Trixie smiled. ‘Death solves all problems, Sergeant: no Messiah, no problem. And I suppose on a battlefield it’s very easy for a live saint to become a much mourned martyr.’
Wysochi nodded. ‘Very easy.’
‘How many of the WFA are left?’ Trixie asked.
‘Maybe four thousand, give or take. We’ve lost a thousand holding the Industrial Zone and about a thousand opted to go with Trotsky and the other Pilgrims into the Beyond.’
‘From acorns, Sergeant, great oaks do grow. One day people will say that from these four thousand grew the army that defeated the ForthRight and smashed UnFunDaMentalism. But now, Sergeant, we have to make some hard decisions. There are too few of us to hold the Industrial Zone, so the only option is to break out of the Ghetto. That though raises the question as to where we go once we do that.’
‘The Coven,’ Wysochi answered. ‘Delegate Trotsky received a message by pigeon post from the Empress Wu saying that the Coven will grant all members of the WFA sanctuary. It seems Wu has finally come to understand that it’s impossible to trust Heydrich. The Coven is preparing for war.’
Trixie nodded. ‘Then that’s where we must go. I guess Clement will take a few days to bring up his reserves before he attacks. In five days’ time, on the first day of Spring, that’s when I reckon he’ll try to take us. And that’s when we’ll break out, on Spring Eve. Clement will never expect that, and maybe with surprise on our side…’
The pair of them began to walk towards the building where the rest of the WFA officers were waiting, but ten yards or so before the entrance Trixie stopped, turned to Wysochi and held out her hand. ‘There may not be time later, Sergeant. I would like to thank you for everything. Without you…’
‘There’s no need to thank me, Colonel.’
‘Trixie.’
‘Trixie.’ Wysochi shook the offered hand. ‘I would do it all again, Trixie, and gladly.’
‘You should have gone to the Beyond, Feliks.’
‘Not without you, Trixie,’ said Wysochi, ‘not without you.’ And as he turned away, Trixie was sure he was blushing.
Vanka tossed his cigarette down, ground the butt under his heel and pushed himself away from the pile of crates he had been hiding behind for the past five minutes. He watched as Trixie Dashwood and Sergeant Wysochi disappeared into the building and then gave his head a philosophical shake. Why was it that people always disappointed him?
33
The Demi-Monde: 90th Day of Winter, 1004: Spring Eve
I am pleased to announce that following much diligent and painstaking work my team at the Reinhard Heydrich Institute have successfully uncovered the secrets of galvanicEnergy, the solution of which has eluded us for so many years. Although our experimentation regarding the harnessing of this remarkable new energy source is in its infancy, we will be pleased to demonstrate our galvanicEnergy generator – the Faraday Thermopile – to you at your earliest convenience. The Thermopile, which converts heat energy into galvanicEnergy, is now fully tested and has been proven to be both safe and reliable. I trust that after said demonstration you will be moved to release the long overdue tranche of funds owed to the Institute in order that I might pay my loyal and long-suffering staff.
– letter written by Professor Michael Faraday to Comrade Vice-Leader Beria, dated 17th day of Autumn 1004
Tonight he would reclaim his title. No longer would he be Comrade Commissar Dashwood. From tonight he would, once again, be Baron Dashwood, Royalist nobleman and officer. The waiting was over.
Tonight he would disrupt Operation Barbarossa by destroying the railway line he had built and bring help to Trixie – hadn’t she been a revelation! – and her beleaguered WFA.
‘Are all the men in position, Captain?’ the Baron asked.
‘Yes, Sir,’ beamed Crockett, who delighted in his new rank. ‘Sergeant Cassidy has seven of our best men – all veterans of the Troubles – stationed on the Odessa side of the Reinhard Heydrich Bridge. He has orders to derail the train before it picks up speed after crossing the bridge.’
‘How many men do we have to take the internment camp?’
‘Twenty, Sir. I’ve included a number of Poles, Sir, officers cashiered out of the army in the purge that followed the Dabrowski debacle.’
‘Good thinking, Crockett.’ And it was good thinking: the Baron had been more than a little concerned about the reception he would get from the Polish slave workers when he came to free them. To have a few Poles on his side wouldn’t be a bad thing. He took a deep breath. ‘And so, let’s get to it. And may ABBA be with you… with all of us.’
After an uneventful journey through the Rookeries – with it being Spring Eve, even the most dutiful of soldiers relaxed their watch a little – Cassidy brought the stolen steamer carrying the Baron and his party to the Reinhard Heydrich Railway Bridge a little after seven in the evening.
Spring Eve: the Time of Brotherhood and Good Will Towards Men, but Sergeant Bob Cassidy and his men showed precious little of either towards the poor drunken unfortunates who were guarding the railway bridge. Even as the guards raised their glasses in a festive toast, so they were dispensed with in a flurry of shots.
Once the bridge was secure, Cassidy was about his business. He waved his band of ruffians out of the shadows where they had been lurking and into position to await the arrival of the military transport train scheduled to cross the bridge in just an hour’s time.
The operation had gone so smoothly that all that was left for the Baron to do was to shake Cassidy’s hand, to wish him luck, and to remind him – for at least the fifth time – that he shouldn’t use more than two hundred pounds of explosives to derail the train. It was difficult for the Baron to establish whether Cassidy took his instructions seriously as all the man’s attention was directed to the rifling of a dead guard’s pockets.
With a shrug the Baron marched his ragtag crew off towards the internment camp. It took them fifteen minutes to get to the camp and, just as he had promised, Crockett’s little army was there waiting for them.
The Baron thought it indicative of how a totalitarian regime like the ForthRight so ruthlessly eliminated any spark of initiative in its soldiers that when he strode up to the camp’s gatehouse no one questioned his demand to see the camp commandant. Men in uniform presenting themselves at strange hours and issuing nonsensical orders were part and parcel of military life in the ForthRight: it was better to obey orders than to question them.
The commandant, his mind doused with Spring Eve good will and Solution, attended the Baron five minutes later, his eyes heavy and his shirt hanging out of his trousers. ‘Comrade Commissar?’ began the bewildered man. ‘I had heard…’
The camp commandant stopped in mid-sentence. By the Baron’s reckoning he was so befuddled by booze and blood that he probably couldn’t quite remember what he had heard. The last thing he wanted to do was insult a senior member of the Party by repeating the slanderous rumour that the Comrade Commissar had been pronounced a nonNix and an Enemy of the People.
‘All a misunderstanding,’ said the Baron, waving away the commandant’s suspicions. ‘I have been reappointed by the Leader as the man responsible for the operation of the rail line. There has been a subsidence on one of the embankments and we desperately need men to help shore it up before the arrival of the first of the military expresses.’
‘How many men do you need, Comrade Commissar?’
‘I would be grateful if you would parade all the Polish workers,’ ordered the Baron.
‘All of them?’ There was real concern in the camp commandant’s voice. ‘There’re almost five thousand of the bastards, Comrade Commissar, and it being Spring Eve I’ve only got twenty men on duty. These Poles are desperate men and twenty guards aren’t nearly enough to control them. Perhaps it would be best to parade them in chains?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ The Baron gave the commandant a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, Comrade Commandant, I have brought twenty of my own men with me to supplement your guards.’
The Baron nodded towards Crockett, who came to attention and saluted smartly when the commandant’s gaze alighted on him. ‘Comrade Captain Crockett at your service, Sir, late of Wellington’s Wranglers. My men are
