The Chosen

engineering branch-of-service slashes. 'We were complete idiots to wait this long. If we'd had this installation in place when we attacked the Sierrans, that ratfuck in Barclon would never have happened. The Santies couldn't have put so much as a harbor barge down the Gut without getting it pounded into scrap.'

Gerta shrugged. 'My sentiments exactly, Kurt-if that's any consolation.'

The other Chosen officer hesitated. Gerta slapped him lightly on the shoulder. 'Spit it out-we did go through the Test of Life together, after all. You've done a good job here, too, you're three months ahead of schedule.'

'Well, then. . your father is the chief of the General Staff. What the fuck was he thinking of?'

Gerta sighed. 'He's chief of the General Staff, not the Chosen Council. They've got a bad case of victory disease, and it's been getting worse since we overran the Empire. That was too easy, and they've been dispersing effort on pet projects and hobbyhorses ever since. Sitting back in Copernik, looking at large-scale maps, it looks like we're conquering the world. The Empire, the Union, now the Sierra.'

'We are conquering the world. The problem is holding the world. We beat the Imperials because we could concentrate our force. Now-' He made a spreading gesture with his hands.

'Tell me, Kurt. I told the general often enough. He lobbied the Council often enough, but their pet projects got in the way. They had this scheduled for the beginning of the war with Santander. . about five to eight years from now.'

'Well, better late than never,' Kurt said. 'This'll be a significant nail holding down what we've conquered. It makes their naval bases at Dubuk and Charsson useless as far as the Gut's concerned. They've been harassing the shit out of us, I can tell you. And landing supplies to the animals in the hills virtually at will, since Barclon. That's getting as bad as it was right after the conquest, or worse; they're smarter now.'

Gerta nodded. 'When can you start test firing?'

'Oh, I wouldn't want to do that for another couple of weeks, even on the first pair. The concrete has to set hard before we put that much stress on the mountings.'

'How're the secondary works coming?'

'About a third done.' She followed as he walked inland. 'The usual close-in works, machine guns, bunkered field-guns, mortars, minefields, wire, steel spike obstacles. We've got half the Schlenke Emmas in their pits, too, so pretty soon we can drop high-angle fire on anything that gets too close for the big guns to deal with.'

'You're getting a lot of work out of these animals,' she said, eyeing the swarming construction site.

'You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,' he said. 'I've done a lot of engineering work in the New Territories, and-'

An aide trotted up. 'Sir. Message over the wireless.'

Kurt took it and read, tilting the yellow flimsy to catch the lights. 'Attack on Bassin du Sud,' he said. 'Considerable damage sustained in beating it off.'

Gerta grunted in surprise. That was communique language for they whipped our arse.

'Fuck it. Damn, damn, if they damage the Southern Squadron badly, there goes our route around the eastern lobe to Marsai.'

Kurt nodded. 'Still, it won't be too bad even so; they can ship straight south from Corona by rail and then through the Gut, now that we've got this.'

'Ya.' Gerta's eyes narrowed. 'The question is, do the Santies realize that?'

Kurt looked at the flimsy again. 'Not many details. I wonder how they got through the minefields? And those howitzers in the fort, they should take care of any ships.'

'Should. But-'

Another messenger. 'Sir. The Air Service scout airship Guthavok reports it is under attack from Santander heavier-than-air pursuit planes.'

They both looked south by reflex. 'At night?' Kurt Wallers said incredulously.

Fire blossomed in the night, five thousand feet up and miles to the south.

Wallers began to bark orders. Gerta turned on her heel and trotted back to her scout car, vaulting up the fixed ladder and then into the open compartment with one hand on the rim. Her son was already peering south through the heavy rail-mounted glasses. Gerta looked around; the wireless was fired up and ready, and the vehicle had pressure and was ready to move.

'Signals,' she said. The operator looked up, earphones on and hand poised over the signal key. 'To regional HQ in Salini. Fort under heavy attack from Santander seaborne forces, including battleships and amphibious element of unknown strength. Stop. As representative of the General Staff I order repeat order immediate mobilization all available forces and their concentration on this point. Stop. Brigadier Gerta Hosten. Stop. Send until acknowledged.'

The signals technician was sending before Gerta had finished the first sentence. Johann turned to her; by now he'd learned enough to merely raise his brows.

'Ya. If that was wrong, I will be lucky to command a one-company garrison post guarding a bridge,' she said. 'But I'd rather risk being a damned fool.'

To the driver: 'Get us out of here. Out on the north road, then east towards Salini.'

She pulled the machine-carbine out of its clamps over her seat, checked the flat drum magazine, and reached for the helmet that hung beside it. With a chuff of waste steam, the car pulled out through the growing chaos of the half-built fort.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

'Aren't you getting a little senior for commanding from the front?' Admiral Maurice Farr asked quietly.

Jeffrey grinned at his father. 'I notice you're here, sir, and not back in Dubuk.'

Farr shrugged. 'An admiral has to command from a ship.'

'And a general has to be where there's some chance of getting useful information in timely fashion,' Jeffrey replied reasonably. He drew himself up and saluted. 'Admiral.'

'General,' the elder Farr replied. 'Good hunting, and we'll give all the support we can.'

Jeffrey turned, swung over the rail, and scrambled down the rope ladder. A young aide tried to assist him as he jumped down into the waiting steam launch.

'I'm not quite decrepit yet, Seimore,' Jeffrey said dryly, and took a swig from his canteen. 'We're better off than the rest of the force, here.'

The men were climbing down netting hung on the sides of the transports and into the waiting flat-bottomed motor barges, or waiting crammed shoulder to shoulder and probably seasick in similar vessels that had sailed with the fleet from Dubuk. The Gut was calm tonight, but the flat-bottomed barges would pitch and sway in a bathtub.

'Let's go,' Jeffrey said quietly.

The launch swung in towards the shore; it was low and sandy here, in contrast to the cliffs that marked most of this section of the Gut's northern shore. Low and sandy on either side of the fort that was their objective. The first wave of troops would be going ashore right now, and from the lack of noise, meeting little or no resistance. Well, they'd expected that.

Jeffrey looked at his watch. 0500 hours, nearly dawn. Right about now they should-

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM-

The big guns of the fleet cut loose, firing from west to east in a long, slightly curved line. The great bottle- shaped muzzle flashes lit the scene with a continuous strobing illumination that was brighter than the false dawn. It was still dark enough for the red-glowing dots of the shells to be visible with their own heat, arching up into the sky to fall towards the Chosen.

* * *

Dust filtered down onto Kurt Wallers' head. The gun position shook as twelve- and eight-inch shells landed on