The Rods and the Axe - eARC (17 page)
Read The Rods and the Axe - eARC Online
Authors: Tom Kratman
Tags: #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #General, #Action & Adventure, #military
At the point where the guide lights took over and the fluorescent lights ended, an antitorpedo fence—because, yes, some of the Zhong Empire’s enemies could guide a torpedo or mine right into the underground base—was pulled into the walls to permit the sub to leave.
The guide lights were each a single bulb, with parallel quad slit openings, designed to let the viewer gauge his rough distance by the tendency to blend into one when processed by the eye and brain. Too far away and all four slits would present one light. Too close and the viewer would see all four. Only if two were seen was the distance just right.
The lights were protected by rubber guards, which also served to protect the boat and its anechoic tiles from the rock. Liu didn’t have an excess of faith in those; his was a seven
thousand
ton displacement vessel. He thought the odds were poor of the rubber stopping his boat before it did damage to itself, or the lights, or even the walls, even at the current snail’s pace.
As the sub lined itself up in that wider, hangarlike section where the tunnel bent, Liu saw two more subs behind his, awaiting their turn. There was another, he knew, that had already passed out of the base and made its way to sea.
I wonder why the daytime exit? To intimidate the Balboans? It might be. Let’s hope they’re easier to intimidate that the bloody Cochinese.
Nothing
intimidates them, the ungrateful shits.
Ahead the rough semi-circle of light widened and grew. Soon enough, in this easy and straight final passage, the sub’s bow was graced with sunlight. The line of natural illumination passed down the sub’s forward length, over the sail, and then down the stern to where the asymmetric screw lightly frothed the water. From there buoys marked the safe passage out. Liu followed that marked path for several hours, on a zigzag course, threading his way around the numerous peninsulas and islands that jutted out into and up from the Sea of Zhili. At last with that inlet from the
Mar Furioso
behind him, he ordered his command down into the dark depths of the
Mar Furioso.
From there, the course was generally east-northeast, to Balboan waters.
IYN
Akizuki
, Sea of Hangkuk, Terra Nova
Xing Zhong Guo
’s Dynasty class of nuclear submarines outweighed Yamato’s largest submarines, of which class
Akizuki
was a member, by a factor of more than two. The Zhong had greater range. They carried more weapons. In an underwater knife fight between any Zhong Dynasty class and
Akizuki
or any of her sisters, the smart money would still have been on the Yamatans.
The Yamatan Navy wasn’t out for a fight at the moment, though they wouldn’t have ducked one, either. They simply took a keen interest in everything the Zhong did, anywhere near Yamato, the Zhong being, at the moment, the only real threat Yamato faced. In this particular case, with a major invasion fleet obviously assembling, and the cutting edge of the Zhong submarine fleet at sea, Yamato’s interest in Zhong goings about was extremely high. It would remain so until that invasion fleet went elsewhere, as expected.
Where it was going? Well, everyone in the know already knew. It was going to Balboa to punish those arrogant upstarts for sinking an, in fact innocent, Zhong aircraft carrier.
What was Yamato going to do about it? That had been a matter for considerable debate in the secretive bowels of Yamatan government. Some, albeit not many, were persuaded to help Balboa, openly or clandestinely, because of the Balboans creditable performance in opening up the oil routes between Yithrab and Yamato. Others, not unreasonably, said, “Screw them; they were well paid for their efforts.” Still another party thought, “Screw the Balboans, indeed; but wouldn’t it be in our interest to put a couple of torpedoes up the asses of the Zhong submarine fleet, letting the Balboans take the blame?”
Unfortunately for all but the first group, the emperor had the final say. That boiled down to, “We wish the Balboans well. Indeed, we wish them so well we are going to share any intelligence we have with them. But we’ve had enough of wars that do nothing good for us; the Balboans will have to be content with our well wishes and our good intelligence.”
Which explained why a Yamatan submarine was waiting as, ultimately, four of
Xing Zhong Guo
’s Dynasty-class nuclear submarines departed their base, passed through the Yellow Sea, and began the long trek across the
Mar Furioso
to Balboa’s coast. It didn’t explain why a Yamatan submarine named
Akizuki
stopped off at a Federated States naval base on an atoll in the middle of the ocean to replenish fuel and stores, then departed without another word. It didn’t explain why that same boat surfaced with some regularity to send encrypted data back home. And it certainly didn’t explain why that same data was then forwarded to Fernandez in Balboa.
But then, while the emperor had said “share intelligence,” he hadn’t said, “but don’t actively gather it.”
Hotel
Cielo Dorado
, Aserri, Santa Josefina, Terra Nova
Though there was, by definition, no head or foot to the round conference table, there are still certain grouping and axes, not always apparent except to the participants. Starting at what one arbitrarily might call “twelve o’clock” was the UEPF, Wallenstein at the center flanked by one of the two Khans and the local ambassador to Santa Josefina. To her left was the Tauran Union, Monsieur Gaymard, who still seethed with obvious hate, General Janier, and General Marciano, who got along surprisingly well. Moving further clockwise was the Zhong delegation, the empress and one or two of her military advisors, whoever could be spared from planning the invasion with those Taurans of Janier’s staff who weren’t at the table. Then came the Federated States, an ambassador and four flunkies. On the other side of the FSC contingent were the Santa Josefinans, usually Calderón and a civilian advisor from the diplomatic office. There might have been a military advisor, but Blanco was as senior and experienced as those got in the country and he was too laughably junior and inexperienced. Then came a small delegation from La Plata, followed by Esterhazy, Lourdes Carrera, and Triste. On the other side of those were three from Atzlan. The last two were not technically at war but, since they had already loaned Carrera their two most capable and fanatical brigades, it could be said that they were in a conditional state of war with the Tauran Union, and quite possibly with the Zhong.
There were also sundry newsmen present, by common agreement, though no cameras were permitted. There was also a mixed group of security guards provided by Balboa and Marciano’s command.
Lourdes glanced right, at Esterhazy, and nodded. He stood up and said, “Copies of what I am about to say will be provided to the press as well as to all parties to the conference.
“The republic of Balboa is aware of the massive invasion fleet now assembling in the ports of
Xing Zhong Guo
. Indeed, it was in part due to the threat presented by that fleet that we agreed to attend this conference. A peace conference, however, is supposed to be about peace, not a cover for renewed war. Moreover, while a fleet is port in not so great a threat, a fleet that has begun to sail
is
a threat.”
Wallenstein, who knew every important detail of that fleet from her royal lover, cast her eyes Zhongward. The empress shrugged,
I have no idea what these barbarians are talking about.
“Six days ago,” Esterhazy continued, “four Zhong hunter-killer”—that was bound to upset the generally ignorant press more than the simple “attack” might have—“submarines set sail from Liaoxi. Those submarines are now within two weeks of entering Balboan waters.
“Given the generally uncivilized intransigence of the Zhong delegation, here”—which got a sputter of indignant outrage from the empress—“and their obviously imperialist designs upon Balboa, the Republic of Balboa makes the following demand and the following announcements.
“First, the demands.” Esterhazy glared straight at the empress, a violation of protocol sufficient to have cost him his head in her own country. “Stop those submarines and turn them around. If they reach our waters they will be engaged without warning.”
The next point was one they’d argued about for over a day. Ultimately, knowing her mission, Lourdes had agreed to Esterhazy saying, with a sneer, “After all, given the losses your fleet has suffered
so far
, it isn’t like you can afford to lose much more.”
That had the desired effect. The empress stood up and threw a book, which Esterhazy ducked, while one of her underlings drew a wicked looking knife. The latter, in turn, went back under cover when, magnetlike, it drew a dozen rifle muzzles.
“My second demand is to the Tauran Union. You and the Zhong are here together, and cooperating, because you are effectively allies in the persecution of the Balboan people. We will return no more prisoners until those Zhong submarines turn around and until you remove the threat your forces here in Santa Josefina pose to the Republic.”
That
set both the Taurans and Calderón to steaming fury.
“Our third demand concerns a subject near and dear to Tauran hearts, and the hearts of cosmopolitan progressives, everywhere. As various nations within the Tauran Union have asserted universal jurisdiction over sundry crimes against humanity, so the Timocratic Republic of Balboa takes this precedent to heart and asserts universal jurisdiction against anyone corrupting the international legal system by launching politically motivated prosecutions. Thus, we demand the extradition to Balboa, to face
capital
charges, of the Chief Prosecutor of the Cosmopolitan Criminal Court, Ms. Fatima Gamble, of the corrupt judges Isabelle Mussolini, Chile Mmassasisi, and Anita Kraul, as well as various other members of the ruling
junta
in the Tauran Union, whose names shall be made public at a later time.
“And finally, that is all we have to say. The Republic of Balboa withdraws from this conference until its just demands are met.” Then, ostentatiously, Lourdes, Triste, Esterhazy, and their party closed their files, stood, where needed, and stormed out together.
MV
Roger Casemen
t
(Hibernian Registry),
Matama, Santa Josefina, Terra Nova
Matama was hardly a huge port. Indeed, it only had two berths with sufficiently deep water for a container ship of the
Casement
’s displacement. That saved confusion; the soon to be rebels knew exactly where to go.
The mule train from the Balboan port of Capitano had arrived the week prior, having made not a lot more than five miles a day, and often rather less, going cross country over the mountains. Not all the mules had made it, either. Starting with forty-seven mules, plus the largely unladen bell mare, and not quite five tons of arms and equipment, high quality feed for the animals, and dry rations for the half dozen men of the column, only the men, forty-one mules and the bell mare had made it. This hadn’t meant much of a loss of cargo, since the fodder was consumed regularly, and the arms and ammunition could be reloaded. That said, one hundred and twenty rounds of mortar ammunition had been a complete loss, when the mules carrying it plunged over a cliff and into a broad stream below. That was about a third of all the mortar ammunition carried, so it was not a light blow.
Still, they did manage to bring to the outskirts of Matama three light mortars, with two hundred and forty rounds of mixed ammunition, plus a dozen general purpose machine guns, with tripods and nearly twenty thousand belted rounds. There were one hundred and twenty rifles, as well, along with twenty-two submachine guns, and thirty-six thousand rounds of ammunition. Of antitank weapons there were only a few of heavier versions, with a mere twenty rounds, plus three dozen light weapons. Twenty night vision devices with batteries were there, as well as ten radios, with
their
batteries, just to keep to nice round numbers so beloved of quartermasters the worlds over. There were also several cases of grenades and pyrotechnic signals, three first rate Sachsen sniper rifles, with match grade ammunition, a truncated demolition kit, and four shoulder fired anti-aircraft missiles, without which no guerrilla movement can feel properly dressed.
They could have carried more but, what with the rains, the dunnage to protect the ammunition really
was
needed. They brought no uniforms, armor—neither of heads nor for torsos—individual load carrying equipment . . . none of it.
It was, in any case, enough for the roughly one maniple of Santa Josefinan legionaries, all in mufti, assembled within thirty miles of Matama. For the rest of the overstrength tercio in Santa Josefina, the
Casement
, with a little luck and some planning, would provide.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A nation without defense cannot exist; a people without a military cannot be secure.
—Naval Recruitment Poster,
Commonly seen on walls in the city of Choukoutien,
Xing Zhong Guo
Outside Matama, Santa Josefina, Terra Nova
By and large the pattern in Santa Josefina followed that of Colombia Central, generally; most of the population was with the healthier climate and better weather of the
Mar Furioso
coast or central
cordillera
, while the Shimmering Sea sides had a single not-too-large port most suitable for the export of fruit, with a single road leading to it. Ordinarily, this lack of a transportation net would be heaven for a guerilla force. In this case, however, since the guerillas were pretty much disarmed, since almost all their arms were coming on a single ship, and since getting those arms issued required a better transportation net than existed, it was highly problematic. It was made more problematic by the dispersal of Legate Salas’s tercio across a quarter or more of the country. The legate himself, with a few guards, radio operators, cooks, half of his staff, and a single Santa Josefinan officer of police, on leave, stood in a bunker about five miles from the port of Matama, waiting for the word that his unit’s sister
tercio,
La Negrita
, had begun its demonstration along the border with Balboa. At a greater distance, Macera’s overstrength maniple of infantry, now freshly armed by the recently arrived mule train, waited in bunkers for the word to move into town.
Would have been nice
, thought the legate,
if I’d been able to bring all forty-five hundred of them here. Then we’d just have them line up and issue the arms. But, go figure, adding eight percent to the population, essentially all male, almost all strangers, to the town, overnight, would be bound to raise a few eyebrows.
One of the radio operators turned up the volume on the civilian radio he was manning. “It’s the signal, sir,” he told Salas.
Salas listened for a few moments as Radio Balboa went into a scathing denouncement of the provocative and—so far as anyone knew, who was actually in a position to know, nonexistent—Tauran maneuvers along the border, then read off a statement from
Presidente
Parilla claiming that he had ordered some unspecified forces to defensive positions.
Which will,
mused Salas,
of course, look remarkably like
offensive
positions, to anyone but the ignorant press. I can see it now; we control the press in Balboa, so nobody’s going to see our preparations there. Poor Claudio Marciano, constrained by the international community of the very, very caring and sensitive, is going to have to ostentatiously scramble to meet our threat. The uncontrolled press here will see that, won’t see that the initial operational provocation was ours, because we won’t let them see that, and will blame him.
Headquarters, Tauran Union Security Force-Santa Josefina,
Rio Clara, Santa Josefina, Terra Nova
Claudio didn’t have time for the press, what with the task of getting his troops off their asses, out of their billets, and into their defensive positions. Besides, he had a public affairs officer for that kind of thing. The PAO was a Castilian, that being one of the very few positions Castile felt it could fill so long as one of their battalions was aligned with the other side.
“Take care of them,” Marciano told Castilian Major Serrano, on his way out the door, heading to one of the outlying battalion camps. “But remember, while you and I may not like the fucking press, the press sure likes fucking us.” With that little tidbit of advice, Marciano jumped into his vehicle and told the driver, “Take me to the combat support battalion camp.”
“Yes, sir,” said the driver, his general’s tone telling him,
and don’t spare the horses.
The four wheel drive vehicle bounced away over one of Santa Josefina’s cracked and potholed roads.
There was a town about three quarters of the way to the combat support camp. A river ran through it, with the town’s main drag passing through the center, and over a bridge. Marciano’s driver was approaching the bridge at a bone jarring clip when, suddenly, a Hordalander tank appeared, pivot steering in a widened spot in the road and then lunging for the bridge. Marciano’s driver had to jerk his vehicle off the road at the last minute to avoid running into the tank.
The driver noticed that the bridge bore some of those devil-horned posters demanding the Taurans get out of Santa Josefina.
Ungrateful shits
, he thought.
After that one Hordalander tank, came another, then another. Marciano thought,
Well, since they obviously don’t need
me
to get them moving, may as well turn it into a pass in review.
Accordingly, he stood up in his own vehicle, and saluted the next tank passing. That tank commander, a senior sergeant, the Tuscan general thought, returned the salute formally, then twisted a little key on his helmet and said something into the boom mike that ran from the helmet to a point in front of his mouth. Thereafter, as the Hordalander heavy armor passed the vehicle, commanders beat Marciano to the draw, salute-wise.
From a position well inside the window of the shady house, Corporal Moran, of the Second Cazador Maniple,
Tercio la Virgen
, tracked Claudio through the scope of his rifle. The precision marked crosshairs floated for a moment in a loose spiral around the Tuscan’s head before settling on the bridge of his nose.
I couldn’t miss this one
, thought Moran,
if Araya’s little sister were blowing me. Again.
The rifle wasn’t a legion issued sniper rifle, but an old fashioned, percussion primed, brass case firing, large caliber hunting rifle, with a scope, such as any reasonably prosperous Santa Josefinan might own. He’d bought it with legion money, to be sure, and it remained legion property.
Moran and his spotter, Private Araya, were in a light green painted room in Araya’s family’s house in the town.
“Go ahead,” Moran told his underling, “ask for permission. Make sure they understand I have the Tauran in my sights and it is a guaranteed kill if they hurry.” Moran rather hoped he’d be turned down. He’d never met the Tuscan but knew, from those who’d served in Pashtia, that Marciano had been a good ally and comrade. He hoped he’d be turned down, but was willing enough to do the job if not.
Araya, wearing headphones connected to a radio, tapped his corporal on the shoulder and said, “No, Legate Villalobos says hold fire. No explanation.”
“Okay,” agreed the corporal, though he continued to keep his crosshairs on the bridge of the Tuscan’s nose.
Marciano heard the steady
wopwopwop
of his helicopter force, assembling on the Gallic infantry battalion currently in reserve. He wasn’t remotely stupid. He’d seen the way Carrera operated before, in Pashtia, and had acquired a fair measure of the man.
If the son of the bitch is making an “uproar in the east,” odds are not bad that he plans to “strike” . . . somewhere . . . “in the west.”
Thing is, do I launch on my own authority? Do I wait for the president to authorize it? Do I wait for him to ask the Tauran Union to order me? I’ve tried to get answers, in advance, but . . . well . . . a person who’s never dealt with one can understand just how immobile and stupid a powerful bureaucracy can be.
It wasn’t hopeless, of course. After all, the President pro tem of the Tauran Union was in country.
And getting a straight answer out of
that
weasel . . . no, fuck it. I’ll send in the troops as soon as I figure out where to send them. The shitbirds of the TU can court martial me later, if they want.
Esquisito,
Valle de las Lunas
, Balboa, Terra Nova
The border between the two countries was for the most part artificial, the result of an initial United Nations Interplanetary Settlement and Boundary Committee land grant to MERCOSUR, followed by some bungling judgments on the part of MERCOSUR, followed by the final result of Belisario Carrera’s war of liberation against the UN, followed by a number of minor wars and border skirmishes between Balboa and Santa Josefina, all further muddied by any amount of ignorant arbitration of the part of, mostly, Santander and the Federated States.
The net result of that was that at no point did the boundary between the two countries have any recognizable natural boundary. In every case where such boundaries could have existed, they had been bypassed or ignored. Thus, what might have served as the natural boundary, the multichannel
Rio Naranja
in fact wandered back and forth across the border, but was mostly on the Balboan side. Thus, Balboa had the crossings, Balboa had had the opportunity to lay mines east of the river, Balboa knew where the lanes through the minefields were, and Balboa had the opportunity to fortify behind a not insignificant natural obstacle.
On the plus side, from the Tauran point of view, the TU had most of the high ground overlooking the river, at the likely crossing points. That said, their view was at greater than practical direct fire range, even with the tanks.
There were other areas where the terrain was seemingly more favorable for Tauran offensive action;
Puerto Armados,
for example, was rather exposed. Even there, though, the limited road net didn’t really favor offensive action by anyone.
Legate Villalobos, in any case, wasn’t interested in offensive action. His job was to frighten the Tauran forces in Santa Josefina into settling down for a long session of glaring at each other over the mines, and keeping them frightened enough to stay there no matter what else might be going on in the interior of the country. So far as he could tell, from the maniple of
Cazadores
already infiltrated in the Tauran occupied area, from the remotely piloted vehicles keeping track of the Taurans from the air, and from his own eyes, as he watched them pull into defensive positions a couple or three kilometers away, the first part of that program, at least, seemed to be working.
The only thing that really had Villalobos concerned were the Tauran attack aircraft, circling like vultures overhead. He had, of course, his double strength air-defense artillery complement. That, knowing the rough capabilities of the typical Tauran combat plane, was little comfort.
MV
Roger Casement
, Matama, Santa Josefina, Terra Nova
Captain Saldañas of the
Casement
was also Tribune Saldañas of the
classis
. It really wouldn’t have done to have someone not committed to the legion in command of such a key mission. Indeed, all the non-cooking sailors of the
Casement
were also members of the
classis.
It made it much easier to cover up things like, oh, say, a couple of thousand rounds of belted machine gun ammunition, spilled from the steel door swinging open, at the front of a poorly sealed container, as it was being moved to a higher perch on the ship.
I swear to God,
thought Saldañas,
I will track down whoever left that fucking container unsecure and shoot him. Unless, of course, it turns out to be a member of my own crew in which case keel hauling seems in order.
On the plus side, at least, the customs folks weren’t here to see it. Though they’d probably not have said anything, considering what we’ve already unloaded. On the other plus side, young Macera here seemed about to blow a gasket when the shit spilled out, and watching groundpounders like my brother go into apoplexy is one of life’s truly incomparable pleasures.
The
Casement
’s radio room was just under the bridge. Since it had pretty much everything imaginable in terms of communications equipment, to include some things rarely found on a merchant vessel, and since
Casement
was probably not going anywhere significant again until the war was over, Saldañas had turned it over to Macera. Soon, Legate Salas would be coming aboard to make it
his
communications center. That’s when some of the more esoteric communications equipment—notably the complete audio-visual studio in one of the containers—would come into its own, though by then it would be offloaded.
The first formed troops Saldañas saw came trotting in a mass, heading south along Ninth Street. They seemed to split up, with half of them moving west-southwest, down First Avenue where it was met by Fifth Street. The latter group he saw only through a short gap in the warehouses fronting the coast. It wasn’t long between catching sight of them and hearing the first outbreak of small arms fire coming from inside the town. About thirty men also began to race for the Coast Guard barracks and docks, not all that far from the
Casement.
“Dammit,” said Macera, “I’d hoped our cop could talk the rest of the cops into surrendering without a fight. I
really
hope it doesn’t spill over to their houses.”
Saldañas pointed to several customs police coming out of their little office just off the main wharf, unarmed and hands clasped behind their heads. They surrendered to several pistol wielding legionaries who’d come in with Macera. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it, Tribune?”
“Could be worse,” Macera agreed. His radio crackled to life, then gave the couple of beeps and the rushing sound that indicated secure, encrypted communications.
“Boss,” said the radio, “Centurion Lopez. “That wasn’t the police station; that was the jail. They figured we were an attempted jail break and . . . well . . . they seen their duty and they done it. Two dead, both of them theirs, plus three prisoners dead. We’ve got one wounded. Private Vargas may or may not make it. I’ve got a stretcher team taking him to the hospital about a kilometer to your south, Hospital Antonio Fidel. God knows, they’ve got enough experience with gunshot wounds.”
“Roger, Centurion,” said Macera. “Keep me posted on Vargas. Out.” The next post had Macera drawing a circle on his map around the town of Pelirojo. Then the tribune turned to Saldañas, saying, “Captain, I think we should begin unloading the arms and equipment now.”
Saldañas gave a sardonic grin. “I started three days ago with a little of the ammunition and some of the less offensive looking supplies. Had the manifest and container labels marked for “Delivery, Tauran Union Security Force-Santa Josefina. Customs didn’t give it a second thought. The arms, on the other hand, are still waiting.” He gave the orders for that, then listened as Macera’s radio reported the cutting of the landlines and deactivation of the cell phone tower in the town, plus surrenders among the police, key intersections and bridges secured, and even some criminals killed.
