ExNihilo
SPACE!
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Worse. I'm pretty sure Visha's morality is 'If I preform well enough Sempai will notice me' so all normal morality goes out the window as soon as Tanya is within 50 kilometers.
A Young Girl's Delinquency Record (Youjo Senki/Saga of Tanya the Evil)
- Thread starter Gremlin Jack
- Start date
- Mature Fantasy Alt. History
-
- Tags
- youjo senki
Worse. I'm pretty sure Visha's morality is 'If I preform well enough Sempai will notice me' so all normal morality goes out the window as soon as Tanya is within 50 kilometers.
Stratagemini
Totally a Fire Ferret.
- Location
- Central Park
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
ExNihilo
SPACE!
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Look, she set out to achieve unregulated capitalism in Latin America, of course she's going to accidentally prevent banana republics from taking place entirely by accident. This is Ms. Cushy Job in the Rear Echelon we're talking about here.
Just watch, Tanya will come out of her spanish flu sickness to learn that Visha started and won a war with the US over the strike. And that Visha is now wanted by Interpol as a result of her actions. Meanwhile, Mary's trapped undercover in Household Magicks at a time when the Navy really wishes they had an A-rank mage available.
I feel bad for that mage commander. He's probably going to get the blame for that mess (which he may or may not deserve, but at least he probably won't be around to see it). Though, I mean, if an ex-203rd shows up as part of the security force and tells you to follow proper procedure or else, you don't do the equivalent of "meh, we can take her." You abort and go about following proper procedure, or call back to your boss and pass the command decision to them. ... I wonder who the survivor of the lower platoon was. Houston? Stills?
In any case, the US mage complement went from 20 mages to 14, though possibly as low as 8 depending on the severity of the injuries of the 6 survivors from this skirmish. Probably be embarrassing to the US when news gets out that American mages invaded Colombia, and got slapped down hard by the security force the Colombians were using to handle the situation. ...And the fight wasn't even a violation of the RoE Stillwater was operating under - the Americans fired first (at the decoy).
...I wonder when the Empire will send the 207th to break the strike so they can get bananas once more. Stillwater needs some Type 97s after all.
I feel bad for that mage commander. He's probably going to get the blame for that mess (which he may or may not deserve, but at least he probably won't be around to see it). Though, I mean, if an ex-203rd shows up as part of the security force and tells you to follow proper procedure or else, you don't do the equivalent of "meh, we can take her." You abort and go about following proper procedure, or call back to your boss and pass the command decision to them. ... I wonder who the survivor of the lower platoon was. Houston? Stills?
In any case, the US mage complement went from 20 mages to 14, though possibly as low as 8 depending on the severity of the injuries of the 6 survivors from this skirmish. Probably be embarrassing to the US when news gets out that American mages invaded Colombia, and got slapped down hard by the security force the Colombians were using to handle the situation. ...And the fight wasn't even a violation of the RoE Stillwater was operating under - the Americans fired first (at the decoy).
...I wonder when the Empire will send the 207th to break the strike so they can get bananas once more. Stillwater needs some Type 97s after all.
- Location
- A Tropical Island in the Pacific
Dont sink the Nevada. Americans have a way of getting the public to join their war effort if a ship sank
- Location
- Leeds
Mary: Don't get too dependent. We've got Deurgechaff, hook line and sinker. Now we just play the waiting game.
...
...
I had forgotten how bad I am at the waiting game.
Aaaahhhh nawww.
Poor Tanya, when she gets better will she be trying to exit the country in time for Mary Sue to arrive (Hearing where Eecks was last reported from the mages who returned) or will she be unable to get out of whatever obligations she has.
Made some minor edits to Chapter 17. Only significant one is that industrial hemp cannabis is a different breed from narcotic cannabis, and I've changed up some things in the first few paras to reflect that.
- Location
- Leeds
Or keep it the same and Tanya accidentally tries to sell hemp cannabis as a smokeable.
Chapter 18
Chapter 18
May 13, 1928, near Santa Marta, Colombia
I was giving Visha my best glare, but instead of immediately coming to attention as she would have back in the army, she continued to hum cheerfully as she checked the temperature on the thermometer.
It would be fine. I knew it and she knew it. My fever had broken yesterday afternoon, but my subordinate had insisted I stay in bed in case of a last minute relapse. Now it was a beautiful and hot Sunday morning, I was feeling perfectly fine if a bit weak, and if Visha didn't stop fooling around and fill me in on what been happening since I had gone down, I would not be responsible for my actions.
She finally stopped fiddling with the thermometer and addressed me. "Well, looks like you really are all better. Still, you're not ready yet to go back to work. Are you really sure I should burden you with a detailed debriefing? Maybe we should wait..."
As she trailed off with an innocent smile that looked disturbingly sincere, I felt my right eye starting to twitch. I knew something big had happened, and even if it wasn't anything terrible, I needed to know. It seemed Visha was getting a bit too comfortable with civilian life if she thought she could get away with teasing me like this.
Smoothing out my irritation, I gave her my sweetest smile. "Visha. Do you perchance remember the way I handled subordinates who irritated me back on the Rhine front?"
Judging by the way her smile grew strained, she did in fact remember. Excellent. I continued, "Of course, those were the days when we were all under Imperial military law."
"Ah, that is true! We're just civilians now!" Visha agreed, a definite note of relief in her voice.
"Indeed, Visha. And that means my methods for dealing with troublesome subordinates are no longer limited by the military code of conduct." I carefully kept up a pleasant demeanor to hide my inner amusement as I watched Visha's face pale and the last of her smile disappear. "Just as an example, Imperial Law specifically forbade using things like chains and whips."
Once Visha processed that statement, her face flushed and her entire body froze even as her eyes stared off into the distance. I blinked at the sudden change in expression, then nearly slapped myself. Damn it, I overdid it. Now she's scared stiff. Really, Visha, after all this time you still can't tell when I'm joking? As if doing something like that wasn't even more illegal as a civilian! Well, unless you were into that... My brain came to a screeching halt as I suddenly started seeing visions conjured by that last stray thought. Curse you puberty, now is not the time!!
Mentally shaking myself to dislodge that nonsense, I was relieved to see Visha hadn't noticed, stuck as she was in what looked like a mild panic attack. Still, better snap her out of it before she did something I would regret. "Lieutenant!" my sharp bark, infused with every ounce of command authority, did an admirable job pulling her out of her thoughts and into something resembling coherency. I considered apologizing for making such extreme statements, but in the end if hyperbolic threats were what it took to maintain discipline, then so be it. So all I said was, "Now that we understand each other, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could start filling me in on what has been going on. Right. Now."
"Ah... right, Major! So, it was mostly quiet, but then on Tuesday the 7th..."
As my subordinate cheerfully recounted how she had attacked a company of American aerial mages, killing five and taking one prisoner, I could feel my face becoming frozen in the calm expression long and bitter experience had taught me to always present to others.
I wanted to scream and rage and curse her out for signing all our death warrants, but I was honest enough to realize this was my fault. Before I'd come down with the flu, my standing instructions had been to maintain the peace at all cost. While I'd entertained the possibility of outside interference, I'd always assumed I'd be there to guide the company through such a scenario. And even in my worst nightmares I hadn't expected an entire US flotilla! In fact, I'd put far higher odds on the Colombian government mobilizing its own army than to see any kind of foreign intervention.
The worst part was that I strongly suspected the Americans had been there with the permission of the Colombian government. Sure, Visha reported that Colombian destroyers and mages had actively started patrolling following the skirmish, but that sounded to me like ass-covering after the fact. Considering how we had received no warnings or instructions and the Colombian mages had made no attempt to intercept before the Americans got to shore, it was obvious in hindsight that the Colombian military had been instructed to stand aside and let the Americans do the dirty work of breaking up the strike. As for why the Colombians hadn't warned us, I could only assume they'd never even dreamed that a private security company would be insane enough to go up against the mightiest military in this hemisphere. I mentally scoffed. Clearly they'd never encountered the kind of battle maniacs that ended up forming the 203rd.
I considered explaining all this to Visha, but one look at her innocently hopeful face stopped me in my tracks. It was clear she was expecting to be praised for being a good subordinate, and I couldn't bring myself to dampen that enthusiasm. There would be enough doom and gloom in the future, so I might as well let her be happy for a little while longer. "That... is exemplary work, Visha. Well done. I was a bit worried about what might happen without me there to keep an eye on things, but you have certainly managed to... exceed all expectations."
Visha turned red as a tomato while bashfully shuffling her feet. "I'm just doing as you taught me, Major. And really, you shouldn't worry so much. You trained us all so well, I'm sure we can handle things on our own whenever you need to take a break."
"Yes, you've certainly proven that beyond doubt. I hope you're treating the prisoner well?"
"Oh yes, we've got him in Santa Marta's best hospital. He hasn't regained consciousness except briefly, but he should be healthy enough to question within a few days. We've also been helping the Colombians examine his orb. It's strange though, the thing is not nearly as good as what we are using. I thought our orbs were based on an American model."
I considered this, and details from the last report from Hughes Magical Works floated up. "The M27 was purchased by the US Army. The Navy insisted a version specialized to their needs, so I guess these guys haven't been upgraded yet." To be exact, the Navy insisted on some bells and whistles (like depth-finder spells) that made the orb a bit more useful for naval mages. Of course, these little details didn't actually improve the combat performance of the orb one bit, but that didn't stop the makers from slapping the M28 label on it, and hiking the price by $3,000 per unit. The M28 had only been approved for limited production last month, so it's not surprising that mages all the way out here were still using what I suspect were the old 6F models.
Visha accepted my explanation, then went on, "The Government rep we talk to told us we were to carry on as we have been, and things have been pretty quiet over the last few days. I don't know if that will last though. Several people were close enough to witness the fight, and news of what the Americans tried have already spread. There's a lot of anger there, Major. I'm worried that the workers will start a riot. There's already been some people calling to burn the plantations to the ground and drive United Fruit out of the country. And that's not even counting the diplomatic shouting match that I've been hearing rumors of."
I nodded in agreement, "We're going to have to step up our patrols. Call in a few more squads of troopers and start patrolling more openly. Hopefully we can break up trouble before it gets organized."
"I'll get right on it!"
"And on your way out, get me a telephone."
"Major, you really shouldn't be straining yourself just yet..."
"I'm not going to leave my bed Visha. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to help. Besides, boredom is likely to make me sicker than a few telephone calls."
After a bit more fussing, she agreed to give me a phone, then left to see to the patrols.
I wished her luck, but to be honest it was just something to keep her busy. I'd already realized our contracts didn't matter anymore. The Americans had been given discreet permission by the Colombians to operate on their soil. By stopping them the way we did, Stillwater had deeply embarrassed both governments, not to mention the lives lost. The only reason we hadn't already been fired was probably because the Colombians wanted us where they could find us while they hashed out a deal with the Americans that kept them from declaring a war.
I had a queasy feeling that any such deal might include the head of one Sarah Witherspoon on a silver platter, so I frantically started calling every single ally I had in the Colombian government. I was not foolish enough to think the Colombians would ever choose my friendship over that of the Americans, but I was hoping I could at least talk them into giving me a head start.
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Meanwhile...
When the USS Nevada's mage company returned beaten and broken, the result on the American fleet was akin to a bucket of cold water to the face. The initial decision to send in the mage company had been taken as a cost-effective alternative to attempting an amphibious assault on potentially hostile soil. The Colombian Navy did have enough destroyers and frigates in local waters to outnumber the American flotilla, even if the flotilla outmassed them. If they chose to press the matter, the Americans would win, but not without hundreds of casualties. Thus Commodore Whitaker had approved a mage company to carry out what on the paperwork would be called a 'reconnaissance-in-force'.
The results were less than optimal. While resistance had been a possibility, no manner of planning had allowed for the resistance to be so fiendishly effective. The Commodore had contemplated pushing forward with the full weight of the flotilla and the several hundred marines that had been taken aboard for just such a purpose, but it was the identity of the opposing mages that had given him pause.
The woman leading the enemy mages had openly identified herself as Viktoriya Serebryakov. Recording spells from the survivors had gotten a clear image of her face, which had matched what little information they had on the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Even worse, one of the other mages had been identified as a Captain in the same battalion.
Whitaker was not someone who had ever paid much close attention to European aerial mages, but even he had heard of the single most highly decorated and feared mage battalion of the war. Which begged the question - why the hell were some of the most dangerous mages in the world here in Colombia pretending to be a civilian security firm?
It didn't take long for him to reach the obvious conclusion - having established themselves as the supreme power in Europe, the Empire were now stretching out their influence to the other side of the Atlantic. Why they had picked Colombia of all places he had no idea, and he cursed Naval Intelligence for not having even hinted that the Empire might have an interest in the region.
On top of that, there was the mystery of Sarah Witherspoon. Local American contacts were confident she was Albish, and the leader of Stillwater Security, the firm the Imperial mages were supposedly part of. This was either some kind of smokescreen to try and blame the Albish (but if so, why did Serebryakov identify herself so openly?) or the Albish were actually making common cause with the Imperials in trying to force American interests out of Colombia.
Whitaker didn't know what to think. The local ambassador and the reps from United Fruit were clearly no help, since they didn't even seem to know who Serebryakov was. However, there was one thing the Commodore did know. Potential multinational intrigue was at minimum a fleet admiral's problem, and he wasn't even a flag officer. Naval officers were expected to act independently and show initiative, but that independence included knowing when a problem had exceeded their pay grade.
Thus, Whitaker chose to exercise his initiative by pulling back from shore, setting his flotilla on high alert, and scorching the airwaves demanding instructions from higher up while steadfastly ignoring any demands from local American officials or executives. In his considered opinion, the situation had long since exceeded the bounds of ordinary business, and he was NOT going to be the officer responsible for starting a shooting war with Europe.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
When Commodore Whitaker started calling back to base for further instruction, his wasn't the only message headed for American territory. The American ambassador in Colombia, having been thoroughly chewed out by his hosts, was burning the telegram lines to Washington. The senior executive of United Fruit, panicking at the ugly mood sweeping through the workers along with rumors of the failed intervention, was screaming at the telephone for a connection to Florida. Then there were several other representatives of American companies that had been following the United Fruit debacle with interest, and who were now busy calling home asking if there was going to be war, and if so could they please come home, thank you kindly. And on top of that were visitors from other countries who thought people should know about the very public air battle near one of Colombia's biggest ports.
All through Friday night, government officials and business executives were running around like headless chickens trying to figure out what would be the appropriate response, and who should be blamed for this debacle. Because, at the end of the day, six ordinary soldiers would not have been worth mentioning. Six aerial mages, on the other hand, represented a significant loss even to a country as large as the Unified States.
Attempts were made to keep matters confidential, but with so many people in the know, information was bound to leak out. It might not have made the papers, but many important people had heard at least a garbled version of the news. And these important people included major investors in a variety of companies with an interest in South America.
When the stock market opened for its half-day of trading on Saturday, May 12th, initially there was a sharp dip in the stock of United Fruit, as those in the know sold out their shares. This naturally garnered the interest of various other investors who desperately tried to investigate why, but that thanks to the information blackout all they got was garbled rumors of chaos and death in South America. What started as a run on United Fruit stock quickly turned into a general loss of faith in any company involved in Central and South America. Even then the situation might not have been so bad, except most of the better-informed investors knew the American stock market in 1928 was heavily overpriced. With so many companies' prices dipping, they saw it as a sign that the bubble might finally burst. When the half-day of trading ended, the stock market had lost 4% of its value.
This was painful enough to garner the attention of the biggest players. Several major banks came forward promising to buy shares in the worst affected stock as an expression of confidence. The White House released a statement that there had been a minor skirmish in Colombia between American forces and 'local partisans', with the courageous American forces suffering only six casualties while their opponents had suffered a 'large but undetermined' number of fatalities. Even now diplomats were in negotiation to ensure a peaceful end to the situation, and it was fully expected that the ordinary course of business would resume in a matter of days.
These announcements were widely reported in the Sunday morning papers, and among the more active investors (who didn't stop work just because it was a Sunday) there was a growing feeling that the market might yet steady its course. Unfortunately for their growing sense of optimism, one particular detail had escaped the attempts at secrecy to arrive into the hands of two particularly well-connected reporters - the name of Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov.
One reporter got the information early on Sunday. He spent the morning frantically researching every scrap of information he could. When the afternoon edition of one of the country's most respected newspapers came out, it contained a fairly accurate biography of Visha, along with rampant but well-reasoned speculation on why one of the Empire's most capable mages might be fighting American troops in Colombia. The theories proposed included the Empire attempting to supplant American interests in South America along with speculation that the Devil of the Rhine herself might be involved, seeing as how Serebryakov had been her second-in-command.
The second reporter got the information much later in the day. A tabloid journalist with a deadline to meet, all he knew was that Serebryakov was a Russy name and that the woman was a mage. That was enough. One of the most widely read tabloids in the country ran a front-page spread declaring to all that the Rus had sent a battalion of their elite mages to overthrow the governments of South America and establish communist regimes. Older reports of the labor unrest in Colombia were held up as proof of the obvious Communist influence. The reports of the Communists disbanding their mages were nothing more than a ruse to pull the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting West. Instead all those mages had been sent to conquer South America, starting with Colombia. Why Colombia? Because right next to Colombia was the Panama Canal, of course! The next step to the revolution was undoubtedly capturing or destroying the canal, and choking off one of the arteries of American business.
Both these reporters also had radio contacts, which meant both publications were followed up within hours by radio reports talking about the exact same thing.
The US Government immediately responded with a statement assuring the public there was no evidence of any sort of uprising or invasion - but when questioned about the presence of foreign mages famed for their association with the Destroyer of Brest, the responding denials were audible in their absence. Early on Monday morning, several major New York papers contained a letter from a respected scientist pointing out an explosion the size of the Brest disaster would be more than adequate for putting the Panama Canal out of commission.
When the stock market finally opened, it lost another 3% within the first hour. Then a rumor spread that the banks that had committed to buying shares to shore up the market had quietly cancelled their overnight orders.
At that point, the entire market entered a race to find the bottom.
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May 15th, 1928, Berun, The Empire
Major General Zettour looked up as his old friend Rudersdorf barged into his office unannounced. The visitor was not long in communicating the reason for his unseemly haste. "Zettour! Have you seen the latest news from South America?"
The aging general nodded. "Colombia, to be exact. And yes, I have. Miss Serebryakov seems to be enjoying her American vacation."
"You knew about this?"
"Of course not. I knew Serebryakov planned to visit the Unified States. I honestly have no idea how she got from there to Colombia, but then she is no longer in the army so that is hardly my concern."
"I don't think you can afford to be quite so cavalier about this, my friend. The Americans have been demanding to know what the 203rd is doing in Colombia."
"The 203rd is disbanded."
"That's what we told them, at which point they claimed they'd positively identified other mages of the 203rd fighting alongside Serebryakov. They also seemed to insinuate Degurechaff might be involved as well."
"That's rich, considering we have strong circumstantial evidence that Degurechaff may have been hiding out and working for the Americans for years now."
"Yes, well, the latest Interpol reports place Jennifer Ecks, Degurechaff's suspected identity, in Colombia. The Americans are accusing us of using Degurechaff to run a long-term espionage mission into the Unified States, and now we are moving to cut off their South American influence. This has gotten all the way to the Kaiser. As you might guess, he is displeased."
"Tell the Kaiser that, considering how Serebryakov and other members of the 203rd have been leaving the country, it's far more likely the Americans are using Degurechaff to recruit some of our most talented aerial mages out from under us. These accusations against us are nothing more than a distraction from their own culpability."
"You really think so?"
"Well, what else are we supposed to think? We had nothing to do with Degurechaff's disappearance. The only thing we know is there is very strong suspicion she may have been involved in developing American combat orbs. As for Colombia, might I remind you America has a long history of intervention in that region? Much of Central America and the Caribbean is an American protectorate. For all we know, Degurechaff, Serebryakov and the rest have been recruited by the Americans to destabilize the Colombian government and usher in a new era of American control, and this whole so-called conflict is nothing more than a smokescreen to justify a full-scale occupation of the country."
"That's quite the theory, Zettour."
"But it holds together, which is enough to placate the Kaiser."
"And the fact that this scheme has caused their stock market to drop like a rock?"
"Unintended consequences, as might be expected of any such overly elaborate scheme. Markets recover, hegemony lasts much longer."
Rudersdorf pondered this for a moment, then gave a sigh deep enough to ruffle his mustache. "It makes sense as long as you don't think about it too hard. I'll write up a report and forward it to the Palace." He then fixed his friend with a gimlet glare. "Now, Zettour, tell me what you really think."
Zettour studied his friend for a long moment, then dropped his voice to a soft whisper. "I think Serebryakov and the rest of the 203rd have been leaving the country to join Degurechaff. Somehow, under all our noses, she managed to get the word to her former subordinates. And they have decided they prefer to serve her rather than the Empire. As for all the rest - the American orbs, the film, Colombia? I have absolutely no idea."
Rudersdorf chewed his mustache in frustration. "Why? What is the purpose in all this? What can she possibly hope to achieve?"
"I don't know, my friend. But I do know this. She had a mind for strategy unlike any other. Using the most disparate pieces of information, she could see patterns where all we saw was chaos. No one even dreamed the Francois could be so duplicitous, yet she saw it, and acted on it. I feel this is more of the same. All we can see are actions without rhyme or reason. It will only be after the fact that we will realize the method to her madness."
"But to what purpose, Zettour? Every strategy, no matter how insane, must have an ultimate goal."
"Ah, there is the rub. What is Degurechaff's goal? Three years ago, I could have said without hesitation it would be the greater glory of the Fatherland. Now? I think all we can do is pray it is not us she has in her sights."
There was a long moment of silence as the two friends contemplated the future. Then Rudersdorf spoke. "By the way, good news. We got Tirpitz."
Zettour's eyes sharpened. "So, the old Admiral is on our side?"
"I wouldn't say on our side, so much as he thinks we need a Chancellor that actually knows how to tell the Kaiser 'no'. And you're a much better option than, to use his words, 'that penny-pinching ass-kisser Siegfried'."
Neither of the generals needed to say out loud how significant this was. Tirpitz had been Secretary of the Imperial Navy for almost thirty years. The 'grand old Admiral' was an institution unto himself. If it wasn't for his steadfast refusal to leave his precious Navy, the man could have made Chancellor decades ago. He represented the single largest unaligned power bloc in Imperial politics. With his support, Zettour was effectively the most viable choice for Chancellor. Of course, the Chancellor served at the Kaiser's pleasure, and right now Siegfried von Roedern had the Kaiser's support. Still, even the Kaiser couldn't completely ignore political sentiment, particularly not when his public support had been growing shaky as the Empire had been slower than expected recovering from the stresses of the war. With Tirpitz throwing his weight behind Zettour, it simply became a matter of keeping up the pressure on Roedern. Inevitably, the man would make a slip, and the Kaiser would have no choice but to replace him with a Chancellor that actually enjoyed a degree of political support.
Zettour glanced at his oldest ally. "You know, you could probably make an even better candidate for Chancellor. You have a certain way with people. I tend to make the gentler sorts nervous."
Rudersdorf huffed. "I thought about it. And I realized something - I am old. Yes, yes, I know you're even older than me. That doesn't change the fact that I am old too. And as I grow older, I find myself less and less inclined to throw myself into conflict, even in the political arena." The general seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, before continuing, "The truth is, I am comfortable where I am. The Army can be equal parts delightful and frustrating, but I am used to it. To leave this and go to the Palace, to wrestle with our Kaiser on a daily basis over the fate of our nation? No, I am more than happy to leave that to you."
The two longtime friends sat in silence for a moment, before they both lit up their cigars at the same time. "Well, here's hoping," puffed Zettour. "Speaking of, how is our friend Brigadier Lergen doing?"
"Quite well I hear," responded Rudersdorf. "Colonial administration seems to suit him. Morocco is on its way to being fully integrated into the Empire, and the locals seem far happier with him than they ever were with the Francois."
"That is good to hear. Better than the quagmire in the Congo."
"Indeed. Having it declared the Kaiser's personal property was a mistake. He's pretty much given free rein to the corporations to do whatever they please," mused Rudersdorf.
"You don't know the half of it. I have to field constant complaints from the garrison commander about Captain Grantz."
"Isn't he one of Degurechaff's? What has he been doing?"
"Refusing to massacre the locals when they object to being enslaved, apparently."
"Good man," rumbled Rudersdorf. "We're supposed to be civilized. Unlike the damned Francois."
"Roedern was the one who proposed that mess, it is his cronies who are benefiting. So look on the bright side, my friend. If Congo blows up, it will be more grist for the mill."
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May 16th, 1928, New York, Unified States
The dark-haired young woman glance around before entering the diner. Slipping into a private booth, she faced her superior. Who looked distinctly odd, and somewhat younger, dressed in a casual shirt and pants.
"Captain Strong," she greeted.
"Ensign Sioux," came the response. "How goes your undercover operation?"
"Interesting and frustrating. I am learning far more about more traditional forms of spellcraft than I ever expected to know. Some of it is quite fascinating. I have also confirmed that Jennifer Ecks was the one who trained the CEO of Household Magicks, so the link is there. But so far, they refuse to send me to Velvet Iron for combat training until I am closer to eighteen."
They both paused as the waiter came by with a pot of coffee. Mary Sioux noticed the Captain had ordered for her as well.
After pouring enough cream and sugar into the brew to make it palatable, she took a careful sip. As she did so, the Captain remarked, "While that is interesting, it's hardly useful. In the meantime, we confirmed Ecks disappeared to Colombia where, surprise, surprise, other mages of the 203rd have started showing up."
Mary nodded. "Yes, I've heard. Do you... do you think it was deliberate?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this whole stock market crash. 'Black Monday', they're calling it. Do you think she deliberately started the whole fight just so she could trigger the collapse?"
The Captain chuckled. "Degurechaff is a soldier, not an economist. The market will recover soon enough. Besides, what reason could she possibly have to do something like that?"
"Captain, I know our theory is she might be working for some clandestine branch of the American government, but what if they had a falling out? It would certainly explain her suddenly starring in that picture. A way of giving the finger to her former allies and making her presence here public. And now she's in Colombia deliberately screwing with American interests."
"You think her actions are motivated by petty revenge?"
"It's as good an explanation as any. Besides, she already turned her back on one country. Turning her back on another would only be easier, whatever her reasons."
"Interesting, but its all speculation Ensign. Now, do you want to come in? I really don't think you're doing much good where you are, and all the action seems to be in Colombia."
"Does Interpol have permission to enter the country, then?"
"No, not yet. Honestly, Interpol's needs seem pretty low down the list, the diplomats all seem to agree on the primary importance of bananas."
"Bananas?!"
"My reaction exactly."
The ensign shook her head in disbelief. "Well, as long as we're stuck here, I might as well stay in place. Besides, Captain, here's something else I heard. Turns out, I'm not the first combat-rated mage to join Household Magicks. Before me, there was a young man named Charles Norris. He was sent here for the same reason I was, being underage. Here's the thing though, a few months before his eighteenth birthday, he was transferred. Destination unknown, but he talked about leaving the country."
"You think Degurechaff sent for him?"
"90%. I think Degurechaff insists on personally training every combat mage that she comes by. Barrow was trained by her. The 203rd was trained by her. And Norris was sent to be trained by her. I think I just have to sit tight, and soon I'll get an invitation right to wherever she is."
Captain Strong was silent for a long moment, then he nodded. "Very well. This is as good a lead as any. I'll get in touch if anything changes."
"Thank you Captain. Oh, I forgot to ask, is the harlot back yet?"
Strong chuckled. "I didn't know you cared, Ensign. Yes, Roth's been back for some months now. Apparently the Kaiser is pissed. The Imperials came to the same theory we have, and they've been raising Cain in diplomatic channels."
"Watch me weep," came the dry response. "I should get going Captain. Don't want to get spotted."
"As you say. Goodbye, Ensign. And good luck."
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May 18th, 1928, Santa Marta, Colombia
I had just returned from Bogota after meeting with the Minister for Foreign Affairs. I figured that was as high up the governmental food chain as I could get on short notice. The man had gone to considerable length to assure me that my actions had upheld the honor of Colombia. He had also mentioned that much of American ire seemed to be aimed at my aerial mages, and that the Americans were accusing the Colombians of signing a secret treaty with the Empire.
That last might have been an honest misunderstanding, except Visha had quit the Empire months ago, passed through American immigration, and had clearly identified herself as an employee of Stillwater. All the others had also openly resigned, some of them years back. I refused to believe American intelligence was so incompetent they weren't tracking the full details of some of the best aerial mages in the world. No, it was obvious this baloney about the Empire was just the Americans giving the Colombians an out. Claim Visha and the others were agents of a foreign power, throw them out, and war need not be declared.
It was a pretty good deal for the Colombians too, since it allowed them to get rid of the people who had spoiled their little understanding with the Americans. If my experiences with Imperial justice had taught me anything, it was that no one holds a grudge like a politician embarrassed. I chalked it up to my efforts to build goodwill that we hadn't already been deported.
The foreign minister had also been kind enough to mention the diplomats were still negotiating, but that the talks should be concluded in a month or so. That was the deadline I had to quit the country.
Now that I knew I had a bit of time, I could wrap things up properly before I left. Sunrise Botanicals was running with almost no input from me, so I didn't need to do much other than brief the CEO to deny everything. A trickier proposition was the hundreds of troops working for Stillwater Security. I couldn't simply fire them, especially when they were doing some genuinely useful work propping up both Sunrise and the Coffee Growers Association. In the end, I decided to have Velvet Irons Protection perform a corporate takeover of Stillwater. All the employees that the Americans hadn't identified (which basically meant all the non-aerial mages) became employees of VIP, and Stillwater effectively ceased to exist.
Sure, the ruse wouldn't fool a child, since I was sure by this time my pursuers had connected my Jennifer Ecks persona to VIP. But it would force the Americans to prosecute a company based in their own country, enjoying the protections of the American constitution. It would also give the Colombian government a degree of plausible deniability, which I hoped they put to good use. Poor Lena would probably curse a blue streak because of all the extra paperwork I just landed on her, but her own fugitive status meant she was unlikely to betray me and I was willing to take ruthless advantage of that.
By sheer dint of seniority, I ended up placing a man named Josef Perez in charge of the Colombia branch of Velvet Iron Protection. A grizzled veteran of the war for Panama, he had the respect and the experience to hold the troops together. Tony Almeida would act as his second and his liaison to VIP head office.
The only aerial mage who was going to stay back in Colombia was Charles Norris. Surprisingly, the young man wasn't too upset about having had to fight fellow Americans. He was, however, reluctant to head any further from home, since he had ambitions to return to the Unified States one day. Well, I doubted he had been identified given how badly mauled the American mages had been. As long as he took some basic precautions, he should have no problem avoiding any arrest warrants. In the meantime, Perez would have at least one combat-mage grade on call, which would undoubtedly prove handy.
Still, I felt a bit bad leaving Norris all on his own. The only time I'd flown solo in combat had been during my first deployment over Norden, and it sucked. I decided he needed a wingman. My first choice would be Barrow, but I knew he was doing a sterling job beating the new recruits into shape. Lena needed him where he was. That left the girl over at Household Magicks. I fired off a telegram instructing her to be transferred to Barrow's tender care for basic training. Once she'd been trained in the basics of ground fighting, she'd be sent over to Colombia for aerial mage training under Norris. Training another mage was a big responsibility, but I had high hopes. Norris had proven himself both dedicated and talented, and in pure skill I'd judge him on par with most of the 203rd during our first deployment to Dacia. He still had a ways to go, but his fundamentals were solid, and I was sure he'd do an adequate job training up his wingman when she got here.
I also instructed Norris to keep an eye out for Becker and Royce. True to his word, Becker had left for Colombia after six months, and he was accompanied by one last ex-203, one of Weiss' old subordinates by the name of Royce. I'd have liked them to support VIP in Colombia, but I had no trust in the discretion of those warmongers, especially with the Americans bleating about Imperial interference. So, Norris' job amounted to handing them my forwarding address and sending them on their way.
As for me and the members of the 203rd who, for whatever insane reason, persisted in following me - I had already decided on our next destination.
Visha had filled me in on the odd conversation she had with General Zettour. It was clear he was suggesting that a fugitive might find a friendly place in Congo, particularly if they had friends among the former 203rd.
I appreciated the invitation, I really did. But I just couldn't trust it. The Empire had already sold me out once. The only members of the 203rd I felt I could trust not to report me immediately would be my company commanders, and members of the company I had personally lead. And the ex-203rd would hardly be the only Imperial soldiers in the Congo. Now, it was possible Zettour had already foreseen all of this and had made appropriate arrangements. But I couldn't be sure, and showing up and hoping for the best was no way to test it.
No, Congo was still a viable destination, but I was going to do this by stealth. Unlike my previous efforts that had at least involved entering the country in a semi-legal fashion with open declaration of my business, I and the members of the 203rd would be entering entirely illegally. After all, I was no longer hoping to conduct legal business, I simply wanted somewhere to lay low from the manhunt.
Fortunately, I was aided in this by the undeveloped nature of much of Africa. I'd already bribed a cargo ship heading for Africa to take us aboard without bothering to record our presence. Once we got close, we'd sneak ashore on one of the many stretches of African coast unwatched by magic scanners. Once ashore, even our fair skin tone wasn't too big of a problem. I'd been training all of them in low-profile illusions, and Point Noir, the primary port of the Congo, had a large population of whites.
No, I was not going to risk my freedom by trying to re-establish contact with the Empire. They had washed their hands off me, and I was happy to return the favor. I was determined our sojourn in the Congo was not going to create so much as the tiniest ripple where any Imperial official could spot it.
May 13, 1928, near Santa Marta, Colombia
I was giving Visha my best glare, but instead of immediately coming to attention as she would have back in the army, she continued to hum cheerfully as she checked the temperature on the thermometer.
It would be fine. I knew it and she knew it. My fever had broken yesterday afternoon, but my subordinate had insisted I stay in bed in case of a last minute relapse. Now it was a beautiful and hot Sunday morning, I was feeling perfectly fine if a bit weak, and if Visha didn't stop fooling around and fill me in on what been happening since I had gone down, I would not be responsible for my actions.
She finally stopped fiddling with the thermometer and addressed me. "Well, looks like you really are all better. Still, you're not ready yet to go back to work. Are you really sure I should burden you with a detailed debriefing? Maybe we should wait..."
As she trailed off with an innocent smile that looked disturbingly sincere, I felt my right eye starting to twitch. I knew something big had happened, and even if it wasn't anything terrible, I needed to know. It seemed Visha was getting a bit too comfortable with civilian life if she thought she could get away with teasing me like this.
Smoothing out my irritation, I gave her my sweetest smile. "Visha. Do you perchance remember the way I handled subordinates who irritated me back on the Rhine front?"
Judging by the way her smile grew strained, she did in fact remember. Excellent. I continued, "Of course, those were the days when we were all under Imperial military law."
"Ah, that is true! We're just civilians now!" Visha agreed, a definite note of relief in her voice.
"Indeed, Visha. And that means my methods for dealing with troublesome subordinates are no longer limited by the military code of conduct." I carefully kept up a pleasant demeanor to hide my inner amusement as I watched Visha's face pale and the last of her smile disappear. "Just as an example, Imperial Law specifically forbade using things like chains and whips."
Once Visha processed that statement, her face flushed and her entire body froze even as her eyes stared off into the distance. I blinked at the sudden change in expression, then nearly slapped myself. Damn it, I overdid it. Now she's scared stiff. Really, Visha, after all this time you still can't tell when I'm joking? As if doing something like that wasn't even more illegal as a civilian! Well, unless you were into that... My brain came to a screeching halt as I suddenly started seeing visions conjured by that last stray thought. Curse you puberty, now is not the time!!
Mentally shaking myself to dislodge that nonsense, I was relieved to see Visha hadn't noticed, stuck as she was in what looked like a mild panic attack. Still, better snap her out of it before she did something I would regret. "Lieutenant!" my sharp bark, infused with every ounce of command authority, did an admirable job pulling her out of her thoughts and into something resembling coherency. I considered apologizing for making such extreme statements, but in the end if hyperbolic threats were what it took to maintain discipline, then so be it. So all I said was, "Now that we understand each other, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could start filling me in on what has been going on. Right. Now."
"Ah... right, Major! So, it was mostly quiet, but then on Tuesday the 7th..."
As my subordinate cheerfully recounted how she had attacked a company of American aerial mages, killing five and taking one prisoner, I could feel my face becoming frozen in the calm expression long and bitter experience had taught me to always present to others.
I wanted to scream and rage and curse her out for signing all our death warrants, but I was honest enough to realize this was my fault. Before I'd come down with the flu, my standing instructions had been to maintain the peace at all cost. While I'd entertained the possibility of outside interference, I'd always assumed I'd be there to guide the company through such a scenario. And even in my worst nightmares I hadn't expected an entire US flotilla! In fact, I'd put far higher odds on the Colombian government mobilizing its own army than to see any kind of foreign intervention.
The worst part was that I strongly suspected the Americans had been there with the permission of the Colombian government. Sure, Visha reported that Colombian destroyers and mages had actively started patrolling following the skirmish, but that sounded to me like ass-covering after the fact. Considering how we had received no warnings or instructions and the Colombian mages had made no attempt to intercept before the Americans got to shore, it was obvious in hindsight that the Colombian military had been instructed to stand aside and let the Americans do the dirty work of breaking up the strike. As for why the Colombians hadn't warned us, I could only assume they'd never even dreamed that a private security company would be insane enough to go up against the mightiest military in this hemisphere. I mentally scoffed. Clearly they'd never encountered the kind of battle maniacs that ended up forming the 203rd.
I considered explaining all this to Visha, but one look at her innocently hopeful face stopped me in my tracks. It was clear she was expecting to be praised for being a good subordinate, and I couldn't bring myself to dampen that enthusiasm. There would be enough doom and gloom in the future, so I might as well let her be happy for a little while longer. "That... is exemplary work, Visha. Well done. I was a bit worried about what might happen without me there to keep an eye on things, but you have certainly managed to... exceed all expectations."
Visha turned red as a tomato while bashfully shuffling her feet. "I'm just doing as you taught me, Major. And really, you shouldn't worry so much. You trained us all so well, I'm sure we can handle things on our own whenever you need to take a break."
"Yes, you've certainly proven that beyond doubt. I hope you're treating the prisoner well?"
"Oh yes, we've got him in Santa Marta's best hospital. He hasn't regained consciousness except briefly, but he should be healthy enough to question within a few days. We've also been helping the Colombians examine his orb. It's strange though, the thing is not nearly as good as what we are using. I thought our orbs were based on an American model."
I considered this, and details from the last report from Hughes Magical Works floated up. "The M27 was purchased by the US Army. The Navy insisted a version specialized to their needs, so I guess these guys haven't been upgraded yet." To be exact, the Navy insisted on some bells and whistles (like depth-finder spells) that made the orb a bit more useful for naval mages. Of course, these little details didn't actually improve the combat performance of the orb one bit, but that didn't stop the makers from slapping the M28 label on it, and hiking the price by $3,000 per unit. The M28 had only been approved for limited production last month, so it's not surprising that mages all the way out here were still using what I suspect were the old 6F models.
Visha accepted my explanation, then went on, "The Government rep we talk to told us we were to carry on as we have been, and things have been pretty quiet over the last few days. I don't know if that will last though. Several people were close enough to witness the fight, and news of what the Americans tried have already spread. There's a lot of anger there, Major. I'm worried that the workers will start a riot. There's already been some people calling to burn the plantations to the ground and drive United Fruit out of the country. And that's not even counting the diplomatic shouting match that I've been hearing rumors of."
I nodded in agreement, "We're going to have to step up our patrols. Call in a few more squads of troopers and start patrolling more openly. Hopefully we can break up trouble before it gets organized."
"I'll get right on it!"
"And on your way out, get me a telephone."
"Major, you really shouldn't be straining yourself just yet..."
"I'm not going to leave my bed Visha. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to help. Besides, boredom is likely to make me sicker than a few telephone calls."
After a bit more fussing, she agreed to give me a phone, then left to see to the patrols.
I wished her luck, but to be honest it was just something to keep her busy. I'd already realized our contracts didn't matter anymore. The Americans had been given discreet permission by the Colombians to operate on their soil. By stopping them the way we did, Stillwater had deeply embarrassed both governments, not to mention the lives lost. The only reason we hadn't already been fired was probably because the Colombians wanted us where they could find us while they hashed out a deal with the Americans that kept them from declaring a war.
I had a queasy feeling that any such deal might include the head of one Sarah Witherspoon on a silver platter, so I frantically started calling every single ally I had in the Colombian government. I was not foolish enough to think the Colombians would ever choose my friendship over that of the Americans, but I was hoping I could at least talk them into giving me a head start.
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Meanwhile...
When the USS Nevada's mage company returned beaten and broken, the result on the American fleet was akin to a bucket of cold water to the face. The initial decision to send in the mage company had been taken as a cost-effective alternative to attempting an amphibious assault on potentially hostile soil. The Colombian Navy did have enough destroyers and frigates in local waters to outnumber the American flotilla, even if the flotilla outmassed them. If they chose to press the matter, the Americans would win, but not without hundreds of casualties. Thus Commodore Whitaker had approved a mage company to carry out what on the paperwork would be called a 'reconnaissance-in-force'.
The results were less than optimal. While resistance had been a possibility, no manner of planning had allowed for the resistance to be so fiendishly effective. The Commodore had contemplated pushing forward with the full weight of the flotilla and the several hundred marines that had been taken aboard for just such a purpose, but it was the identity of the opposing mages that had given him pause.
The woman leading the enemy mages had openly identified herself as Viktoriya Serebryakov. Recording spells from the survivors had gotten a clear image of her face, which had matched what little information they had on the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Even worse, one of the other mages had been identified as a Captain in the same battalion.
Whitaker was not someone who had ever paid much close attention to European aerial mages, but even he had heard of the single most highly decorated and feared mage battalion of the war. Which begged the question - why the hell were some of the most dangerous mages in the world here in Colombia pretending to be a civilian security firm?
It didn't take long for him to reach the obvious conclusion - having established themselves as the supreme power in Europe, the Empire were now stretching out their influence to the other side of the Atlantic. Why they had picked Colombia of all places he had no idea, and he cursed Naval Intelligence for not having even hinted that the Empire might have an interest in the region.
On top of that, there was the mystery of Sarah Witherspoon. Local American contacts were confident she was Albish, and the leader of Stillwater Security, the firm the Imperial mages were supposedly part of. This was either some kind of smokescreen to try and blame the Albish (but if so, why did Serebryakov identify herself so openly?) or the Albish were actually making common cause with the Imperials in trying to force American interests out of Colombia.
Whitaker didn't know what to think. The local ambassador and the reps from United Fruit were clearly no help, since they didn't even seem to know who Serebryakov was. However, there was one thing the Commodore did know. Potential multinational intrigue was at minimum a fleet admiral's problem, and he wasn't even a flag officer. Naval officers were expected to act independently and show initiative, but that independence included knowing when a problem had exceeded their pay grade.
Thus, Whitaker chose to exercise his initiative by pulling back from shore, setting his flotilla on high alert, and scorching the airwaves demanding instructions from higher up while steadfastly ignoring any demands from local American officials or executives. In his considered opinion, the situation had long since exceeded the bounds of ordinary business, and he was NOT going to be the officer responsible for starting a shooting war with Europe.
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When Commodore Whitaker started calling back to base for further instruction, his wasn't the only message headed for American territory. The American ambassador in Colombia, having been thoroughly chewed out by his hosts, was burning the telegram lines to Washington. The senior executive of United Fruit, panicking at the ugly mood sweeping through the workers along with rumors of the failed intervention, was screaming at the telephone for a connection to Florida. Then there were several other representatives of American companies that had been following the United Fruit debacle with interest, and who were now busy calling home asking if there was going to be war, and if so could they please come home, thank you kindly. And on top of that were visitors from other countries who thought people should know about the very public air battle near one of Colombia's biggest ports.
All through Friday night, government officials and business executives were running around like headless chickens trying to figure out what would be the appropriate response, and who should be blamed for this debacle. Because, at the end of the day, six ordinary soldiers would not have been worth mentioning. Six aerial mages, on the other hand, represented a significant loss even to a country as large as the Unified States.
Attempts were made to keep matters confidential, but with so many people in the know, information was bound to leak out. It might not have made the papers, but many important people had heard at least a garbled version of the news. And these important people included major investors in a variety of companies with an interest in South America.
When the stock market opened for its half-day of trading on Saturday, May 12th, initially there was a sharp dip in the stock of United Fruit, as those in the know sold out their shares. This naturally garnered the interest of various other investors who desperately tried to investigate why, but that thanks to the information blackout all they got was garbled rumors of chaos and death in South America. What started as a run on United Fruit stock quickly turned into a general loss of faith in any company involved in Central and South America. Even then the situation might not have been so bad, except most of the better-informed investors knew the American stock market in 1928 was heavily overpriced. With so many companies' prices dipping, they saw it as a sign that the bubble might finally burst. When the half-day of trading ended, the stock market had lost 4% of its value.
This was painful enough to garner the attention of the biggest players. Several major banks came forward promising to buy shares in the worst affected stock as an expression of confidence. The White House released a statement that there had been a minor skirmish in Colombia between American forces and 'local partisans', with the courageous American forces suffering only six casualties while their opponents had suffered a 'large but undetermined' number of fatalities. Even now diplomats were in negotiation to ensure a peaceful end to the situation, and it was fully expected that the ordinary course of business would resume in a matter of days.
These announcements were widely reported in the Sunday morning papers, and among the more active investors (who didn't stop work just because it was a Sunday) there was a growing feeling that the market might yet steady its course. Unfortunately for their growing sense of optimism, one particular detail had escaped the attempts at secrecy to arrive into the hands of two particularly well-connected reporters - the name of Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov.
One reporter got the information early on Sunday. He spent the morning frantically researching every scrap of information he could. When the afternoon edition of one of the country's most respected newspapers came out, it contained a fairly accurate biography of Visha, along with rampant but well-reasoned speculation on why one of the Empire's most capable mages might be fighting American troops in Colombia. The theories proposed included the Empire attempting to supplant American interests in South America along with speculation that the Devil of the Rhine herself might be involved, seeing as how Serebryakov had been her second-in-command.
The second reporter got the information much later in the day. A tabloid journalist with a deadline to meet, all he knew was that Serebryakov was a Russy name and that the woman was a mage. That was enough. One of the most widely read tabloids in the country ran a front-page spread declaring to all that the Rus had sent a battalion of their elite mages to overthrow the governments of South America and establish communist regimes. Older reports of the labor unrest in Colombia were held up as proof of the obvious Communist influence. The reports of the Communists disbanding their mages were nothing more than a ruse to pull the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting West. Instead all those mages had been sent to conquer South America, starting with Colombia. Why Colombia? Because right next to Colombia was the Panama Canal, of course! The next step to the revolution was undoubtedly capturing or destroying the canal, and choking off one of the arteries of American business.
Both these reporters also had radio contacts, which meant both publications were followed up within hours by radio reports talking about the exact same thing.
The US Government immediately responded with a statement assuring the public there was no evidence of any sort of uprising or invasion - but when questioned about the presence of foreign mages famed for their association with the Destroyer of Brest, the responding denials were audible in their absence. Early on Monday morning, several major New York papers contained a letter from a respected scientist pointing out an explosion the size of the Brest disaster would be more than adequate for putting the Panama Canal out of commission.
When the stock market finally opened, it lost another 3% within the first hour. Then a rumor spread that the banks that had committed to buying shares to shore up the market had quietly cancelled their overnight orders.
At that point, the entire market entered a race to find the bottom.
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May 15th, 1928, Berun, The Empire
Major General Zettour looked up as his old friend Rudersdorf barged into his office unannounced. The visitor was not long in communicating the reason for his unseemly haste. "Zettour! Have you seen the latest news from South America?"
The aging general nodded. "Colombia, to be exact. And yes, I have. Miss Serebryakov seems to be enjoying her American vacation."
"You knew about this?"
"Of course not. I knew Serebryakov planned to visit the Unified States. I honestly have no idea how she got from there to Colombia, but then she is no longer in the army so that is hardly my concern."
"I don't think you can afford to be quite so cavalier about this, my friend. The Americans have been demanding to know what the 203rd is doing in Colombia."
"The 203rd is disbanded."
"That's what we told them, at which point they claimed they'd positively identified other mages of the 203rd fighting alongside Serebryakov. They also seemed to insinuate Degurechaff might be involved as well."
"That's rich, considering we have strong circumstantial evidence that Degurechaff may have been hiding out and working for the Americans for years now."
"Yes, well, the latest Interpol reports place Jennifer Ecks, Degurechaff's suspected identity, in Colombia. The Americans are accusing us of using Degurechaff to run a long-term espionage mission into the Unified States, and now we are moving to cut off their South American influence. This has gotten all the way to the Kaiser. As you might guess, he is displeased."
"Tell the Kaiser that, considering how Serebryakov and other members of the 203rd have been leaving the country, it's far more likely the Americans are using Degurechaff to recruit some of our most talented aerial mages out from under us. These accusations against us are nothing more than a distraction from their own culpability."
"You really think so?"
"Well, what else are we supposed to think? We had nothing to do with Degurechaff's disappearance. The only thing we know is there is very strong suspicion she may have been involved in developing American combat orbs. As for Colombia, might I remind you America has a long history of intervention in that region? Much of Central America and the Caribbean is an American protectorate. For all we know, Degurechaff, Serebryakov and the rest have been recruited by the Americans to destabilize the Colombian government and usher in a new era of American control, and this whole so-called conflict is nothing more than a smokescreen to justify a full-scale occupation of the country."
"That's quite the theory, Zettour."
"But it holds together, which is enough to placate the Kaiser."
"And the fact that this scheme has caused their stock market to drop like a rock?"
"Unintended consequences, as might be expected of any such overly elaborate scheme. Markets recover, hegemony lasts much longer."
Rudersdorf pondered this for a moment, then gave a sigh deep enough to ruffle his mustache. "It makes sense as long as you don't think about it too hard. I'll write up a report and forward it to the Palace." He then fixed his friend with a gimlet glare. "Now, Zettour, tell me what you really think."
Zettour studied his friend for a long moment, then dropped his voice to a soft whisper. "I think Serebryakov and the rest of the 203rd have been leaving the country to join Degurechaff. Somehow, under all our noses, she managed to get the word to her former subordinates. And they have decided they prefer to serve her rather than the Empire. As for all the rest - the American orbs, the film, Colombia? I have absolutely no idea."
Rudersdorf chewed his mustache in frustration. "Why? What is the purpose in all this? What can she possibly hope to achieve?"
"I don't know, my friend. But I do know this. She had a mind for strategy unlike any other. Using the most disparate pieces of information, she could see patterns where all we saw was chaos. No one even dreamed the Francois could be so duplicitous, yet she saw it, and acted on it. I feel this is more of the same. All we can see are actions without rhyme or reason. It will only be after the fact that we will realize the method to her madness."
"But to what purpose, Zettour? Every strategy, no matter how insane, must have an ultimate goal."
"Ah, there is the rub. What is Degurechaff's goal? Three years ago, I could have said without hesitation it would be the greater glory of the Fatherland. Now? I think all we can do is pray it is not us she has in her sights."
There was a long moment of silence as the two friends contemplated the future. Then Rudersdorf spoke. "By the way, good news. We got Tirpitz."
Zettour's eyes sharpened. "So, the old Admiral is on our side?"
"I wouldn't say on our side, so much as he thinks we need a Chancellor that actually knows how to tell the Kaiser 'no'. And you're a much better option than, to use his words, 'that penny-pinching ass-kisser Siegfried'."
Neither of the generals needed to say out loud how significant this was. Tirpitz had been Secretary of the Imperial Navy for almost thirty years. The 'grand old Admiral' was an institution unto himself. If it wasn't for his steadfast refusal to leave his precious Navy, the man could have made Chancellor decades ago. He represented the single largest unaligned power bloc in Imperial politics. With his support, Zettour was effectively the most viable choice for Chancellor. Of course, the Chancellor served at the Kaiser's pleasure, and right now Siegfried von Roedern had the Kaiser's support. Still, even the Kaiser couldn't completely ignore political sentiment, particularly not when his public support had been growing shaky as the Empire had been slower than expected recovering from the stresses of the war. With Tirpitz throwing his weight behind Zettour, it simply became a matter of keeping up the pressure on Roedern. Inevitably, the man would make a slip, and the Kaiser would have no choice but to replace him with a Chancellor that actually enjoyed a degree of political support.
Zettour glanced at his oldest ally. "You know, you could probably make an even better candidate for Chancellor. You have a certain way with people. I tend to make the gentler sorts nervous."
Rudersdorf huffed. "I thought about it. And I realized something - I am old. Yes, yes, I know you're even older than me. That doesn't change the fact that I am old too. And as I grow older, I find myself less and less inclined to throw myself into conflict, even in the political arena." The general seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, before continuing, "The truth is, I am comfortable where I am. The Army can be equal parts delightful and frustrating, but I am used to it. To leave this and go to the Palace, to wrestle with our Kaiser on a daily basis over the fate of our nation? No, I am more than happy to leave that to you."
The two longtime friends sat in silence for a moment, before they both lit up their cigars at the same time. "Well, here's hoping," puffed Zettour. "Speaking of, how is our friend Brigadier Lergen doing?"
"Quite well I hear," responded Rudersdorf. "Colonial administration seems to suit him. Morocco is on its way to being fully integrated into the Empire, and the locals seem far happier with him than they ever were with the Francois."
"That is good to hear. Better than the quagmire in the Congo."
"Indeed. Having it declared the Kaiser's personal property was a mistake. He's pretty much given free rein to the corporations to do whatever they please," mused Rudersdorf.
"You don't know the half of it. I have to field constant complaints from the garrison commander about Captain Grantz."
"Isn't he one of Degurechaff's? What has he been doing?"
"Refusing to massacre the locals when they object to being enslaved, apparently."
"Good man," rumbled Rudersdorf. "We're supposed to be civilized. Unlike the damned Francois."
"Roedern was the one who proposed that mess, it is his cronies who are benefiting. So look on the bright side, my friend. If Congo blows up, it will be more grist for the mill."
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May 16th, 1928, New York, Unified States
The dark-haired young woman glance around before entering the diner. Slipping into a private booth, she faced her superior. Who looked distinctly odd, and somewhat younger, dressed in a casual shirt and pants.
"Captain Strong," she greeted.
"Ensign Sioux," came the response. "How goes your undercover operation?"
"Interesting and frustrating. I am learning far more about more traditional forms of spellcraft than I ever expected to know. Some of it is quite fascinating. I have also confirmed that Jennifer Ecks was the one who trained the CEO of Household Magicks, so the link is there. But so far, they refuse to send me to Velvet Iron for combat training until I am closer to eighteen."
They both paused as the waiter came by with a pot of coffee. Mary Sioux noticed the Captain had ordered for her as well.
After pouring enough cream and sugar into the brew to make it palatable, she took a careful sip. As she did so, the Captain remarked, "While that is interesting, it's hardly useful. In the meantime, we confirmed Ecks disappeared to Colombia where, surprise, surprise, other mages of the 203rd have started showing up."
Mary nodded. "Yes, I've heard. Do you... do you think it was deliberate?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this whole stock market crash. 'Black Monday', they're calling it. Do you think she deliberately started the whole fight just so she could trigger the collapse?"
The Captain chuckled. "Degurechaff is a soldier, not an economist. The market will recover soon enough. Besides, what reason could she possibly have to do something like that?"
"Captain, I know our theory is she might be working for some clandestine branch of the American government, but what if they had a falling out? It would certainly explain her suddenly starring in that picture. A way of giving the finger to her former allies and making her presence here public. And now she's in Colombia deliberately screwing with American interests."
"You think her actions are motivated by petty revenge?"
"It's as good an explanation as any. Besides, she already turned her back on one country. Turning her back on another would only be easier, whatever her reasons."
"Interesting, but its all speculation Ensign. Now, do you want to come in? I really don't think you're doing much good where you are, and all the action seems to be in Colombia."
"Does Interpol have permission to enter the country, then?"
"No, not yet. Honestly, Interpol's needs seem pretty low down the list, the diplomats all seem to agree on the primary importance of bananas."
"Bananas?!"
"My reaction exactly."
The ensign shook her head in disbelief. "Well, as long as we're stuck here, I might as well stay in place. Besides, Captain, here's something else I heard. Turns out, I'm not the first combat-rated mage to join Household Magicks. Before me, there was a young man named Charles Norris. He was sent here for the same reason I was, being underage. Here's the thing though, a few months before his eighteenth birthday, he was transferred. Destination unknown, but he talked about leaving the country."
"You think Degurechaff sent for him?"
"90%. I think Degurechaff insists on personally training every combat mage that she comes by. Barrow was trained by her. The 203rd was trained by her. And Norris was sent to be trained by her. I think I just have to sit tight, and soon I'll get an invitation right to wherever she is."
Captain Strong was silent for a long moment, then he nodded. "Very well. This is as good a lead as any. I'll get in touch if anything changes."
"Thank you Captain. Oh, I forgot to ask, is the harlot back yet?"
Strong chuckled. "I didn't know you cared, Ensign. Yes, Roth's been back for some months now. Apparently the Kaiser is pissed. The Imperials came to the same theory we have, and they've been raising Cain in diplomatic channels."
"Watch me weep," came the dry response. "I should get going Captain. Don't want to get spotted."
"As you say. Goodbye, Ensign. And good luck."
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May 18th, 1928, Santa Marta, Colombia
I had just returned from Bogota after meeting with the Minister for Foreign Affairs. I figured that was as high up the governmental food chain as I could get on short notice. The man had gone to considerable length to assure me that my actions had upheld the honor of Colombia. He had also mentioned that much of American ire seemed to be aimed at my aerial mages, and that the Americans were accusing the Colombians of signing a secret treaty with the Empire.
That last might have been an honest misunderstanding, except Visha had quit the Empire months ago, passed through American immigration, and had clearly identified herself as an employee of Stillwater. All the others had also openly resigned, some of them years back. I refused to believe American intelligence was so incompetent they weren't tracking the full details of some of the best aerial mages in the world. No, it was obvious this baloney about the Empire was just the Americans giving the Colombians an out. Claim Visha and the others were agents of a foreign power, throw them out, and war need not be declared.
It was a pretty good deal for the Colombians too, since it allowed them to get rid of the people who had spoiled their little understanding with the Americans. If my experiences with Imperial justice had taught me anything, it was that no one holds a grudge like a politician embarrassed. I chalked it up to my efforts to build goodwill that we hadn't already been deported.
The foreign minister had also been kind enough to mention the diplomats were still negotiating, but that the talks should be concluded in a month or so. That was the deadline I had to quit the country.
Now that I knew I had a bit of time, I could wrap things up properly before I left. Sunrise Botanicals was running with almost no input from me, so I didn't need to do much other than brief the CEO to deny everything. A trickier proposition was the hundreds of troops working for Stillwater Security. I couldn't simply fire them, especially when they were doing some genuinely useful work propping up both Sunrise and the Coffee Growers Association. In the end, I decided to have Velvet Irons Protection perform a corporate takeover of Stillwater. All the employees that the Americans hadn't identified (which basically meant all the non-aerial mages) became employees of VIP, and Stillwater effectively ceased to exist.
Sure, the ruse wouldn't fool a child, since I was sure by this time my pursuers had connected my Jennifer Ecks persona to VIP. But it would force the Americans to prosecute a company based in their own country, enjoying the protections of the American constitution. It would also give the Colombian government a degree of plausible deniability, which I hoped they put to good use. Poor Lena would probably curse a blue streak because of all the extra paperwork I just landed on her, but her own fugitive status meant she was unlikely to betray me and I was willing to take ruthless advantage of that.
By sheer dint of seniority, I ended up placing a man named Josef Perez in charge of the Colombia branch of Velvet Iron Protection. A grizzled veteran of the war for Panama, he had the respect and the experience to hold the troops together. Tony Almeida would act as his second and his liaison to VIP head office.
The only aerial mage who was going to stay back in Colombia was Charles Norris. Surprisingly, the young man wasn't too upset about having had to fight fellow Americans. He was, however, reluctant to head any further from home, since he had ambitions to return to the Unified States one day. Well, I doubted he had been identified given how badly mauled the American mages had been. As long as he took some basic precautions, he should have no problem avoiding any arrest warrants. In the meantime, Perez would have at least one combat-mage grade on call, which would undoubtedly prove handy.
Still, I felt a bit bad leaving Norris all on his own. The only time I'd flown solo in combat had been during my first deployment over Norden, and it sucked. I decided he needed a wingman. My first choice would be Barrow, but I knew he was doing a sterling job beating the new recruits into shape. Lena needed him where he was. That left the girl over at Household Magicks. I fired off a telegram instructing her to be transferred to Barrow's tender care for basic training. Once she'd been trained in the basics of ground fighting, she'd be sent over to Colombia for aerial mage training under Norris. Training another mage was a big responsibility, but I had high hopes. Norris had proven himself both dedicated and talented, and in pure skill I'd judge him on par with most of the 203rd during our first deployment to Dacia. He still had a ways to go, but his fundamentals were solid, and I was sure he'd do an adequate job training up his wingman when she got here.
I also instructed Norris to keep an eye out for Becker and Royce. True to his word, Becker had left for Colombia after six months, and he was accompanied by one last ex-203, one of Weiss' old subordinates by the name of Royce. I'd have liked them to support VIP in Colombia, but I had no trust in the discretion of those warmongers, especially with the Americans bleating about Imperial interference. So, Norris' job amounted to handing them my forwarding address and sending them on their way.
As for me and the members of the 203rd who, for whatever insane reason, persisted in following me - I had already decided on our next destination.
Visha had filled me in on the odd conversation she had with General Zettour. It was clear he was suggesting that a fugitive might find a friendly place in Congo, particularly if they had friends among the former 203rd.
I appreciated the invitation, I really did. But I just couldn't trust it. The Empire had already sold me out once. The only members of the 203rd I felt I could trust not to report me immediately would be my company commanders, and members of the company I had personally lead. And the ex-203rd would hardly be the only Imperial soldiers in the Congo. Now, it was possible Zettour had already foreseen all of this and had made appropriate arrangements. But I couldn't be sure, and showing up and hoping for the best was no way to test it.
No, Congo was still a viable destination, but I was going to do this by stealth. Unlike my previous efforts that had at least involved entering the country in a semi-legal fashion with open declaration of my business, I and the members of the 203rd would be entering entirely illegally. After all, I was no longer hoping to conduct legal business, I simply wanted somewhere to lay low from the manhunt.
Fortunately, I was aided in this by the undeveloped nature of much of Africa. I'd already bribed a cargo ship heading for Africa to take us aboard without bothering to record our presence. Once we got close, we'd sneak ashore on one of the many stretches of African coast unwatched by magic scanners. Once ashore, even our fair skin tone wasn't too big of a problem. I'd been training all of them in low-profile illusions, and Point Noir, the primary port of the Congo, had a large population of whites.
No, I was not going to risk my freedom by trying to re-establish contact with the Empire. They had washed their hands off me, and I was happy to return the favor. I was determined our sojourn in the Congo was not going to create so much as the tiniest ripple where any Imperial official could spot it.
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Jiopaba
Eat Lightning; Crap Success.
Tanya and Visha kicked off the Great Depression a year and a half early! Holy crap guys, calm down.
I swear I won't be surprised if this somehow winds up like "A Young Woman's Political Record" in a roundabout way when Tanya winds up in charge of the Empire while throwing her hands up in disgust.
I swear I won't be surprised if this somehow winds up like "A Young Woman's Political Record" in a roundabout way when Tanya winds up in charge of the Empire while throwing her hands up in disgust.
- Location
- ORCA HQ
You know, eventually Tanya will just end up making Outer Haven at this point.
Oh no
WELP! Congo it is! shit is about to hit the fan.
Don't know much about the Great Depression and reasons behind it, but I can see it happening early causing it to be shorter and less devastating since it didn't have as long to build up. For one, without the banks buying all those shares there might not be as many bank closures and their add on effects.
The depression might also be helped by Tanya knowing it was coming and making sure to insulate her company from it, and with it's major branch in a different country to help funnel in more funding in the local area from their employee's steady paychecks and future benefit standards...
Tie in that with the General's comments about how Tanya's actions seem random but have a cunning reason behind them, and future historians might make it out that Tanya saw the depression coming, set up a way to help recovery, then set it off early to blunt the effects all to help prevent greater disaster... And possibly to help with some even greater master plan she has for the future...
The depression might also be helped by Tanya knowing it was coming and making sure to insulate her company from it, and with it's major branch in a different country to help funnel in more funding in the local area from their employee's steady paychecks and future benefit standards...
Tie in that with the General's comments about how Tanya's actions seem random but have a cunning reason behind them, and future historians might make it out that Tanya saw the depression coming, set up a way to help recovery, then set it off early to blunt the effects all to help prevent greater disaster... And possibly to help with some even greater master plan she has for the future...
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Shcoked no ones posted this song.
- Location
- Leeds
Nobody wants a bored Major.
FTFY, you dropped most of a sentence.
Zettour, you mad genius. This will not go as you planned.
Chapter 19
A\N: As has been discussed before, I now have a Patreon! If you like my writing, feel free to leave a tip! And a huge thanks to those who've already done so!
A\N 2: Also, the author of this amazing Youjo Senki/Konosuba cross, Third Time's the Charm, says he's going to put out a chapter early if he gets 200 kudos on AO3. I'd take it as a favor if you could pop over and drop a kudos there, and you don't even need an account to do so.
Chapter 19
Getting into Imperial (formerly French) Congo didn't take too much effort. As I had suspected, magic detection only really existed in the area around the main urban centers. I verified this when we picked out a spot from hundreds of kilometers of jungle coast and flew ashore. If there had been any kind of detection system, either aircraft or mages would have been sent out to investigate our presence. Yet, after over an hour spent hiding in the brush, we saw not a sign of the local military.
Confident that no one had detected our presence, I led my team along the coast to Congo's biggest port city, Point Noir. Along the way we perfected our disguises. I had briefly toyed with trying to pass ourselves off as natives before immediately dismissing the idea. The more complex an illusion the more power and concentration it took and the easier it was to sense. Since Visha had confirmed that Congo aerial security was being seen to by former members of the 203rd, we couldn't take any chances.
During the two-week trip to get here I'd drilled them mercilessly on using civilian orbs to maintain an illusion that couldn't be detected unless a mage was literally on top of you. These illusions were used to make subtle changes to our faces to make us unrecognizable, but otherwise we relied on haircuts and cosmetics to maintain our disguises. I, for example, put my hair in a pixie cut and dyed it black, and changed my eyes to a dull green. Visha actually changed her own features to match mine so we could pass ourselves off as sisters. The others took similar steps.
Of course, once we got to Point Noir, the question became what to do next. We couldn't stay there, it was far too well policed for my taste, with a platoon of mages on patrol. Fortunately, there was no need for us to maintain a presence in the port. I'd initially planned to have Norris instruct Becker and Royce to join me in Africa, but on reflection I realized their arrival in the Congo might as well paint a red flag for anyone looking for me. Instead, I'd left sealed instructions for them and any other members of the 203rd to either join Velvet Iron, or head to London and join up with Tilbury Security. I figured people had to be tracking the movements of the former 203rd after the chaos Visha unleashed in Colombia, so let my pursuers waste time investigating companies that I planned to have no further active involvement in. Only Lena could confirm my true identity, and after so long working together I trusted her to keep her mouth shut.
As for those of us who were already in Africa, I decided it was time for a vacation. It was strange to admit, but sometime in the past year, I'd joined the ranks of the moderately rich. And what do rich white people in Africa do in the 1920s? Why, they go hunting! While I myself only saw it as a useful cover, having no particular interest in endangering the local wildlife, Koenig and the boys all seemed excited at the thought of bagging themselves some big game. I pointed out how they couldn't possibly keep any trophies. Ernest pointed out that ivory, at least, had a ready and valuable market. I snarked back that if they really were going to be collecting ivory for cash, then they wouldn't mind me putting them on half-pay, seeing as how we were on vacation and everything.
I should have known better. With the exception of Visha, my entire team accepted the challenge, declaring that they could easily make up for lost pay with the spoils of the hunt. I even tried warning them that ivory in Africa sold for only a tiny fraction of what it would eventually fetch in Europe or America, which meant they'd have to hunt down a small herd each month to make up the loss. This only seemed to spur them on to greater heights of enthusiasm. Vogel declared loudly that no pachyderm on the continent would be safe. I decided not to reply that that was exactly what I was afraid of. I could already feel the anger of a hundred million 21st century animal-lovers reaching out across time and space to strike me down. I mentally told them to get in line. The extinction of the African elephant was a small price to pay to keep my little pack of manic myrmidons happy.
All exaggeration aside, I didn't actually except them to make too much of a dent in the elephant population. While I'd taken the opportunity to put them through some jungle warfare training in Colombia, South America is not Africa, and they were ultimately aerial mages. Even with magical aid, stalking big game was never going to be a specialty of theirs. Especially when I refused to hire hunting experts to guide us. While hiring a few natives as porters was inevitable, the big game experts were almost all white gentlemen and including one of those in our party was an unacceptable security risk. This meant the idiots would have to find, shoot, and harvest the animals using only native help and their military training. Not that ramping up the difficulty seemed to deter them.
One good thing to this silly self-appointed challenge of theirs, my team basically took over the entire planning for the expedition. I could relax and nap in the heat with Visha's coffee by my elbow while they ran around getting everything ready. With Koenig in charge, the whole thing was arranged with commendable efficiency. Maps were drawn, routes decided, porters hired, tents and supplies gathered, and essential sundries like medicines and mosquito nets acquired. There were even some books and interviews with experts on the best ways to kill an elephant. I paid for most of it without demur, but I did draw the line at a load of high-caliber Mauser hunting rifles. Our Winchesters Model 15s were perfectly adequate for almost anything the African jungle could throw at us. And if they did need a little bit of extra oomph to bring down an elephant? Well, that's what magic was for. There was some grumbling but I shut it down by calling it extra training - how to apply an adequate penetration effect while using a civilian-grade orb.
Besides, while it might have its limits as a big game gun, the semi-automatic Winchesters were excellent tools for hunting the only game that concerned me, the most dangerous game of all. Pursuant to this philosophy, our group also had two Thompson submachine guns, even though I hoped they would stay in their wrappings for the entire trip.
It was in late June that we departed for the depths of the Congo interior. We were well-armed, well-supplied, and with a reason to go around armed to the teeth that no one could question. I figured I could spend months hiding out in the interior without raising a single eyebrow. By the time this safari was over, either the attention would have faded or a war would have started, and either way I'd have a good chance of vanishing into the woodwork.
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June 3, 1928, Amstredam, The Empire
"Your Highness, there is no need for you to be here personally," General Richthoffer said. "The men know their duty."
"And that is why I must be here, so they know the Crown appreciates the risk they are about to take," replied the Imperial Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm. "It is a lack of gratitude that precipitated this crisis, let us not make the same mistake again."
The General carefully hid the wince at the indirect criticism of the reigning Emperor. While concealed from the public, it was known at the higher levels that the Crown Prince had been strongly opposed to the eventual settlement of the war. His had been one of the voices calling for outright annexation of Francois and Legadonia, while using the threat of Major Degurechaff as a stick to wave at the other powers.
It was somewhat recently that the Kaiser and his son achieved something of a rapport, as they were now in agreement that steps needed to be taken to bring Degurechaff to heel. As long as there had been no clear clue as to her whereabouts, there had been little the Empire could do besides support Interpol. Now that it was clear that Degurechaff was not only selling her expertise to the Americans but also rebuilding her own mage company using the disaffected members of the former 203rd, it was decided the Empire needed to take a direct hand in the matter.
It was a shame, mused the General, that instead of taking a more diplomatic route, the Crown insisted on capturing or killing the renegade. As the newly minted Chief of Air Operations it was Richthoffer's job to reach that dubiously achievable goal. Still, orders were orders, and he was a soldier, so he did his best to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.
The two men entered a small room where six aerial mages waited, their unit badges indicating the 207th Aerial Mage battalion. The men went ramrod straight as they realized they were in the presence of royalty. "Your Highness!" greeted their leader, his rank tabs denoting him as Captain.
"At ease, gentlemen," replied the Crown Prince, drawing up every bit of royal gravitas. "Before your general gives you your final orders, I am here to speak a few words on behalf of the Crown. First and foremost, I would like to thank you all for volunteering for this extremely dangerous and thankless task. I know there are many, even among your comrades, that look upon Degurechaff as a hero of the Empire. And they are not entirely wrong. Once upon a time, she was one of our greatest heroes. But now, if she is a hero, then she is without doubt a fallen one. I will not pretend the estrangement between her and the Empire was entirely one-sided. But whatever may have come before, the fact remains Tanya von Degurechaff now represents a threat to our nation's security. She is the only person in the world to have ever successfully used a quad-core computational jewel, to often devastating effect. Now, we have learned that she has been working closely with foreign nations to develop combat orbs of her own. Undoubtedly her ultimate goal is to recreate the Type 95, and restore to herself the ability to destroy armies at will. Even worse, she has been recruiting her own private army, to what purpose we can only imagine. Gentlemen, it is now a fact that she is not just a threat to the Fatherland, but to the stability of the world as a whole! The nation has called upon you in this dark hour, and you have answered! You are the heroes today, gentlemen! And I salute you!"
Suiting word to deed, the Crown Prince saluted the men, getting back a salute in response. After which, the prince stepped back and General Richthoffer stepped forward. "All right men," said the General. "You've had time to study the briefing materials. Remember that the Empire doesn't have a diplomatic presence in Colombia, so once you sneak off the ship you're on your own. We know Degurechaff is disguising herself either through magic or surgery. But one thing she can't hide is her companions. You've all had the chance to study the profiles of the former members of the 203rd Mage Battalion. Degurechaff likes to surround herself with her old subordinates, so that's your clue. In order to help you find them, the boys in Elenium Labs came up with a portable magic scanner. Not as wide a range as a full installation, but it should still pick up all active magic use within about 50 kilometers."
Richthoffer took a moment to see if any of the men had questions, then continued. "Once you find her, your orders are simple. You are to capture her if possible, kill her if not. We would greatly prefer it if you could capture her and bring her home, but the woman is simply too dangerous to be allowed to run free. Once you have completed your mission, or you have spent six months without locating her, your exfiltration will be by ship. You have a list of sailing dates for friendly vessels leaving Colombia. If you need to leave in a hurry, then all of you have enough power to make the crossing to Morocco. In an emergency, you may fly to our embassy in Mexico City, but that should be a last resort."
After the next pause, the General's took on a darker tone. "Given the danger of your target, all of you have been authorized to carry Elenium Type 97s for this mission. Men, you need to guard those orbs with your very life! They represent the Empire's single greatest advantage in magical combat. Should you be captured, we shall try our utmost to secure your release. But under no circumstances should a Type 97 be taken intact. Are there any questions?"
There were none. "Very well, gentlemen. Your boat leaves in two hours. Goodbye, good luck, and god speed."
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June 10, 1928, Cartagena, Colombia
Mary Sioux couldn't help but glare at her boss as they both landed after another hard afternoon of flight training. Charles Norris still looked relatively fresh while she was utterly exhausted - which should be impossible seeing as how Mary literally had three times as much magic as him! Of course, over the last month she'd become painfully aware just how far her US Naval Mage training fell short of the standards of someone like Tanya von Degurechaff.
First there had been the two weeks of 'basic training' at Velvet Iron Protection's New York office, which had seen her placed under the cruel tutelage of Joe Barrow. Mary couldn't believe the transformation that come over the open friendly man the minute the training started. He literally beat the principles of magic-reinforced hand-to-hand combat into her. All her magic power didn't help her a bit, in fact it only made it more difficult for her to strengthen herself without burning out the civilian-grade orb she was forced to use.
When her basic training was finally over and she was sent to Colombia, she was relieved to finally have the chance to confront the target of her search. Only when she got there, Jennifer Ecks was gone, as was every other member of the Imperial 203rd. Instead all that awaited her was more training, this time using a proper flight orb. She'd originally expected to breeze through this portion of the training. Instead what had followed was a solid week of steady humiliation as a boy less than a year older than her - and one who had been undergoing aerial mage training for only a few months - repeatedly ran rings around her in midair.
Not that the training wasn't useful. She was learning a lot. If this was the results of training under the Devil of the Rhine, she could see why her battalion had achieved the notoriety it had. Far from giving her an advantage, she was having to unlearn a large portion of her lessons from Naval Mage training as they were prove less than adequate. It chafed her soul to have to learn the lessons taught by Degurechaff, but learn them she did. Somewhere along the line her pride as an aerial mage had been kindled, and she refused to let herself fall below the standards set by that Imperial witch.
After they landed, Charles turned to her with a genuine smile. "Good going there Madelaine. You almost managed to tag me today."
"Ah, thank you sir."
"Don't sir me, I keep looking around for Commander Ecks. I wish she was here though. With power like yours, you really need someone on her level to train you."
"You're doing a good job running me into the ground," muttered Mary ruefully. "And you really don't know where she disappeared to?"
"No. All she would say was that it was all a secret and only combat vets were invited. Must be some kind of really dangerous job. Maybe they're going to take down a government?" Mary rolled her eyes at the amused note in Charles' voice.
When Mary had first arrived, she'd carefully tried to probe and see just how loyal Norris was to Degurechaff. After all, he was an American citizen, he shouldn't share the same fanatical devotion as her Imperial subordinates. His response, which basically amounted to 'Who's Degurechaff?', had thrown her for a loop.
It turned out Norris had initially signed up with Velvet Iron for a steady paycheck. Later, he fell in love with flying and couldn't see himself doing anything else, but he neither knew nor cared about the goings on in Europe. Norris only seemed to care that the pay was good and he was not asked to participate in anything obviously criminal himself. As such, he neither knew nor did he want to know what Ecks and company might be up to, on the grounds that what he didn't know couldn't make him an accessory.
Perhaps the most annoying thing about him was that in spite of his horribly mercenary mindset, Mary couldn't help but like him. His cheerful friendliness, good work ethic, and open enthusiasm for his work as an aerial mage all struck a chord with her. She felt sure he would have made a fine addition to the US military, and promised to herself to try and recruit him once her assignment here was done.
As the headed back into the city, Charles spoke up again. "You know, they might not be to the standard of Commander Ecks, but there are a couple of experienced mages who've shown willingness to train the both of us. Interested?"
"What, really?" Mary's eyes narrowed. "Wait is that why you insisted on coming to Cartagena?"
"Yep. I was actually scouting for some prospective employees. They're both veteran mages. They haven't yet made up their minds about joining, but they seemed willing to stick around for at least a little bit as trainers."
Mary immediately had a suspicion of who these 'veteran mages' might be. Sure enough, sitting at an outdoor cafe were two men whose pictures she recognized from her study of the 203rd. Klaus von Becker and William Royce. One the son of old Prussian money, the other the son of an Albish expatriate. Could they be my lead to finding Degurechaff? Charles said they might not join. Is it possible they know where Degurechaff is and are planning to go there themselves? I can't imagine them coming all the way here for any other reason.
It was perhaps because she was on high alert, but the four of them had barely exchanged greetings when Mary started getting the feeling that something was very wrong. Pushing out of her seat, she started looking up and down the street. Charles looked up at her. "Maddy, is something wrong?"
"Can't you feel it?" Mary hissed, turning to glare at the two veterans. "There is definitely something off about these two."
That's when the two mages fizzled and vanished into thin air and a voice spoke from within the cafe in thickly accented Albish, "You were right, boy. This one does have talent."
Emerging from behind the doorway were the same two mages she thought she had been speaking to. "Illusions? What's the big idea?" growled Mary, even as she began to unconsciously power up her orb.
Becker raised a calming hand. "Easy there Fraulein. Just a little test. If we are to be training you, best we know where you are at, ja?"
Charles was nodding along. "Madelaine is very talented. She's been doing this only for a few weeks, and she's already picked up how to fly."
"Well, we shall see. We have some months we can spare. Got mit uns, you two might be not entirely useless by the time we are done."
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July 16, 1928, somewhere on the Congo River
It was a little over three weeks into our African safari. Our little expedition had taken wide detours into the hinterland, but had generally followed the course of the river that gave this land its name. We were now coming back to the river to take a rest stop at a trading post that was supposed to be there, and I was glad when we finally found it.
Not because I wasn't enjoying the tour. In spite of the heat and the insects and the thick jungle, the sheer freedom that came with being somewhere no one in authority could possibly recognize me was intoxicating. While I still maintained my disguise near our native porters, the long walks that I took accompanied only with members of my battalion gave me the chance to drop the disguise and let my real face enjoy the sun. No, the reason I was glad to see this trading post was because of the large quantity of ivory that had slowed down the expedition to a crawl.
When we had first started out, it was as I expected. Locating elephants proved far more challenging than killing them, and even with the help of local guides my inexperienced companions only enjoyed the occasional success. Then just a couple of days back we'd heard rumors of a massive herd that was denuding a village of its crops. There must have been thirty of the beasts. Even with me preventing them from killing the calves - and Visha persuading them to leave enough adults alive to look after the children - my companions downed eighteen adults and drove off the rest. Even with hiring extra porters from the village, hauling around over a metric ton of ivory got old real fast.
Finally, we came to the trading post. It actually looked a surprisingly pleasant place. It had a proper dock instead of a makeshift pier, and the structure was more of a fortified villa than the usual hardscrabble outpost. Even the jungle had been cut back quite a bit to give way to a small vegetable garden and fruit orchard. Some considerable effort had clearly gone into making the place livable.
After the porters had been paid off Visha and the others went in to haggle over prices. I myself had the camp set up and my lawn chair pulled out so I could kick back and enjoy the afternoon sun, since I anticipated the bargaining to take a while. From what I knew, the Imperial African Trading Company, which had a virtual monopoly on the trade of ivory and other forest products, operated on a fixed price system. They had a price they would pay for certain goods, and the local trading post owners would acquire the goods at whatever price they could and pocket the difference as their fee. Of course, out of this fee the trader had to pay for maintaining his outpost, getting supplies, hiring labor, and all the rest of it. As a result, it was in the trader's interest to gouge his suppliers as far as humanly possible.
For the local tribes, this meant instead of being paid in cold hard cash, the trader would often pay them in tools, alcohol, cloth, and other products of civilization - at exchange rates far above market price. And even for white folk like ourselves who wouldn't be fobbed off with beads or booze, the local traders would invariably fight over every mark and pfennig. Given the sheer quantity of ivory we had hauled in, the verbal jousting would be epic.
Indeed, I'd actually had time to take a nap, and the sun was beginning to set by the time Visha approached me. She even came bearing a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Alas, even as I took a delicious sip, I could tell I was not going to enjoy it as much as I usually did. Visha had a particular way she was fidgeting - the pose she adopted when she had done something foolish but was going to insist on being stubborn about it. Like her habit of gambling her wages for extra supplies for the battalion.
"All right, Visha, out with it. What has gone wrong this time?"
The story immediately came tumbling about. It seems in the course of bargaining she'd managed to somehow get the trading post owner's life story out of him. He'd been part of the first wave of Imperial entrepreneurs after the French had been kicked out of the territory. He'd apparently sunk most of his savings into this place, planning to make a life here with his family. However, in the very first year, both of his children had fallen terribly sick from some variety of jungle fever. Only rapid evacuation to the nearest city had preserved their lives. That particular scare had soured him on the whole deal, and to make matters worse he had started getting sick himself, affecting his work. Now he was stuck here alone while his family stayed in the city. The expense of maintaining two domiciles was eating away his profits, there was nothing he wished for more than to move back to the Empire but he lacked the money to do so - it was at this point I put up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Let me guess, you swallowed that sob story whole and agreed to give him the entire load for almost nothing?"
"Um... well...no...I may have agreed to buy his trading post."
I paused for a moment, before taking a long sip, then putting my cup aside and focusing on her. "I see. And how much is he asking?"
"I managed to negotiate him down to 90,000 marks. And if we close the deal soon, we can sell our entire load directly to the company. That's over 60,000 marks right there!"
"Except that 60,000 doesn't belong to either of us. It belongs to Koenig, Walther, Teyanen, Ernest, and Vogel. That was the deal."
"Ah, I spoke to them, and they're willing to take half. So really, we'll be paying less than 60,000 for the place - "
"Where's this 'we' coming from?" I interrupted. "Unless you've come into some sort of inheritance lately, I'll be the one shelling out 60,000 marks."
"Ah, yes, well, either way, even with the added expense of running the place, you should be able to get your money back in three or four months! And, well, you were planning to hide out here for a while..."
"Visha, the mark of a good investment isn't whether you get your money back or not, its how much profit you make afterward. Besides, what possessed you to think I had any interest in wasting my vacation running a trading outpost?"
"Please, ma'am? The man really needs help..."
Great, now she was giving me the puppy dog eyes. Considering how it was not at all infeasible to earn back my investment in short order, I was on the verge of agreeing. Yet, at the last moment, I felt the slightest tinge of resentment. Perhaps I was still upset about my forced relocation from Colombia, because all I could think was that this was the second time in a few months Visha's unilateral actions had forced me into doing something I didn't want to do.
"Perhaps," I replied, "If you want to perform acts of charity, you ought to take responsibility yourself instead of shoving it onto others?"
"Oh, you want me to run the outpost instead?"
"I want you to buy the outpost, run it, and show a profit. I'll loan you the money. And you have exactly six months to pay me back. Or else."
"Or... or else?"
I gave her my sweetest smile. "I'll write up an agreement."
Later that evening saw Visha and me in our shared tent, looking over the paper I'd written out.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Visha. "It says here you're charging me interest at 2% a month! That's 24% a year!"
"Welcome to the world of monopolies, Visha. The Imperial African Trading Company has a monopoly on the ivory trade, so they set the price. I have a monopoly on cash reserves, so I get to set the interest rate."
"But..."
"Besides, what are you worried about? You said you can cover the debt in three months. What's a few extra thousand on top of that?"
"It's still too mean..."
"You know what's meaner? Me upping the rate by another percent if you don't stop whining and sign it in the next five minutes." I gave her a small glare to emphasize my words.
To her credit, she still tried to use the few minutes to peruse the rest of the document.
"So... basically... if I fall short on paying you back, for every two thousand marks I am short by, I have to spend a year working off my debt?" asked Visha in a dubious tone.
"Basically," I agreed. "You don't get paid since I'll be covering all your daily needs, and you'll have to do any work as long as it's not dangerous. Oh, and two minutes left."
She chewed over this a bit. "So, sort of like an unpaid adjutant?" Visha asked with a slight smile.
"Sort of. One minute."
"All right, all right, here," she said, handing over the signed document.
"A pleasure doing business with you Visha," I replied, handing over a check for 60,000 marks.
She groused a bit more, but I could tell she was pleased at this opportunity to stretch her wings. After all, I was ceding control of the entire company to her, since the rest of my troops had heard of our wager and had agreed to help Visha out as long as they got to keep half the sales.
The next morning, as they all got to work with the current owner setting up the transfer and preparing the ivory for transport, I took our smartest, best spoken native guide with me and bade them all farewell.
"Where are you going, Major?" asked Koenig.
"I keep telling you, it's either ma'am or Tanya. And since I have no interest in watching you lot play hunter-gatherer, I'm going to continue this little safari on my own."
"All by yourself? Ma'am..."
"Are you suggesting I am incapable?" My offended glare choked off any response. Rolling my eyes, I continued, "I'm not going that far, only around the nearby areas. I'll be within communication spell range, and I'll check in in person every two weeks."
"Ah, all right. Be careful, ma'am."
After the various goodbyes were made, I headed on my way. As I walked away, I couldn't help the broad grin stretching across my face. Ah, poor, sweet, naive Visha. Was it cruel, what I planned to do to her? Perhaps. But after all the trouble she'd caused me recently, I felt I owed her a good, sharp shock. True, what I was about to do might end up costing me tens of thousands, but I could afford it, and I felt it worth the price for a spot of vengeance.
I knew that Visha's calculations were wildly optimistic. First, she was assuming Koenig and the others would be able to bring in ivory at a rate comparable to what they had achieved this month, when the herd we'd come across was the very definition of 'windfall'. Second, the income figures the previous owner had been quoting was predicated on paying the hunters a pittance, not the 50% Visha had agreed on with the others. In spite of all that, considering what I knew of her efficiency and work ethic, it was entirely possible Visha would still be able to pay off her debt within the six months.
Well, she would have, if it wasn't for what I was about to do next. Turning my grin on the nervous looking guide, I addressed him in his preferred French, <"Henry, your task now is to introduce me to all the elephant hunters in the area.">
A\N 2: Also, the author of this amazing Youjo Senki/Konosuba cross, Third Time's the Charm, says he's going to put out a chapter early if he gets 200 kudos on AO3. I'd take it as a favor if you could pop over and drop a kudos there, and you don't even need an account to do so.
Chapter 19
Getting into Imperial (formerly French) Congo didn't take too much effort. As I had suspected, magic detection only really existed in the area around the main urban centers. I verified this when we picked out a spot from hundreds of kilometers of jungle coast and flew ashore. If there had been any kind of detection system, either aircraft or mages would have been sent out to investigate our presence. Yet, after over an hour spent hiding in the brush, we saw not a sign of the local military.
Confident that no one had detected our presence, I led my team along the coast to Congo's biggest port city, Point Noir. Along the way we perfected our disguises. I had briefly toyed with trying to pass ourselves off as natives before immediately dismissing the idea. The more complex an illusion the more power and concentration it took and the easier it was to sense. Since Visha had confirmed that Congo aerial security was being seen to by former members of the 203rd, we couldn't take any chances.
During the two-week trip to get here I'd drilled them mercilessly on using civilian orbs to maintain an illusion that couldn't be detected unless a mage was literally on top of you. These illusions were used to make subtle changes to our faces to make us unrecognizable, but otherwise we relied on haircuts and cosmetics to maintain our disguises. I, for example, put my hair in a pixie cut and dyed it black, and changed my eyes to a dull green. Visha actually changed her own features to match mine so we could pass ourselves off as sisters. The others took similar steps.
Of course, once we got to Point Noir, the question became what to do next. We couldn't stay there, it was far too well policed for my taste, with a platoon of mages on patrol. Fortunately, there was no need for us to maintain a presence in the port. I'd initially planned to have Norris instruct Becker and Royce to join me in Africa, but on reflection I realized their arrival in the Congo might as well paint a red flag for anyone looking for me. Instead, I'd left sealed instructions for them and any other members of the 203rd to either join Velvet Iron, or head to London and join up with Tilbury Security. I figured people had to be tracking the movements of the former 203rd after the chaos Visha unleashed in Colombia, so let my pursuers waste time investigating companies that I planned to have no further active involvement in. Only Lena could confirm my true identity, and after so long working together I trusted her to keep her mouth shut.
As for those of us who were already in Africa, I decided it was time for a vacation. It was strange to admit, but sometime in the past year, I'd joined the ranks of the moderately rich. And what do rich white people in Africa do in the 1920s? Why, they go hunting! While I myself only saw it as a useful cover, having no particular interest in endangering the local wildlife, Koenig and the boys all seemed excited at the thought of bagging themselves some big game. I pointed out how they couldn't possibly keep any trophies. Ernest pointed out that ivory, at least, had a ready and valuable market. I snarked back that if they really were going to be collecting ivory for cash, then they wouldn't mind me putting them on half-pay, seeing as how we were on vacation and everything.
I should have known better. With the exception of Visha, my entire team accepted the challenge, declaring that they could easily make up for lost pay with the spoils of the hunt. I even tried warning them that ivory in Africa sold for only a tiny fraction of what it would eventually fetch in Europe or America, which meant they'd have to hunt down a small herd each month to make up the loss. This only seemed to spur them on to greater heights of enthusiasm. Vogel declared loudly that no pachyderm on the continent would be safe. I decided not to reply that that was exactly what I was afraid of. I could already feel the anger of a hundred million 21st century animal-lovers reaching out across time and space to strike me down. I mentally told them to get in line. The extinction of the African elephant was a small price to pay to keep my little pack of manic myrmidons happy.
All exaggeration aside, I didn't actually except them to make too much of a dent in the elephant population. While I'd taken the opportunity to put them through some jungle warfare training in Colombia, South America is not Africa, and they were ultimately aerial mages. Even with magical aid, stalking big game was never going to be a specialty of theirs. Especially when I refused to hire hunting experts to guide us. While hiring a few natives as porters was inevitable, the big game experts were almost all white gentlemen and including one of those in our party was an unacceptable security risk. This meant the idiots would have to find, shoot, and harvest the animals using only native help and their military training. Not that ramping up the difficulty seemed to deter them.
One good thing to this silly self-appointed challenge of theirs, my team basically took over the entire planning for the expedition. I could relax and nap in the heat with Visha's coffee by my elbow while they ran around getting everything ready. With Koenig in charge, the whole thing was arranged with commendable efficiency. Maps were drawn, routes decided, porters hired, tents and supplies gathered, and essential sundries like medicines and mosquito nets acquired. There were even some books and interviews with experts on the best ways to kill an elephant. I paid for most of it without demur, but I did draw the line at a load of high-caliber Mauser hunting rifles. Our Winchesters Model 15s were perfectly adequate for almost anything the African jungle could throw at us. And if they did need a little bit of extra oomph to bring down an elephant? Well, that's what magic was for. There was some grumbling but I shut it down by calling it extra training - how to apply an adequate penetration effect while using a civilian-grade orb.
Besides, while it might have its limits as a big game gun, the semi-automatic Winchesters were excellent tools for hunting the only game that concerned me, the most dangerous game of all. Pursuant to this philosophy, our group also had two Thompson submachine guns, even though I hoped they would stay in their wrappings for the entire trip.
It was in late June that we departed for the depths of the Congo interior. We were well-armed, well-supplied, and with a reason to go around armed to the teeth that no one could question. I figured I could spend months hiding out in the interior without raising a single eyebrow. By the time this safari was over, either the attention would have faded or a war would have started, and either way I'd have a good chance of vanishing into the woodwork.
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June 3, 1928, Amstredam, The Empire
"Your Highness, there is no need for you to be here personally," General Richthoffer said. "The men know their duty."
"And that is why I must be here, so they know the Crown appreciates the risk they are about to take," replied the Imperial Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm. "It is a lack of gratitude that precipitated this crisis, let us not make the same mistake again."
The General carefully hid the wince at the indirect criticism of the reigning Emperor. While concealed from the public, it was known at the higher levels that the Crown Prince had been strongly opposed to the eventual settlement of the war. His had been one of the voices calling for outright annexation of Francois and Legadonia, while using the threat of Major Degurechaff as a stick to wave at the other powers.
It was somewhat recently that the Kaiser and his son achieved something of a rapport, as they were now in agreement that steps needed to be taken to bring Degurechaff to heel. As long as there had been no clear clue as to her whereabouts, there had been little the Empire could do besides support Interpol. Now that it was clear that Degurechaff was not only selling her expertise to the Americans but also rebuilding her own mage company using the disaffected members of the former 203rd, it was decided the Empire needed to take a direct hand in the matter.
It was a shame, mused the General, that instead of taking a more diplomatic route, the Crown insisted on capturing or killing the renegade. As the newly minted Chief of Air Operations it was Richthoffer's job to reach that dubiously achievable goal. Still, orders were orders, and he was a soldier, so he did his best to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.
The two men entered a small room where six aerial mages waited, their unit badges indicating the 207th Aerial Mage battalion. The men went ramrod straight as they realized they were in the presence of royalty. "Your Highness!" greeted their leader, his rank tabs denoting him as Captain.
"At ease, gentlemen," replied the Crown Prince, drawing up every bit of royal gravitas. "Before your general gives you your final orders, I am here to speak a few words on behalf of the Crown. First and foremost, I would like to thank you all for volunteering for this extremely dangerous and thankless task. I know there are many, even among your comrades, that look upon Degurechaff as a hero of the Empire. And they are not entirely wrong. Once upon a time, she was one of our greatest heroes. But now, if she is a hero, then she is without doubt a fallen one. I will not pretend the estrangement between her and the Empire was entirely one-sided. But whatever may have come before, the fact remains Tanya von Degurechaff now represents a threat to our nation's security. She is the only person in the world to have ever successfully used a quad-core computational jewel, to often devastating effect. Now, we have learned that she has been working closely with foreign nations to develop combat orbs of her own. Undoubtedly her ultimate goal is to recreate the Type 95, and restore to herself the ability to destroy armies at will. Even worse, she has been recruiting her own private army, to what purpose we can only imagine. Gentlemen, it is now a fact that she is not just a threat to the Fatherland, but to the stability of the world as a whole! The nation has called upon you in this dark hour, and you have answered! You are the heroes today, gentlemen! And I salute you!"
Suiting word to deed, the Crown Prince saluted the men, getting back a salute in response. After which, the prince stepped back and General Richthoffer stepped forward. "All right men," said the General. "You've had time to study the briefing materials. Remember that the Empire doesn't have a diplomatic presence in Colombia, so once you sneak off the ship you're on your own. We know Degurechaff is disguising herself either through magic or surgery. But one thing she can't hide is her companions. You've all had the chance to study the profiles of the former members of the 203rd Mage Battalion. Degurechaff likes to surround herself with her old subordinates, so that's your clue. In order to help you find them, the boys in Elenium Labs came up with a portable magic scanner. Not as wide a range as a full installation, but it should still pick up all active magic use within about 50 kilometers."
Richthoffer took a moment to see if any of the men had questions, then continued. "Once you find her, your orders are simple. You are to capture her if possible, kill her if not. We would greatly prefer it if you could capture her and bring her home, but the woman is simply too dangerous to be allowed to run free. Once you have completed your mission, or you have spent six months without locating her, your exfiltration will be by ship. You have a list of sailing dates for friendly vessels leaving Colombia. If you need to leave in a hurry, then all of you have enough power to make the crossing to Morocco. In an emergency, you may fly to our embassy in Mexico City, but that should be a last resort."
After the next pause, the General's took on a darker tone. "Given the danger of your target, all of you have been authorized to carry Elenium Type 97s for this mission. Men, you need to guard those orbs with your very life! They represent the Empire's single greatest advantage in magical combat. Should you be captured, we shall try our utmost to secure your release. But under no circumstances should a Type 97 be taken intact. Are there any questions?"
There were none. "Very well, gentlemen. Your boat leaves in two hours. Goodbye, good luck, and god speed."
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June 10, 1928, Cartagena, Colombia
Mary Sioux couldn't help but glare at her boss as they both landed after another hard afternoon of flight training. Charles Norris still looked relatively fresh while she was utterly exhausted - which should be impossible seeing as how Mary literally had three times as much magic as him! Of course, over the last month she'd become painfully aware just how far her US Naval Mage training fell short of the standards of someone like Tanya von Degurechaff.
First there had been the two weeks of 'basic training' at Velvet Iron Protection's New York office, which had seen her placed under the cruel tutelage of Joe Barrow. Mary couldn't believe the transformation that come over the open friendly man the minute the training started. He literally beat the principles of magic-reinforced hand-to-hand combat into her. All her magic power didn't help her a bit, in fact it only made it more difficult for her to strengthen herself without burning out the civilian-grade orb she was forced to use.
When her basic training was finally over and she was sent to Colombia, she was relieved to finally have the chance to confront the target of her search. Only when she got there, Jennifer Ecks was gone, as was every other member of the Imperial 203rd. Instead all that awaited her was more training, this time using a proper flight orb. She'd originally expected to breeze through this portion of the training. Instead what had followed was a solid week of steady humiliation as a boy less than a year older than her - and one who had been undergoing aerial mage training for only a few months - repeatedly ran rings around her in midair.
Not that the training wasn't useful. She was learning a lot. If this was the results of training under the Devil of the Rhine, she could see why her battalion had achieved the notoriety it had. Far from giving her an advantage, she was having to unlearn a large portion of her lessons from Naval Mage training as they were prove less than adequate. It chafed her soul to have to learn the lessons taught by Degurechaff, but learn them she did. Somewhere along the line her pride as an aerial mage had been kindled, and she refused to let herself fall below the standards set by that Imperial witch.
After they landed, Charles turned to her with a genuine smile. "Good going there Madelaine. You almost managed to tag me today."
"Ah, thank you sir."
"Don't sir me, I keep looking around for Commander Ecks. I wish she was here though. With power like yours, you really need someone on her level to train you."
"You're doing a good job running me into the ground," muttered Mary ruefully. "And you really don't know where she disappeared to?"
"No. All she would say was that it was all a secret and only combat vets were invited. Must be some kind of really dangerous job. Maybe they're going to take down a government?" Mary rolled her eyes at the amused note in Charles' voice.
When Mary had first arrived, she'd carefully tried to probe and see just how loyal Norris was to Degurechaff. After all, he was an American citizen, he shouldn't share the same fanatical devotion as her Imperial subordinates. His response, which basically amounted to 'Who's Degurechaff?', had thrown her for a loop.
It turned out Norris had initially signed up with Velvet Iron for a steady paycheck. Later, he fell in love with flying and couldn't see himself doing anything else, but he neither knew nor cared about the goings on in Europe. Norris only seemed to care that the pay was good and he was not asked to participate in anything obviously criminal himself. As such, he neither knew nor did he want to know what Ecks and company might be up to, on the grounds that what he didn't know couldn't make him an accessory.
Perhaps the most annoying thing about him was that in spite of his horribly mercenary mindset, Mary couldn't help but like him. His cheerful friendliness, good work ethic, and open enthusiasm for his work as an aerial mage all struck a chord with her. She felt sure he would have made a fine addition to the US military, and promised to herself to try and recruit him once her assignment here was done.
As the headed back into the city, Charles spoke up again. "You know, they might not be to the standard of Commander Ecks, but there are a couple of experienced mages who've shown willingness to train the both of us. Interested?"
"What, really?" Mary's eyes narrowed. "Wait is that why you insisted on coming to Cartagena?"
"Yep. I was actually scouting for some prospective employees. They're both veteran mages. They haven't yet made up their minds about joining, but they seemed willing to stick around for at least a little bit as trainers."
Mary immediately had a suspicion of who these 'veteran mages' might be. Sure enough, sitting at an outdoor cafe were two men whose pictures she recognized from her study of the 203rd. Klaus von Becker and William Royce. One the son of old Prussian money, the other the son of an Albish expatriate. Could they be my lead to finding Degurechaff? Charles said they might not join. Is it possible they know where Degurechaff is and are planning to go there themselves? I can't imagine them coming all the way here for any other reason.
It was perhaps because she was on high alert, but the four of them had barely exchanged greetings when Mary started getting the feeling that something was very wrong. Pushing out of her seat, she started looking up and down the street. Charles looked up at her. "Maddy, is something wrong?"
"Can't you feel it?" Mary hissed, turning to glare at the two veterans. "There is definitely something off about these two."
That's when the two mages fizzled and vanished into thin air and a voice spoke from within the cafe in thickly accented Albish, "You were right, boy. This one does have talent."
Emerging from behind the doorway were the same two mages she thought she had been speaking to. "Illusions? What's the big idea?" growled Mary, even as she began to unconsciously power up her orb.
Becker raised a calming hand. "Easy there Fraulein. Just a little test. If we are to be training you, best we know where you are at, ja?"
Charles was nodding along. "Madelaine is very talented. She's been doing this only for a few weeks, and she's already picked up how to fly."
"Well, we shall see. We have some months we can spare. Got mit uns, you two might be not entirely useless by the time we are done."
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July 16, 1928, somewhere on the Congo River
It was a little over three weeks into our African safari. Our little expedition had taken wide detours into the hinterland, but had generally followed the course of the river that gave this land its name. We were now coming back to the river to take a rest stop at a trading post that was supposed to be there, and I was glad when we finally found it.
Not because I wasn't enjoying the tour. In spite of the heat and the insects and the thick jungle, the sheer freedom that came with being somewhere no one in authority could possibly recognize me was intoxicating. While I still maintained my disguise near our native porters, the long walks that I took accompanied only with members of my battalion gave me the chance to drop the disguise and let my real face enjoy the sun. No, the reason I was glad to see this trading post was because of the large quantity of ivory that had slowed down the expedition to a crawl.
When we had first started out, it was as I expected. Locating elephants proved far more challenging than killing them, and even with the help of local guides my inexperienced companions only enjoyed the occasional success. Then just a couple of days back we'd heard rumors of a massive herd that was denuding a village of its crops. There must have been thirty of the beasts. Even with me preventing them from killing the calves - and Visha persuading them to leave enough adults alive to look after the children - my companions downed eighteen adults and drove off the rest. Even with hiring extra porters from the village, hauling around over a metric ton of ivory got old real fast.
Finally, we came to the trading post. It actually looked a surprisingly pleasant place. It had a proper dock instead of a makeshift pier, and the structure was more of a fortified villa than the usual hardscrabble outpost. Even the jungle had been cut back quite a bit to give way to a small vegetable garden and fruit orchard. Some considerable effort had clearly gone into making the place livable.
After the porters had been paid off Visha and the others went in to haggle over prices. I myself had the camp set up and my lawn chair pulled out so I could kick back and enjoy the afternoon sun, since I anticipated the bargaining to take a while. From what I knew, the Imperial African Trading Company, which had a virtual monopoly on the trade of ivory and other forest products, operated on a fixed price system. They had a price they would pay for certain goods, and the local trading post owners would acquire the goods at whatever price they could and pocket the difference as their fee. Of course, out of this fee the trader had to pay for maintaining his outpost, getting supplies, hiring labor, and all the rest of it. As a result, it was in the trader's interest to gouge his suppliers as far as humanly possible.
For the local tribes, this meant instead of being paid in cold hard cash, the trader would often pay them in tools, alcohol, cloth, and other products of civilization - at exchange rates far above market price. And even for white folk like ourselves who wouldn't be fobbed off with beads or booze, the local traders would invariably fight over every mark and pfennig. Given the sheer quantity of ivory we had hauled in, the verbal jousting would be epic.
Indeed, I'd actually had time to take a nap, and the sun was beginning to set by the time Visha approached me. She even came bearing a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Alas, even as I took a delicious sip, I could tell I was not going to enjoy it as much as I usually did. Visha had a particular way she was fidgeting - the pose she adopted when she had done something foolish but was going to insist on being stubborn about it. Like her habit of gambling her wages for extra supplies for the battalion.
"All right, Visha, out with it. What has gone wrong this time?"
The story immediately came tumbling about. It seems in the course of bargaining she'd managed to somehow get the trading post owner's life story out of him. He'd been part of the first wave of Imperial entrepreneurs after the French had been kicked out of the territory. He'd apparently sunk most of his savings into this place, planning to make a life here with his family. However, in the very first year, both of his children had fallen terribly sick from some variety of jungle fever. Only rapid evacuation to the nearest city had preserved their lives. That particular scare had soured him on the whole deal, and to make matters worse he had started getting sick himself, affecting his work. Now he was stuck here alone while his family stayed in the city. The expense of maintaining two domiciles was eating away his profits, there was nothing he wished for more than to move back to the Empire but he lacked the money to do so - it was at this point I put up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Let me guess, you swallowed that sob story whole and agreed to give him the entire load for almost nothing?"
"Um... well...no...I may have agreed to buy his trading post."
I paused for a moment, before taking a long sip, then putting my cup aside and focusing on her. "I see. And how much is he asking?"
"I managed to negotiate him down to 90,000 marks. And if we close the deal soon, we can sell our entire load directly to the company. That's over 60,000 marks right there!"
"Except that 60,000 doesn't belong to either of us. It belongs to Koenig, Walther, Teyanen, Ernest, and Vogel. That was the deal."
"Ah, I spoke to them, and they're willing to take half. So really, we'll be paying less than 60,000 for the place - "
"Where's this 'we' coming from?" I interrupted. "Unless you've come into some sort of inheritance lately, I'll be the one shelling out 60,000 marks."
"Ah, yes, well, either way, even with the added expense of running the place, you should be able to get your money back in three or four months! And, well, you were planning to hide out here for a while..."
"Visha, the mark of a good investment isn't whether you get your money back or not, its how much profit you make afterward. Besides, what possessed you to think I had any interest in wasting my vacation running a trading outpost?"
"Please, ma'am? The man really needs help..."
Great, now she was giving me the puppy dog eyes. Considering how it was not at all infeasible to earn back my investment in short order, I was on the verge of agreeing. Yet, at the last moment, I felt the slightest tinge of resentment. Perhaps I was still upset about my forced relocation from Colombia, because all I could think was that this was the second time in a few months Visha's unilateral actions had forced me into doing something I didn't want to do.
"Perhaps," I replied, "If you want to perform acts of charity, you ought to take responsibility yourself instead of shoving it onto others?"
"Oh, you want me to run the outpost instead?"
"I want you to buy the outpost, run it, and show a profit. I'll loan you the money. And you have exactly six months to pay me back. Or else."
"Or... or else?"
I gave her my sweetest smile. "I'll write up an agreement."
Later that evening saw Visha and me in our shared tent, looking over the paper I'd written out.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Visha. "It says here you're charging me interest at 2% a month! That's 24% a year!"
"Welcome to the world of monopolies, Visha. The Imperial African Trading Company has a monopoly on the ivory trade, so they set the price. I have a monopoly on cash reserves, so I get to set the interest rate."
"But..."
"Besides, what are you worried about? You said you can cover the debt in three months. What's a few extra thousand on top of that?"
"It's still too mean..."
"You know what's meaner? Me upping the rate by another percent if you don't stop whining and sign it in the next five minutes." I gave her a small glare to emphasize my words.
To her credit, she still tried to use the few minutes to peruse the rest of the document.
"So... basically... if I fall short on paying you back, for every two thousand marks I am short by, I have to spend a year working off my debt?" asked Visha in a dubious tone.
"Basically," I agreed. "You don't get paid since I'll be covering all your daily needs, and you'll have to do any work as long as it's not dangerous. Oh, and two minutes left."
She chewed over this a bit. "So, sort of like an unpaid adjutant?" Visha asked with a slight smile.
"Sort of. One minute."
"All right, all right, here," she said, handing over the signed document.
"A pleasure doing business with you Visha," I replied, handing over a check for 60,000 marks.
She groused a bit more, but I could tell she was pleased at this opportunity to stretch her wings. After all, I was ceding control of the entire company to her, since the rest of my troops had heard of our wager and had agreed to help Visha out as long as they got to keep half the sales.
The next morning, as they all got to work with the current owner setting up the transfer and preparing the ivory for transport, I took our smartest, best spoken native guide with me and bade them all farewell.
"Where are you going, Major?" asked Koenig.
"I keep telling you, it's either ma'am or Tanya. And since I have no interest in watching you lot play hunter-gatherer, I'm going to continue this little safari on my own."
"All by yourself? Ma'am..."
"Are you suggesting I am incapable?" My offended glare choked off any response. Rolling my eyes, I continued, "I'm not going that far, only around the nearby areas. I'll be within communication spell range, and I'll check in in person every two weeks."
"Ah, all right. Be careful, ma'am."
After the various goodbyes were made, I headed on my way. As I walked away, I couldn't help the broad grin stretching across my face. Ah, poor, sweet, naive Visha. Was it cruel, what I planned to do to her? Perhaps. But after all the trouble she'd caused me recently, I felt I owed her a good, sharp shock. True, what I was about to do might end up costing me tens of thousands, but I could afford it, and I felt it worth the price for a spot of vengeance.
I knew that Visha's calculations were wildly optimistic. First, she was assuming Koenig and the others would be able to bring in ivory at a rate comparable to what they had achieved this month, when the herd we'd come across was the very definition of 'windfall'. Second, the income figures the previous owner had been quoting was predicated on paying the hunters a pittance, not the 50% Visha had agreed on with the others. In spite of all that, considering what I knew of her efficiency and work ethic, it was entirely possible Visha would still be able to pay off her debt within the six months.
Well, she would have, if it wasn't for what I was about to do next. Turning my grin on the nervous looking guide, I addressed him in his preferred French, <"Henry, your task now is to introduce me to all the elephant hunters in the area.">
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- Location
- Leeds
Oh no.
Oh no!
Seems to me it was entirely one sided. I don't think the fact that after the fact she entered another countries service changes the events.
Oh dear. At the same time America thinks Germania is undercutting their influence, Germania is actually sending in spy teams.
The poor girl hasn't heard about compound interest! Don't do this Tanya.
Tanya never loses a bet.
Chapter 20
A\N: I'm surprised how many people have commissioned me to write a piece for them, when my Patreon has been up for less than a week! Thanks to all of you, and also thanks to all the others who donated!
Chapter 20
The colonization of Africa, particularly in the Congo where one set of colonial masters had just been replaced by another, had created a rather interesting situation in local politics. "Interesting" in the Qin sense of the term. Like any relatively small country trying to dominate a much larger landmass, the Francois Republic could not hope to hold their far-flung African territories without the consent and collaboration of their native subjects. Thus, the French had gone to considerable effort to depose or co-opt the local tribal chieftains in order to eliminate organized resistance to their conquest. This led to the rise of a new group of tribal strongmen, who owed their position not to native tradition, but their ability to curry favor and earn rewards from their colonial masters. The system had worked for centuries, the pre-19th century slave trade having been fueled by captives who ran afoul of the new order. Once the slave trade went defunct and their colonial overlords turned to exploiting the land's natural wealth, these tribal rulers also changed with the times, becoming the people who organized the hunters, the laborers, the miners and work crews that kept the colonial trade empire profitable.
Considering I was asking the local hunters to go against that system - to deliberately sabotage the trade that was the lifeblood to many of these people - I knew I'd have to do something special. In fact, if this had still been the era of the Francois, it would likely have been impossible. It was only because the Imperial hold on the territory was still far from solid that I could make any headway. As it was, mere bribery wouldn't be sufficient. I had to not only promise them a large reward for their cooperation, but I also had to instill in them a sense of fear and respect for me. Simply put, even as they contemplated the rewards of following my advice, they had to think twice about earning my wrath.
This led directly to where I was now. Facing down a massive bull elephant with a truly impressive set of tusks. The creature was eyeing me with bloodshot eyes, its semi-erect male member leaking pungent fluid declaring to all its species its readiness to fight and fuck anything that came its way, a state technically categorized as musth. As I made eye contact with the sex-mad beast, it trumpeted out a challenge.
Next to me was Michael Ngoy, chieftain of the largest and most influential tribe of hunters and ivory gatherers in the region. In his hands was an old but massive double shotgun, the proverbial 'elephant gun'. As the elephant made noises that clearly indicated its displeasure with our presence, he eyed my dinky little Winchester and held out his own weapon, the offer clear. I smiled and tossed him my gun instead. This was, after all, a demonstration.
Even as the man fumbled in surprise with my weapon, I drew my combat knife and trotted forward. Back in my days with the 203rd, I'd carried a standard issue Imperial bayonet. While serviceable as a close combat weapon, it was much inferior to the bowie knife that I'd made standard for Velvet Iron Protection. Ten inches of perfectly balanced razor sharp steel twirled in my hand as I advanced on my prey.
The elephant was not shy in taking up my challenge. As I closed to within forty yards, the aggressive animal lowered its tusks and charged, the ground rumbling under its weight. As the multi-ton creature bore down, I smiled as I felt the magic flowing through me. While I was still using my civilian orb, the feel of the M27 sitting in my pocket reassured me of my safety. My forward movement turned into a counter-charge, and the two of us closed the distance in two seconds. At the very last moment, I applied just enough thrust to push the civilian orb to its limits, propelling myself into the air. The elephant stood almost twelve feet tall at the shoulder, but I cleared the height with ease before it even knew what was happening. Twisting around in midair, I used a reinforced grip on its rough skin to pull myself into a sitting position on its neck.
Even though I hadn't planned to kill any elephants myself, I'd still paid attention to the various experts Koenig had hired to coach us back in Point Noir. To shoot an elephant, the absolute best place is on the side of the head, in the line between eye and ear. It was in the center of this line that I buried my mage-blade-reinforced knife, right up to the hilt. Almost instantly the beast dropped to its knees, before slowly collapsing like a grey avalanche. Throwing myself off, I rolled to my feet, and I was walking back to Ngoy by the time the corpse settled.
He was still staring at the dead elephant as he shakily handed my gun back to me. Finally he found his voice: "<So, these other white hunters, they are like you?>"
"<Not as good as me, but good enough. Do you understand? If you let them succeed, they will replace you. You will go from proud hunters to mere porters and guides.>" I responded. One good thing about this trip, my spoken French was improving quite a bit.
He didn't speak for a while. Instead, he merely watched silently as his fellow tribesmen that he brought for this hunt swarmed over the corpse, harvesting not just the tusks but also the meat. Elephant meat, I had learned, had a rather distinct flavor and texture. While not unpleasant, I'd prefer a decent steak of beef, medium rare, any day. Still, I could tell I would be partaking of elephant tonight, and I resigned myself to pretending to enjoy it.
Finally, Michael gave voice to his thoughts. "<I understand what you say. Still, you must meet shaman. This is big thing you ask, only with his say will we proceed.>"
One of the interesting little curlicues to Congolese politics was the presence of the shaman. The traditional tribal structure may have been broken by the French, but even the new class of collaborator-chiefs still relied on the shamans to soothe local dissidence. While I don't know if it had been true in my past life, here and now the shamans remained an important part of local culture, in spite of the best efforts of colonial authorities and missionaries. Perhaps because this time they had genuine magic to back their claims.
It was honestly a bit frustrating. I'd expected them to be a bunch of herbalists with delusions of grandeur, yet it was clear something of a magical nature was happening when these shamans went into their trances where they 'communed with the spirits'. Whatever it was though, it was too brief and subtle for me to tell with my unaided senses. I'd only met two shamans so far and whatever they did when they entered their divination trances, it escaped my grasp.
Still, I had my theories, and hopefully I would be able to answer some of them today. The shaman I was going to meet, Shaman Abara, had something of a reputation. He was rumored to be 'as old as the forests and hills', and had clearly been around for the better part of a century. He was also someone the other shamans had mentioned as being their guru. I was hopeful that he was a more powerful mage, and would thus be more visible to my senses.
Later that evening I found myself in a small hut with a tall, heavily tattooed old man. Shaman Abara observed me for a long moment with eyes that were still sharp in spite of their age. He then started mixing a bowl from various herbs in front of me. I was no botanist, so I had no idea what it contained, but I recognized many of the ingredients as being items the other shamans had used. However, his bowl was definitely bigger than whatever the others had put together. Perhaps this old fellow had a higher resistance to whatever narcotics and toxins were present in the mixture?
To my surprise, after mixing one bowl, he then mixed up a second smaller one, before offering it to me. While I was curious about what this mixture was, I had absolutely no interest in poisoning my body with it. I tried to beg off, saying, "<No, thank you. I am not a shaman. This is sacred to your people, isn't it?>"
He smiled, then reached out a finger and touched my hand. I stiffened as I felt a tingle of magic run through my body. "<Power.>" he croaked. "<With this power, you may use sacred herb. Let us look into mysteries together.>"
All right, at this point it was obvious I was dealing with the genuine article. An orbless touch-based magic-scanning spell was outside all my previous experience, yet this old coot had pulled it off as if it were nothing. That still didn't mean I wanted to pour this mix of unknown ingredients into myself just to keep him happy. "<Forgive me, but I do not have your wisdom. I fear it may be wasted.>"
He studied me for a moment. Then he reached out and grabbed my bowl, before pouring out about half of the mix. Handing me the lightened bowl, he said, "<Here. Herb for weak apprentice.>"
Oh, this old fucker. He'd just called me out, handing me the tenderfoot special. Before I could formulate a reply, he was pouring his own full bowl down his gullet. Wiping his lips, he sat back into the lotus position. Even as his breath grew heavier, I could feel my magic senses reacting. I'd already been sure, but now I had confirmation: Shaman Abara was much more powerful than the previous shamans. I could feel the magic gathering in his stomach, before flowing through the rest of his body and directly into his brain.
A mental enhancement spell. That's what these spirit communions were about. Somehow, the herbal mix allowed the shamans to enter a magical mentally enhanced state. This was certainly interesting. Unfortunately, mental enhancement spells were some of the hardest to analyze. I knew the shaman was mentally enhancing himself, but I had no clue exactly what effect this enhancement had. I myself had several different mental enhancement spells I could apply to my own brain. The shaman could be using one of them, or something completely different.
As I sat there trying to puzzle out what I was sensing, I became aware of his sight on me. In spite of the metaphorical fireworks going off in his skull, Abara's gaze was as sharp as ever. He looked at me, then at the bowl in my hands, then back at me. The message was clear. Yet still I hesitated to poison myself. That's when he spoke, "<Do or do not. There is no try.>"
Did... did that fucker just quote Yoda at me? It was absurd, Star Wars did not exist in this world, and wouldn't for fifty years. Yet, allowing for the French, the quote was unmistakable. Could... could this be the effect of the mental enhancement he was under? Something which allowed him to transcend time and space itself to find the perfect words to make me do his bidding? Because I knew those words meant I couldn't resist any longer. Whatever was in this mix, I had to try it at least once.
Of course, just because I was going along with this didn't mean I couldn't stack the deck. Swallowing the foul-tasting herbal mix, I then readied my M27, and triggered a combination of physical and mental enhancement spells designed to promote clarity and strengthen my body. Whatever effect this mixture had on me, I could use proper, civilized magecraft to mitigate the consequences.
I felt the mix hit my stomach. Just like the shaman, I could feel the bubbling churn of magical energies. I suspected that for a weak or non-mage, the mixture would just make them high or sick. But with me, I could feel the energy flowing through my body. Reaching out to it, I guided it to my mind. And then. My world. Exploded.
If asked later, I would call the sensation impossible to describe. But the effects were something like a supercharged form of pattern recognition. As an earthy haze clouded my coherent thoughts, I could feel puzzle pieces falling into place. Every single thing crowding my waking mind suddenly started making all kinds of sense. Ivory and rivers and tribes. Resources and places and tribute. The laws and the customs and my desires. Rivers and forests and the pulsing sinews of trade. And most of all, the people, the most vital part of any vital economy.
As I came down from on high, I realized one more thing - there's no way I'd be able to remember all of this without help. Diving across the hut to my backpack, I pulled out a pen and a notepad. Then I poured in power from my M27 into the last vestiges of my trance, and started scribbling down any and every thing I could remember. I was still writing frantically when the last of the trance faded. At that point I put aside pen and paper and crawled to a corner of the hut before starting to vomit my guts out.
Apparently, puking and passing out after a vision quest was a time honored tradition, or so Abara informed me. Given everything else, I wasn't going to rule out him making fun at my expense. Still, his own visions had led Abara to advising Ngoy into agreeing with my terms. Since this was what I wanted, I didn't question him too deeply. That didn't stop me from being greatly disturbed at the contents of my notebook, once I got round to studying it.
I had four pages of disjointed scribbles that I could piece together into a few hints towards streamlining my future plans. Mildly useful, but what was concerning was the way I had scattered Visha's name throughout my notes, with neither rhyme nor reason. Clearly my subconscious was trying to tell me something.
It took me a few days to divine the reason behind Visha's prevalence in my thoughts. It was obvious in hindsight. She was, simply put, the only girl close to my own age that I both respected and had significant experience with. Was it any surprise that my hormone-driven subconscious would fixate on her? I didn't see any cure for the situation except to outgrow my teenage years. All I could do was keep a firm watch on my actions and remind myself that, whatever my desires, Visha was still my subordinate and had also shown no interest in women, so letting my feelings show would only make things supremely awkward.
Of course, knowing my feelings for her wouldn't stop me from teaching Visha a lesson. With Abara and Ngoy's support, I had almost complete influence among all the hunter-gatherer tribes within range of Visha's outpost. I didn't want the outpost to fail entirely - that would mean a big loss from my own pocket. But I felt Visha had taken the cut-throat world of business far too lightly, and I would be the agent for the punishment of her hubris.
I didn't sit idle while I waited for my machinations to bear fruit, though. My notes had made it clear that I needed to be considerably more active if I really wanted to create something worthwhile. And I might be on vacation, but that's no excuse for doing a shoddy job. As Visha and the others continued to toil away at the outpost, I discreetly flew down to Point Noir. There were many preparations to make if I wanted to properly recoup my investment.
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Somewhere in Colombia, September 18, 1928
When the attack came, it caught Mary completely by surprise. She'd been traveling back from a nearby town after a shopping trip when a tear-gas grenade exploded in her face. She was too busy coughing to even see the rifle butt that smashed into her skull.
When next she came to, it was with a strange pressure on her chest. Focusing past the agonizing headache, she realized she was in midair, suspended by an arm wrapped around her chest.
Looking around, she saw that the person holding her was part of a group of six aerial mages, floating in midair. In front of her, she spotted Becker, Royce, Norris, as well as four other mages. She didn't know the names of the newcomers, but she did recognize their leader as an officer in the Colombian mage corps.
Becker and Royce, she noticed, had their weapons aimed, and magic building in their spells. Becker shouted something she didn't understand, but she recognized the language as Germanian.
The person holding her shouted back in the same language.
Mary might not speak Germanian with any degree of fluency, but thanks to her exposure to Elya Roth, she knew a native Germanian speaker when she heard one. Her insides grew cold as she realized exactly who she had been captured by.
She didn't know why aerial mages from the Empire might be holding her captive. But there was no mistaking the desperation she saw in Norris' face. It was entirely possible someone had discovered her true allegiances, and this was an attempt to silence her. She didn't even have her computation jewel, the weight around her neck telling by its absence. Given no other option, she started to pray.
Mary was a devout girl who regularly said her prayers, but she was not in the habit of praying during combat operations. She only did it now as an alternative to crying and panicking. And yet, as the final words left her lips, she felt a growing lightness in her chest. Almost as if she was once more under the effect of magical reinforcement. Suddenly she felt her captor's gun digging hard into her back as he started screaming something at her. Panicked, Mary flung her arms out wide - and the superhuman grip of the Imperial was broken like a toddler's clutch.
As she fell away, Mary saw the Imperials bringing their guns around to target her. Mary didn't have a gun or a computation orb, but she could still feel the unexpected energy filling her up to the point of overflowing. Calling up every ounce of her God-given power, she extended her hands and blasted raw magic at her enemies.
When the light from the blast cleared, the enemy mages were mostly unharmed, but they definitely looked shaken. As they brought their guns around to aim at her falling form, Mary realized all her fervor had bought her was a stay of execution. Then multiple streaks of light blurred across the skies and impacted with the Imperial mages. Explosions stitched their way across their shields, sometimes shattering them entirely, and then Becker, Royce, and the Colombians had dragged the Imperials into a scrum, mage blades flashing.
Even as the air battle above her was joined, all Mary could think of was the water beneath her. A small part of her mind not busy panicking noted that her captors must have moved her to the coast before her rescuers caught up with her. She tried praying again, but her magic seemed entirely worn out by her earlier efforts. All she could do was desperately force what little magic she had into her torso and head, and then she slammed into the sea.
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"What do you mean, they think I'm Tanya von Degurechaff?"
Mary had always been brought up to be a polite young lady who didn't scream at others. In this case, she felt her mother would make an exception. Sitting up in her hospital bed, this latest bit of news had momentarily banished the pain of her broken ribs.
Klaus von Becker looked upon her with exasperating calmness, before saying, "The people who captured you were Imperial mages looking to capture Major Degurechaff. Your raw magical power, and seeing you with me and Royce, made them believe so. We killed two of them, but the others are undoubtedly reporting back as we speak."
"It doesn't help that we encouraged them," piped up Royce.
"Meaning.... what?" Mary decided that she would appreciate Charles' defensiveness on her behalf later. In the meantime, his question mirrored her own thoughts.
"Ah, you do not speak Germanian?" remarked the absolutely infuriating Becker. "Well, when we discussing things with Imperial mages, we always call you 'the Major'. Other things, we also do, to convince them you are Major Degurechaff in disguise."
"Why??" Mary would have screamed it, but the pain from her injuries was making it hard to breathe.
It was Royce who took up the narrative in his much better Albish, "Well, to be honest, we don't know what the Major is doing. But we figured, if folk are willing to send out aerial mages after her, best they keep looking in the wrong places. So we did our best to convince them you are her."
Mary took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm herself and not aggravate her ribs. "You cannot believe this will work for long. I am not Tanya Degurechaff, and I will scream it from the top of the world if I have to!"
"Ah well..." Mary felt her heart drop to her stomach. Royce was talking with the tone she had come to associate with people delivering bad news. "You remember how you prayed to the Lord Almighty right before you blasted the entire group hard enough to drain all their shields?"
"Yes....?"
"See, the Major was also real famous for praying right before she unleashed hell on those who crossed her. Now that you did the same... I'll be honest, if I didn't know otherwise, I'd believe you were the Major too."
Mary felt sick. She had known about Degurechaff's battlefield prayers, but having the parallel drawn between Degurechaff and herself was enough to make her hurl. "But.... but all of you know that I'm not her! You can tell them!"
Klaus gave a deep sigh, before getting to his feet. Then he bowed deeply to her. Head facing to the floor, he said, "Fraulein Smith, please understand. Our first and foremost loyalty is to the Major. If setting you up as her double buys her even a few days of respite, that is what we will do. However, that does not mean we will leave you adrift. The Major always taught us to take responsibility for our actions. Rest assured, I and Royce will stay by your side to protect you unto the death... or such time as the ruse has been seen through."
Mary stared at the man, before speaking, "So... you're real sorry about setting me up to be Degurechaff's fall girl... but not sorry enough to do anything about it."
"I'm not sure we can do anything about it at this point." spoke up Norris, frustration clear in his tone. "I've already been firing off messages to anyone who'll listen that the whole thing is a case of mistaken identity. But I don't know how many believe me. Even with the Colombians, even though the person I talked to officially believed my explanation, he was giving me the metaphorical wink and nudge."
"Indeed, Fraulein," broke in Klaus cheerfully. "Even without our help, there are few who will believe you are not the Major. You do not look like her at all, but that is explained by you growing up and getting cosmetic surgery."
There was a moment of silence as Mary contemplated the surreal horror that had become her life. Then Royce broke the silence, "Hey, look on the bright side. At least the Colombians think their mages got killed for a good reason."
"Killed?" Mary's eyes shot up to meet the others at those words.
Royce winced. "Ah, even after we got drop on them, they fought very hard. Two of the Colombians didn't make it, and it was damn close for the rest of us. Well, what can you expect when you're up against the Type 97 orb?"
"Type 97... the dual core orbs? Are you sure?"
"Miss Smith, me and Becker are former members of the 203rd. Trust me, we know the Type 97 in action when we see it. Those jokers might have been the 207th - the battalion they made to replace us - or they might be some other new formation, but they were definitely using the Type 97. Luckily, they weren't using it all that well."
"Really?" asked Norris, before indicating the bandages wrapped around his arm and torso. "They seemed damn deadly to me."
Klaus scoffed. "Thank your good fortune you never face us. They were good at flying and shooting but their decoys were shit. Training standards gone down the drain after the Major left. Type 97, it is amazing orb. The Modelo 1928's good, but 97 much much better."
"Huh," mused Norris. "Did we manage to capture any of them?"
"Only bits and pieces from the two we killed," replied Royce. "Maybe the Colombians will get some use out of it. More useful will be that neat little toy they found in their rooms. Apparently it's some kind of portable magic scanner. I'll try and get involved in the analysis..."
As her so-called comrades lost themselves discussing what was known about her attackers, all Mary could do was seethe in growing resentment. She knew this wasn't actually Degurechaff's fault, the fugitive had nothing to do with her countrymen being a bunch of idiots. That still wouldn't stop Mary from figuring out some way to add this latest humiliation to the charge sheet when she finally arrested that infuriating woman.
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October 1, 1928, Wagner Trading Post, Imperial Congo
I walked into Visha's office and plumped into a chair. "So, Visha, I've just been looking over your books, and I think it's time we had a little chat."
She couldn't hide her wince. "I know it's not going all that well, but business can still pick up! I still have over three months left before I have to pay you back."
"You think so?" I asked cheerfully. "Because it seems to me in spite of the boys helping you out, income has dropped to a quarter of what it was under the previous owner and it just keeps falling. Even if we optimistically assume it eventually recovers, that will still leave you well in the hole when your little debt comes due. That means you'll be stuck serving me for years. Looking forward to it?"
Her face flushed a bit as she gave me a pout. "Well, it's not like the work will be any different from what I was doing before this..."
I burst into laughter. "Oh, Visha, you are adorable. You didn't read that contract too carefully, did you?"
Judging by how round her eyes went, she was getting an inkling of where I was going with this. "W-what do you mean....?"
I didn't stop the grin extending across my face. "Visha, the way the contract is worded, I get to decide every single thing about your life and you have to do anything I want unless it directly endangers you. For example, I've been toying with having you be my personal footstool. And your work uniform would consist of nothing other than a dog collar stamped 'Property of Tanya Degurechaff'. What do you think?"
Judging by the thousand yard stare and increasing hyperventilation, I had made my point. Still if anything proved how naive Visha was, it would be her terror at the scenario I had outlined. As if a contract like that was actually legally enforceable. I reached across and patted her on the head, breaking her out of her little bout of panic. "It's such a shame how the local trade just seemed to dry up all of a sudden."
"Yes, I... wait a minute." Judging by the suspicious look she was giving, the penny had finally dropped. "Ma'am...Tanya... did you have something to do with all this?"
"Me? How can you accuse me of such a thing? Are you suggesting I may have demonstrated to the locals just how lethal a magical hunter can be if allowed to find their prey? That I may have insinuated to them that you planned to replace them all with foreign wizards? That should you be allowed to succeed, they will find themselves relegated from proud hunters to menial laborers? Or that I might have promised them a far better deal if they could successfully pull off a campaign of civil disobedience targeted at you?"
Visha was gaping at me like a fish, jaw opening and closing as she tried to find words. I just sat back and enjoyed her stupefaction. Eventually she got over her surprise. "Why would you even do something like that?!"
"Partly revenge. I didn't appreciate you trying to drag me into managing a trading post in the African jungle just because you felt sorry for that one guy. Admit it, when you proposed that deal you had simply assumed I would take care of the running didn't you?"
"Well, yes, but then I agreed to run the post when you said no - "
"And I decided to test you to see if you were actually taking this seriously. And I confess myself disappointed. You made one of the cardinal mistakes of business, Visha. You ignored your stakeholders."
"Stakeholders?"
"The people who had a stake in your business. You assumed that just meant our little group. When in reality we are the least invested in this business, because if it doesn't work out we can all just move on to something else! No, it is the locals, the hunters, the guides, the foresters, the ones who actually make a career of supplying outposts like these, they are the ones with the biggest stake in our success! And you mostly ignored them, simply assuming they will take whatever deal you offer them!"
I admit I got a bit passionate at the end there. I couldn't help myself. Visha, I, the rest of my troops, we were all ultimately temporary hires, here for just a few months. The real human resources to this business have always been the locals. Of course, Visha had simply been taking her cues from the previous operator, but just because something had worked in the past didn't mean it could not be improved upon. Looking at Visha, I could see she had wilted into her seat, seemingly on the verge of tears. Well, that won't do, I didn't want to actually discourage her from trying to improve herself.
I lifted up her chin to look into her eyes. "Visha, don't be so down. You made a mistake, it happens. But the question is, where do you go from here? I hope you're not just giving up."
Wiping her eyes, she smiled broadly at me. "Of course not, ma'am! You're right, I did neglect the locals. Not any more, though! I have to talk to them I think, figure out what they want to start working again."
"Indeed. If only you had someone who had already built a firm rapport with these people and could tell you what they wanted..."
"Wait, you want to help now?"
"Well, I did cause the problem. Only fair I help fix it. Oh, and if you were wondering, you need to make a tangible gesture towards the locals. Something to make them believe they are a valuable part of your business model."
Visha pondered my words for a moment. "It's not just going to be giving them more money, is it?"
"A higher price for their product is a good place to start, but what else?"
"I think... I'll also have to let them know Koenig and the others will be leaving in a short while, so they're not actually a threat to their livelihoods."
"I can handle that part."
"Yes... but also something else. Something to make them believe we care about them... maybe a clinic?"
"Oh?"
"Yes! And schools! Oh, many of these places don't even have clean drinking water!"
I clapped. "All excellent long term projects for preserving our human capital. But you want to start with something that will show immediate benefits, both for them and the business."
"What do you suggest?"
"Come with me."
I led Visha over to the little warehouse attached to the docks. Inside it were several crates that had arrived just last hour on a supply boat. Visha looked at the seals stamped on the crates. "Cold Steel Trading Company?"
"Just a little something I set up when I took a trip down to Point Noir. Found a few managers who came highly recommended. Since I was going to get involved in this business anyway, I'd decided to do it properly. Frankly, the way the Imperial African Company treats its suppliers is positively criminal. The only reason they get away with it is because they have almost no competition. I checked the laws though, and while they have some privileges, they do NOT have a legal monopoly. By the time they realize Cold Steel exists, I plan to have co-opted half their network out from under them. Speaking of which..." I handed Visha a document. "This is the prices Cold Steel is willing to offer to those signing an exclusive contract."
Visha looked through the price list, and I could see her eyes widening. "Seventy two marks to the kilo for ivory? And the fruit and herb prices too..."
I nodded my head. "We can afford it easily. Frankly, it's ridiculous just how badly the small traders get gouged. The idiots at the top don't seem to realize this thievery is at least part of the reason why this territory remains so poorly developed. They should have been doing everything possible to attract entrepreneurs to expand their network, not robbing the few souls willing to brave the African jungle."
When I was in Point Noir I'd taken a good hard look at the colonial business model and I could only shake my head in disbelief. The whole system still seemed to be operating on an 18th century paradigm where long-distance trade of any sort was a high-risk affair and you needed a ridiculous margin just to cover your risks. Few seem to have noticed we were in the 20th century where you could afford to make long-term plans, building infrastructure and goodwill in order to expand the market rather than obsess with immediate profit.
Pulling her attention away from the price list, Visha turned to the crates and gave me a questioning look.
Taking a crowbar I pried open the first crate, revealing a gleaming array of guns.
Visha immediately started inspecting them. "Wait... these are those Mauser hunting rifles Koenig wanted and you refused to buy."
"I refused because none of us needed them. The locals on the other hand - have you seen the kind of crap they have to work with? Some of the poor fools are still stuck using spears! Honestly, I don't understand why no one's been arming them. Their ability to hunt directly impacts the volume of business!"
"I think they're worried the locals might start shooting at them if they had decent guns," came Visha's dry reply.
"Well, that's what happens if you don't treat your employees properly," I sniffed. "We'll use these first few guns as a gift to soothe ruffled feathers, and we'll also let it be known that more weapons are available for trade - and not at a ridiculous mark-up either. And it's not just guns..." I was prying open more crates as I spoke. Camping gear, rations, flashlights, first aid kits, camouflage kits, useful drugs and medicines. Pretty much everything a hunter in the African wild needed to keep himself at his lethal best.
"Of course, some of this stuff actually requires some training to use properly. I suggest you put the boys to work as teachers and trainers. That'll reassure the hunters you're not trying to replace them, as well as improve their effectiveness."
"Yes, of course, I... I just..."
"Visha, what is it?"
"It's just... here I've been fooling around with this one outpost. And you've already put together a plan to take over the whole country. I just... I just wanted to show you I could do something on my own..."
Well, now I felt like a heel. Taking her hand in my own, I rubbed it gently. "Visha, Visha, hey, calm down. It's not your fault they never sent you to War College. If you had my training, strategic thinking like this would come just as easily to you I am sure. And I suppose I am partly to blame as well. I should have been taking this opportunity to train you up instead of making your life difficult."
She gave a soft chuckle. "And you complain that we keep calling you Major. Is everything a training exercise with you?"
"Constant self-improvement is the best way to maximize your own value," I replied firmly. "Besides, I hope you realize, I'm not doing all this for free." At Visha's inquisitive look, I continued, "First, you're still in charge. I'll introduce you to the local chiefs but it will be up to you to win them over and get them back to work. Going forward you will also have to decide what you'll be trading and how much you'll be offering. You'll have to negotiate supplies and deliveries with Cold Steel, don't expect any breaks just because I'm the owner. I'll teach and advise you, but I'm still not running this for you."
"Yes ma'am! I understand!"
"Second condition: the deadline! Our initial plan stays in place. Come mid-January, you'll be selling this outpost and we will be moving on. I refuse to be stuck here any longer than that."
"Understood! Um... is there anything else?"
I was about to tell her no, when the imp of mischief reared its head. "Yes. You should start shopping for a dog collar."
The expression on her face was priceless. I immediately burst into laughter. Her subsequent concentrated pouting only increased my mirth. Even though my vacation was over and I was once more hard at work, I couldn't help but feel all was right in the world.
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Elsewhere in the world...
The skirmish between the members of the 207th and the mages of Colombia and Velvet Iron Protection had an effect on international politics that could euphemistically be described as 'significant'.
Colombia opened up with an accusation of the Empire violating its sovereignty and murdering Colombian soldiers.
The Empire responded by accusing them of harboring international fugitive Tanya von Degurechaff, now hiding under the name Madelaine Smith. They even helpfully published a picture of the wanted woman. When that publication reached American shores, Captain Strong's epic spit-take left Elya annoyed and wearing half his coffee.
Strong managed to swiftly apprise his superiors of the true identity of Madelaine Smith, but the Americans couldn't reveal the truth without comprising an ongoing investigation. So instead, the Colombians were greatly surprised to find themselves receiving American support in the diplomatic arena, a statement from the American foreign office condemning Imperial aggression and dismissing their claims as a paper-thin excuse to interfere and propagate neo-colonial ambitions.
The Colombians simply assumed the Americans didn't want anyone else horning in on their own neo-colonial monopoly in South America.
The Empire, on the other hand, took it as a sign that whatever falling out had led to Degurechaff fleeing the US was on its way to being negotiated away, thus the American support for the woman. Fearing a renewal of Degurechaff's collaboration with the American military-industrial complex, the Empire released their evidence to the Allied Kingdom and Ildoa.
Some people in Albion were still smarting over the humiliation of having Degurechaff disappear on them. Among other things, they had been accused by almost everyone, particularly the Unified States, of having spirited her away. Seeing turnabout as fair play, the Allied Kingdom joined the Empire in pressing hard on the Unified States, demanding clarification on the Jennifer Ecks situation.
When that particular tidbit leaked to the American press, John Hughes knew opportunity was trying to break down his door. He used his influence to ensure the rumor linking Ecks and Degurechaff saw as much coverage as possible, while also arranging for Arenne to be re-released to the theaters. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it sold out at the box office all over again as everyone who hadn't seen it the first time (and many who had) flocked to the theater to potentially see the Devil herself on the silver screen.
The US government, in the meanwhile, was facing hard questions from important citizens. The idealists were demanding to know why the US government would shelter and collaborate with an accused war criminal. The pragmatists were demanding to know how those in charge screwed up this collaboration so badly that the woman ended up fleeing to Colombia and signing on with communists. Faced with the embarrassment of having to admit they had no clue who Jennifer Ecks had really been, the American government chose the path of least resistance. Pointing at the fictitious Albish backgrounds of Jennifer Ecks and Sarah Witherspoon (helpfully supplied by the CEO of Velvet Iron Protection) they counter-accused Albion of using Degurechaff as an agent to infiltrate America's defense industry and steal their magical research.
During this storm of accusation and counter-accusation, a certain trade bill entered the American Senate for consideration. Following the recent US stock market collapse, a number of banks and industries had found themselves declaring bankruptcy, and the House of Representatives had passed a wide-ranging increase in tariffs in an effort to protect the flagging American industry. Normally the Senate and the President would have rejected such a proposal, but someone pointed out just how many Imperial goods were currently reaching US soil largely untaxed. The Senate passed the bill with a few amendments designed to make it as painful as possible for Imperial imports, and the President let it be known if the Empire continued with its baseless accusations then the US was ready to express its displeasure in a most tangible fashion.
When word of this threat reached the Kaiser's ears, he was utterly infuriated. Already smarting from the failure of his little covert operation, he decided the Americans needed to learn their place. Within a matter of days, a 200% import tax had been imposed on American oil and petrochemicals. Before the war, such an action would have been suicidal for the Empire. After the war, it was somewhat less disastrous. Imperial acquisition of Dacia had not only given them a small oil source within their own borders, but it had also provided them with ports on the Black Sea and a land border with the Turkmen Empire, opening up the Middle East as a source for the vital black gold.
Predictably, the American President responded by signing into law the Tariff Normalization Act. Unfortunately, such a wide-ranging bill hit not only Imperial imports, but many other nations as well. The Allied Kingdom, already fed up with American obduracy, responded in a matter of weeks with matching tariffs of its own. Nor were they the only one. The American law started a domino chain of tariffs and counter-tariffs across much of the Western World.
As the year of 1928 drew to a close, the entire civilized world was seeing exports crumble and import prices skyrocketing. With all the world's powers scrambling to rebalance their economies, one particular side-effect went largely unnoticed. With the Empire now desperate for Middle East oil, a fortune in Imperial marks poured into the Turkmen Empire. At a time when the Turkmen were struggling with an uncertain economy and internal strife, what should have been a boon acted instead as a nasty inflationary shock to an already tottering system. It was hardly the only reason for what came next, but it certainly helped to hasten the inevitable.
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December 4, 1928, Wagner Trading Post, Imperial Congo
I had started sharing office space with Visha. She was still managing the trading post, but now that I was in one place, an enormous amount of news and paperwork had caught up with me. So now, with the tropical rain pouring down on a warm evening, I was staying indoors and trying to get a summary of the state of my far-flung investments.
The Cold Steel Trading Company was doing remarkably well, rapidly taking over large chunks of the Imperial African Company's trade networks. Instead of changing their business policies, the fools were whining to the government. I scoffed. They'd gotten so used to the government siding with them against the natives, they seemed to think they'd get the same consideration against fellow Imperials. I had, of course, made sure the top positions in Cold Steel were staffed with Imperial citizens in good standing.
Now, it should be mentioned that Lena had played a large part in Cold Steel's success. It was one thing to acquire Congolese forest products, it was another thing to transport them to the Empire. Fortunately, Lena still talked with Murdoch, who in turn had long-standing contacts in Londinium's maritime scene. Ships to transport Cold Steel's products had made themselves available in timely fashion.
Cold Steel was also making significant sums selling to the natives. I'd underestimated the massive demand the locals would have for what basically amounted to military surplus gear. Even with keeping the markup modest, sheer volume was making up the numbers. Again, Lena's help had been vital. When Velvet Iron had taken over Stillwater's operations in Colombia, they had also acquired the arms dealer's license. That license now meant the Colombian government had become the primary supplier of equipment to my patch of the Congo, with Velvet Iron and Cold Steel collecting their middleman's cuts.
Velvet Iron in particular needed the extra income. While Lena had done a fine job expanding operations in my absence, the Great Depression had slowed demand for VIP's services. Honestly, I couldn't believe I was only learning about the Depression now. The infamous stock market crash had happened while I was still in Colombia, but I'd been so busy planning my escape I hadn't even noticed.
And speaking of Colombia, I could scarcely believe the reports claiming poor Madelaine Smith was wanted for the crime of being me. I remembered the girl, of course, I'd asked her to go to Colombia to reinforce Norris. It was strange to see someone else suffer from the 'wrong time, wrong place' syndrome that had plagued so much of my life. I idly wondered if the poor girl had done something to gain Being X's attention. Well, hopefully that would get cleared up before she got killed. And at least this meant my pursuers were still looking for me in South America.
My two other companies, Household Magicks and Sunrise Botanicals, were also doing quite well. With Household, Lin had continued improving on the rituals, and now demand so badly outstripped supply that I didn't see their growth slowing down anytime soon, depression or no. As for Sunrise, the demand for medical cannabis and opiates had held rock steady. It helped that those items had been ignored by the US in that insane tariff act they had passed. CEO Vargas had used the profits from the first cannabis harvest to invest land to convert to opium cultivation. It seemed the Depression was affecting the price of coffee, so he'd been able to pick up some struggling plantations on the cheap to add to the D'Souza estate that the Colombian government had actually ended up awarding to Sunrise.
All told, things were going reasonably well in my various holdings. This was good for me, particularly since I'd actually spent all my liquid reserves setting up Cold Steel. Even though it was less than a year, I'd already grown used to the peace of mind that came with being rich and I had no desire to go back to counting my pennies.
Still, my current thoughts were on something a bit more immediate. Discreet inquiries had revealed Visha's birthday was on 7th January. Following my desire to enhance her appreciation of me as an employer, I needed to come up with something for when Visha turned twenty in a few weeks. That was when I sensed someone entering the office. The pattern of footsteps and the delicious smell of perfectly brewed coffee told me who it was. "Thank you Visha. Just put it anyw -" my voice choked off as I stared at Visha as she placed my coffee on the table.
After a long, stunning second, my brain caught up with exactly what I was seeing and I slammed my hands over my eyes. "Visha, what are you wearing?!"
"Why, that dog collar you said I had to wear. I even got it engraved the way you wanted, see?" came the innocent-sounding response.
"I noticed the collar. Well done," I said with gritted teeth. "Now can you tell me where are the rest of your clothes?!"
"Well, you didn't say I was to wear anything else with the collar, and I didn't want to assume. Better safe than sorry, right?" came the reply, dripping with sincerity as phony as a three-dollar bill.
"How thoughtful of you. But you can go back and get dressed now. And you know what, you can lose the collar too."
"Really, are you sure?"
"YES!!"
"Oh, all right." I could actually hear the pout in her voice. As I felt her moving away, I couldn't resist peeking through my fingers. I felt my breath stop, all my attention caught by the hypnotizing sway of her hips as Visha sashayed out of the office, naked as the day she was born.
Once I got my lungs moving again, I carefully moved the coffee out of the way, before slamming my head on the table. Hard.
The pain served its purpose of getting my brain functional once more. Now I could try and figure out what the hell just happened.
No, on second thought, I knew exactly what this was. This was Visha getting revenge on me for all the jokes I'd made at her expense. Objectively speaking, it was an excellent maneuver, catching me completely by surprise and leaving me a flustered fool. I was lucky Visha didn't know I found her attractive or who knows what else she would have done.
The real question was, where the hell did sweet innocent Visha get the courage to act so shamelessly? Was she drunk? High? Did Shaman Abara persuade her to try one of his herbal brews? Seriously, when was the last time she had done anything even close to this brash...?
My thoughts stuttered a bit. Suddenly, several incidents over the past few years started falling into a rather disturbing pattern. First, there had been those repeated cases of drunk and disorderly conduct, starting within days of me being removed from command of the 203rd. Then, there had been how she had dropped out of the army and tracked me halfway across the world. Resourceful, but also ridiculously bold. And let's not forget just a few months back when she almost started a shooting war with the Americans when I had been out sick.
Yes, this was a clear pattern of reckless behavior, starting with my arrest. Could it be...? I knew my arrest had done a number on Imperial military discipline. After all, what was the point in following all the rules if you could be thrown behind bars anyway? From there, it was easy to see how Visha might start acting out, her actions no longer tempered by military training. So, did that mean the sweet obedient girl I knew was but the facade created by enforced discipline, and Visha's true nature was this... this shameless hoyden?
Well, the fact that she was still a teenager was undoubtedly contributing to the result, but my deduction made too much sense to ignore. While a small part of me was curious to see what she would do next, the sane part of me pointed out she might actually start a war next time. Heck, it was a good thing we were alone in here, or she might have started a riot! No, the path forward was clear. I had to keep her by my side at all times and keep a very close, personal eye on her. Maybe run a few drills, reinstate some of that discipline. I doubted I could repress her completely, but hopefully any future outbursts could be kept just between the two of us.
Chapter 20
The colonization of Africa, particularly in the Congo where one set of colonial masters had just been replaced by another, had created a rather interesting situation in local politics. "Interesting" in the Qin sense of the term. Like any relatively small country trying to dominate a much larger landmass, the Francois Republic could not hope to hold their far-flung African territories without the consent and collaboration of their native subjects. Thus, the French had gone to considerable effort to depose or co-opt the local tribal chieftains in order to eliminate organized resistance to their conquest. This led to the rise of a new group of tribal strongmen, who owed their position not to native tradition, but their ability to curry favor and earn rewards from their colonial masters. The system had worked for centuries, the pre-19th century slave trade having been fueled by captives who ran afoul of the new order. Once the slave trade went defunct and their colonial overlords turned to exploiting the land's natural wealth, these tribal rulers also changed with the times, becoming the people who organized the hunters, the laborers, the miners and work crews that kept the colonial trade empire profitable.
Considering I was asking the local hunters to go against that system - to deliberately sabotage the trade that was the lifeblood to many of these people - I knew I'd have to do something special. In fact, if this had still been the era of the Francois, it would likely have been impossible. It was only because the Imperial hold on the territory was still far from solid that I could make any headway. As it was, mere bribery wouldn't be sufficient. I had to not only promise them a large reward for their cooperation, but I also had to instill in them a sense of fear and respect for me. Simply put, even as they contemplated the rewards of following my advice, they had to think twice about earning my wrath.
This led directly to where I was now. Facing down a massive bull elephant with a truly impressive set of tusks. The creature was eyeing me with bloodshot eyes, its semi-erect male member leaking pungent fluid declaring to all its species its readiness to fight and fuck anything that came its way, a state technically categorized as musth. As I made eye contact with the sex-mad beast, it trumpeted out a challenge.
Next to me was Michael Ngoy, chieftain of the largest and most influential tribe of hunters and ivory gatherers in the region. In his hands was an old but massive double shotgun, the proverbial 'elephant gun'. As the elephant made noises that clearly indicated its displeasure with our presence, he eyed my dinky little Winchester and held out his own weapon, the offer clear. I smiled and tossed him my gun instead. This was, after all, a demonstration.
Even as the man fumbled in surprise with my weapon, I drew my combat knife and trotted forward. Back in my days with the 203rd, I'd carried a standard issue Imperial bayonet. While serviceable as a close combat weapon, it was much inferior to the bowie knife that I'd made standard for Velvet Iron Protection. Ten inches of perfectly balanced razor sharp steel twirled in my hand as I advanced on my prey.
The elephant was not shy in taking up my challenge. As I closed to within forty yards, the aggressive animal lowered its tusks and charged, the ground rumbling under its weight. As the multi-ton creature bore down, I smiled as I felt the magic flowing through me. While I was still using my civilian orb, the feel of the M27 sitting in my pocket reassured me of my safety. My forward movement turned into a counter-charge, and the two of us closed the distance in two seconds. At the very last moment, I applied just enough thrust to push the civilian orb to its limits, propelling myself into the air. The elephant stood almost twelve feet tall at the shoulder, but I cleared the height with ease before it even knew what was happening. Twisting around in midair, I used a reinforced grip on its rough skin to pull myself into a sitting position on its neck.
Even though I hadn't planned to kill any elephants myself, I'd still paid attention to the various experts Koenig had hired to coach us back in Point Noir. To shoot an elephant, the absolute best place is on the side of the head, in the line between eye and ear. It was in the center of this line that I buried my mage-blade-reinforced knife, right up to the hilt. Almost instantly the beast dropped to its knees, before slowly collapsing like a grey avalanche. Throwing myself off, I rolled to my feet, and I was walking back to Ngoy by the time the corpse settled.
He was still staring at the dead elephant as he shakily handed my gun back to me. Finally he found his voice: "<So, these other white hunters, they are like you?>"
"<Not as good as me, but good enough. Do you understand? If you let them succeed, they will replace you. You will go from proud hunters to mere porters and guides.>" I responded. One good thing about this trip, my spoken French was improving quite a bit.
He didn't speak for a while. Instead, he merely watched silently as his fellow tribesmen that he brought for this hunt swarmed over the corpse, harvesting not just the tusks but also the meat. Elephant meat, I had learned, had a rather distinct flavor and texture. While not unpleasant, I'd prefer a decent steak of beef, medium rare, any day. Still, I could tell I would be partaking of elephant tonight, and I resigned myself to pretending to enjoy it.
Finally, Michael gave voice to his thoughts. "<I understand what you say. Still, you must meet shaman. This is big thing you ask, only with his say will we proceed.>"
One of the interesting little curlicues to Congolese politics was the presence of the shaman. The traditional tribal structure may have been broken by the French, but even the new class of collaborator-chiefs still relied on the shamans to soothe local dissidence. While I don't know if it had been true in my past life, here and now the shamans remained an important part of local culture, in spite of the best efforts of colonial authorities and missionaries. Perhaps because this time they had genuine magic to back their claims.
It was honestly a bit frustrating. I'd expected them to be a bunch of herbalists with delusions of grandeur, yet it was clear something of a magical nature was happening when these shamans went into their trances where they 'communed with the spirits'. Whatever it was though, it was too brief and subtle for me to tell with my unaided senses. I'd only met two shamans so far and whatever they did when they entered their divination trances, it escaped my grasp.
Still, I had my theories, and hopefully I would be able to answer some of them today. The shaman I was going to meet, Shaman Abara, had something of a reputation. He was rumored to be 'as old as the forests and hills', and had clearly been around for the better part of a century. He was also someone the other shamans had mentioned as being their guru. I was hopeful that he was a more powerful mage, and would thus be more visible to my senses.
Later that evening I found myself in a small hut with a tall, heavily tattooed old man. Shaman Abara observed me for a long moment with eyes that were still sharp in spite of their age. He then started mixing a bowl from various herbs in front of me. I was no botanist, so I had no idea what it contained, but I recognized many of the ingredients as being items the other shamans had used. However, his bowl was definitely bigger than whatever the others had put together. Perhaps this old fellow had a higher resistance to whatever narcotics and toxins were present in the mixture?
To my surprise, after mixing one bowl, he then mixed up a second smaller one, before offering it to me. While I was curious about what this mixture was, I had absolutely no interest in poisoning my body with it. I tried to beg off, saying, "<No, thank you. I am not a shaman. This is sacred to your people, isn't it?>"
He smiled, then reached out a finger and touched my hand. I stiffened as I felt a tingle of magic run through my body. "<Power.>" he croaked. "<With this power, you may use sacred herb. Let us look into mysteries together.>"
All right, at this point it was obvious I was dealing with the genuine article. An orbless touch-based magic-scanning spell was outside all my previous experience, yet this old coot had pulled it off as if it were nothing. That still didn't mean I wanted to pour this mix of unknown ingredients into myself just to keep him happy. "<Forgive me, but I do not have your wisdom. I fear it may be wasted.>"
He studied me for a moment. Then he reached out and grabbed my bowl, before pouring out about half of the mix. Handing me the lightened bowl, he said, "<Here. Herb for weak apprentice.>"
Oh, this old fucker. He'd just called me out, handing me the tenderfoot special. Before I could formulate a reply, he was pouring his own full bowl down his gullet. Wiping his lips, he sat back into the lotus position. Even as his breath grew heavier, I could feel my magic senses reacting. I'd already been sure, but now I had confirmation: Shaman Abara was much more powerful than the previous shamans. I could feel the magic gathering in his stomach, before flowing through the rest of his body and directly into his brain.
A mental enhancement spell. That's what these spirit communions were about. Somehow, the herbal mix allowed the shamans to enter a magical mentally enhanced state. This was certainly interesting. Unfortunately, mental enhancement spells were some of the hardest to analyze. I knew the shaman was mentally enhancing himself, but I had no clue exactly what effect this enhancement had. I myself had several different mental enhancement spells I could apply to my own brain. The shaman could be using one of them, or something completely different.
As I sat there trying to puzzle out what I was sensing, I became aware of his sight on me. In spite of the metaphorical fireworks going off in his skull, Abara's gaze was as sharp as ever. He looked at me, then at the bowl in my hands, then back at me. The message was clear. Yet still I hesitated to poison myself. That's when he spoke, "<Do or do not. There is no try.>"
Did... did that fucker just quote Yoda at me? It was absurd, Star Wars did not exist in this world, and wouldn't for fifty years. Yet, allowing for the French, the quote was unmistakable. Could... could this be the effect of the mental enhancement he was under? Something which allowed him to transcend time and space itself to find the perfect words to make me do his bidding? Because I knew those words meant I couldn't resist any longer. Whatever was in this mix, I had to try it at least once.
Of course, just because I was going along with this didn't mean I couldn't stack the deck. Swallowing the foul-tasting herbal mix, I then readied my M27, and triggered a combination of physical and mental enhancement spells designed to promote clarity and strengthen my body. Whatever effect this mixture had on me, I could use proper, civilized magecraft to mitigate the consequences.
I felt the mix hit my stomach. Just like the shaman, I could feel the bubbling churn of magical energies. I suspected that for a weak or non-mage, the mixture would just make them high or sick. But with me, I could feel the energy flowing through my body. Reaching out to it, I guided it to my mind. And then. My world. Exploded.
If asked later, I would call the sensation impossible to describe. But the effects were something like a supercharged form of pattern recognition. As an earthy haze clouded my coherent thoughts, I could feel puzzle pieces falling into place. Every single thing crowding my waking mind suddenly started making all kinds of sense. Ivory and rivers and tribes. Resources and places and tribute. The laws and the customs and my desires. Rivers and forests and the pulsing sinews of trade. And most of all, the people, the most vital part of any vital economy.
As I came down from on high, I realized one more thing - there's no way I'd be able to remember all of this without help. Diving across the hut to my backpack, I pulled out a pen and a notepad. Then I poured in power from my M27 into the last vestiges of my trance, and started scribbling down any and every thing I could remember. I was still writing frantically when the last of the trance faded. At that point I put aside pen and paper and crawled to a corner of the hut before starting to vomit my guts out.
Apparently, puking and passing out after a vision quest was a time honored tradition, or so Abara informed me. Given everything else, I wasn't going to rule out him making fun at my expense. Still, his own visions had led Abara to advising Ngoy into agreeing with my terms. Since this was what I wanted, I didn't question him too deeply. That didn't stop me from being greatly disturbed at the contents of my notebook, once I got round to studying it.
I had four pages of disjointed scribbles that I could piece together into a few hints towards streamlining my future plans. Mildly useful, but what was concerning was the way I had scattered Visha's name throughout my notes, with neither rhyme nor reason. Clearly my subconscious was trying to tell me something.
It took me a few days to divine the reason behind Visha's prevalence in my thoughts. It was obvious in hindsight. She was, simply put, the only girl close to my own age that I both respected and had significant experience with. Was it any surprise that my hormone-driven subconscious would fixate on her? I didn't see any cure for the situation except to outgrow my teenage years. All I could do was keep a firm watch on my actions and remind myself that, whatever my desires, Visha was still my subordinate and had also shown no interest in women, so letting my feelings show would only make things supremely awkward.
Of course, knowing my feelings for her wouldn't stop me from teaching Visha a lesson. With Abara and Ngoy's support, I had almost complete influence among all the hunter-gatherer tribes within range of Visha's outpost. I didn't want the outpost to fail entirely - that would mean a big loss from my own pocket. But I felt Visha had taken the cut-throat world of business far too lightly, and I would be the agent for the punishment of her hubris.
I didn't sit idle while I waited for my machinations to bear fruit, though. My notes had made it clear that I needed to be considerably more active if I really wanted to create something worthwhile. And I might be on vacation, but that's no excuse for doing a shoddy job. As Visha and the others continued to toil away at the outpost, I discreetly flew down to Point Noir. There were many preparations to make if I wanted to properly recoup my investment.
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Somewhere in Colombia, September 18, 1928
When the attack came, it caught Mary completely by surprise. She'd been traveling back from a nearby town after a shopping trip when a tear-gas grenade exploded in her face. She was too busy coughing to even see the rifle butt that smashed into her skull.
When next she came to, it was with a strange pressure on her chest. Focusing past the agonizing headache, she realized she was in midair, suspended by an arm wrapped around her chest.
Looking around, she saw that the person holding her was part of a group of six aerial mages, floating in midair. In front of her, she spotted Becker, Royce, Norris, as well as four other mages. She didn't know the names of the newcomers, but she did recognize their leader as an officer in the Colombian mage corps.
Becker and Royce, she noticed, had their weapons aimed, and magic building in their spells. Becker shouted something she didn't understand, but she recognized the language as Germanian.
The person holding her shouted back in the same language.
Mary might not speak Germanian with any degree of fluency, but thanks to her exposure to Elya Roth, she knew a native Germanian speaker when she heard one. Her insides grew cold as she realized exactly who she had been captured by.
She didn't know why aerial mages from the Empire might be holding her captive. But there was no mistaking the desperation she saw in Norris' face. It was entirely possible someone had discovered her true allegiances, and this was an attempt to silence her. She didn't even have her computation jewel, the weight around her neck telling by its absence. Given no other option, she started to pray.
Mary was a devout girl who regularly said her prayers, but she was not in the habit of praying during combat operations. She only did it now as an alternative to crying and panicking. And yet, as the final words left her lips, she felt a growing lightness in her chest. Almost as if she was once more under the effect of magical reinforcement. Suddenly she felt her captor's gun digging hard into her back as he started screaming something at her. Panicked, Mary flung her arms out wide - and the superhuman grip of the Imperial was broken like a toddler's clutch.
As she fell away, Mary saw the Imperials bringing their guns around to target her. Mary didn't have a gun or a computation orb, but she could still feel the unexpected energy filling her up to the point of overflowing. Calling up every ounce of her God-given power, she extended her hands and blasted raw magic at her enemies.
When the light from the blast cleared, the enemy mages were mostly unharmed, but they definitely looked shaken. As they brought their guns around to aim at her falling form, Mary realized all her fervor had bought her was a stay of execution. Then multiple streaks of light blurred across the skies and impacted with the Imperial mages. Explosions stitched their way across their shields, sometimes shattering them entirely, and then Becker, Royce, and the Colombians had dragged the Imperials into a scrum, mage blades flashing.
Even as the air battle above her was joined, all Mary could think of was the water beneath her. A small part of her mind not busy panicking noted that her captors must have moved her to the coast before her rescuers caught up with her. She tried praying again, but her magic seemed entirely worn out by her earlier efforts. All she could do was desperately force what little magic she had into her torso and head, and then she slammed into the sea.
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"What do you mean, they think I'm Tanya von Degurechaff?"
Mary had always been brought up to be a polite young lady who didn't scream at others. In this case, she felt her mother would make an exception. Sitting up in her hospital bed, this latest bit of news had momentarily banished the pain of her broken ribs.
Klaus von Becker looked upon her with exasperating calmness, before saying, "The people who captured you were Imperial mages looking to capture Major Degurechaff. Your raw magical power, and seeing you with me and Royce, made them believe so. We killed two of them, but the others are undoubtedly reporting back as we speak."
"It doesn't help that we encouraged them," piped up Royce.
"Meaning.... what?" Mary decided that she would appreciate Charles' defensiveness on her behalf later. In the meantime, his question mirrored her own thoughts.
"Ah, you do not speak Germanian?" remarked the absolutely infuriating Becker. "Well, when we discussing things with Imperial mages, we always call you 'the Major'. Other things, we also do, to convince them you are Major Degurechaff in disguise."
"Why??" Mary would have screamed it, but the pain from her injuries was making it hard to breathe.
It was Royce who took up the narrative in his much better Albish, "Well, to be honest, we don't know what the Major is doing. But we figured, if folk are willing to send out aerial mages after her, best they keep looking in the wrong places. So we did our best to convince them you are her."
Mary took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm herself and not aggravate her ribs. "You cannot believe this will work for long. I am not Tanya Degurechaff, and I will scream it from the top of the world if I have to!"
"Ah well..." Mary felt her heart drop to her stomach. Royce was talking with the tone she had come to associate with people delivering bad news. "You remember how you prayed to the Lord Almighty right before you blasted the entire group hard enough to drain all their shields?"
"Yes....?"
"See, the Major was also real famous for praying right before she unleashed hell on those who crossed her. Now that you did the same... I'll be honest, if I didn't know otherwise, I'd believe you were the Major too."
Mary felt sick. She had known about Degurechaff's battlefield prayers, but having the parallel drawn between Degurechaff and herself was enough to make her hurl. "But.... but all of you know that I'm not her! You can tell them!"
Klaus gave a deep sigh, before getting to his feet. Then he bowed deeply to her. Head facing to the floor, he said, "Fraulein Smith, please understand. Our first and foremost loyalty is to the Major. If setting you up as her double buys her even a few days of respite, that is what we will do. However, that does not mean we will leave you adrift. The Major always taught us to take responsibility for our actions. Rest assured, I and Royce will stay by your side to protect you unto the death... or such time as the ruse has been seen through."
Mary stared at the man, before speaking, "So... you're real sorry about setting me up to be Degurechaff's fall girl... but not sorry enough to do anything about it."
"I'm not sure we can do anything about it at this point." spoke up Norris, frustration clear in his tone. "I've already been firing off messages to anyone who'll listen that the whole thing is a case of mistaken identity. But I don't know how many believe me. Even with the Colombians, even though the person I talked to officially believed my explanation, he was giving me the metaphorical wink and nudge."
"Indeed, Fraulein," broke in Klaus cheerfully. "Even without our help, there are few who will believe you are not the Major. You do not look like her at all, but that is explained by you growing up and getting cosmetic surgery."
There was a moment of silence as Mary contemplated the surreal horror that had become her life. Then Royce broke the silence, "Hey, look on the bright side. At least the Colombians think their mages got killed for a good reason."
"Killed?" Mary's eyes shot up to meet the others at those words.
Royce winced. "Ah, even after we got drop on them, they fought very hard. Two of the Colombians didn't make it, and it was damn close for the rest of us. Well, what can you expect when you're up against the Type 97 orb?"
"Type 97... the dual core orbs? Are you sure?"
"Miss Smith, me and Becker are former members of the 203rd. Trust me, we know the Type 97 in action when we see it. Those jokers might have been the 207th - the battalion they made to replace us - or they might be some other new formation, but they were definitely using the Type 97. Luckily, they weren't using it all that well."
"Really?" asked Norris, before indicating the bandages wrapped around his arm and torso. "They seemed damn deadly to me."
Klaus scoffed. "Thank your good fortune you never face us. They were good at flying and shooting but their decoys were shit. Training standards gone down the drain after the Major left. Type 97, it is amazing orb. The Modelo 1928's good, but 97 much much better."
"Huh," mused Norris. "Did we manage to capture any of them?"
"Only bits and pieces from the two we killed," replied Royce. "Maybe the Colombians will get some use out of it. More useful will be that neat little toy they found in their rooms. Apparently it's some kind of portable magic scanner. I'll try and get involved in the analysis..."
As her so-called comrades lost themselves discussing what was known about her attackers, all Mary could do was seethe in growing resentment. She knew this wasn't actually Degurechaff's fault, the fugitive had nothing to do with her countrymen being a bunch of idiots. That still wouldn't stop Mary from figuring out some way to add this latest humiliation to the charge sheet when she finally arrested that infuriating woman.
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October 1, 1928, Wagner Trading Post, Imperial Congo
I walked into Visha's office and plumped into a chair. "So, Visha, I've just been looking over your books, and I think it's time we had a little chat."
She couldn't hide her wince. "I know it's not going all that well, but business can still pick up! I still have over three months left before I have to pay you back."
"You think so?" I asked cheerfully. "Because it seems to me in spite of the boys helping you out, income has dropped to a quarter of what it was under the previous owner and it just keeps falling. Even if we optimistically assume it eventually recovers, that will still leave you well in the hole when your little debt comes due. That means you'll be stuck serving me for years. Looking forward to it?"
Her face flushed a bit as she gave me a pout. "Well, it's not like the work will be any different from what I was doing before this..."
I burst into laughter. "Oh, Visha, you are adorable. You didn't read that contract too carefully, did you?"
Judging by how round her eyes went, she was getting an inkling of where I was going with this. "W-what do you mean....?"
I didn't stop the grin extending across my face. "Visha, the way the contract is worded, I get to decide every single thing about your life and you have to do anything I want unless it directly endangers you. For example, I've been toying with having you be my personal footstool. And your work uniform would consist of nothing other than a dog collar stamped 'Property of Tanya Degurechaff'. What do you think?"
Judging by the thousand yard stare and increasing hyperventilation, I had made my point. Still if anything proved how naive Visha was, it would be her terror at the scenario I had outlined. As if a contract like that was actually legally enforceable. I reached across and patted her on the head, breaking her out of her little bout of panic. "It's such a shame how the local trade just seemed to dry up all of a sudden."
"Yes, I... wait a minute." Judging by the suspicious look she was giving, the penny had finally dropped. "Ma'am...Tanya... did you have something to do with all this?"
"Me? How can you accuse me of such a thing? Are you suggesting I may have demonstrated to the locals just how lethal a magical hunter can be if allowed to find their prey? That I may have insinuated to them that you planned to replace them all with foreign wizards? That should you be allowed to succeed, they will find themselves relegated from proud hunters to menial laborers? Or that I might have promised them a far better deal if they could successfully pull off a campaign of civil disobedience targeted at you?"
Visha was gaping at me like a fish, jaw opening and closing as she tried to find words. I just sat back and enjoyed her stupefaction. Eventually she got over her surprise. "Why would you even do something like that?!"
"Partly revenge. I didn't appreciate you trying to drag me into managing a trading post in the African jungle just because you felt sorry for that one guy. Admit it, when you proposed that deal you had simply assumed I would take care of the running didn't you?"
"Well, yes, but then I agreed to run the post when you said no - "
"And I decided to test you to see if you were actually taking this seriously. And I confess myself disappointed. You made one of the cardinal mistakes of business, Visha. You ignored your stakeholders."
"Stakeholders?"
"The people who had a stake in your business. You assumed that just meant our little group. When in reality we are the least invested in this business, because if it doesn't work out we can all just move on to something else! No, it is the locals, the hunters, the guides, the foresters, the ones who actually make a career of supplying outposts like these, they are the ones with the biggest stake in our success! And you mostly ignored them, simply assuming they will take whatever deal you offer them!"
I admit I got a bit passionate at the end there. I couldn't help myself. Visha, I, the rest of my troops, we were all ultimately temporary hires, here for just a few months. The real human resources to this business have always been the locals. Of course, Visha had simply been taking her cues from the previous operator, but just because something had worked in the past didn't mean it could not be improved upon. Looking at Visha, I could see she had wilted into her seat, seemingly on the verge of tears. Well, that won't do, I didn't want to actually discourage her from trying to improve herself.
I lifted up her chin to look into her eyes. "Visha, don't be so down. You made a mistake, it happens. But the question is, where do you go from here? I hope you're not just giving up."
Wiping her eyes, she smiled broadly at me. "Of course not, ma'am! You're right, I did neglect the locals. Not any more, though! I have to talk to them I think, figure out what they want to start working again."
"Indeed. If only you had someone who had already built a firm rapport with these people and could tell you what they wanted..."
"Wait, you want to help now?"
"Well, I did cause the problem. Only fair I help fix it. Oh, and if you were wondering, you need to make a tangible gesture towards the locals. Something to make them believe they are a valuable part of your business model."
Visha pondered my words for a moment. "It's not just going to be giving them more money, is it?"
"A higher price for their product is a good place to start, but what else?"
"I think... I'll also have to let them know Koenig and the others will be leaving in a short while, so they're not actually a threat to their livelihoods."
"I can handle that part."
"Yes... but also something else. Something to make them believe we care about them... maybe a clinic?"
"Oh?"
"Yes! And schools! Oh, many of these places don't even have clean drinking water!"
I clapped. "All excellent long term projects for preserving our human capital. But you want to start with something that will show immediate benefits, both for them and the business."
"What do you suggest?"
"Come with me."
I led Visha over to the little warehouse attached to the docks. Inside it were several crates that had arrived just last hour on a supply boat. Visha looked at the seals stamped on the crates. "Cold Steel Trading Company?"
"Just a little something I set up when I took a trip down to Point Noir. Found a few managers who came highly recommended. Since I was going to get involved in this business anyway, I'd decided to do it properly. Frankly, the way the Imperial African Company treats its suppliers is positively criminal. The only reason they get away with it is because they have almost no competition. I checked the laws though, and while they have some privileges, they do NOT have a legal monopoly. By the time they realize Cold Steel exists, I plan to have co-opted half their network out from under them. Speaking of which..." I handed Visha a document. "This is the prices Cold Steel is willing to offer to those signing an exclusive contract."
Visha looked through the price list, and I could see her eyes widening. "Seventy two marks to the kilo for ivory? And the fruit and herb prices too..."
I nodded my head. "We can afford it easily. Frankly, it's ridiculous just how badly the small traders get gouged. The idiots at the top don't seem to realize this thievery is at least part of the reason why this territory remains so poorly developed. They should have been doing everything possible to attract entrepreneurs to expand their network, not robbing the few souls willing to brave the African jungle."
When I was in Point Noir I'd taken a good hard look at the colonial business model and I could only shake my head in disbelief. The whole system still seemed to be operating on an 18th century paradigm where long-distance trade of any sort was a high-risk affair and you needed a ridiculous margin just to cover your risks. Few seem to have noticed we were in the 20th century where you could afford to make long-term plans, building infrastructure and goodwill in order to expand the market rather than obsess with immediate profit.
Pulling her attention away from the price list, Visha turned to the crates and gave me a questioning look.
Taking a crowbar I pried open the first crate, revealing a gleaming array of guns.
Visha immediately started inspecting them. "Wait... these are those Mauser hunting rifles Koenig wanted and you refused to buy."
"I refused because none of us needed them. The locals on the other hand - have you seen the kind of crap they have to work with? Some of the poor fools are still stuck using spears! Honestly, I don't understand why no one's been arming them. Their ability to hunt directly impacts the volume of business!"
"I think they're worried the locals might start shooting at them if they had decent guns," came Visha's dry reply.
"Well, that's what happens if you don't treat your employees properly," I sniffed. "We'll use these first few guns as a gift to soothe ruffled feathers, and we'll also let it be known that more weapons are available for trade - and not at a ridiculous mark-up either. And it's not just guns..." I was prying open more crates as I spoke. Camping gear, rations, flashlights, first aid kits, camouflage kits, useful drugs and medicines. Pretty much everything a hunter in the African wild needed to keep himself at his lethal best.
"Of course, some of this stuff actually requires some training to use properly. I suggest you put the boys to work as teachers and trainers. That'll reassure the hunters you're not trying to replace them, as well as improve their effectiveness."
"Yes, of course, I... I just..."
"Visha, what is it?"
"It's just... here I've been fooling around with this one outpost. And you've already put together a plan to take over the whole country. I just... I just wanted to show you I could do something on my own..."
Well, now I felt like a heel. Taking her hand in my own, I rubbed it gently. "Visha, Visha, hey, calm down. It's not your fault they never sent you to War College. If you had my training, strategic thinking like this would come just as easily to you I am sure. And I suppose I am partly to blame as well. I should have been taking this opportunity to train you up instead of making your life difficult."
She gave a soft chuckle. "And you complain that we keep calling you Major. Is everything a training exercise with you?"
"Constant self-improvement is the best way to maximize your own value," I replied firmly. "Besides, I hope you realize, I'm not doing all this for free." At Visha's inquisitive look, I continued, "First, you're still in charge. I'll introduce you to the local chiefs but it will be up to you to win them over and get them back to work. Going forward you will also have to decide what you'll be trading and how much you'll be offering. You'll have to negotiate supplies and deliveries with Cold Steel, don't expect any breaks just because I'm the owner. I'll teach and advise you, but I'm still not running this for you."
"Yes ma'am! I understand!"
"Second condition: the deadline! Our initial plan stays in place. Come mid-January, you'll be selling this outpost and we will be moving on. I refuse to be stuck here any longer than that."
"Understood! Um... is there anything else?"
I was about to tell her no, when the imp of mischief reared its head. "Yes. You should start shopping for a dog collar."
The expression on her face was priceless. I immediately burst into laughter. Her subsequent concentrated pouting only increased my mirth. Even though my vacation was over and I was once more hard at work, I couldn't help but feel all was right in the world.
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Elsewhere in the world...
The skirmish between the members of the 207th and the mages of Colombia and Velvet Iron Protection had an effect on international politics that could euphemistically be described as 'significant'.
Colombia opened up with an accusation of the Empire violating its sovereignty and murdering Colombian soldiers.
The Empire responded by accusing them of harboring international fugitive Tanya von Degurechaff, now hiding under the name Madelaine Smith. They even helpfully published a picture of the wanted woman. When that publication reached American shores, Captain Strong's epic spit-take left Elya annoyed and wearing half his coffee.
Strong managed to swiftly apprise his superiors of the true identity of Madelaine Smith, but the Americans couldn't reveal the truth without comprising an ongoing investigation. So instead, the Colombians were greatly surprised to find themselves receiving American support in the diplomatic arena, a statement from the American foreign office condemning Imperial aggression and dismissing their claims as a paper-thin excuse to interfere and propagate neo-colonial ambitions.
The Colombians simply assumed the Americans didn't want anyone else horning in on their own neo-colonial monopoly in South America.
The Empire, on the other hand, took it as a sign that whatever falling out had led to Degurechaff fleeing the US was on its way to being negotiated away, thus the American support for the woman. Fearing a renewal of Degurechaff's collaboration with the American military-industrial complex, the Empire released their evidence to the Allied Kingdom and Ildoa.
Some people in Albion were still smarting over the humiliation of having Degurechaff disappear on them. Among other things, they had been accused by almost everyone, particularly the Unified States, of having spirited her away. Seeing turnabout as fair play, the Allied Kingdom joined the Empire in pressing hard on the Unified States, demanding clarification on the Jennifer Ecks situation.
When that particular tidbit leaked to the American press, John Hughes knew opportunity was trying to break down his door. He used his influence to ensure the rumor linking Ecks and Degurechaff saw as much coverage as possible, while also arranging for Arenne to be re-released to the theaters. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it sold out at the box office all over again as everyone who hadn't seen it the first time (and many who had) flocked to the theater to potentially see the Devil herself on the silver screen.
The US government, in the meanwhile, was facing hard questions from important citizens. The idealists were demanding to know why the US government would shelter and collaborate with an accused war criminal. The pragmatists were demanding to know how those in charge screwed up this collaboration so badly that the woman ended up fleeing to Colombia and signing on with communists. Faced with the embarrassment of having to admit they had no clue who Jennifer Ecks had really been, the American government chose the path of least resistance. Pointing at the fictitious Albish backgrounds of Jennifer Ecks and Sarah Witherspoon (helpfully supplied by the CEO of Velvet Iron Protection) they counter-accused Albion of using Degurechaff as an agent to infiltrate America's defense industry and steal their magical research.
During this storm of accusation and counter-accusation, a certain trade bill entered the American Senate for consideration. Following the recent US stock market collapse, a number of banks and industries had found themselves declaring bankruptcy, and the House of Representatives had passed a wide-ranging increase in tariffs in an effort to protect the flagging American industry. Normally the Senate and the President would have rejected such a proposal, but someone pointed out just how many Imperial goods were currently reaching US soil largely untaxed. The Senate passed the bill with a few amendments designed to make it as painful as possible for Imperial imports, and the President let it be known if the Empire continued with its baseless accusations then the US was ready to express its displeasure in a most tangible fashion.
When word of this threat reached the Kaiser's ears, he was utterly infuriated. Already smarting from the failure of his little covert operation, he decided the Americans needed to learn their place. Within a matter of days, a 200% import tax had been imposed on American oil and petrochemicals. Before the war, such an action would have been suicidal for the Empire. After the war, it was somewhat less disastrous. Imperial acquisition of Dacia had not only given them a small oil source within their own borders, but it had also provided them with ports on the Black Sea and a land border with the Turkmen Empire, opening up the Middle East as a source for the vital black gold.
Predictably, the American President responded by signing into law the Tariff Normalization Act. Unfortunately, such a wide-ranging bill hit not only Imperial imports, but many other nations as well. The Allied Kingdom, already fed up with American obduracy, responded in a matter of weeks with matching tariffs of its own. Nor were they the only one. The American law started a domino chain of tariffs and counter-tariffs across much of the Western World.
As the year of 1928 drew to a close, the entire civilized world was seeing exports crumble and import prices skyrocketing. With all the world's powers scrambling to rebalance their economies, one particular side-effect went largely unnoticed. With the Empire now desperate for Middle East oil, a fortune in Imperial marks poured into the Turkmen Empire. At a time when the Turkmen were struggling with an uncertain economy and internal strife, what should have been a boon acted instead as a nasty inflationary shock to an already tottering system. It was hardly the only reason for what came next, but it certainly helped to hasten the inevitable.
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December 4, 1928, Wagner Trading Post, Imperial Congo
I had started sharing office space with Visha. She was still managing the trading post, but now that I was in one place, an enormous amount of news and paperwork had caught up with me. So now, with the tropical rain pouring down on a warm evening, I was staying indoors and trying to get a summary of the state of my far-flung investments.
The Cold Steel Trading Company was doing remarkably well, rapidly taking over large chunks of the Imperial African Company's trade networks. Instead of changing their business policies, the fools were whining to the government. I scoffed. They'd gotten so used to the government siding with them against the natives, they seemed to think they'd get the same consideration against fellow Imperials. I had, of course, made sure the top positions in Cold Steel were staffed with Imperial citizens in good standing.
Now, it should be mentioned that Lena had played a large part in Cold Steel's success. It was one thing to acquire Congolese forest products, it was another thing to transport them to the Empire. Fortunately, Lena still talked with Murdoch, who in turn had long-standing contacts in Londinium's maritime scene. Ships to transport Cold Steel's products had made themselves available in timely fashion.
Cold Steel was also making significant sums selling to the natives. I'd underestimated the massive demand the locals would have for what basically amounted to military surplus gear. Even with keeping the markup modest, sheer volume was making up the numbers. Again, Lena's help had been vital. When Velvet Iron had taken over Stillwater's operations in Colombia, they had also acquired the arms dealer's license. That license now meant the Colombian government had become the primary supplier of equipment to my patch of the Congo, with Velvet Iron and Cold Steel collecting their middleman's cuts.
Velvet Iron in particular needed the extra income. While Lena had done a fine job expanding operations in my absence, the Great Depression had slowed demand for VIP's services. Honestly, I couldn't believe I was only learning about the Depression now. The infamous stock market crash had happened while I was still in Colombia, but I'd been so busy planning my escape I hadn't even noticed.
And speaking of Colombia, I could scarcely believe the reports claiming poor Madelaine Smith was wanted for the crime of being me. I remembered the girl, of course, I'd asked her to go to Colombia to reinforce Norris. It was strange to see someone else suffer from the 'wrong time, wrong place' syndrome that had plagued so much of my life. I idly wondered if the poor girl had done something to gain Being X's attention. Well, hopefully that would get cleared up before she got killed. And at least this meant my pursuers were still looking for me in South America.
My two other companies, Household Magicks and Sunrise Botanicals, were also doing quite well. With Household, Lin had continued improving on the rituals, and now demand so badly outstripped supply that I didn't see their growth slowing down anytime soon, depression or no. As for Sunrise, the demand for medical cannabis and opiates had held rock steady. It helped that those items had been ignored by the US in that insane tariff act they had passed. CEO Vargas had used the profits from the first cannabis harvest to invest land to convert to opium cultivation. It seemed the Depression was affecting the price of coffee, so he'd been able to pick up some struggling plantations on the cheap to add to the D'Souza estate that the Colombian government had actually ended up awarding to Sunrise.
All told, things were going reasonably well in my various holdings. This was good for me, particularly since I'd actually spent all my liquid reserves setting up Cold Steel. Even though it was less than a year, I'd already grown used to the peace of mind that came with being rich and I had no desire to go back to counting my pennies.
Still, my current thoughts were on something a bit more immediate. Discreet inquiries had revealed Visha's birthday was on 7th January. Following my desire to enhance her appreciation of me as an employer, I needed to come up with something for when Visha turned twenty in a few weeks. That was when I sensed someone entering the office. The pattern of footsteps and the delicious smell of perfectly brewed coffee told me who it was. "Thank you Visha. Just put it anyw -" my voice choked off as I stared at Visha as she placed my coffee on the table.
After a long, stunning second, my brain caught up with exactly what I was seeing and I slammed my hands over my eyes. "Visha, what are you wearing?!"
"Why, that dog collar you said I had to wear. I even got it engraved the way you wanted, see?" came the innocent-sounding response.
"I noticed the collar. Well done," I said with gritted teeth. "Now can you tell me where are the rest of your clothes?!"
"Well, you didn't say I was to wear anything else with the collar, and I didn't want to assume. Better safe than sorry, right?" came the reply, dripping with sincerity as phony as a three-dollar bill.
"How thoughtful of you. But you can go back and get dressed now. And you know what, you can lose the collar too."
"Really, are you sure?"
"YES!!"
"Oh, all right." I could actually hear the pout in her voice. As I felt her moving away, I couldn't resist peeking through my fingers. I felt my breath stop, all my attention caught by the hypnotizing sway of her hips as Visha sashayed out of the office, naked as the day she was born.
Once I got my lungs moving again, I carefully moved the coffee out of the way, before slamming my head on the table. Hard.
The pain served its purpose of getting my brain functional once more. Now I could try and figure out what the hell just happened.
No, on second thought, I knew exactly what this was. This was Visha getting revenge on me for all the jokes I'd made at her expense. Objectively speaking, it was an excellent maneuver, catching me completely by surprise and leaving me a flustered fool. I was lucky Visha didn't know I found her attractive or who knows what else she would have done.
The real question was, where the hell did sweet innocent Visha get the courage to act so shamelessly? Was she drunk? High? Did Shaman Abara persuade her to try one of his herbal brews? Seriously, when was the last time she had done anything even close to this brash...?
My thoughts stuttered a bit. Suddenly, several incidents over the past few years started falling into a rather disturbing pattern. First, there had been those repeated cases of drunk and disorderly conduct, starting within days of me being removed from command of the 203rd. Then, there had been how she had dropped out of the army and tracked me halfway across the world. Resourceful, but also ridiculously bold. And let's not forget just a few months back when she almost started a shooting war with the Americans when I had been out sick.
Yes, this was a clear pattern of reckless behavior, starting with my arrest. Could it be...? I knew my arrest had done a number on Imperial military discipline. After all, what was the point in following all the rules if you could be thrown behind bars anyway? From there, it was easy to see how Visha might start acting out, her actions no longer tempered by military training. So, did that mean the sweet obedient girl I knew was but the facade created by enforced discipline, and Visha's true nature was this... this shameless hoyden?
Well, the fact that she was still a teenager was undoubtedly contributing to the result, but my deduction made too much sense to ignore. While a small part of me was curious to see what she would do next, the sane part of me pointed out she might actually start a war next time. Heck, it was a good thing we were alone in here, or she might have started a riot! No, the path forward was clear. I had to keep her by my side at all times and keep a very close, personal eye on her. Maybe run a few drills, reinstate some of that discipline. I doubted I could repress her completely, but hopefully any future outbursts could be kept just between the two of us.
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Stratagemini
Totally a Fire Ferret.
- Location
- Central Park
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
It occurs to me that just like the Congo belonged to King Leopold Ii in the OTL, the Congo is the Kaiser's personal fiefdom here.
The Germanians were wondering what Tanya's plan was? Clearly it's Ruining the Kaiser and turning The empire into a Democracy, possibly through war if necessary.
The Germanians were wondering what Tanya's plan was? Clearly it's Ruining the Kaiser and turning The empire into a Democracy, possibly through war if necessary.
