The Chosen

'We hold the center of the country. The enemy hold a block in the northeast and portions of the south coast. They also hold an excellent port, Marsai, situated in a stretch of country that's strongly clerical and antigovernment, yet instead of shipping their troops from Errif to Marsai, the rebel generals are bringing them in by air to Bassin du Sud. That indicates-'

He traced a line north from Bassin du Sud. There was a railway, and what passed in the Union for a main road, up from the coastal plain and through the Monts du Diable to the central plateau.

'Name of a dog,' Vincen said. 'An attack on the capital?'

'It's the logical move,' Jeffery said. 'They've got Libert, who's a competent tactician and a better than competent organizer-'

'A traitor swine!' someone burst out. The anarchist. . well, not really leader, but something close. De Villers, that was his name.

Jeffrey held up a hand. 'I'm describing his abilities, not his morals,' he said. 'As I said, they've got Libert, Land help with supplies and transport, and thirty to forty thousand first-rate, well-equipped troops in formed units. Which is more than anyone else has at the moment.'

There were glum looks. The Unionaise regular army had never been large, the government's purge-by- retirement policy had deprived it of most of its senior officers, and most of the remainder had gone over to the rebels in the week since the uprising started. The army as a whole had shattered like a clay crock heated too high.

'What can we do?' Vincen asked.

'Stop them.' Jeffreys finger stabbed down on the rough country north of Bassin du Sud. 'Get everything we can out here and stop them. If we can keep their pockets from linking up, we buy time to organize. With time, we can win. But we have to stop Libert from linking up with the rebel pocket around Islvert.'

'An excellent analysis,' Vincen said. 'I'm sure the Committee of Public Safety will agree.'

That produced more nervous glances. The Committee was more selective than the mobs who'd been running down rebels, rebel sympathizers, and anyone else they didn't like. But not much. De Villers glared at him, mouth working like a hound that had just had its bone snatched away.

'And I'm sure there's only one man to take charge of such a vital task.'

Everyone looked at Jeffrey. Oh, shit, he thought.

* * *

'What now, mercenary?' De Villers asked, coming up to the staff car and climbing onto the running board.

'Volunteer,' Jeffrey said, standing up in the open-topped car.

It was obvious now why the train was held up. A solid flow of men, carts, mules, and the odd motor vehicle had been moving south down the double-lane gravel road. You certainly couldn't call it a march, he thought. Armies moved with wheeled transport in the center and infantry marching on either verge in column. This bunch sprawled and bunched and straggled, leaving the road to squat behind a bush, to drink water out of ditches-which meant they'd have an epidemic of dysentery within a couple of days-to take a snooze under a tree, to steal chickens and pick half-ripe cherries from the orchards that covered many of the hills. .

That wasn't the worst of it, nor the fact that every third village they passed was empty, meaning that the villagers had decided they liked the priest and squire better than the local travailleur or anarchist schoolteacher or cobbler-organizer. Those villages had the school burnt rather than the church, and the people were undoubtedly hiding in the hills getting ready to ambush the government supply lines, such as they were.

What was really bad was the solid column of refugees pouring north up the road and tying everything up in an inextricable tangle. Only the pressure from both sides kept up as those behind tried to push through, so the whole thing was bulging the way two hoses would if you joined them together and pumped in water from both ends. And they'd blocked the train, which held his artillery and supplies, and the men on the train were starting to get off and mingle with the shouting, milling, pushing crowd as well. A haze of reddish-yellow dust hung over the crossroads village, mingling with the stink of coal smoke, unwashed humanity, and human and animal wastes.

'We've got to get some order here,' Jeffrey muttered.

The anarchist political officer looked at him sharply. 'True order emerges spontaneously from the people, not from an authoritarian hierarchy which crushes their spirit!' De Villers began heatedly.

'The only thing emerging spontaneously from this bunch is shit and noise,' Jeffrey said, leaving the man staring at him open-mouthed.

Not used to being cut off in midspeech.

'Brigadier Gerard,' Jeffrey went on, to the Unionaise Loyalist officer in the car. 'If you would come with me for a moment?'

Gerard stepped out of the car. The anarchist made to follow, but stopped at a look from Jeffrey. They walked a few paces into the crowd, more than enough for the ambient sound to make their voices inaudible.

'Brigadier Gerard,' Jeffrey began.

'That's Citizen Comrade Brigadier Gerard,' the officer said deadpan. He was a short man, broad-shouldered and muscular, with a horseman's walk-light cavalry, originally, Jeffrey remembered. About thirty-five or a little more, a few gray hairs in his neatly trimmed mustache, a wary look in his brown eyes.

'Horseshit. Look, Gerard, you should have this job. You're the senior Loyalist officer here.'

'But they do not trust me,' Gerard said.

'No, they don't. Better than half the professional officers went over to the rebels, I was available, and they do trust me. . a little. So I'm stuck with it. The question is, are you going to help me do what we were sent to do, or not? I'm going to do my job, whether you help or not. But if you don't, it goes from being nearly impossible to completely impossible. If I get killed, I'd like it to be in aid of something.'

Gerard stared at him impassively for a moment, then inclined his head slightly. 'Bon,' he said, holding out his hand. 'Because appearances to the contrary, mon ami'-he indicated the milling mob around them-'this is the better side.'

Jeffrey returned the handshake and took a map out of the case hanging from his webbing belt. 'All right, here's what I want done,' he said. 'First, I'm going to leave you the Assault Guards-'

'You're putting me in command here?' Gerard said, surprised.

'You're now my chief of staff, and yes, you'll command this position, for what it's worth. The Assault Guards are organized, at least, and they're used to keeping civilians in line. Use them to clear the roads. Offload the artillery and send the train back north for more of everything. Meanwhile, use your. . well, troops, I suppose. . to dig in here.'

He waved to either side. The narrow valley wound through a region of tumbled low hills, mostly covered in olive orchards. On either side reached sheer fault mountains, with near-vertical sides covered in scrub at the lower altitudes, cork-oak, and then pine forest higher up.

'Don't neglect the high ground. The Errife are half mountain goat themselves, and Libert knows how to use them.'

'And what will you do, Citiz-General Farr?'

'I'm going to take. . what's his name?' He jerked a thumb towards the car.

'Antoine De Villers.'

'Citizen Comrade De Villers and his anarchist militia down the valley and buy you the time you need to dig in.'

Gerard stared, then slowly drew himself up and saluted. 'I can use all the time you can find,' he said sincerely.

Jeffrey smiled bleakly. 'That's usually the case,' he said. 'Oh, and while you're at it-start preparing fallback positions up the valley as well.'

Gerard nodded. De Villers finally vaulted out of the car and strode over to them, hitching at the rifle on his shoulder, his eyes darting from one soldier to the other.

'What are you gentlemen discussing?' he said. 'Gentleman' was not a compliment in the government-held zone, not anymore. In some places it was a sentence of death.

'How to stop Libert,' Jeffrey said. 'The main force will entrench here. Your militia brigade, Citizen Comrade De