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o0O¥O0o — 09 — o0O¥O0o

Back in Roanapur, in the low rent quarter Vlad Monsel is working his force hard to disturb the town's equilibrium. He plans to claw Roanapur apart and his own officers too; everything that has gone amiss is down to them. It was an error not to post a guard at the back of that bar; his men should have thought of it they didn't. Because of that Vlad hasn't only lost sigh t of his prey but he's not got even got the wisp of a thread to follow up.

He takes the only way forward that he can see; leading his troops marching into town. He has no doubt that the sight and sound of him in uniform and brass, glinting and clinking, along is daunting enough, let alone with the troops he has with him. They step together, boots tromping in unison along the streets of Roanapur and through any stall or trader unlucky enough to be in their way. These crisp uniforms and dense regiments, led by the peacock spectacle of Monsel, are something entirely new to the town.

The Division marches its way up the high street then splits into Detachments that fool themselves into believing they can winnow the byways of Roanapur and press facts out of the locals. Yet so, the residents have no truck with these kind of military customs.

Vlad Monsel is far luckier than he deserves; in getting all of his Ferrograd Corps back again, even if in a far worse state than he sent them out in. They are roughed, scuffed, dirty and hurting; shy of arms, gear, coin, livery and even moustaches but all alive alive oh. What saves them is that, they're so much of a novelty that the bystanders prefer seeing out the the military drama, rather than ending it in a handclap of lead.

Whatever about Vlad's expectations he's having none of the kind of success he wishes. In one day his troops are become the most infamous and farcical gang in town. Lagoon is paid, in advance, to courier him out this night; if he can't make the rendezvous, Vlad is sure he'll get no credit and be made to pay a second time, for whenever he can break free of this cesspit. He will not go begging to Russia or (worse yet) Balalaika to pay his fare home and so must husband every rouble.

Vlad has been so certain of one triumphant dash and snatch (to rob out prey and kudos from Balalaika) that he's got nothing of resources to dig in with. Yet so, somehow, he must needs improvise shelter for the night. It is that or rough it on the streets, which even Vlad doubts is possible. He's been all too busy making himself Mr Unpopular and Least Likely To Survive, by tearing his way through Roanapur with his savage nailgun.

Much as Vlad hates the need, he'll have to come to an accommodation with Balalaika, for accommodation. Whatever about his ambition to outshine his bitter rival (Balalaika and her soldiers), the local Hotel Moscow is the only unit that he can turn to. He'll be damned if he has to flee back to the ship or walk away empty-handed. Truth be: he and all his men are surely damned already; not a one will see home again and the tombs of Roanapur will grow fat on Russian meat.

To be sure, Vlad has an inflated opinion of himself but he's not lacking moral courage and calls on Balalaika in his own person. Sitting in front of her desk he gives his version of the situation. It is less an appeal than an ultimatum: he calls Balalaika on her obligation to support any Hotel Moscow project and he and his most of all. Self-assured as he is, Vlad knows none of this debacle can be his fault; it is only right that he makes the position clear to Balalaika; makes it plain that he is not begging but insisting she does her duty.

« … inevitable that we wouldn't be properly primed or resourced; we've been starved of proper intelligence support from the forces on the ground. But — whoever stands in our way — the Ferrograd Division will triumph. A properly arrayed military force can achieve more than any informal unit; you cannot deny it. In this, the very first day, of our offensive I've denied the enemy shelter; captured the traitor; extracted every secret from him. It's the Japanese making trouble again; one from Tokyo, one resident here. It's nothing more than busywork for me to track down his partners in crime and recover the documents. »

« Da; big claims for a Boyar. So; tell me how many men were lost at the Yellow Flag? »

« Thats irrelevant; they're merely soldiers. By tomorrow I'll have the whole of the network rolled up, in captivity and on the boat home. Adversity spurs me on to victory. »

Suicidal words and opinions, next to a pack of Vyostoniki. Around the room Balalaika's Own tense up and their faces darken. Any of them are ready to take an excuse to take the churl's life. When Vlad takes up Balalaika's heavy desk diary and flicks through it, with the casual air of a man waiting for a train, rather than a man waiting for a lifeline, he is lucky not to be drilled through a score of times. He's entirely oblivious that it's only Balalaika's indulgent signal that reprieves him.

« Please, no need to be ashamed Balalaika; our paths simply diverged. Our masters charged you with administration while they kept me in active service. I don't doubt you're a superb underworld mayor but you cannot possibly have the keen edge of the Ferrograd Field Division. We thrive on adversity. »

« How amusing. No more drink for the Boyar, Sergeant; it wouldn't do for him to lose his edge. You've been such a help, Vladimir; here I was worrying you'd turn your nose up at the iron rations and warehouse you're getting but you'll be right at home with the rats. »

« Balalaika, is this how you would respect our shared history? Had I not proffered Hotel Moscow my dacha, as a goodwill gesture, you would not have had a base of operations, from which to claim that territory. Perfidy! Whatsoever fame you hold springs from my gift and this is your repayment! »

« You misjudge me Vladimir. My Sergeant will see you out; we've nothing left to discuss. If adversity is your taste then I am happy to supply it. »

o0O¥O0o — A.N — o0O¥O0o

Step Together: words familiar to any member of the Emergency Army of Ireland - formed to defend the Neutral Republic during the Second World War. The Emergency being the Irish Republic's term for WW II.