PART I: MARCH UPCOUNTRY
The situation in Syria was finally cooling down, with the 'French' government seeking an armistice. It was the farcical Vichy regime in charge- giving Britain reason to invade in the first place- but still, peace in the region was hopeful. It was better news than the Germans attacking the Russians.
And that was their problem now, wasn't it?
It seemed so far away when in the shade of those famed Lebanon cedars, but it was there, and on a scale that was practically impossible to imagine. Fighting men from the frosty Baltic to the Black Sea, in their countless thousands…
Andreas checked his watch. He had an appointment to keep with the navy. While the subject wasn't mentioned, if he had to guess…
Perhaps the Black Sea? The Axis could get up to some mischief in there, sure, but their means to prevent it were limited.
There was no way to help in the Black Sea without getting through the Turkish straits, and the Turks were wise enough to realize keeping the straits closed to ships of war was in their best interest.
Maybe occupied Greece or Italy, then? Those were the other big targets in the Mediterranean.
No use speculating when he'd get the truth in the briefing.
Waiting for him was a certain navy big-wig, but no one else. Andreas saluted. "Sir."
"You're the Cypriot, then?"
"Yes, sir. I've been told you have some need of me?"
"How's your Turkish?"
"I worked out of Antakya before the Syria campaign, sir, known it since I was a boy. Might sound a bit Greek, though."
"Do you think a party of three could feasibly cross Turkey and reach the Black Sea?"
What?
"It's certainly possible, sir. I could arrange something in Antakya."
"With utmost secrecy?"
"Utmost secrecy?" He asked. "Who exactly am I moving?"
"You've heard of wisdom cubes?"
"Yes, sir, although I can't say how much of it is rumor." Vaguely, he understood them as having some tremendous positive effect on the navy, but how, exactly…?
"Our plan is to send two wisdom cube experts with you, alongside a suitcase of cubes. Then you rendezvous with and render aid to the Soviet Black Sea Fleet."
"Do you have…?" The officer gestured to a single piece of luggage, sitting unobtrusively in a corner. Flicking it open revealed a bolt of beautifully patterned fabric… with a gentle blue light peeking through.
Andreas gulped. This was certainly a sensitive package. If customs recognized them… of course, ownership of Wisdom Cubes was a very exclusive club, and Turkey would certainly wish to join.
Hell, things would get more complex upon reaching the Black Sea. If the Romanians or Bulgarians got their hands on the cubes with their piddly little navy, they would give their navies the oomph they needed to give the Soviets some real trouble. Well, more trouble than they were already in.
"We'll introduce the experts to you soon enough, along with more details on the mission."
Other than the cubes, more supplies were acquired: Turkish lira, some Greek drachma, and even a bit of gold, for any occurrences that popped up. (Or the greasing of palms.)
Medicine. A few rations. Clothes in Turkish fashion. A silver medallion of Christ Pantocrator and a prayer mat, depending on who he wanted to impress. Documents for him… and his companions.
Their first meeting was to be a training exercise. Andreas hoped that they could learn to ride relatively quickly, whoever they were… no matter the route, horses or camels would make the journey swifter.
The sun was high in the sky, and anyone with sense was cowering in the shade. Well, barring the unfortunate groom managing the horses, guiding a meager little roan. A grinning blonde rushed forward and embraced it, wrapping thin arms around the horse's snout.
Tremendously puffy sleeves, hair tied in bows, a sword at her hip. It was a confusing image, but unless this was some higher-up's daughter, she was involved. (She shooed away the groom with total confidence.)
"Aren't you sweet?" She cooed, "Just a perfect ride for a hero like myself…"
"Ma'am?"
She looked up and groaned. "Who's this geezer?"
A gentle voice spoke from the shade. "He's our guide, Hero." Another blonde emerged from the shade. Taller, a bit more refined looking, blue eyes instead of unnatural orange.
"Yes, I suppose so. I'm Andreas. You are?"
"Leander-class cruiser, Leander. My companion is Hero of H-class. Please forgive her, she's…"
"I'm what, Leander?"
"The sort of girl who won't suffer disrespect, is all."
"Leander class?"
"You may be familiar with the warship?"
"You're-"
"I've heard that 'personification of the ship' is the best way to put it. Makes the most sense."
"Doesn't make any sense."
"I've heard that one, too." She smiled. "Now… could this gentleman show me how to ride a horse?"
"In a skirt?"
"Why, Mister Andreas…"
"I am not dragging you across Turkey sidesaddle."
Hero groaned. "You're the one teaching us to ride?"
They took their picks. Hero had her own beloved roan, who she dubbed Llamrei. ("It was Arthur's horse, you dummy.") As soon as she was in pants, she took to the saddle like she was born to it.
Leander was certainly flattered by riding pants, although she took to it with less ease. Her eventual choice was a black stallion, a sort of asymmetric white smudge on its face, curving towards the right eye from the nose. Still a beaut, though.
"He's grand! But a name… nothing comes to mind."
"How about… Bucephalus?"
"Do I look like Alexander?"
"I hear he was very attractive. A blonde, too. Close enough."
"Me, Queen of Macedon?"
"You certainly look a queen."
"Would you two shut up?" Hero cried. "Mount the horse, not the girl!"
He turned to Leander. "Is she always like this?"
"Yes."
What followed was more preparation. Hero and Leander picked up what Greek and Turkish they could manage and even practiced a bit of marksmanship, just enough to know how to use the revolvers they were issued. They were peashooters compared to the calibers they were used to, but it was something.
However, the hope was that the guns would never have to be put to use, and subterfuge would win the day. That was the girl's wheelhouse, apparently… it certainly helped that they could run their ships all by themselves as if the hulls were simply extensions of their bodies. Guns swiveled in their mountings, shells even moved through the empty halls… (That was truly paranormal.)
Thinking on that was slightly less worrying than considering the fact that they were racing past the Italian Dodecanese. He looked to Leander- her silhouette, at least- who was peering into the dark. "Where are we now?"
"Off the base on Patmos." She whispered.
The same Patmos where John's Revelation had been written? He thought so, at least if he remembered his Sunday school correctly. Squinting, he tried to see if he pick out the island's shape.
"You're looking the wrong way." She whispered. "It's a bit to the left."
"Right."
"No. Left."
He snorted. "How's Hero doing?"
"She's keeping pace," Leander said. "A mission like this is too romantic to mess up by being a brat."
"She has to be the hero, after all."
Leander nodded. "Should you be sleeping, Andreas? We need you to be prepared for landfall."
"I'll get to it, I guess."
Landfall was in a particularly isolated stretch of beach, where the land and ocean mingled messily. The brush and plants did provide some cover, at least when they walked. It didn't exactly do much to cover up the looming forms of warships. He and Leander were first, wading through the muck in their brand new clothes. (Probably a good thing, honestly. What band of travelers had immaculate clothes?)
After some initial investigation, he verified that it was safe Leander went out to sea, skating over the water on her rigging until she stood next to her ship. Leander laid a hand against the ship's hull and inhaled mightily. With that deep breath in, the hull seemed to shimmer. Exhale, and the ship glimmered like stars, spangled with glimmering points that traced the lines of its form.
Again and again, until the stars were far more concrete than the translucent ship. A thousand motes of blue light flowed into one central location until a single wisdom cube sat in Leander's hand. Leander came back, before making her rigging dissolve as well.
"Was that Hero's signal?" He asked.
"It certainly was. Now she… makes her entrance."
"Makes her…?"
He got his answer when he spotted the outline of a destroyer, moving far too fast in their general direction. "No," he said, "she can't be."
"She is."
Hero (the ship) did slow down a tiny bit as it approached, but it still hit the shore, slicing through the muck and riding up on the soil. Muck and sludge rode up the ship's sides, slowing it and slowing it until it finally came to a stop.
He supposed that was a way to get the horses onto dry land.
"Couldn't we have used a car, or something? Even a truck?" While Leander had accepted the situation fairly well, Hero was not a big fan of riding as a day-long activity. It wasn't heroic in large doses, apparently.
"And risk getting caught on the roads?"
Hero looked down at the ground for a moment, before looking back up at him, "I don't know how to tell you this…"
"I am aware of that, Hero. But we figured horses would prove more adaptable than cars."
She scoffed. "And it's my butt that's suffering for it! If we had a Sunderland, we'd be in the Black Sea already!"
"We couldn't risk the loss of two warships in one aviation accident."
"No navy could recover from losing the magnificent Hero."
"Yeah. Irreparable."
"I don't like that tone, Mister Andreas."
"And I don't like yours." He swore he saw a smirk there.
Leander, meanwhile, was checking their maps. Subtly, of course. They were already a strange little group without the unfortunate spy implications a collection of maps would cause. "We could stop for provender at Kocaeli, perhaps?"
"Wouldn't any old farm work?"
"Yes, I suppose. If you think it best to avoid the towns…"
"We're visiting a new country and you're not gonna see a single town?"
"We're 'visiting' as part of a mission, Miss Hero. We need to take care."
"I'm a Miss?" Hero asked, her brows furrowing.
"Would you prefer lady, instead?"
"How about 'the glorious' Hero?"
The sun had set and their fire had long since been put out. Leander had retired for the night- extracting a promise that he wake her for a watch later- so it was him and Hero, sitting around the ashes of the fireplace, digesting the delightful foodstuffs they had been provided.
"You know, camping all alone out here, quiet countryside… you could get up to all sorts of activity, couldn't you?" Hero's grin was coy.
"You implying something?"
"Do you want me to be?"
He sighed. "You're a little brat, you know that?"
"Heroes don't worry about the opinions of plebes." She held her nose up.
NEXT TIME: PARIS COMMUNE
Is the scenario a little forced? Probably. But I read about the myth of Hero and Leander, thought about a mission to the Black Sea, and realized both were kicking around during the Syria campaign… voila.