The Chosen

The castle was still there. And it was the garrison HQ for the Bassin du Sud military district. The curtain walls and moats and arrowslits weren't all that relevant anymore, but there were heavy shore-defense mortars in the courtyards, Land-made breechloaders, capable of commanding the harbor if the plotters consolidated their hold on the garrison.

A tall man with a swag belly clattered down the staircase; he had a police carbine over his shoulder and a pistol thrust through the sash around his waist.

'Jean!' he roared genially, and came toward John with open arms for the hug and kiss on both cheeks that was the standard friendly greeting in the Union. At the last moment he recoiled.

John looked down briefly at his shirt. 'Most of it's other people's blood,' he said helpfully.

'Name of a dog! You were caught in the street fighting?'

John nodded. 'Nearly got massacred by some soldiers with car-mounted machine guns, but somebody dropped dynamite on them. There seem to be a lot of explosions going on today.' He jerked his head towards the doors leading out onto the plaza.

'My faith, yes,' the mayor of Bassin du Sud said happily. 'Copper miners. I. . ah. . arranged for a special train to bring in a few hundred of them from up in the hills. Ingenious fellows, aren't they?'

John nodded. They were also anarchists almost to a man, those that weren't members of the radical wing of the Travailleur party. A few years ago, when the Conservatives had been in power, they'd taken up arms in a revolt halfway between a damned violent strike and outright revolution. The government had turned General Libert's Legionnaires and Errife loose on them when the regular army couldn't put the insurrection down.

'You're going to need more than dynamite and hunting shotguns to get the garrison out of the castle. Especially if you want to do it before Libert arrives. What've you got in the way of ships to stop him crossing?'

'Three cruisers were lost.'

'I saw it. Sabotage?'

The mayor nodded. 'Time bombs in the magazines, we think. But there's one corsair-class commerce raider, and some torpedo boats. There were nothing but merchantmen in Errif harbor at last report.'

'That's last report. He may shuttle men over by air. Chosen 'volunteers' under 'private contract.' In fact, I wouldn't put it past the Chosen to escort his troopships in with a squadron of cruisers.'

'That would mean war!' The mayor's natural olive changed to a pasty gray. 'War with the Republic.'

'Not if they could claim a local government invited them in.'

'Nobody could-'

'Mon ami, you don't know what Santander lawyers are like. They could argue the devil into the Throne of God-or at least tie everything up on the question for a year or better. Which is why you have to get some transport down to my ship; she's stuffed to the gills with rifles, machine guns, ammunition, explosives, mortars, and field-guns.'

Jean-Claude nodded decisively. 'Bon.' He turned and began to shout orders.

* * *

Gerta Hosten put her eye to a crack in the worn planks of the boathouse. It was crowded, with the half-dozen Chosen commandos and the fishing boat pulled up on the ways, and the stink of old fish was soaked into the oak and pine timbers. The rubber skinsuit she was wearing was hot and clammy out of the water; she shrugged back the weight of the air tank on her back and peered down the docks.

'Still burning nicely,' she said, looking over to the naval dockyards. 'The storehouses and wharfs are burning, too. Considerate of the enemy to use wooden hulls.'

Obsolete, but this was a complete backwater in military terms. All the Union's few modern warships were up in the Gut, and it would take weeks to bring any down here. By then this action would be settled, one way or another. Her companions were too well disciplined to cheer, but a low mutter of satisfaction went through them. Then someone spoke softly:

'Native coming.' They wheeled and crouched, hands reaching for weapons. 'It's ours.'

The Unionaise knocked at the door, three quick and then two at longer intervals. One of the commandos opened it enough for him to sidle in; he looked around at the hard-set faces and swallowed uneasily.

'What news, Louis?' Gerta said, in his language. She spoke all four of Visager's major tongues with accentless fluency.

'Our men are pinned in the garrison and the seafront batteries,' he said. 'The syndicistes are slaughtering everyone they can catch-everyone wearing a gentleman's cravat, even, priests, nuns. .'

The Chosen shrugged. What else would you do, when you had the upper hand in a situation like this? Louis swallowed and went on:

'And they are handing out arms to all the rabble of the city.'

'Where are they getting them?' Gerta asked. According to the last reports, most of the weapons in Bassin du Sud were in the castle or the fortified gun emplacements that guarded the harbor mouth.

'There is a Santander ship in dock, one that came in a few days ago but did not unload. The cargo is weapons, all types-fine modern weapons. They are handing them out at the dock and sending wagons and trucks full of others all around the city.'

'Damn,' Gerta swore mildly. That would put a spanner in the gears. 'Show me.'

She unfolded a waterproof map of the harbor and spread it on the gunwale of the fishing boat. Louis bent over it, squinting in the half darkness until she moved it to a spot where a sliver of sunlight fell through the boards.

'Here,' he said, tapping a finger down. 'Quay Seven, Western Dock.'

'Hmmm.' Gerta measured the distance between her index and little fingers and then moved them down to the scale at the bottom of the map. 'About half a mile, say three-quarters, as we'll swim.'

Bassin du Sud had a harbor net, but like all harbors the filth and garbage in the water attracted marine life. And on Visager, marine life meant death more often than not. They'd already lost two members of the team.

'Nothing for it,' she said. 'Hans, Erika, Otto, you'll come with me. The rest of you, launch the boat and bring it here.' She tapped a finger on the map; the others crowded around to memorize their positions. 'Function check now.'

Everyone went over everyone else's air tanks, regulators, and other gear. Hard hat suits with air pumped down a hose had been in use for fifty or sixty years, but this equipment was barely out of the experimental stage.

'Air pressure.'

'Check.'

'Regulator and hose.'

'Check.'

'Spear-bomb gun.'

'Check.'

'Mines.'

'Check and ready.'

The last of the foot-thick disks went into the teardrop-shaped container, and the man in charge of it adjusted the internal weights that kept it at neutral buoyancy Gerta pulled the goggles down over her face and put the rubber-tasting mouthpiece between her lips. She checked her watch: 18:00 hours, two hours until sunset. Ideal, if nothing held them up seriously. Lifting her feet carefully to avoid tripping on her fins, she waded into the water.

* * *

The Merchant Venture had her deck-guns manned and ready when John leapt off the running board of the truck and down onto the dock at the foot of the gangway. She also had full steam up and her deck-cranes rigged to unload cargo.

'Go!' John said, trotting towards the deck.

'Is that you, sir?' Barrjen blurted.

The blood on his face must look even more ghastly now that it had a chance to dry.