The Salaryman sat in his favorite chair comfortably, re-reading the first volume of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. He had designed the room to suit himself as it was his chief haven and place of relaxation. Where an otaku might have row after row of manga neatly organized onto shelves, he instead had books on military history, political theory and economics. In contrast, the other side of the room was stocked with countless albums, CDs, videotapes, DVDs in a startlingly variety of languages. For efficiency, he ruthlessly replaced old media types with new over time but since his collections were immaculate, he only suffered minor losses financially as he sold the old versions.
He wasn't given unduly to nostalgia or the hording of mementos.
There was nothing from his workplace in the house, not even his numerous awards for efficiency and the like. He kept work strictly at work and his home life strictly at home. Indeed, that was why his golf clubs (a necessity for up-and-coming executive!) was kept at the office. Any work was done at work and he strove not give anyone an excuse to interrupt his free time. Though Japanese companies had a very possessive view of the 'off time' of their employees, the efficiency at which he carried out his work, and the lack of problems he brought to the workplace, kept the need for unwarranted calls from occurring.
He had just reached a passage in the book, The influence of the clergy, in an age of superstition, might be usefully employed to assert the rights of mankind; but so intimate is the connection between the throne and the altar, that the banner of the church has very seldom been on the side of the people. "Here here, Gibson. No good can come of using primitive lies even to foster good ends. It's just another tool of control."
Growing a bit peckish, he saved his place with a bookmark and went to the kitchen. The rest of his apartment was quite minimalist. Realtors zealously held onto the maxim, "less is more", thus they like to sell houses that were nearly empty so potential buyers could picture themselves and their possessions in the space. One day, the Salaryman intended to date and possibly marry so he wished his currently-unknown future bride to be able to move in easily. Why bother filling a space with stuff that would just have to be removed before too long? In fact, he had a spare bedroom with its own sink in case he had any overnight visitors. One bedroom might seem too pushy, but two? He could always make the case that 'staying the night' was completely platonic if need be.
But to maximize his attractiveness as a potential mate, he kept the guest bathroom stocked with feminine items of good quality such as soaps, shampoos, toiletries, and the like. Enough to show consideration without mandating a romantic response.
As a bachelor, but one who enjoyed good food, he had learned to cook various dishes. Once he had a large enough repertoire to not repeat himself too often, he had stopped spending as much time on it, but he occasionally would pick up a new recipe. Today, however, he just wanted to sate himself and get back to reading so the old college standby, instant ramen, was the natural choice. For efficiency, his sink had a boiling water tap... very useful for tea or soup! Two minutes later, plus a few extra seconds to top it with some chopped vegetables, and he was ready to eat.
"Ahhhh..." he said from long habit after slurping some noodles and drinking some broth right frrom the bowl. Something about hot liquids was very soothing. "Maybe some coffee instead?" He rummaged through his cupboards and saw that he was out of beans.
One bowl of ramen didn't satisfy him, unfortunately, but he maintained discipline despite still being hungry. He rinsed his bowl and chopsticks and put them in the tiny dishwasher... more than enough for his needs. He happened to glance at the door to the spare bedroom and noticed it was closed. "Odd... when did I do that?" As a rule, all the rooms of his house had open doors because that sent the message that he was an open person to invite visitors (or potential spouses) to likewise be open with him. Signaling theory wasn't just for work!
He grabbed the doorknob but it was firmly locked. Did he have a visitor? He tried to think back but his memories were oddly fuzzy. He knocked and said, "Moshi-moshi! Is anyone in there?" He paused for a second and was about to knock again but he thought he heard something very faint inside. He pressed his ear against the door and it seemed like he heard a voice inside... weak or just soft. Female? Young? He couldn't tell for sure. "Hello! Who is it?!" No reply.
"Okay, I'm coming in! Please pardon me!" His interior doors had real locks but the doors themselves weren't astonishingly sturdy. He stepped back and kicked the spot on the door right near the handle once, twice and it started cracking. He braced against it with his shoulder and shoved it open amidst a spray of wooden bits and splinters!
The room was unreasonably dark and a wave of weakness overcame him. He stumbled and fell to the floor. It was rough... why was it so rough? The wood smell filled his nostrils. Cold began to seep into his body and he instinctively curled into a ball. The room was small, so small.
So very, very, very small.
Chapter 42 - The Answer
While the seniormost Generals, most assuredly including Zettour and Rudersdorf, managed grand policy, they left the younger ones to handle the day-to-day operations of the military, In fact, other than for national emergency, the 'bucks' stopped everywhere other than their offices.
For example, the desk of one Erich von Rerugen.
His attention to detail, incisive mind and unquestionable loyalty to the Empire made him particularly valuable so there were few who questioned how such a young man had such a high position. This also made him the nexus for lesser emergencies and disasters that his subordinates couldn't handle.
The rank of the harried man almost rushing into his office was a good sign that something was amiss... something worse than usual. "General!" He snapped off a salute without waiting for a response (already a breach of military etiquette), "There is bad news!"
Rerugen used a meditation technique that his doctor recommended. Whilst he had a great respect for the practice of medicine, both of them realized that unfettered use of drugs might alleviate symptoms at a much higher cost. Breath in, breath out... focus... breath in, breath out. "What is it, Major?"
The distraught man leaned close, "Colonel Degurechaff..."
Breath in! Breath out! "Spit it out, man."
"Her orb has gone missing."
"Which. One."
The other man closed his eyes as if that would take away the reality of his news. "The Type 95."
The resulting investigation was short and practically turned over the Magical Weapons department. The case that supposedly held the Type 95 just contained her Type 97. Technically, until she discharged from the military, they were both assigned to her. After discharge, they simply put the case with the 97 into storage forgetting that she had had two orbs assigned to her. Elenium Arms had requested the 95 for inspection and maintenance and made a most unpleasant discovery.
An even more thorough investigation revealed that there was a long-forgotten storage room that contained unclaimed personal effects of dead soldiers. The items, for the most part, could not be returned because their former owners were without family. Rare sentiment in the overly rational Empire had kept them from being disposed of and made it the perfect hiding place.
"General, I found something!"
Rerugen's face showed momentary relief until he saw that the man carried a envelope and not the orb they had been search for. He just held out his hand and got a chill when he discovered it was addressed to him.
"Clear the room!" he commanded and the numerous clerks and soldiers hustled out.
He sat on a crate and slit the envelope open with a pen-knife and slid a letter out. It was written with a traditional pen rather than the newer ballpoints and Rerugen could easily recognize the handwriting.
To Erich von Rerugen,
If you are reading this letter, I am on my way to the Francois Republic and you have discovered the hiding place of the Type 95. Either you have found the orb in question or you have not and I'm not sure which is worse.
Assuming you have it, and you have credible evidence of my demise, I urge you to destroy it, preferably from a long distance in an entirely unpopulated area. I estimate 10 miles will be sufficient but more would not be unwarranted. Do NOT leave this decision to anyone else in the military and certainly not any politician or bureaucrat.
They will want to use it for its power but believe me when I say that whether any wielder succeeds OR fails to control the damnable thing, it will be the worse off for the Empire and the World. In the best case it might simply kill them and all those around.
If it's missing, then the matter is much worse that the death of one person. I will not convey the secret behind its powers on paper but suffice to say that the wielder does NOT control the orb. Of all the people on this planet, I only trust myself to use it and I have no desire to ever do so again. As a loyal officer, it's my duty to obey orders while doing what I think best for the Empire, hence this subterfuge.
In better circumstances, I would have already destroyed it or entreated you to do the same. Alas, those circumstances do not exist. Forgive me for entrusting this duty with you.
Regards,
Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff, ret.
Had he not already been seated, Rerugen would have found the nearest surface to collapse onto. His agile mind raced with possibilities... is this the truth... a lie... something else? Degurechaff had argued convincingly that overuse of the Type 95 would be detrimental to the war effort because it would give their enemies too much data on the greatest weapon the Empire possessed. This reasoning was so evidently true, that few questioned further than that.
Despite that, all assumed that she did use it when necessary. Her numerous victories against all odds were attributed to raw talent, patriotic zeal, incessant training and, of course, that orb. What if those victories were DESPITE the Type 95? What would make one of the most fearless warrior ever to serve actually afraid?
He wanted to chalk the letter up to some fantasy or self-serving scheme of Tanya's but that didn't make any sense. He was forced to believe what was written at face value and, moreover, to trust her judgment on this matter. Despite multiple test subjects, she was the only one EVER to wield the Type95 without disaster. Even standard maintenance was carried out only under the most exacting of circumstances.
He exited the room and finally a sergeant ventured to ask, "Did the letter help, sir?"
"No, not at all. Make haste and contact von Degurechaff as soon as possible. Check with her staff... I don't care what country, or continent, she's on!"
* * *
Following some instinct, Visha went to the washroom looking for Tanya after a few minutes. Her former commander was efficient in all things and the concept of dawdling or primping was as foreign to her as the rituals from the center of Afrika.
I hope she didn't overindulge... not as her first experience with wine!
The room was empty except for a pair of women touching up their makeup. "Excuse me... did you see a blonde girl come in here?"
One woman looked puzzled, but the other replied in Germanian. "Ja. Poor thing! She fell unconscious, drunk I think, and cute waiter took her to cab." She chatted with her companion briefly who nodded. "With the reddish brown hair and foreign accent."
"Did you see which way he took her?" Visha was noticeably worried now. There was no reason to bring anywhere but back to her... so where was she?"
"Nnnn, to right. I saw in hall mirror."
She rushed out without thanking the woman and noticed the back door in that direction. Ignoring a sign that probably declared it was for staff only, she burst into the alley. A waiter was smoking a cigarette there, looking pretty pleased with himself... until he saw Visha charging at him.
He turned to run but couldn't move faster than an enraged veteran with a good head of steam! His face met the brick alley wall as she slammed into him. He shrieked as the cherry on his cigarette gave him a burn on his cheek and then he lost his breath as she threw him on the ground.
"Where is she?!"
"I don't, who, what?" He babbled but she saw by the way he moved his eyes toward the alley entrance that he was lying. Of all the skills she learned gambling, such an easy tell was not even a challenge.
"Tell me now, or you'll pray for death in the next five minutes!" She snapped.
He finally noticed that his opponent was an attractive, well-dressed foreign woman. He smirked knowing that was little she could do to him. "Or what?"
Five minutes later, he found himself strapped to a preparation table with his head on a downward slope after Visha propped up the legs on one side. Her Type 98 had spells to up her adrenaline and strength and the hapless man was no match for her. The rest of the kitchen staff had been scared to one side by the bizarre scene and were jabbering in Ildoan while they watched.
"The Colonel taught me something, now you get to learn about it. One last chance."
He did his best to spit at her, "Puttana."
She put a napkin over his face and started pouring cold minestrone soup base over it. Within seconds he was thrashing around as if his life depended on it. When the Colonel did this to us in training, I never thought I'd need to know how to do it myself. She ignored his sputtering as he desperately tried to clear his nose and mouth and just poured more liquid into him. After a solid minute, she let him turn his head to choke and get a strangled breath before she repeated the process. She did it three more times and his breath became burbling shrieks between sessions. The very heavy table jumped up and down and he tried so desperately to escape. She finally tilted the table up and when he started to scream, she slapped him twice. Hard.
Finally getting his attention, she said in a voice cold enough to freeze the ocean outside. "Talk. Now. Or get ready for a second helping."
After he babbled out something, she just dragged him back into the alley after tying his arms behind his back. She might have dislocated one of his shoulders, but she was beyond care. "Which way?!"
When he seemed confused by the order, she hoisted him into the air and flew upwards. "If you are wrong, I'm going to drop you. And then hurt you again. Where?!"
He managed to stammer out directions and they flew at speeds rarely seen outside of a V1 rocket. Within minutes, they were at an abandoned farmhouse just outside the outskirts of town. There was a car parked outside of the barn and she heard excited voices inside. "Is that them?"
"Yes, yes, yes! They were supposed to take here here. Please! Dio, Dio, Dio, mio Dio..."
Ignoring his begging, she threw the babbling man into the barn where his body ruined a card game... and the table it was being played on. The fact that it collapsed and helped break his fall probably was the only thing that saved his life.
Visha stalked in where there was excited cursing in several languages. She narrowed her eyes and said calmly. "The person who tells me where she is now, doesn't get their arms broken."
Seeing their opponent, they let down their guard and the catcalls and blown kisses began.
That day, the Bertolucci gang found out why the Empire was feared by the world. And why the 203rd battalion was feared even by the Empire.
In far less than the five minutes it took to break the waiter, she was surrounded by unconscious, groaning, sobbing and puking men. Most of them had multiple broken bones and the conscious ones were trying to crawl away with whatever limbs they had that still functioned. She grabbed the oldest one, who was also the best dressed. "Talk!"
Perhaps made of sterner stuff, despite his beating, he just shook his head. Looking around, she saw a pitcher of water and dragged him over to it. He struggled, but between his injuries and her orb-assisted rage, he was no match for her.
Confused, he didn't understand what she was doing, but when the waiter saw her pick the pitcher up, he began to shriek as if his soul were being torn out. "Diavola! Diavola!"
This, more than anything, broke the older criminal's confidence. What did she do to him?! I need to get away, no money is worth this!
She brought her face close to his. Despite the blood on it (all of it theirs), she was still beautiful. So very, very beautiful. "I'm not the devil you stupid fuck." She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear. "She's my boss."
He talked.
Chapter 43 - Not Istanbul
Two strong men hefted a non-descript crate from a delivery truck with an open bed up a gangplank to a waiting boat. The markings on the boat were real... but they belonged to a different ship entirely. The captain was dressed like a Dacian seaman but his knowledge of that language was sketchy at best. He did his best not to speak to any locals lest they discover his lack of linguistic facility.
One of the men went up to the bridge and tipped his cap to the captain. "The cargo is aboard, sir." he said briefly in a dialect uncommon in any area within five hundred miles of there..
"Excellent. How was your dealing with the local elements?"
The sailor laughed. "I monitored the situation and they were actually fairly competent for petty criminals. As we thought, they are not unfamiliar with 'acquiring' product to order. We might use them again if necessary."
The captain snorted, "Let's hope not. I'm disgusted by these ignorant fools. Once they understand the truth and Ildoa is brought to heel, we can eliminate them and other corrupting influences." He stopped talking then because he ultimately served someone who, by most definitions, was as bad or worse than any Ildoan they might meet.
"Ah, yes. We can't tolerate corruption. Of course, ideological corruption is worse than any other!" The other man asserted stoutly in case anyone might overhear their conversation.
"Absolutely, absolutely!"
* * *
Tanya was confused... cramped. She tried to understand what was happening but her mind was fuzzy and nothing made sense as if she trying build a tower out of sand but it kept collapsing as she reached out to it.
Beyond that, she was profoundly thirsty, like she had never experienced before even in the deserts of... of...
Thirsty.
She reached for the tower but her arms wouldn't move.
An explanation failed to reach her. Her prodigious intellect shackled somehow.
In the darkness, a tube entered her mouth. She tasted stale water. Sucked reflexively.
There was a brief moment of clarity. She remembered something. Something very important.
She remembered to hate.
The drugs took her away again. She held onto hate with both hands.
* * *
Rerugen tossed the letter into his fireplace after memorizing it. He briefly considered sharing it and even thought it might be his duty. But, ultimately, it was written to him and the responsibility was his on how to deal with it.
In all his years dealing with Degurechaff, he never knew her to be afraid. Cautious, worried, frantic but not afraid. It was as if fear wasn't part of her makeup at all but this letter challenged this idea. What was so frightening about the Type 95 that she warned against anyone EVER using it and that the fate of the world might be at stake?
As he stirred his fireplace with a poker to make sure the letter was unrecoverable, an aide rushed in. "General, a call for you!"
"Unless this involves the Colonel, I'm not available."
"It's Captain Serebryakov, sir. She has news!"
He grabbed the phone. "Rerugen here. Is that you, Captain?"
Her voice was strained. "General, Tanya's been kidnapped! I traced them to the dock and I think she's on a ship that just left Ildoa." Her exhaustion was evident and this from one of the top veterans from the war at the peak of her physical ability.
"Who took her?" His mind raced over the likely suspects but there were too many.
"I can only guess, but maybe the Federation." she said hesitantly. "I questioned local thugs working with them. All they could say was that it didn't sound Ildoan or Germanian when he overheard them talking." She drew a shuddering breath. "They left the dock about twenty minutes ago but I don't have the energy to fly after them. Sir, can you send anyone to help?"
Rerugen went cold. The Type 95 and Tanya vanishing at the same time? Some foreign power involved? Perhaps even the Russy Federation? Though they hadn't gotten definitive evidence to prove it, there were persistent rumors of 'reeducation camps' where the Federation would break people's wills to mold their personalities. There were thousands of POWs that were never returned or came back... ruined.
Degurechaff had the strongest mind of anyone he had ever met. But that just meant she could hold out longer, not that she couldn't be broken. If the Federation had her and the Type 95, it could actually be end of the world.
"I'll send someone immediately!"
* * *
The lonely boat met a much larger one in uncharted waters between Ildoa and Magna Rumeli. The area had seen little action in the war, but conflicts between the two bordering countries kept tensions high and the region dangerous for passage. Even with the Empire heavily restricted in the sea, there were plenty of armed ships looking for trouble.
If anything, the cessation of the Great War increased tensions in the area. Without the 'big boys' around, their local hostilities were allowed to blossom. A few years ago, they stayed mostly neutral and any fighting back then would have inevitably drawn them into the greater conflict. Rumeli had been tempted to snip off a piece of the Empire but the horrible drubbing Dacia took quenched their ambitions immediately.
That said, the larger ship was chartered out of Manga Rumeli and tried its best not draw attention. Their way was smoothed by the liberal application of bribe money and the occasional threat... a combination that worked best in this part of the world. Slow days took them from the meeting point to the port city of Constantinople.
Dirty money and dirty dealing were the lifeblood of this place and they just followed the unwritten rules. Soon, they and their 'cargo' were in a luxurious villa after being transported with a mule-drawn cart. Honestly, the organizer would have preferred more modest accommodations but sometimes trying too hard to be stealthy was worse than being openly crooked. In a city of sin, a few rough-looking men moving a mysterious crate was as commonplace as a housewife shopping for groceries elsewhere.
The only thing left to do was to prepare her for delivery. The turbaned man with a white facecloth opened the crate carefully and took stock of the situation. Her vital signs were strong, surprisingly so since she had survived on nothing but sugar water and drugs for almost two weeks. She was thinner, of course, but the boss would prefer that. Had she died in transit, he would have left his mask on and ran as fast as possible. There were plenty of places in the world beyond 'his' reach.
Some places. Maybe.
He commanded the female servants. "Get her prepared. No men are allowed onto this floor. Double the drugs as well. If she gets away you'll be lucky if he only kills all of you."
After he left the room, Pavel finally took off his face mask. "Finally! I'll be done with damnable mission and free at last!"
Chapter 44 - Seventh inning stretch
Nova returned to find Astrid unconscious on the floor. She rushed over and shook her shoulders, "Astra! Astra!"
Her sister opened one eye blearily, "What? What?"
"Oh, you're alive." She let her go and the woman dropped onto the ground.
"Ooof! What is wrong with you!"
"Me, I'm fine." She picked up the groceries she dropped, frowning at a bruised tomato. "So why are you sleeping on the floor?"
Astridlevered herself up. "The situation has changed again. The big connection to Argent has reasserted itself." She waved at the map on the floor. Most of the pins were out, there were charred marks everywhere and even some holes in the wall and ceiling where errant pins had flown with a considerable amount of force.
Nova sucked in air between her teeth. "That's crazy! That kind of intervention will skew everything. Can you pull a scrying with that mess?"
She sat on a comfortable chair and drank a glass water and bit into an apple she retrieved from the pile. "Does it look like I can? That was what I was trying to do before you came back." She looked at her ruined work but didn't seem disturbed by it. "It's chaos, pure chaos."
Nova sat down, squeaked and jumped up again. She removed a pin from the couch with a scowl and sat down again. "We are going to have to act directly this time."
"That's an... interesting thought."
"Look, sis, we need to do something and we don't know what's happening. We NEED to go in."
"Even blind?"
"Especially because we're blind. If we wait until we know more, we won't be anywhere we can do anything about it." She pointed the offending pin at her sister. "Let's shake the trees a bit and examine what falls out?"
Astrid smiled and got dressed.
* * *
Rerugen had much better control of his expressions than his subordinates, so his meeting with Zettour almost looked normal if you didn't get very close. "General, I'm activating the 203rd. They are still under central command so that should cause any chain-of-command issues."
The older man polished his monocle with a handkerchief he kept for that very purpose. "I'm sure you have a good reason, but please enlighten me."
"Someone has stolen the Type-95 and Degurechaff has also been kidnapped in Ildoa. Likely the same perpetrators but that hasn't been verified yet."
The polishing hand stopped briefly and then continued. "Who?" he asked simply.
"Serebryakov, her adjutant from the war, thinks the Federation and I concur."
He put his monocle back into place and steepled his fingers before saying, "The 203rd needs a refresher on naval warfare. We are barred from moving ships of war in the Adriatic but not smaller training vessels. Do what you deem best."
He saluted sharply. "Yes sir!"
Zettour looked out his window, his other work forgotten. Hold on Argent. We're sending our best to help you. Just... hold on.
* * *
From around Berun, three dozen aerial mages dropped what they were doing and rushed back to headquarters. Post-war, they still hadn't had time to replace those lost in the final days or forced out due to age restrictions so they were down in numbers. Still, only the toughest, most experienced and hardest to kill still wore the uniform.
They had served the Empire with passion and zeal and with little regard to their own lives but never before had they sported the look in their eyes they now had. Strong men backed away from them and even the bravest backed away in a hurry.
One bar patron found himself shoved against a wall by others to make room. "Uwe, what the hell?!"
"Stay still for a few seconds, fool!"
The squashed man saw the grim-faced soldiers leave quickly and inexorably from the bierhalle. He got the distinct impression that anything (or anyone) between them and the door would be gone through not around. "Who, who are they?"
"That's the 203rd... White Silver's battalion."
The man watched their exiting backs, gape-mouthed. "The ones that had never been defeated?"
"Never once. Only the surrender stopped them from laying waste to Europa." He crossed himself. "May God have mercy on whoever they are going to face now."
* * *
TvD, even without the President and Vice-president, continued business as usual. Having taken Tanya's dicta of 'thinking for yourself', they worked diligently.
* * *
Helen Schwab was gliding through her societal duties like the master she was. Never a wasted word or motion... even her whimsical asides had a purpose (and usually a target). Though capable in his own way, it was her guiding hand that took her husband's steel money and turned it into true power. There was no love between them, just a friendly camaraderie as each took what they needed from their relationship.
Five, maybe ten, years and the paths will be complete. She smiled at one woman and her husband and frowned slightly at a certain man. The effects would be known in time.
She was the center of New York society in more ways than one. And what was most visible was the least important in the end. Still, she paid a workmanlike attention to the details and her guests left satisfied or distraught depending on her wishes for them.
Afterward, she retired to her study to enjoy a glass of wine that she would not indulge in while other people were around. No need to have her faculties dulled by alcohol! She ran her fingers down the albums of her extensive library of music, specifically from a small but growing collection of Degurechaffia she amassed. Helen doubted anyone outside of Europa had a better collection and probably few (if any!) inside Europa.
She stopped suddenly on the one her dear friend Argent had signed personally and wondered when she might come to visit. Her scrying abilities were haphazard at best and not to be used for anything important, being barely better than random. Active, not reactive; motion not vision... that was her forte.
"Oh, Tanya, we shall have such a pleasant time when you visit. Maybe I should nudge a bit? You wouldn't mind, I think." She shook her head then. "No no no. One cannot push around Argent like that! I can pave a path so that you can come more easily, though." Finally deciding, she put on the Picture Album. For some reason, the images of her with the children seemed apropos.
* * *
Tanya held on, unseeing, unfeeling...
Despite the darkness...
She held on...
Crooning...
Hatred.
Chapter 45 - What goes up...
The train and boat ride from Moskva were interminable. Though many MANY people knew about his 'hobbies', he had to maintain a semblance of respectability for the proletariat. So, on the surface, he was on an inspection to various territories and to contact local chapters of the communist party on how to interact with potential comrades. In reality, he took the fastest method to get to his destination without chartering a plane or private car.
The anticipation drove him into a beautiful madness. He hated and adored the feeling of separation while knowing she was growing closer by the moment. He pulled out a photo that had been sent to him with the message that they had HER at last. It depicted the unconscious girl nestled in the crate before it was closed. She was so supremely precious, so vulnerable. He touched it and shuddered.
Soon... soon...
* * *
Visha retired to her hotel and forced down three sleeping pills when it became obvious that she couldn't trace the boat. Anyone she could interrogate were already gone and well out of her reach. Even then, she might have headed out to sea but mana exhaustion was about to make her collapse even without the pills. Even with that she needed their help because her mind Would. Not. Shut. Down.
Finding a boat on the open ocean was folly unless she had a heading... which she didn't. The only sensible thing to do was to sleep and gather her energy and wait for help to arrive.
Sensible... but impossible.
Tanya! I was too slow! Help is coming so hold on! She whispered aloud, "You never let them beat you, you can survive until we get there." Visha had never felt this feeling of dread before. Fear, existential fear, when literal death lay on all sides of her... that she had experienced so many times, on so many fronts, that it was old and familiar. But this helpless, horrible pit in her soul because someone she cared about was in danger... that was new.
She kept replaying the scenes from the restaurant, over and over, thinking of all the things she could have done, the signs she should have seen, the opportunities she missed. 'What ifs' fought with faceless threats preventing rest even while she to rest. Tanya had so many enemies and the horrors they could visit on a helpless girl were too numerous to mention. Beyond mere death or torture, there were so many that lived for a revenge and were looking for a victim to take out their hatred on.
Running on adrenaline, her mind chased itself until she finally fell into a fitful sleep.
Her dreams were even worse.
Much, MUCH worse.
* * *
She was eventually shaken awake, torn from visions she couldn't remember and didn't want to.
"Captain Serebryakov!"
"Nnnnn... yes?" She glared blearily at figures surrounding her.
Weiss looked relieved. "Thank goodness! We thought you might have been a victim of some... accident."
Visha followed his glance to a side table where an open (and partially spilled) bottle of sleeping pills lay on her bedside table. "I merely had problems sleeping," she grumbled. Finally becoming fully awake, she asked, "Is there any news?"
The dour faces around her answered her question far more eloquently than any words. Neumann finally broke the silence. "General Rerugen is trying to get intelligence on the situation. They say he has contacts in Ildoa that might help but it will take more time."
"Details." she intoned bluntly.
"Three days minimum. The Empire doesn't have the clout it did during or before the war and the Ildoans are feeling their oats."
The sleep, however bad it was, had cleared her mind somewhat. "Get me a map of the region."
Koenig nodded and pulled one out and spread it on the dining table. "I get what you are trying to do. They left by boat so they needs to go someplace it could reach fairly efficiently."
She nodded and pointed at the countries. "Despite Ildoa not exactly being our friends, they dislike the Federation more so they won't go overland. They can't head to the Empire and going west or south defeats any level of speed they might desire. Even a land transfer through the Republic is unlikely because they would still be forced into a sea route past the Commonwealth, the Alliance and us."
Weiss rubbed his chin in thought. "That only leaves one route that combines sea travel, efficiency and a clear route to the Russy Federation."
Almost as one, they looked toward Manga Rumeli and the port city of Constantinople. Neumann shook his head. "It'd be a terrible gamble. If they went in any other direction, or even just laid low for awhile, it would be impossible to recover."
Koenig tapped the city. "The chances are about fifty-fifty, no forty percent for that port."
She pounded on the map. "We need better odds before we gamble with her life!"
Grantz walked into the room then. "I think I can help with that."
* * *
(A few minutes earlier...)
Grantz was in charge of security around Serebryakov's suite while the more senior officers went in to consult with her. Though their (technically outlawed) orbs and rifles were hidden away, just the sheer presence of so many imperial officers in full combat uniform was enough to guarantee that they wouldn't be disturbed.
A maid came up to him hesitantly and said in broken Germanian, "P-pardon..."
He relieved her of the effort and replied in excellent Ildoan that he had learned when he had (unsuccessfully) courted a pretty Ildoan girl in his hometown. "No worries, miss. How can I help?"
She switched relievedly to her native language and said, "The police wanted to talk Miss Serebryakov about an incident."
"The kidnapping? I thought she given them the outline hours ago? Surely they have better things to do than that."
"No no no! It's about a criminal gang she encountered." She looked flustered but strangely excited as well.
"Please bring me to him." He gave orders that those in the suite were not to be disturbed and followed the maid to a spare room.
The policeman was drinking a cup of coffee but stood up when Grantz entered. "Ah, one of the famous members of the Salamander Kampfgruppe! I'm sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances."
"Of course. I understand you have news? That's fast work!"
"Perhaps, perhaps." He sat down, seeing no reason not be comfortable, and sipped his coffee again. "Although it's more to the credit of Miss Serebryakov than any of our efforts." She shook his head with admiration obvious on his face. "She apparently destroyed an entire criminal organization that had been causing problems. Because of a call for an ambulance, we were able to search the premises and find all sorts of incriminating evidence. Truly, we will likely give her a commendation when this is all over! The trouble those ruffians have given us over the years is legendary!"
"Please, officer, time is of the essence."
"Yes, yes of course. When we interrogating them, just the mention that she might come to help us made them very voluble. They were so earnest that it was hard to shut them up!" He laughed heartily and slapped his thigh several times. He only stopped when he saw the look in Grantz's eyes.
"Ahem. Upon review of the voluminous confessions, we discovered one of the thugs revealed a key piece of information...."
* * *
Grantz continued, "We know their timetable. One of the Russies let slip that they were going to make port 11 days from now. As long as we have a good idea of the speed of their ship we can find..."
Before he had even finished the sentence, Visha was plotting the possible courses ruthlessly, and permanently, marking the map with her pen. "Constantinople is ten days out at the speed of a typical ocean-going vessel. No other destinations make much sense."
Koenig grinned. "Eighty percent. Good enough to win a fortune in Monaco."
Visha gave a fierce grin back, her white teeth bared menacingly. "Good enough to bet your life on."
Weiss raised his voice. "Gather everyone! We're going on a little trip!"
* * *
Rerugen growled at the Ildoan ambassador. Well, technically, he didn't growl but his whole demeanor did.
The shorter man cleared his throat and suddenly wondered why his collar was so tight. He loosed it with one finger and felt the air suddenly cool the clammy sweat underneath. "My dear General, even for you, this is such short notice!"
"Ambassador Rudino... I lack the time for subtlety. Unless my request for an ocean-going vessel for 'training exercises' is granted immediately, the world will know that quite possibly the greatest, most certainly the most dangerous, soldier was kidnapped on Ildoan soil while on vacation."
"Th-that's blackmail! At any rate, we will not buckle to your high-handed Imperialist bullying! My God man, do you think you are still a world power? Get out of my office!"
"Hmmm, that is not blackmail." Rerugen pulled a manila envelope out of his portfolio and slowly removed something while ignoring the ambassador's increasingly strident demands. The man's blustering stopped immediately when he was what the military man was spreading on his desk.
A guard looked in. "Is there a problem, ambassador?"
"No! I mean, no, all is well. And, errr, shut the door. No one is to enter!"
The surface was covered with numerous photos of Rudino in what one might call 'compromising situations'. There were even a few in color. Rerugen was somewhat surprised by the variety of activities the man was partial to when away from his wife that was still in Ildoa. He was not surprised at all that TvD's newspaper division had access to such things.
The ambassador slowly looked up from his desk and met Rerugen's flinty gaze. "On the other hand, my dear Ambassador, this IS blackmail."
* * *
A maid and a police clerk met behind a hotel. Once no one could see them, they transformed into a pair of cute mages from a place much further north than Ildoa. Astrid asked, "How did it go?"
She raised one thumb and said, "Perfectly! Tanya's people are on the right track and should be on their way soon. Any problems with the other thing?" Nova delighted in these little games and this was more interesting than most.
Astrid smiled and said, "It should be very, very interesting. I wish I could see the results."
* * *
With a haste that amazed the 203rd, a fawning public official was very insistent that they take possession of a ship that very day. A bit bemused but quite pleased, they took possession and a set off at a good clip.
The captain shook his head. "I don't know who is backing you, but they have some influence. I was practically dragged out of bed to ferry you and they even bought out my other contracts."
Visha smiled grimly. "We do know some people in high places." She looked out over the water. "Is there any chance we'll catch up with them?"
"Honestly, not much. With over a day's lead on us, unless they are on some random scow, there's no chance."
"Can you increase the odds a bit? Even a little faster might make all the difference."
"Clear skies and calm seas... it's a simple stern chase." He looked at the ex-soldier and sensed her will and underlying desperation. "But my ship is strong so we can pull a few knots that I don't normally use." He bellowed, "You heard her, lads! Get the lead out and put the coal in!"
"Thank you Captain. You don't know how much that means to us all."
* * *
The assassin known only as Silas was surrounded by a team of ex-soldiers and others with resumes less formal. The money was better than good and, according to very good sources, the target was drugged and bound. As long as they could get through the kidnappers, a task that he considered laughable at best, then they could garner the ultimate glory!
He laughed and slapped the backs of his men. "Think about it, boys! We will be the ones to take out the Devil of the Rhine! We will be remembered forever and history will carve our names in stone for the world to see for all time!"
A scar-faced mercenary grinned at him. "Those Russies are a pushover. They're tough... if they outnumber you ten to one. But a little boatful? Fuck, they'll go down with their ship cursing us all the way down."
They were using a fast military ship, surplus from the Great War. It sacrificed comfort and fuel efficiency for speed. The boat had a single purpose: to deliver dangerous people someplace to commit mayhem.
* * *
The Magna Rumeli ship (at least according to their papers) were using the quickest route and the best speed the Russy captain could manage. In his opinion, going to a neutral county, perhaps in Afrika, for a few weeks and then taking the long route around was the smart actions. Smart except for one thing: the person who ordered the mission would have everyone executed.
At times, 'smart' requires one to take a high level examination of the situation.
He swallowed coffee so bad, he considered it a punishment and only inflicted it on himself out of habit. He glanced at the drawer that had two fifths of vodka that he fully intended to inhale the moment his 'package' was delivered.
"Ah, well, we got away first. And a stern chase is a long chase and we don't have far to go. Taking time to hide might be the worst plan, right?" He struggled to convince himself while keeping an eye on the horizons. ALL the horizons.
* * *
A week passed with little news when a mercenary called to Silas. "Ship ho!"
He growled, "Finally!" His contact had given him the exact course (not hard since it was nearly a straight line) but it was still a gamble whether they would reach them in time or find them at all in the wide seas. He looked out with a pair of high-power binoculars and spied eagerly for what his lookout had seen. "Haaaaaahhhh. It's the right size on the right heading. Weapons out boys!"
His second squinted but couldn't see anything with his bare eyes. "How about the markings?"
Silas sneered. "I don't expect them to keep their official markings. I certainly wouldn't." All around him, his men took out the biggest weaponry they had hauled with them. "Keep to the plan! Wipe out everyone as soon as we are in range. Once the bleeding is done, we go belowdecks and make sure no one is breathing down there. We grab a trophy for the boss and then we sink that scow."
"And if we're wrong about the ship?"
Silas grinned. "So what?"
* * *
On another ship, another lookout made a similar discovery, though it was much less well-received. "Ship ho! Approaching fast from astern!"
Not trusting in either good luck or the better nature of humanity, the captain shouted. "Sound the alarm!"
* * *
Silas's men were well-trained (or least well-experienced) and had no compunctions. The perfect crew for bloody work. They had five sharp-shooters who were tasked with softening up the crew. After that machine-guns would finish the job.
Though tense, as before any combat, there wasn't a trace of fear in them. High power weapons and several incendiary devices (just in case) were more than enough to bring down their opponents. Certainly, it'd be more difficult to prove they'd accomplished their mission without physical proof but his reputation would be enough. "Ira, make sure to photos of the ship in case it goes down and we can't board it."
"Aye, sir." He patted his camera... his weapon of choice for the battle since he doubted he'd need to fight at all.
Soon, they were close enough for their snipers to have a good shot at taking out a few of the crew. "Go ahead and open fire. An extra half share to whoever gets the first kill!"
The gunfire that resulted was too disorganized to be called a volley but a lot of lead was moved in just a few seconds. He called out to his spotter. "How many down?"
"Umm, I think it's none?"
Silas yelled at the others. "None? Did you stupid bastards forget how to use those rifles?"
"Sir... sir!" The spotter hastily pointed at the other ship.
"What?!"
"Why are they flying?"
* * *
Weiss shouted commands but the well-trained 203rd was already responding how they had been trained. Shields out, they flew toward the other ship at speeds usually reserved for fighter planes. Two stayed behind and shielded the ship so the civilians wouldn't be in danger.
"Take some prisoners but take out the rest. Avoid infrastructure damage in case the Colonel is aboard!"
Ahead of all of them, Visha and her decoys were already taking out snipers or drawing fire respectively. She was closely followed by the others but they refrained from firing and instead opted for close combat to avoid sinking the ship accidentally.
The mercenaries, not having had experience with mages were panicking. "Why don't they go down! I've hit them a half dozen times and they keep coming!"
"Machine guns, now!"
Soon the air was filled with lead but the incoming mages ignored all of it (as their shields could deflect artillery shells much less bullets) and were soon at the boat. Not willing to mess around, mage knives, bayonets and even magically enhanced shovels were mowing down the mercenaries with a speed unseen since the war! Not worrying about prisoners just yet, the men on deck were quickly, and literally, disarmed by the attacking mages. Body parts littered the deck and soon all resistance had been subdued. The smartest foes had surrendered early and cowered on the deck while their 'comrades' had been eviscerated around them.
Grantz and his squad came from belowdecks. "There's nothing there, sir. Just supplies and sailors."
Neumann prodded Silas with the toe of his boot. In his right hand was a shovel that dripped blood on the deck next to the assassin's head. "I think this is their boss. I heard him shouting orders anyway."
Silas shook quietly, trying his best not to join the dismembered mercenaries scattered around the deck.
Weiss stalked over to the man. "I'm going to ask a few simple questions and if you don't answer, you get to find out what eating a magic shovel feels like. So you better hope you speak a language we can understand or you will be quite dead a few seconds from now."
"I-I-I'll talk! Ask me anything!" He put on a frightened face but was looking for some possible escape.
"So you fired on us... quite rudely I may add. Since you don't have the Colonel aboard, I imagine you thought we might have her. Am I correct?"
"No, no, not at all, we were..."
Visha, freshly rested, and not willing to waste time, put her boot on his abdomen. "We don't have time for his nonsense. Remember how the Colonel trained us to resist interrogation? I found out that it worked really well on those thugs in Ildoa. We have the whole ocean to work with here. He'll talk in less than five minutes."
The oldest members of the 203rd grinned or blanched depending on how recovered they were from their training years ago. Grantz, who had joined later, just furrowed his brows. "Was it that difficult?"
Koenig put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I'd rather fight in the Rhine than go through that training again."
"I think we can fashion a good plank from these planks."
"Grab some ropes!"
Silas talked before they could tie him down.
"We were hired to... to capture the Devi, umm Colonel Degurechaff."
"Who?" Visha's face got very close to his.
"I can't tell you who..." his voice cut off as she drove her fist wrist-deep into his stomach. "Sixty seconds from now, you will experience the worst thing you've ever suffered in your life. You've wasted our time and now you have to suffer for it."
One of the survivors, seeing the writing on the wall, got their attention. "I'll talk, lass! Just keep that table away from me."
Silas glared at him, "Traitor!"
The older mercenary just spit on the deck. "Fuck you, Silas. I never signed up to take on the fucking 203rd. Ask me anything, haul me off to prison, I won't fight it."
Silas, noticing that attention was off of him for a moment, managed to pull out a hidden weapon and pressed it against the side of Visha's neck. "Okay you shitheads, here's how this is going..." He didn't finish his sentence because a knife was sticking out of his chest. There was a brief report as he reflexively pulled the trigger but the bullet stopped dead before it reached her skin.
The talkative mercenary shook his head and just mumbled, "Idiot."
In the next few minutes, he confirmed the route they were taking, their target, the employer (as far as they knew since he worked through intermediaries) and basically anything else they asked. After dumping everything he knew on them, he asked, "What now? We shot at you, no doubt, but we didn't do much, right? We don't have the Colonel and the boss of the operation is pretty dead."
Weiss raised an eyebrow. "What should we do with you?"
"Ha! You could shoot us and just dump us in the ocean, true enough. But why bother? We won't come after you. I've got no grudges, it was just a job. Sure, no one would know but why waste the bullets? Or the effort?" Despite his situation, he didn't seem afraid.
Weiss glanced at the other leaders in the battalion and then turned back. "Seems like you made the right choice." He commanded, "Everyone, back to the ship! We're heading out!" They took off and he nodded to the old merc. "Try not to cross our path again, eh?"
The man just grinned back. "I couldn't say it better myself. Hey, is this woman worth all this effort? She's not even military anymore."
Weiss lifted off but said, "She is who she is and we are who we are. It doesn't matter what her position is, or who we work for. Even if the world stands against us, we will stand by her."
"Well, fuck. Go on then! Good luck to you!" He stared at the mages as they vanished onto their ship and pulled out of sight.
* * *
The servants were efficient in setting up the room taking either jobs (or the threats) quite seriously. The drugs in Tanya's system, suddenly doubled, kept her quite unconscious as they cleaned her thoroughly and treated minor abrasions that she had acquired during her 'shipping'. She had lost weight during the ordeal and had somehow gained a helpless innocent look.
After her bath, dressed her according to instructions and brushed out her beautiful golden locks, giving her a slight trim and applying a perfume popular with a younger crowd. They laid her on the bedcovers and set about decorating the room. The new décor was typical of what one would find a girl's room, perhaps a student.
The younger one looked at the blond, waifish girl with pity. "Is this really the Silver Songstress?"
"No, I have no idea what you are talking about," the older servant said sternly.
She protested, "But, surely you've heard of her."
"Stop right there. With these people, there are two things that will get you shot and thrown into the sea: knowing too much or knowing too little. And God help you, you have managed to do both in one sentence." She grabbed the other woman's hands and held them tightly. "Listen carefully! I have no idea who that person is. I just cleaned a room and then left. Repeat!"
"I-I-I have no idea who the person was. I just cleaned and left."
"Close enough. Now finish up and let's get out of here. The man who ordered all this will be coming soon and do not intend to let him even see the trace of my shadow!"
* * *
Tanya struggled to swim through the water, to get to open air. Her arms were leaden and the waters dark... Ah, where's the light? Her motions were not working right, her fists clenched. That's right, can't let go, can't let go... Slowly, very slowly, she continued to swim through darkling waters.
Soon, she would reach the surface. Then she would breathe. She would take in air again. She would breathe.
Chapter 46 - Find a better way
Pavel, still dressed in local garb, welcomed Loria to the villa he had rented. Under the theory that being obviously corrupt was a better cover than trying overly hard to disguise their misdeeds, he quite freely threw money around and gave the impression that a crime boss was coming to visit.
"You are quite free with the people's money, Pavel." Loria sniffed as he got out of the limousine that had retrieved him from the train station.
"This city is corrupt in ways unheard of even in the pathetic bourgeoisie western minds. This was the actually the least expensive and most efficient way to carry out our mission for the greater glory of the Russy Federation! How can those with the greatest burdens do their tasks well without proper support?" He eloquently spouted lies with the aplomb that only a survivor in the Russy bureaucracy could manage. Enjoy yourself Loria, now that your hedonism has been justified... and give me a good review! Maybe even a promotion!
"We'll see." But he sported the almost-invisible smile that Pavel recognized as the sign that he was truly pleased.
The mid-sized villa was luxuriously appointed and ready to be inhabited. The furnishings had come with the property and the go-between Pavel dealt with was well-experienced in buying old properties, patching the bullet holes and selling it again. Regardless of the past owners, the carpets were clean, the fixtures polished, and the paint fresh.
"This place, it's new?"
"No, no, comrade Loria! The dealer merely freshened it up before our arrival. Surely, he'll do so for the next leasers as well."
Loria snorted. "Landlords. They'll be second against the wall when the Revolution comes."
Pavel didn't ask who would be the first.
"She has been prepared properly? And is in good health?"
"Of course! I had servants clean and dress her most carefully."
Loria frowned and his voice grew steely. "Servants?"
"Local girls. Girls! Nothing was done to her. No one, errrr, saw her. Not even me."
Loria's face cleared up. "Ah, good. Very good. How long until the drugs wear off?"
"That's hard to say with how long she has been under. But definitely soon."
Loria drew in a shuddering breath. Soon, my precious little Silver. Just wait for me.
Soon
* * *
Once they got close to port, the 203rd opted to just fly in. Even the fastest ship couldn't keep up with a skilled mage with a good orb. Weiss reminded them, "We're hitting the shore a half mile out of port. Even a lawless city like that has some rules and we don't want to encourage the local constabulary to rouse themselves. Stay calm."
Grantz grumbled. "If those mercenaries hadn't held us up..."
Neumann shook his head. "We didn't take that long. Their lead was just too much for us to make up. But at least we know where they are going."
As the miles of water flew under them, Visha asked, "What is Constantinople like?"
Grantz shook his head, causing his helmet to shake erratically in the high speed winds. "It's a horrible place from what I hear. My Ildoan friends say that it's filled with drugs, prostitution, crime, and gambling. When I was in Uni, my father said he'd cut off my allowance if I even thought about going there."
Koenig agreed. "The murder rate there reminds me of the War. Saying life is cheap is an understatement."
The rest of the flight was in silence until they spotted the shore approaching. Weiss commanded, "Stay in squads, no need to keep magic silence. Move fast, but don't cause trouble. If trouble finds you, on the other hand, deal with it quickly. Politeness only takes you so far in a city like that... weakness draws the predators faster than any provocation."
Koenig chuckled. "Weakness IS a provocation there."
Visha looked at the distant shore and her hands clenched on her rifle.
Grantz asked, "What do you mean by 'quickly'?"
Weiss grinned without humor. "Don't kill anyone."
He paused and continued, "Or not too many."
* * *
Two women disembarked from a train station near both a thriving market and the warehouse district. One was dressed in a more conservative, upper-class style. Lots of silk with gilding and gold thread with voluminous pants and sleeves. The other was in much tighter clothing, and her neck and ankles were daringly bared.
"Astra, are you SURE you can't do a reading?"
Her sister shuddered, causing the folds of her dress to shake. "Don't even consider it. At best, I'd be blinded if I tried. Literally blinded, if not killed outright."
Nova blinked. "It's getting worse?"
"I barely need to do a reading. Even when my eyes are closed, I can feel the heat of an inferno on my skin when it's all around us." She turned on the platform, indeed with her eyes closed, sensing something beyond sight. "We're close, but I can tell no more."
"Okay, it's my time to shine, then!" While Astrid got her information from celestial sources, Nova's sources were quite earthly. She vanished into the crowds of the market while Astrid checked into their hotel and staked out a table on the outdoor patio. The building was divided into the women's and men's sections so the servers and the guests were all female.
While cut off from her more active senses, she wasn't beyond passively looking into the great beyond... peering between the cracks between her fingers as she covered her face, as it were. Such forces could not affect the waking world without signs visible even to the unaware. She drew on Roma rituals spread by conquerors many centuries ago. They, themselves had taken them from wise ones even older than they.
It was looking at the shadows on a wall; the ritual was Platonic at its core, as to avoid any serious consequences. She made an odd request of the waitress who cocked her head to one side. "I believe we have one. Please wait!" Within a few minutes, she brought out a freshly-polished silver bowl, slightly smaller than a soup bowl.
"Thank you." She made a mental note to leave a large tip when she was done... that's if everyone survived. Astrid poured white wine into the bowl and then a drop of her own blood which lazily sank into the liquid, stretching and twisting as the otherwise unseen currents moved it. "A spiral... no... two spirals? One countering the other..." When the blood had completely dissolved, she drank the wine in one gulp, poured more in the bowl and drank that as well for good measure.
After a few hours, Nova arrived, finding Astrid still sitting at the table with a mostly-empty bottle of wine. "Well! Having a party without me, no fair!"
"The adults need to have fun before the children arrive."
"Exactly, the adults... hey!" She sat down and grabbed the bottle and drank directly from it. "Another one of these, please!" She waved the now completely empty bottle at the waitress.
The waitress hesitated but hurried off when Astrid nodded. "What did you find out?"
She filled her cup with the arrival of the wine and then continued. "There were five villas or other residences bought recently. No sign that anyone is planning an exodus with our favorite mage. I spent a lot of coin in bribes, but a local warlord tried to snatch me, so I hexed him and pushed him into the harbor so I'm ahead by a good bit."
Astrid smiled, an expression she hadn't had much chance to use lately. "Which hex?"
"False shaping. He thinks he's a fish and he's singing about how much happier he is now that he's back in the ocean."
"Be careful about that. There are users of power here untouched by the trend to mechanical magic."
She sniffed. "No worries, I got away clean. And he's MUCH cleaner now that the sweat and cheap cologne is washed off!" She poured another glass. "How about you?"
"The signs are literally mixed. Birds to the west, birds to the east in equal measure. For every good omen, there's a bad one to match it."
"Oooookay, that's useful. How bad is bad? Or good?"
"You remember my prediction? It's that bad... maybe worse. Or better."
"I'm so glad I asked... or am I?" She swirled her wine slowly. "What's our next move?"
"We pull off the kid gloves. But we absolutely don't go anywhere near the Argent and the Monster."
* * *
"Okay, we go in 4-man squads. If anyone is injured, retreat back to shore in good form at the empty warehouse on the small dock. If we get two fallbacks, reform to make a new squad and head back out unless under fire. Only mage pistols, leave the rifles on the boat except for the high squad."
Grantz raised an eyebrow. "That's it, sir?"
"The Colonel taught us to think for ourselves. This isn't an organized assault, so we have no way of knowing what we are up against. What we do NOT have is time. You've got a brain in there. Use it! That's an order!"
"Sir! Yes sir!" Everyone saluted and spread out into the sinful city, looking for commander and aiming to
Twelve groups. Twelve chances.
* * *
Neumann took his squad into the heart of the city, looking for clues. None of them spoke Turkmeni, so they looked for signs of Russy involvement. As the men they were chasing were quite a bit paler than the inhabitants of Constantinople, they would certainly stand out... though not more than the 203rd themselves!
Their military bearing, uniforms and obvious sense of purpose kept most thugs from challenging them, though it draw the attention of more than one prostitute. One of the men asked, "Where to, sir?"
"Let's try a bar. At the very least, we can trade silver for gossip. Any lead is better than no lead at this time."
The bar, operating at full steam despite the early hour, grew silent as the four came in. Rhiner walked up to the bartender, regardless. "We're looking for information. Anyone here speak Germanian?"
The bartender, a man whose life had been harder than most judging by the number of scars, look at the four up and down. "I know some. You have money?"
"Silver to ask, and gold if I like what I hear. We're looking for some Russies... they would have arrived just in the past few hours." He tossed a few coins on the counter.
The man smiled, showing several gaps in his teeth. "What if no one is interesting in talking but are interested in your money?" All around the bar, chairs scraped as other rough-looking men stood up. "You see, we rather the Federation but we aren't so fond of the Empire. So why not leave your cash and we might... what are you doing?"
"Ah, this?" Neumann pulled a piece of carefully folded metal from its custom holder and started to unfold and lock it. "This is a shovel. Very useful device. We always carry them when we might move shit efficiently." The other three followed his lead and soon they were proudly displaying their tools.
The bartender frowned. "Apparently someone here doesn't understand the situation."
Neumann grinned. "I was just thinking the same thing." With a casual swing, he slammed a patron trying to reach for a knife across the bar where he broke several wall decorations... and the wall they were attached to!
Five minutes later they were surrounded by groaning men in various states of injury and unconsciousness. "Looks like a dry hole, sir."
"I think you're right." He refolded his shovel and stored it, ignoring the blood on the tool. "Nothing to help with it other than try again."
The scene was repeated a dozen times over the next few hours... and a dozen more times after that!
* * *
Koenig spent a few minutes looking over the crowds before diving in. He met the eyes of a prostitute and walked over when she smiled at him. Her smile grew larger as they got near. "Well, so many strong soldiers!" She slid closer to Koenig and ran a finger down his uniform. "I'll give a discount if it's all four of you or I can get some friends to join us, hmmmm?"
Her Germanian was not bad, despite a heavy accent and Koenig assumed that the more languages she knew, at least a little bit, the more customers she might get. "I'm afraid we're quite busy, but we won't take your time without pay."
"I'm always open to a bit of side money. What do you want from little me, hmmm?"
"There are some Russy's in town. Maybe new, maybe old but some defitnitely came into port today. Seen any of them?"
"Russy sailors? Well, there are always a few but I think you want something different, no?" She looked up at him through her lashes... she had very large eyes.
"Umm, yes. There are probably two groups. One established for a few months, maybe a bit longer. The others just came into port today but they wouldn't act like normal sailors. They would have a small woman or girl with them or largish crates."
She tapped pursed lips with one finger. "I don't recall anyone like that but I have a lot of friends. Why don't we ask around? They are not as good at Germanian as I am so I can translate." Just the few questions he asked told her everything. These Russy's kidnapped a girl, and are shipping her through Constantinople. Probably some kind of sex slave. But she's someone really important of these army guys wouldn't be here.
"Let's go... this time of day, most of them are free or will be waking up soon. Make sure you loosen your pursestrings, this won't be cheap."
Koenig gave her a crooked smile. "You're the boss."
"Don't call me boss... call me Zehra, soldier."
"Yes ma'am!" At her glare, he corrected himself. "I mean Zehra."
* * *
The lieutenant wasn't sure what the local thug was saying, but assumed it wasn't pleasant. "Mein Gott, we don't have time for this. Anyone here speak Turkmeni?"
"Sorry, sir. But I do know some sign language."
"Oh, what are they saying?" He looked at the gesticulating criminals surrounding them.
"That they are going to beat up and kill all of us." He grinned. "Interpretation might vary."
"I thought that's what it was. Let's talk to them in the language they understand, then." In flash, he flew to the other side of the room, using his shield like a battering ram. On either side, mage knives came out and the bloody work began.
They finally managed to find someone who spoke broken Francois in the noisome alley. "N-no. No Russy! No Russy here!"
The Imperial soldier smiled and easily held the big man up with one hand. "Are you quite sure?" he asked in much better Francois than the Turkmeni thug.
"Yes, yes! No Russy!"
He squeezed his hand tighter. "Then where should we look, punk?"
The remaining thug managed to stammer out a lead before fainting from lack of bloodflow to his brain.
He dropped him to the ground. "Okay, next!"
* * *
Grantz, recalling an Albish author, offered a bounty to the street urchins that were tucked in every corner of the city. One squad checked the shipping registers at the docks. Another went to see about any crimes committed by Russies recently. Two squads checked outgoing traffic that might indicate a retreat to the Federation. The high squad flew in a search pattern looking for the telltale pale skin of the Russies amongst the browner shaedes of the locals. Each used their own methods and own idea but with a singular, overriding purpose.
Visha, oddly, took her squad to a quiet residential area and sat on a bench near a grocer and just sat and thought.
"Ma'am, shouldn't we be out searching?" He spoke respectfully but anxiety was evident in his voice.
She shook her head. "High team has that covered. We need to think about this carefully. We know who is likely to have done this: Loria. The Colonel as much as said he was behind the kangaroo court in the Republic. That means any plan involving him will have its own logic."
Serebryakov had made herself the expert on the Russy Federation for Degurechaff as she had the best insight into their culture and, obviously, language. What she had learned of Loria was... awful. Rape and kidnapping at best. "He's a man run by perversions and has gone to a great effort to get the Colonel. He's been waiting a long, LONG time for this so he's probably desperate with sick desires. That means he is probably hiding in the city and will only leave to head back home when he's... done." She ground her teeth but also felt like crying but kept control like a good soldier. "That gives us a small window to work with. Russy leadership claim to be just average citizens but they somehow manage to arrange any number of luxuries for themselves... especially when the proletariat can't see. We're looking for at least a semi-luxurious house but not an apartment. It has to be someplace they can control completely. A separate house; probably walled. Communists love walls when they control them. This means that we are probably going to avoid the city center and look more in the outer areas."
She snapped her fingers. "Walled villas just outside of the city. Those with money like to keep the poor away so it's a perfect cover for whatever they are doing." She stood up and barked. "Camouflage on, we're going to be doing a lot of flying!"
* * *
Loria was sweating unpleasantly despite the fans in every room he went to. As the others were comfortable, it was obvious that this was a flaw of his biology... or personality. Regardless, servants supplied endless handkerchiefs while they waited for Argent to come out of sedation.
Pavel worried quietly. Once Loria had – vented – himself, he would be calmer and happier. Right now, he was a live grenade bouncing around a dance-floor... there was no telling when or where he'd explode. For now, he tried just to placate the man and keep an eye on the closest exit.
A female servant came up quietly and whispered in his ear. Pavel's face lit up like a stained glass window in the morning sun. "Comrade Loria. The Argent... she is beginning to stir!"
Finally! If she is too damaged by this, I'll have them all killed before we leave Constantinople. He's useful but perhaps too ambitious. Maybe kill them anyway. I'll decide this later. "Take me to her! No one is to disturb us!"
"Yes Comrade!"
The maid led him to the prepared room. He appreciated without paying too much attention to the schoolgirl décor. The only thing that was somewhat out-of-place was a neatly pressed uniform hanging on a wall across from the bed and well-polished combat orb on the vanity near it. Oh, on the bed, on the bed... it was the sole object of his fantasies for the past years. It was her!
Nearly two weeks of privation and darkness had return to her the waifish form he remembered. The pale skin, the lovely hair carefully brushed and arranged on the pillow around her head shined even with the low lights of the room. The windows were closed to keep prying eyes out but dimmer lights were more suitable for romance.
"Nnnn..." Her lips parted and a low moan came out. Her fists clenched, relaxed briefly and then clenched again.
"Oh my precious little Silver, the things I will show you!" He removed his suit coat and neatly folded it and laid it across the back of a chair.
Tanya's eyes slowly opened and she stared at the ceiling, confused. She didn't attempt to speak, just slowly looked around. Nnnnnnnnn... where? Must swim... no water? After blinking, her eyes cleared and she could see the room better and the murky shadows in her mind began to recede as well. She didn't recognize the room and she squinted at the person speaking. "Looooria?" she rasped.
"Good, good my sweet. They didn't damage you too badly in shipment. We will be spending so much beautiful time together and I want you at your best." He wiped away another layer of sweat but the leer on his face couldn't be mistaken. He dropped the soggy handkerchief on the floor and then ran a moist hand over the schoolgirl clothes she had been dressed in.
She shuddered, more from revulsion than fear. "K-k-kill you. Hhhhhhate you." Her body was weakened by many days without proper sustenance. Even now, only the ebbing drugs kept her from feeling the profound hunger and thirst of her emaciated body. She tried to move but could only twitch futilely.
He chuckled. "Oh, my precious Argent. Soon you will love me more than life itself. You will learn to sing my praises and your every waking moment will be dedicated to serving me. So many years of practice in re-educating in the camps and we've become quite good at it. And you have so much to unlearn." His voice lowered... huskier, thicker. "And, under me, so very, very much to learn."
Loria squeezed her thigh through the thin skirt, pleased that she had nearly regained her most perfect self. With just a little effort, he could ignore the inches she had grown and revel in the girl that had haunted his dreams since he saw her flying overhead. Beautiful, deadly, untouched... now completely his. "No need to rush, though. We have so many days to spend together. Yes, there is an order to this. You've been a very, very bad girl and so your training will have to be stricter than most, eh?"
He walked over to a large case on the opposite wall. Tanya couldn't quite make out what was inside as he opened it but she heard the muffled sounds of chains. This sick shit! If I could just move, just a little bit!
Her eyes landed on the Type-95, practically glowing in a stray sunbeam that sneaked through the closed shutters. Suddenly, Loria's face in the mirror of the vanity spoke to her as the colors washed away from the room. "What are you going to do now, unbeliever?"
"Being X," she hissed, her voice recovering somewhat. "I should have guessed anything this filthy would have your evil hand in it. You threw the world into a World War to prove a point, I guess nothing is beneath you."
He snorted. "Don't blame me for the ills of the mortal realm, heretic. Men are inherently evil and require guidance. You are the one that doesn't recognize that."
"Is that why you didn't let me stop the war? I almost did a couple of times. No, you wanted misery and death to keep the sheep in the flock."
A portrait on the wall continued, "The world says the greatest good for the greatest number is best. They are not wrong. Through faith comes submission. Through submission comes peace. Through peace comes beatitude."
She sneered. "Just a fancy way of saying you want slaves. Mindless, obedient, faithful puppets to raise voices in praise at their despotic overlords. The only difference between Loria and you is you are older and have a little more power."
There was the slightest pause and again Loria's image spoke, "Once he has broken you, it will be my victory by default. No doubt you will beg for my help many times soon but my ears will be deaf to your begging. But I am nothing if not merciful, you sad sinner. Praise me now. Sing out and the Relic will be yours again. With it, you can wipe out all the sins and the sinners along with them. A new crusade to cleanse the world of all foulness. The godless heathens. The monsters walking like men. Those that have opposed you will bow as a new age of virtue and plenty descends. All you have to do is ask. Go ahead. Beg now or your suffering begins."
"Pathetic. You are like a gambler with a busted flush. You are bluffing and going all in because you know you can't win against me. Go away you senile old fool." After dealing with him so many times, she was beginning to get an idea of his limits. In many ways, he WAS a senile old fool, stuck in his ways but she kept that knowledge locked away in her heart far from her conscious mind.
The colors came back to the world and Loria smiled at her in the mirror, an expression more disgusting than even his leer. "You'd like this toy, wouldn't you, eh?" He picked up the Type-95 casually. "Once you've learned your place, perhaps then. It was quite the boon to get this along with you. With both, the glory of the Federation will be eternal." And who will be in charge once the Argent is under my thumb? Not that fool in Moskva!
She looked toward the undersized uniform that used to fit her only a year ago. Her strength was still gone but she hid what little she had gathered. The orb drew her eyes like a magnet. Even in her weakened state, it would take only the tiniest thought to kill Loria and all his men. She knew there was no way that he'd give it her, of course. Not until she was 're-educated'... something he had done to countless girls already. That only left Being X and she rather be literally damned before she'd ask for his help. Not this time.
"U-u-unif-form."
"You think it would look better there? You might be correct. It doesn't look complete without your orb. But favors for favors, my sweet, little thing. Why not sing for your new best friend and we might put off your lessons for a little longer. It will hurt me so to see you sad but understand that through that sadness will come our glorious consummation."
Tanya thought.
Tanya thought very hard.
Tanya thought very, very, very hard.
She unnecessarily cleared her throat and began to sing. The lovely melody she fondly remembered sounded melancholy but the purity of tone made it riveting. Entrancing. Bewitching."
"So you speak to me of sadness
And the coming of the winter
Fear that is within you now
It seems to never end
And the dreams that have escaped you
And the hope that you've forgotten
You tell me that you need me now
You want to be my friend"
* * *
All across the city, those who were outside suddenly shivered at the unseasonably cold breeze that swept over the land. Though they couldn't hear her, they felt the call of Degurechaff as her will spread out. Farther and farther.
Astrid's head snapped up. "That's it! It's begun!"
Nova frowned. "What?"
Her sister urged her to hurry, nearly sprinting herself. "The end of the world!"
Elsewhere, those who knew Tanya the best felt like they heard her somehow. Among them was Visha who was already heading in the same direction. Nova pointed upwards at the flying mage. "You looking for her?"
"Yes! We are in time, I hope!" She whispered a spell of speech, of hearing, of understanding, of meeting. Her mystic sight still too dangerous to use, she sent it off with nothing but a prayer to guide it.
* * *
Loria, apparently satisfied, affixed the Type-95 to her old uniform. As his hand dropped away, it brushed past the buttons and one started quivering slightly as she sang. Puzzled, he looked closer and it suddenly burst sending a spray of powder into his face! Reflexively, he breathed it in and smelled something acrid, biting, enter his lungs. "W-w-what?"
"And you wonder where we're going
Where's the rhyme and where's the reason
And it's you cannot accept
It is here we must begin
To seek the wisdom of the children
And the graceful way of flowers in the wind"
He staggered back, choking, and then turned around. "You! You did this!" He tried to move forward but the fast-acting poison caused him to wheeze as he felt he couldn't take in any air. As he bent over in pain, his heart started spasming wildly. Wind came from nowhere and blew out the shutters.
Tanya sat up and her voice became grander, fuller, wilder,
For the children and the flowers
Are my sisters and my brothers
Their laughter and their loveliness
Could clear a cloudy day
Like the music of the mountains
And the colors of the rainbow
They're a promise of the future
And a blessing for today
Almost like she was in a trance, the song carried her away. Her eyes grew unfocused as if she were staring at something at a distant horizon that no one else could see.
Though the cities start to crumble
And the towers fall around us
The sun is slowly fading
And it's colder than the sea"
* * *
Grantz and Neumann's squads met up as they were going in the same direction when the shocks hit. "Fuck, what now?!" one of the soldiers cursed reflexively.
The officers ignored him. "You going to the villas in the northwest?" Neumann asked.
"Yeah, I got a lead that some Russies rented a property out there."
Neumann waved a stained shovel. "Some people volunteered the same information."
The cold breeze from earlier was magnified, howling through the streets and only superseded by the cracking sound of buildings collapsing and the screams of the people there. Clouds, or something else in the air, caused the daylight to dim suddenly.
From behind them, they heard someone call out to them. "Wait a moment!"
The men glanced back. "Ah, it's Koenig," Grantz said. Then he followed that with. "Why are all those women following them?"
Neumann shook his head. "Some things are better of unanswered."
Koenig's 'informants' apparently thought following the mages out of the dangerous city was the best course of action. He arrived quickly for all that. He just said, "Villas?"
When the other two nodded, "Three sources is enough for me. I'm calling everyone in."
Koenig used the unencrypted mage channels opting for efficiency over security. "We have intel that the Colonel is being held in a walled villa just northwest of the city! We aren't sure which one."
Weiss responded over the magewaves, "All units to the northwest! Look for Russies in all this mess... they should stand out like sore thumbs!"
Everyone stumbled as another shock caused the ground to roll disturbingly beneath their feet. More of the weakest buildings collapsed but, by this time, most everyone had evacuated to the streets rather than being crushed by substandard construction.
The mages took to the air and moved in formation to the northwest. Grant tried to ignore the devastation behind them. The falling buildings. The screaming. "Do you think the Colonel had anything to do with... that?"
Neumann and Koenig just looked at him and then turned their eyes forward.
* * *
It is written from the desert
To the mountains they shall lead us
By the hand and by the heart
They will comfort you and me
In their innocence and trusting
They will teach us to be free
Loria was thrashing around the floor fighting for air when a force greater than any he had ever felt lifted him into the air. Pure oxygen entered his lungs, drying them out but keeping him alive a little long. It felt like knives stabbing him, over and over, not breathing was pain, breathing was torture beyond imagination! Tears ran helplessly from his eyes, the only part of him not under control of the horrible spell gripping him.
He saw that Tanya had stood up, her eyes glowing with an almost holy light. He tried to beg but whatever force she commanded was forcing air into his lungs and out again, giving him no option but to endure helplessly. The guards that should have rushed in were either trying to escape the building or trying to put out the fire caused by a stove overturning and setting the kitchen ablaze. I'll have them all killed! Rational though fled as another wave of painful life-preserving air was shoving into his lungs, almost causing them to burst before being sucked out again.
The shaking all over the city grew worse the more she sang. Loria's heart finally gave out, but something grabbed it and squeezed! Over and over and over again! God no, just let me die, let me die! He pleaded over and over but no one was listening.
For the children and the flowers
Are my sisters and my brothers
Their laughter and their loveliness
Could clear a cloudy day
An explosion thundered through the building. Weakened by earthquakes and power pulsating in the room and the entire second floor other than Tanya and Loria was blown to the surrounding villas, destroying dozens in the process! She began to float, an unlikely mirror to Loria who was also floating in the grip of her power.
Just then, Visha zoomed in and shouted, "Colonel! Colonel Degurechaff! You have to stop!" The hovering young mage ignored her, too caught in the forces she had set into motion. She couldn't get any closer as a deadly vortex of debris circled the two floating in its eye. A stray piece of metal, formerly part of a very expensive limousine, cut her cheek and a flagstone hit her thigh, nearly shattering it. The blood from her face was stolen by the wind and added to the maelstrom.
Suddenly, everything became quiet around Visha. Not the explosions, not the screams, not the falling buildings, not the cracking earth... nothing made the slightest sound. She gathered all her of might and shouted, "TANYA!"
And she was heard.
Tanya turned toward her and, like a dam bursting, all the sounds returned at once. The vortex vanished and many tons of rubble dropped along with Tanya and Loria. Visha flew forward to catch her while ignoring the firefight that had broken out between the 203rd and quite a few Russy soldiers looking for a target.
"I have you, Tanya, I have you." With the girl in her arms, she floated gently to the circle of the building still left standing while Loria dropped unceremoniously. His heart, kept beating only by the will of the Argent, finally burst, granting him the death that he had begged for. Tanya looked over to her and whispered,
And the song that I am singing
Is a prayer to non believers
Come and stand beside us
We can find a better way
She closed her eyes, causing Visha to panic but the mage saw that it was sleep... just sleep. She maintained her vigil over her beloved commander while the others made short work of the Russy agents in the ruins, adding their bodies to those already in the rubble.