The Chosen

means he can't use his artillery as well-we have virtually none, you'll have noticed, gentle. . ah, Citizen Comrades. And the mountains make it difficult for him to flank us. Hopefully, he'll break his teeth advancing straight into our positions.'

'We should attack. The enemy's mercenaries have no reason to fight, and our troops' political consciousness is high. The Legionnaires will run away, and the Errife will turn on their officers and join us to restore their independence.'

A few of the others around the table were nodding.

'Citizen Comrades,' Jeffrey said gently. 'Have any of you seen the refugees coming through? Or listened to them?'

That stopped the chorus of agreement. 'Well, do you get the impression that the Legion or the Errife refused to fight in Bassin du Sud? Is there any reason to believe that they'll be any weaker here? No? Good.'

He traced lines on the map. 'Their lead elements will be in contact by sunset, and I expect them to be able to put in a full attack by tomorrow. We need maximum alertness.'

He went on, outlining his plan. In theory it ought to be effective enough; he had fewer men than Libert in total, but the terrain favored him, and holding a secure defensive position with no flanks was the easiest thing for green troops to do.

The problem was that Libert knew that too, and so did his Chosen advisors.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

'What news from the academy?'

Libert's aide smiled. 'The report from Commandant Soubirous is nothing to report, my general.'

The pudgy little man nodded seriously and tapped his map. There was enough sunlight through the western entrance of the tent to show clearly what he meant; the Union Military Academy was located at Foret du Loup, out on the rolling plateau country, between the mountains and Unionvil.

'When we have cleared the passes through the Monts du Diable, we must send a column-a strong column-to the relief of the academy. The Reds must not be allowed to crush Commandant Soubirous and the gallant cadets.'

Heinrich Hosten coughed discreetly. 'My general,' he said, in fluent but accented Fransay. 'Surely we should be careful not to disperse our forces away from the main schwerepunkt? Ah, the point of primary effort, that is.'

'I am familiar with the concept,' Libert said.

He looked at the Chosen officer; the foreigner was discreetly dressed in the uniform of a Union Legion officer, without rank tabs but with a tiny gold-on-black sunburst pin on the collar of his tunic.

'Yes, my general,' Heinrich said.

'However, this will probably be a long war-and it is perhaps better that way,' Libert said. The Chosen in the room reacted with a uniform calm that hid identical surprise. The Unionaise commander smiled thinly.

'This is a political as well as a military struggle. A swift victory would leave us with all the elements that brought on the crisis intact. A steady, methodical advance means that we do not simply defeat but annihilate all the un-Unionist elements. And it gives us time and opportunity to thoroughly cleanse the zones behind our lines, in wartime conditions.'

'As you say, sir,' Heinrich said. 'That presupposes, however, that we succeed in getting out of this damned valley to begin with.'

'I have confidence in the plan you and my staff have worked out,' Libert said, turning back to the map.

Heinrich ducked his head and left the tent. 'Damned odd way of looking at it,' he said to Gerta.

'Sensible, actually,' Gerta said, smiling and shaking her head, 'when you look at it from his point of view. We could stand being a little more methodical ourselves; this whole operation here has the flavor of an improvisation, to me.'

They stopped for a moment to watch Protege workmen and Chosen engineers assembling armored cars from crated parts sent up by rail.

'It's an opportunity,' Heinrich said after a while.

'Its a temptation,' Gerta said. 'We've had less than a decade to consolidate our hold on the Empire-'

'Nine years, six months, two days, counting from the attack on Corona,' Heinrich said with a smile of fond reminiscence.

'Quibbler.' She punched him lightly on his shoulder. 'We should wait for a generation at least before taking on Santander. And this is probably going to mean war with the Republic eventually, if our little friend'-she jerked her head back at the tent-'wins.'

'They're getting stronger, too,' Heinrich pointed out. 'You know the production problems we're having with labor from the New Territories.'

'Yes, but we've got the staying power. We don't have an underlying need to believe the world is a warm, fuzzy-pink playground where everyone's nice down deep except for a few villains who'll be defeated at the end of the story. We can get the animals working well enough, given enough time-and the Santies will go to sleep and let down their guard if we don't make obvious threats.'

'We're not threatening them, strictly speaking.'

'Land forces on their border? Even a Santy can't convince himself that's not a threat. We're waking a sleeping giant, and stiffening his backbone.'

Heinrich shrugged. 'But if we beat the Santies, everything else is mopping up. Anyway, it's a matter for the Council, nein?'

'Jawohl. Orders are orders. Let's get this battle done.'

Heinrich smiled more broadly. 'Actually, you've got a different job.'

'Oh?'

'Libert's pretty taken with this academy thing. He'd probably spend six months avenging the place and the gallant cadets if it fell, which would be an even worse diversion of effort than marching to relieve it. So we'd better make sure it doesn't fall. . '

'Shays.'

* * *

'And how are you, sir?' the train steward asked. 'Not so great,' John mumbled. 'Drink, please-water, something like that.'

'Sir.'

The steward bowed silently as he left the compartment. The revolution hadn't reached this part of the Union yet, evidently. Or perhaps it was just that this was a Santander-owned railway, and close to the border, and John was evidently rich enough to command a whole first-class compartment for himself, and another for half a dozen tough-looking armed men.

The view out the window was much like the eastern provinces of the Republic outside the cities. An upland basin surrounded by mountains with snow gleaming at their tops, the peaks to the west turning crimson with sunset. Grass, tawny with summer, speckled with walking cactus and an occasional clubroot, smelling warm and dusty but fresher than the lowlands to the east. Herds of red-coated cattle and shaggy buffalo and sheep, with herdsmen mounted and armed guarding them. Occasionally a ranch house, with its outbuildings and whitewashed adobe walls; more rarely a stretch of orchards and cultivated fields around a stream channeled for irrigation, very rarely a village or mine with its cottages and church spire.

It looked intensely peaceful. A hawk stooped at a rabbit flushed by the chufchufchuf of the locomotive, and the carriage swayed with the clacking passage of the rails. John wiped sweat from his forehead and touched the arm in its sling with gingerly fingers, wincing a little. Better, definitely better-he'd thought he was going to lose it, for a while-but still bad. Thank God the doctor had believed what he said about debriding wounds, but then, a massive bribe never hurt.

Home soon, he thought.