic incident. The best way would be to demand something ridiculous for my cooperation.
"Hmm…," I pretended to muse. "I suppose I could accelerate the officer training to take just another three months. But that's a lot of very intensive work. In exchange I want a few of the Type 30s upfront. Oh, and I want the right to recruit from the Turkmen empire, anyone who for whatever reason isn't recruited by their army." There, no one would agree to such a deal. The Type 30s might not be dual-core orbs, but they were still cutting edge. There's no way the Empire would give away their secret just to bait a trap. And no country as autocratic as the Turkmen would permit a private force to recruit from their vital pool of aerial mages.
"I'll see what I can do," replied Lergen.
I could see he was taken aback at my demands. I decided to drive a final nail into the coffin. "And I'll expect the Turkmen government to mail me their list of known B and A-rank mages who for whatever reason have been deemed unsuitable for their army. Might as well hit the ground running when I get there."
He blinked at me for a moment, then said, "Anything else?"
"No. That'll do."
"And if you get all that, I can expect you in Istanbul by the end of April?" he confirmed.
"Of course."
I had to admire Lergen for keeping to the pretense, even though inside he must be seething in frustration. He even took the time to get my demands in writing.
I felt a bit bad about giving him the runaround like this. But once the Empire decided the bait for the trap was too expensive, they'd either give up, support the Ildoans in striking at Abyssinia, or try a covert attempt of their own. The last option would be the most dangerous for me, but as long as I stayed alert, kept mobile, and had a ready escape plan, I should be able to get out from under.
In the meantime, there was something more immediate that demanded my attention. Visha's birthday was coming up, and I needed a suitable present.
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January 11, 1931, Berun, The Empire
Chancellor Zettour looked on in some concern at just how deep Lergen drank from the offered glass of brandy.
"That bad?" he asked the younger man gravely.
"She insists she'll need at least three months before she considers her current agreement with Abyssinia sufficiently fulfilled." replied Lergen as he adjusted his glasses.
Zettour nodded. "I think we can keep the Ildoans calm for at least that long."
"She also had a list of demands."
Zettour went over the list Lergen handed him, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline. "Ambitious, isn't she?"
"She's clearly trying to form her own aerial mage corps, and she's willing to use us to do it." growled Lergen.
"Can you blame her? Still, I'm glad we can finally nail down where her ultimate ambition lies," said the Chancellor.
"Surely you're not going to agree to this?" came the surprised response.
"The Type 30 is only going to be cutting edge for a couple of years. Already Elenium labs is promising us an improved version of the Type 93, now that we've got someone saner than Schugel in charge. Sacrificing a temporary advantage to move Degurechaff to support one of our nominal allies… I can see it being worth the price."
"Do you really think we can control her?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," chuckled the Chancellor. "But I do think she will allow herself to be used, for the right price."
"And do you think the price is worth it?"
The chancellor looked at the Brigadier, and refrained from pointing out that scowling like that just made Lergen look a lot older than his thirty-six years. Instead he replied, "An interesting question, Brigadier. One I think could be best answered by the Legadonians. Or the Dacians. Or the Francois."
Lergen grumbled something under his breath, before saying, "The Turkmen will need to agree. Do they even have lists like that?"
"We'll just have to do our best. As for the Turkmen, they really are in dire need of all the military help they can get. First Rumelia unites long enough to kick them out, and now the Albish are running rings around them in Arabia. We'll help them discreetly, but their own pride means an independent contractor will be easier for them to accept than direct aid from us. I think they'll go for it."
There was a pause, then Lergen said, "You know, if it wasn't for all her achievements in battle, I would say the Empire made a mistake in placing her on the field instead of in Intelligence."
"Oh?" Zettour gave a curious look.
Lergen nodded. "Even though the presence of Serebryakov and other evidence almost guaranteed that Ecks was Degurechaff… As I sat there speaking to her I could have sworn I was speaking to a native of Albion or Eire. I'm no mage to see through illusions, but you can't create such smooth mannerisms and flawless accents using magic. I can see why she's managed to hide herself for so long."
"That is very interesting, Brigadier. Truly, she deserves the title of prodigy."
"Yes, quite. I'll be honest, the only thing that really gave her away was her ambition." Lergen tapped the paper containing Tanya's list of demands. "It was when I saw that list that I realized I was in fact talking to Tanya von Degurechaff."
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January 28, 1931, undisclosed location near Roma, Ildoa
"And are these children of faith?"
The Ildoan major took a deep breath, before saying. "All of them were raised in devout families, and in one case a Church-run orphanage."
"Oh, happy day! Just like my first great success! It is a sign, I tell you! A sign from God blessing our partnership!" raved the man with the wild grey hair and a monocle.
The major felt disgusted as the raving lunatic was escorted back to his lab, along with the four children. The children were all between ages five and ten, tested with a minimum B-rank potential, and as the so-called scientist had specified, from devout backgrounds… and also poor backgrounds, so they wouldn't be missed. They had also been mildly sedated, otherwise they would undoubtedly have panicked at the madman's appearance.
The major had seen the reports on what this madman had done to the children the Empire had entrusted to his care. From what he could tell, the man's so-called science consisted of strapping highly unstable and untested orb designs to the children, and then joining them in praying for divine intervention. As far as the major could tell, the real miracle was that there had been so many survivors of Schugel's previous attempts, before the Empire shut down his project and tried to arrest the man for gross negligence.
Alas, with the proverbial cunning of the insane, Adelheid von Schugel had fled the Empire with enough of his design notes to interest the Duce. Within a week of his arrival, he'd managed to produce a refinement to their existing military orbs.
With his bona fides established, the Duce had signed off on his project to recreate his magnum opus, the quad-core computation orb and a mage capable of wielding it. The reasoning was that Schugel had had enough time to make the most obvious mistakes at the Empire's expense. Now Ildoa would reap the benefits of his greater experience while paying a much lower cost.
The major was in charge of the project, and he had very little optimism on the matter. His sole morbid consolation was that the need for discretion, the specified age limits, and the rarity of aerial mages meant the good doctor's casualty count would perforce have to be on the low side.
The major was honestly looking forward to the day the Duce would come to his senses and execute the lunatic. In the meantime, his prayers would be for the poor children. Let them all live, and should the worst happen, let their sacrifice not be in vain.
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 24 on Questionable Questing
Chapter 32
November 12, 1930, Point Noir, Imperial Congo
Franz Murtaugh had had a profitable, but fairly nerve-wracking two years. Certainly on more than one occasion he had wished that when the mysterious green-eyed woman calling herself Elsa Eckhardt had offered him the position of chief executive of a new trading company, he'd had the good sense to tell her no.
Particularly when Eckhardt, speaking on behalf of the anonymous owner, insisted on implementing concepts like 'customer loyalty' and 'brand value' with the local savages. It was a simple idea, at its core. Instead of treating the natives as primitive thugs, to be bribed with booze and trinkets, they were instead to be treated as valued partners with whom one intended to do business for years to come like you would a fellow white businessman. You did not cater to their needs, you anticipated them. Instead of trying to sell high and buy low, you bought at the best price you could afford and sold as cheaply as you reasonably could, all so they'd keep coming back. And instead of sending your profits back to the home country, you invested it right back here to help make them richer so they would in turn spend more money with you.
Murtaugh had studied economics, and knew such logic flew in the face of all accepted wisdom regarding wealth and trade. Yet, against all odds, it seemed to work. And so he had stopped questioning and started applying these lessons.
He had also done his best to get the identity of the visionary businessman who had founded Cold Steel to implement this bold plan, but Elsa Eckhardt had proven completely immune to his best efforts to charm the identity of her benefactor out of her.
Murtaugh wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was secretly pleased that Eckhardt showed up so rarely in person to Cold Steel's offices. It just wasn't seemly for a girl so much younger than him to walk into his office and order him around like some kind of lackey. A man had his pride, dammit! But every time he'd tried to assert his authority, something in her eye had stopped him cold. It had reminded him very uncomfortably of his former drill sergeant. He knew that a few women had in fact served in the Empire's front-line units, and he wondered if Eckhardt was one such. It would explain why ordering around men came so naturally to her. There were even times he wondered if Cold Steel was truly her brainchild. An absurd idea of course. You could teach women to fight, but they were invariably fools when it came to the world of business.
It was part of the reason he'd worked so hard to expand Cold Steel. Whoever the power was behind Eckhardt, he wanted to prove to them that he didn't need some girl holding his hand. The arms and survival gear trade had been by far the most valuable for Cold Steel, so he'd pushed hard to expand the market. How was he to know those guns would be used to kick off a rebellion? And would lead to the Kaiser banning the sale of arms to the locals?
At that point it was either admit his miscalculation had cost Cold Steel one of its biggest sources of income - or continue to supply the natives in defiance of the Kaiser's orders, and hope for an enormous dividend payout to buy him forgiveness.
Except, once again, much to his frustration, instructions had come in from that infuriating girl ordering him to pour most of his profits into setting up some mining company in Rhodesia. Didn't she realize their shareholders were actually expecting some return on their investment at some point? He'd tried to get in touch with the company's owner directly, only to get slapped down and told to follow orders.
As 1929 turned to 1930, more monies had poured out, even as the instruction to cooperate with the new and extremely strict garrison commander meant drastically curtailing their gun-running. Even the new market opened up in the Albish Gold Coast didn't benefit Cold Steel much - with Brigadier Lergen breathing down their necks, they had to give up and let their supplier Velvet Iron take over the arms shipments entirely.
And then came the order, verbally delivered by yet another intimidating Amazon (where did they keep coming from?!), instructing him to commit mining fraud, right on the eve of Cold Steel going public on the Berun stock exchange.
He could follow the logic. With dividend payouts non-existent over the past two years, they needed something to drive up the stock price, and few things could be better than a provably productive gold mine. Except if the trick got found out, it would be his head on the chopping block. He'd tried to protest as much, but a single casual allusion to Cold Steel's history in the arms business had stopped him cold.
He'd already suspected that Eckhardt knew about his little indiscretion with the local arms sales, in spite of his best efforts to keep it quiet. Now that heinous bitch was blackmailing him into committing fraud, lest he find himself answering to the Kaiser for what could be called treason. And she didn't even have the decency to do it in person, instead sending another female to emasculate him.
As a preliminary to planning his revenge, he'd tried to put his chief of security Klaus von Becker onto finding out everything he could about Elsa Eckhardt and her coterie. That had been a mistake. After Becker got done laughing, that scion of Imperial aristocracy drew upon thirty generations of good breeding to flense him to the bone without once raising his voice. After Becker was done, Murtaugh was left in no doubt that as far as Cold Steel's pecking order went, he was somewhere between the dirt and a footstool, whereas Eckhardt stood somewhere at the right hand of God.
Then the company went public, and performed superbly. So superbly, that Cold Steel's mysterious founder chose to sell out entirely.
At first, it had been a relief. With the vanishing of Manpower Plus from his board of directors, he no longer had to deal with Elsa Eckhardt, and he could also fire the treacherous Becker. Except the moment he tried, he received messages from the other two original shareholders letting him know that firing Becker would be looked upon very poorly. It was enough to make a man scream. Becker, Eckhardt and all the rest had been involved at the behest of Manpower Plus. What was Velvet Iron and Sunrise Botanicals' sudden interest in them?
He'd held out a faint hope that the new shareholders would prove more amenable and help him oust whatever mysterious power stood behind Becker. Then he actually met them.
The Albish, the Americans, and even the representative of the Crown Prince all seemed determined to go through the company's records with a fine tooth comb, and seemed to view his every word with suspicion. All of them had their own ideas about where Cold Steel should next extend their influence and they were too busy spying on each other to deal with his staffing problems.
And now here he was, in front of a full board, as he tried to explain to them why their company was coming under investigation for mining fraud.
"So, once the inspectors reach the mine, they will find a perfectly functional mine with proper gold-bearing ore?" asked one director, his voice laced with skepticism.
"Absolutely! This entire inspection is nothing but an exercise in excessive zeal after the recent scandals rocking our competitors," assured Murtaugh, trying hard not to sweat. His subordinates were scrambling like crazy to get some semblance of a proper mining operation started. At least the ore was genuine.
"And what of the natives? I understand several of the tribes in those mountains recently got their hands on modern weapons, and have taken to raiding and banditry?" asked the Velvet Iron representative.
Murtaugh mentally cursed. This was the gun-running coming back to bite him. By this point, firearms had spread far and wide in the Congo, the initial supply having been traded and resold to the point where Cold Steel weapons were in the hands of natives who had neither heard nor cared about Cold Steel. They were out to line their own pockets at the expense of everyone else, and the Army was more focused on maintaining peace in the settled areas. The Empire had neither time nor resources to police the remote mountains containing Cold Steel's claim.
"I wonder where the natives keep getting these guns," an Imperial drily commented.
"Well, this is a fine pickle," said an Albishman. "We need to do something about this. I'd say we need some solid security of our own." He leaned forward. "The simple thing is to get in touch with one of these tribes, and promise to arm and supply them if they are willing to fight to keep their fellows off our back."
"Absolutely not!" burst out the Imperial that Murtaugh was half-sure represented the Imperial family. "These rebellious schwarzer need to be hunted down, not encouraged! Besides, it would be treason."
"Not if we hire an Imperial subcontractor," mused Velvet Iron's man. "What we need is a white Imperial citizen who will purchase supplies from us. A citizen who will also be hired as a security consultant. The methods he uses to keep local bandits in check… well, that is hardly our concern is it?"
"A capital idea!" broke in the Albishman cheerfully. "After all, what's it matter how the cat is skinned, eh? As long as we're not breaking any laws, I trust."
"And where will we get such a convenient patsy?" growled the Imperial.
"I'm sure one will present itself once we spread the word." replied the American.
Murtaugh could feel the temperature plunging as the Imperial glared at the Albish and American directors, but the motion was passed.
The next motion then came forward - a very generous offer had come from an outside source to take over Cold Steel's subsidiary Black Diamond.
"Good riddance!" exclaimed the Albishman eagerly. "They've been steadily losing money, even with the order from Abyssinia they're barely in the black. That's too good an offer to refuse."
The Imperial, naturally, wanted to hold on to the company as it provided Cold Steel a firm foothold in Rhodesia, but once more, he was outvoted. Murtaugh himself was glad to see it go. He had no idea why Eckhardt had insisted on building a copper refinery and mineral warehouse in an oversaturated market, or why someone else was now willing to pay good money for it, but selling it would make Cold Steel's balance sheet very happy indeed.
The final discussion was about future expansions to Cold Steel. Here, the Imperial finally got his way. One resolution was to further support the development of the Seychelles and East Africa using Black Earth, even though the Albishman got very sour when he heard how much penetration the agricultural company had in the Allied Kingdom's island colonies.
The second resolution put forth was to take advantage of the political turmoil in Ispagna to expand into Angola. With the entire Ispagnian colonial army gathering in North Africa in expectation of having to intervene at home, the rich diamond producing regions in Angola were largely unsecured. Of course, there was not going to be any official forces committed - that would be an act of war! - but if a private company wanted to hire copious mercenaries to ensure the security of their operations, well that was just business.
The Albish director had looked increasingly alarmed as the plans were laid out for what amounted to corporate takeover of another nation's territory, but the Imperial and American shareholders were all in favor. The redoubtable Becker, naturally, would be in overall charge of both implementing the plan and making sure they kept - however tenuously - within the bounds of legality.
Murtaugh could only look on in quiet horror as he saw representatives of multiple countries glaring across at each other, each of them committed to pushing his company into a more and more reckless course.
Three years, he thought to himself. He only needed to last another three years. At that point he could exercise the stock options awarded him as part of his contract, collect his reward, and flee as far as he could from Africa.
Once again he quietly cursed that bitch Eckhardt for getting him into this mess.
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December 7, 1930, Addis Ababa, Abyssinia
Viktoriya Serebryakov - Visha to her friends - tried not to sigh. It had been almost two years since she had realized her feelings for the Major - no, for Tanya - ran much deeper than simple friendship. And while they had been two very exciting years, sometimes she wondered if her concern for her wonderful, fascinating, infuriating superior would end up driving her prematurely gray.
Truth be told, she would never have realized that Tanya was interested in her that way, or that she returned her feelings, if it wasn't for their last meeting in Londinium, when for the briefest moment the younger girl had bared her soul before fleeing into the streets.
At that time, Visha had put it down to the emotion of the moment. She'd tried to persuade herself that she was only imagining things. Especially since having such feelings for a girl who wasn't even in her teens would have raised eyebrows in even the most permissive societies. But the next time Visha had met the Major, her first thought on beholding had been to realize that Tanya had turned fourteen, and was thus past the age of consent in the Empire.
Elya might have accused Visha of being a prude, but that did not make her naive. She was perfectly aware that sometimes people found love with other people of the same sex, and while such couples might not have been considered normal, they were accepted in the Empire as long as they were discreet. The age gap between her and Tanya was significant for now, but four years would shrink to nothing as they both grew older. And anyone suggesting that Tanya wasn't mature enough clearly had never met the girl.
What had followed was month on month of carefully feeling out her intimidating superior. Teasing and innuendo and revealing clothes and simply being there for each other, trying to see if there really was something between them that was worth pursuing
Occasionally her enthusiasm got away from her. Visha still winced at the memory of the incident involving the dog collar. Yes, Tanya's face had been hilarious and it had been a pretty good revenge for all the grief and teasing the girl had piled on her, but afterwards it occurred to Visha that it might have been too much too soon. By this time Visha had figured out that, amazing as it may seem, when it came to romance Tanya was naught but a talented amateur.
Which, in hindsight, made sense. Tanya had first been raised in a nunnery, then by soldiers, and hadn't even reached puberty when she had gone on the run. Being around grown men might have given her some idea of the language, but it was clear to Visha that Tanya didn't know how to go beyond flirting. It would explain why after every significant step forward Tanya would try and retreat into professionalism. Well, that, and Tanya's very strange objection to having an affair with a subordinate. Visha didn't know where she got it from, but on more than one occasion Tanya had expressed a negative view of pursuing romantic relations with one's juniors. It was an odd point of morality, but one Visha knew she couldn't simply ignore.
So, for some time now, Visha had opted for slowly increasing their level of intimacy, and always giving Tanya space when she started showing signs of discomfort. Visha saw nothing wrong with romancing one's superior if it was the subordinate's idea, but she had to take it slow to overcome Tanya's natural stubbornness. It was even fun in a way - each new assault on Fortress Tanya was a bit like falling in love all over again.
Visha had to admit though, Boris and Svetlana had been the best idea yet. For the first time Tanya had actually seemed to relax into physical intimacy. It had been honestly painful to leave such enjoyable disguises behind to once more take up the role of stern superior and dutiful subordinate, and all the professional distance that implied.
There was however one important caveat that had led to Visha accepting the change. When Tanya had assigned her the role of chief trainer to the Abyssinian mages, it had been with the words, "You can't simply stay my adjutant forever."
That told Visha something important - it told her that Tanya was seeking to move Visha out of her role as the Major's subordinate. Which could only mean one thing - the same legal mind that had so often cunningly twisted the rules of war to her own benefit had finally found a way around her own moral objections. As long as Visha could prove able to stand on her own two feet, she would no longer be someone with whom Tanya would have to maintain her distance.
Visha had been surprised at how difficult it was. Without the Major there to instantly correct her if she did something wrong, she'd had to rely entirely on her own judgement. But she powered through it, taking advice from her fellow Imperials whenever she could.
The hardest part, though, was watching Tanya fly off into danger without being there to watch her back. Even as Visha helped the Abyssinian mages slowly grasp the intricacies of aerial spellcraft, Tanya was out there every day skirmishing with Ildoan interlopers, and even occasionally staging raids into Eritrea to scout and disrupt enemy preparations.
For months Visha had been seeing Tanya only for a day or two before they'd be separated for weeks on end. With only a single company of battle ready mages, they had to maintain an operational tempo matched only by their time on the Rhine front. Even Visha had to take her turn, leading her own three-man squad.
And now, Visha was facing something which almost guaranteed that she wouldn't be seeing Tanya in the Abyssinian capital anytime soon.
"It is good to see you again, Brigadier Lergen. You certainly deserve the promotion."
Erich von Lergen sipped his coffee before replying. "Thank you, Ms. Serebryakov. It is good to see you doing so well. Although it is a shame you no longer wear the Empire's uniform."
"I had my reasons, I'm afraid. I hope you can forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive. But in case you have second thoughts -"
"Not at all, sir. I'm very happy where I am," insisted Visha.
"Good, good. But I hope you don't mind, I was hoping to meet Ms. Degurechaff. Is she available?"
"I haven't seen the Major since Londinium, I'm afraid." Visha shook her head sadly. "Besides, why should a fugitive from Imperial custody want to see you?"
"I am merely here as an ambassador, Ms. Serebryakov," replied Lergen placidly. "I have neither the authority nor the inclination to pursue the former Major for whatever crimes she may or may not be accused of. In fact, I might even have some things to say that might be advantageous for her to hear."
"I'm glad the Empire is turning away from that ridiculous vendetta. But I'm afraid you're mistaken. To the best of my knowledge Tanya von Degurechaff is nowhere near Abyssinia."
"An, of course." Lergen gave a sage nod of understanding. "Well, my offer really is for any capable aerial mage. And since Degurechaff isn't available...I've heard impressive things about the leader of the Silver Lance Company. A Ms. Jennifer Ecks, I believe?"
"Oh, she certainly is quite impressive," agreed Visha. "But I'm afraid she's not available either. I can take a message, if you'd like. I am her second."
Lergen's demeanor grew stern. "I'm afraid this is not the sort of thing that you can pass on in a message. May I know when she will be available?"
Visha's expression grew regretful. "I'm afraid our company is completely stretched running aerial patrols on the whole country. Colonel Ecks is scheduled for roving patrol for the next several weeks at least. We need to make sure the Ildoans are kept off balance at least until the first class of Abyssinian aerial mages are ready for duty."
"Ah, a Colonel is she?"
Visha had to keep from bristling at the skeptical eyebrow. "The Emperor saw fit to grant us all temporary ranks in his army for the duration of our contract. I'm a Major myself."
"I see." Lergen took another sip of his coffee. "Nonetheless I must insist on speaking to her. I too am under orders, you see. Perhaps transport can be arranged to wherever she is based?"
Visha gave a bland smile. "There is no way we can risk the life of the Empire's ambassador by allowing you to enter a potential combat zone. Not without a direct order from Emperor Tafari himself."
Underneath her blank exterior, Visha wondered what it was the Brigadier wanted to say to Tanya. Alas, Tanya was adamant. Even if Lergen was all but sure she and Ecks were the same person, actually meeting face to face might just give the Imperial officer confirmation. And with confirmation, the Empire would have reason to start putting pressure on Tafari to hand her over. Assuming, of course, that the Empire didn't discard all diplomatic niceties and simply send the 207th for a romp through Abyssinia.
Visha spent another half an hour stonewalling the Brigadier before he left. She couldn't help but worry, though. She knew Tanya was more nervous about pursuit than she let on. There was a possibility that Lergen would actually get Tafari to sign off on heading out into the border regions for a face to face with Tanya. At which point Tanya might just decide to cut and run.
Which would be a shame. Visha really was curious as to what Lergen was here about.
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January 4, 1931, Abyssinia-Eritrea border region
I had to give Lergen points for persistence. He actually did manage to get the Emperor to sign off on a tour of the border, including a meeting with yours truly. Well, I suppose those are the perks of representing Europe's pre-eminent power.
The meeting itself, when it happened, passed fairly easily. To all appearances, he was here to offer a well-known and capable freelance aerial mage an extremely lucrative contract to do what she was already doing, only somewhere else.
I didn't let that fool me for a second. If Lergen didn't spend the entire meeting trying to trip me up, then that could only be because he'd already satisfied himself as to my true identity within the first couple of minutes.
The only question remained, what was the real reason behind this offer?
"It is surprising," I ventured, "That the Empire would reach out to a freelancer like me to train the Turkmen's mages. After all, the Empire's mage corps is renowned for their skill. Surely official Imperial mages can provide a far higher standard of training than my ad hoc company?"
"It is a delicate situation," he replied. "Right now the Albish and Americans have come out in strong support of the various Arabian principalities struggling against the rule of Istanbul. If the Empire directly supports the Turkish government, it might put us in conflict with them. A freelancer, on the other hand, well, there's not much they can do about that."
"You know I'm Albish, right?" I pointed out. And it was true, I had modeled my Jennifer Ecks persona after Jenny, accent and all.
"Strange, how the Albish deny ever training a mage with your description. Still, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."
"Of course," I said, trying to keep my poker face. I should have known Lergen would have done his homework. I tried a different tack. "I'm concerned that the Turkmen might not be very welcoming. I'd heard that their religion takes a dim view on unmarried women going around openly fighting." This was a bit of a stab in the dark. While I knew an analog to Islam existed in this world, I had no idea what their stance on female aerial mages were, or if the Turkmen Empire was particularly devout.
"As a foreigner, you would of course be outside such strictures," came the response. Meaning the Turkmen were a bunch of religious nutjobs. Joy.
"That still doesn't sound very comfortable," I demurred.
"If it is a question of compensation…" he trailed off.
"The compensation is fine." In fact, it was more than fine. One hundred and twenty Turkish lira a month for every aerial mage I supplied. At a little under twenty marks to the lira, that was around twice what I had made as a Major. And that was just the basic rate. Each officer would be paid two hundred lira, and I myself would be paid four hundred. Not to mention combat bonuses. The money didn't matter that much to me, seeing as how I was a multi-millionaire in marks. But it would very much matter to my troops. If Lergen publicized his offer, he could probably buy everyone but Visha out from under me.
And that was leaving out the real prize. Every mage reporting for the assignment would be given the Imperial Standard Type 30 computation orb, gratis. Apparently they still hadn't figured out how to mass-manufacture dual-core orbs, meaning each one was hellishly expensive and limited only to elite battalions. So the Empire kept updating their single core orbs for the rest of their mage forces, and the Standard Type 30 was the latest fruit of that research. From the spec sheets Lergen had handed me, it outperformed the Standard Type 24, the Elenium Type 93 and the Hughes M27, though the M27 still had it beat on mana efficiency.
I wanted it, there was no denying that fact. Yet I was aware that it could just be very juicy bait in a trap. The Turkmen government was clearly very friendly with the Empire, it wouldn't take much to convince them to set a trap once I was deep in their territory.
I couldn't say that out loud though, because there was no reason for Jennifer Ecks to be worried about a trap. No matter how threadbare my disguise, the first law of the criminal must be followed - deny, deny, deny. So instead I tried a different tack. "No matter how excellent the offer, I still have a duty to my existing client. Surely the Turkmen do not wish to hire a contractor who is willing to abandon their contract for the highest bidder."
"The first Abyssinian mage companies are entering the field as we speak. I would say that's an adequately completed contract."
"Their training was rushed for the sake of putting warm bodies in the air. You probably know this, but it takes two years to fully train an aerial mage."
"That is in the normal course of events. In an urgent situation with a sufficiently skilled trainer, I know for a fact that training periods can be cut to just months," came the bland response.
I mentally cursed the reference to my extremely abortive training of the 203rd. That crazy promise I'd made had resulted in unreasonable expectations following me throughout my career in the Empire. It seemed I wasn't free from that albatross yet.
"Months can be enough to train a barely adequate mage. But not to train officers. I cannot possibly leave until the Abyssinians have reliable officers for their mages." There, that was something he could not gainsay. And no matter how much money he dangled, I felt I could hold on to at least the ex-203 members by appealing to their professionalism.
"I see, yes that is true. Still, I hope it doesn't take you too long. After all, the Ildoans are rather furious about their recent losses. They are willing to negotiate a peace agreement with the Emperor, but as a prerequisite they want what they see as foreign influence removed from Abyssinia's court."
That was a hard threat to ignore. While the recent skirmishes might have all gone our way, that was because the Ildoans weren't really trying except with forces the Eritrean garrison had on hand. If the Ildoans ever mobilized their full army, they would steamroll the Abyssinians. Forty years ago the Abyssinian Empire had something approaching technological parity with European powers, but that era was long past. In spite of my best efforts, the only parts of the Abyssinian military that was even approaching modernity was their infantry and their mages. Modern heavy artillery and armor was non-existent, and while they'd managed to get some Great War surplus aircraft and light artillery, those numbers were small.
True, with a decent infantry and mage force the Emperor could carry out quite the guerilla campaign if he was determined enough. But that was one quagmire I had no interest in getting caught up in. That didn't mean I couldn't talk tough, though. "If the Ildoans attempt to take Abyssinia they will find the country a tough nut to crack, that much I can assure you."
"Ah, well, while true, there's a possibility that other European powers might get involved. The Empire feels such an escalation would be in no one's interest."
And there it was. The threat that I'd been hoping would not come. I should have known better. The Empire was clearly willing to commit considerable resources to see me dislodged, including backing any Ildoan attempt on Abyssinia. This didn't mean all hope was lost. War is a chaotic thing, and I was fairly sure any invasion of the country would create enough confusion for me and my company to slip away. And now that I'd been warned, I could start putting resources towards a secure escape route. I just had to get rid of Lergen and his obviously fake offer without causing a diplomatic incident. The best way would be to demand something ridiculous for my cooperation.
"Hmm…," I pretended to muse. "I suppose I could accelerate the officer training to take just another three months. But that's a lot of very intensive work. In exchange I want a few of the Type 30s upfront. Oh, and I want the right to recruit from the Turkmen empire, anyone who for whatever reason isn't recruited by their army." There, no one would agree to such a deal. The Type 30s might not be dual-core orbs, but they were still cutting edge. There's no way the Empire would give away their secret just to bait a trap. And no country as autocratic as the Turkmen would permit a private force to recruit from their vital pool of aerial mages.
"I'll see what I can do," replied Lergen.
I could see he was taken aback at my demands. I decided to drive a final nail into the coffin. "And I'll expect the Turkmen government to mail me their list of known B and A-rank mages who for whatever reason have been deemed unsuitable for their army. Might as well hit the ground running when I get there."
He blinked at me for a moment, then said, "Anything else?"
"No. That'll do."
"And if you get all that, I can expect you in Istanbul by the end of April?" he confirmed.
"Of course."
I had to admire Lergen for keeping to the pretense, even though inside he must be seething in frustration. He even took the time to get my demands in writing.
I felt a bit bad about giving him the runaround like this. But once the Empire decided the bait for the trap was too expensive, they'd either give up, support the Ildoans in striking at Abyssinia, or try a covert attempt of their own. The last option would be the most dangerous for me, but as long as I stayed alert, kept mobile, and had a ready escape plan, I should be able to get out from under.
In the meantime, there was something more immediate that demanded my attention. Visha's birthday was coming up, and I needed a suitable present.
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January 11, 1931, Berun, The Empire
Chancellor Zettour looked on in some concern at just how deep Lergen drank from the offered glass of brandy.
"That bad?" he asked the younger man gravely.
"She insists she'll need at least three months before she considers her current agreement with Abyssinia sufficiently fulfilled." replied Lergen as he adjusted his glasses.
Zettour nodded. "I think we can keep the Ildoans calm for at least that long."
"She also had a list of demands."
Zettour went over the list Lergen handed him, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline. "Ambitious, isn't she?"
"She's clearly trying to form her own aerial mage corps, and she's willing to use us to do it." growled Lergen.
"Can you blame her? Still, I'm glad we can finally nail down where her ultimate ambition lies," said the Chancellor.
"Surely you're not going to agree to this?" came the surprised response.
"The Type 30 is only going to be cutting edge for a couple of years. Already Elenium labs is promising us an improved version of the Type 93, now that we've got someone saner than Schugel in charge. Sacrificing a temporary advantage to move Degurechaff to support one of our nominal allies… I can see it being worth the price."
"Do you really think we can control her?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," chuckled the Chancellor. "But I do think she will allow herself to be used, for the right price."
"And do you think the price is worth it?"
The chancellor looked at the Brigadier, and refrained from pointing out that scowling like that just made Lergen look a lot older than his thirty-six years. Instead he replied, "An interesting question, Brigadier. One I think could be best answered by the Legadonians. Or the Dacians. Or the Francois."
Lergen grumbled something under his breath, before saying, "The Turkmen will need to agree. Do they even have lists like that?"
"We'll just have to do our best. As for the Turkmen, they really are in dire need of all the military help they can get. First Rumelia unites long enough to kick them out, and now the Albish are running rings around them in Arabia. We'll help them discreetly, but their own pride means an independent contractor will be easier for them to accept than direct aid from us. I think they'll go for it."
There was a pause, then Lergen said, "You know, if it wasn't for all her achievements in battle, I would say the Empire made a mistake in placing her on the field instead of in Intelligence."
"Oh?" Zettour gave a curious look.
Lergen nodded. "Even though the presence of Serebryakov and other evidence almost guaranteed that Ecks was Degurechaff… As I sat there speaking to her I could have sworn I was speaking to a native of Albion or Eire. I'm no mage to see through illusions, but you can't create such smooth mannerisms and flawless accents using magic. I can see why she's managed to hide herself for so long."
"That is very interesting, Brigadier. Truly, she deserves the title of prodigy."
"Yes, quite. I'll be honest, the only thing that really gave her away was her ambition." Lergen tapped the paper containing Tanya's list of demands. "It was when I saw that list that I realized I was in fact talking to Tanya von Degurechaff."
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January 28, 1931, undisclosed location near Roma, Ildoa
"And are these children of faith?"
The Ildoan major took a deep breath, before saying. "All of them were raised in devout families, and in one case a Church-run orphanage."
"Oh, happy day! Just like my first great success! It is a sign, I tell you! A sign from God blessing our partnership!" raved the man with the wild grey hair and a monocle.
The major felt disgusted as the raving lunatic was escorted back to his lab, along with the four children. The children were all between ages five and ten, tested with a minimum B-rank potential, and as the so-called scientist had specified, from devout backgrounds… and also poor backgrounds, so they wouldn't be missed. They had also been mildly sedated, otherwise they would undoubtedly have panicked at the madman's appearance.
The major had seen the reports on what this madman had done to the children the Empire had entrusted to his care. From what he could tell, the man's so-called science consisted of strapping highly unstable and untested orb designs to the children, and then joining them in praying for divine intervention. As far as the major could tell, the real miracle was that there had been so many survivors of Schugel's previous attempts, before the Empire shut down his project and tried to arrest the man for gross negligence.
Alas, with the proverbial cunning of the insane, Adelheid von Schugel had fled the Empire with enough of his design notes to interest the Duce. Within a week of his arrival, he'd managed to produce a refinement to their existing military orbs.
With his bona fides established, the Duce had signed off on his project to recreate his magnum opus, the quad-core computation orb and a mage capable of wielding it. The reasoning was that Schugel had had enough time to make the most obvious mistakes at the Empire's expense. Now Ildoa would reap the benefits of his greater experience while paying a much lower cost.
The major was in charge of the project, and he had very little optimism on the matter. His sole morbid consolation was that the need for discretion, the specified age limits, and the rarity of aerial mages meant the good doctor's casualty count would perforce have to be on the low side.
The major was honestly looking forward to the day the Duce would come to his senses and execute the lunatic. In the meantime, his prayers would be for the poor children. Let them all live, and should the worst happen, let their sacrifice not be in vain.
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- Location
- Leeds
Oh no. Oooh nooo.
- Location
- Paradise, Hawaii
Rule 6: The MC of this story is a minor. Kindly keep that in mind while discussing things.
Tanya is about to recruit the mage minority and religious oppressed.
Whom else can see a Middle East Harem situation?
Visha dressing in a Harem Girl Silks, Belly Dancing before Tanya?
Whom else can see a Middle East Harem situation?
Visha dressing in a Harem Girl Silks, Belly Dancing before Tanya?
Small Nerd
Meganekko
- Location
- Out There
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Now that you've mentioned it, I'm waiting to see what our good author's take on those religious minorities will be like. It'll be interesting. The actual Ottomans tended to use a pretty light hand on those groups of Christians that they weren't actively fighting with, and the same goes for the Jewish population of the Empire. But that was when the nationalists weren't at the helm, who knows what the Totally-Not-Ottomans will do in their current situation. The Young Turkmens are probably having quite a time at the moment. Maybe Tanya will accidentally prevent a pogrom or something.
FourthWall
Love & Destroy
- Location
- Chiraq
That would put a bow on the Catch-22 fuckfest that is her life.
Speaking of, this fic captures the Catch-22 with a little salaryman girl flavor of the original work perfectly. Attaching it to a cat and mouse criminal thriller (and some quasi-above board TaterTanya shipping) adds peanut butter to that original work's chocolate.
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