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Chapter 18
May 13, 1928, near Santa Marta, Colombia
I was giving Visha my best glare, but instead of immediately coming to attention as she would have back in the army, she continued to hum cheerfully as she checked the temperature on the thermometer.
It would be fine. I knew it and she knew it. My fever had broken yesterday afternoon, but my subordinate had insisted I stay in bed in case of a last minute relapse. Now it was a beautiful and hot Sunday morning, I was feeling perfectly fine if a bit weak, and if Visha didn't stop fooling around and fill me in on what been happening since I had gone down, I would not be responsible for my actions.
She finally stopped fiddling with the thermometer and addressed me. "Well, looks like you really are all better. Still, you're not ready yet to go back to work. Are you really sure I should burden you with a detailed debriefing? Maybe we should wait..."
As she trailed off with an innocent smile that looked disturbingly sincere, I felt my right eye starting to twitch. I knew something big had happened, and even if it wasn't anything terrible, I needed to know. It seemed Visha was getting a bit too comfortable with civilian life if she thought she could get away with teasing me like this.
Smoothing out my irritation, I gave her my sweetest smile. "Visha. Do you perchance remember the way I handled subordinates who irritated me back on the Rhine front?"
Judging by the way her smile grew strained, she did in fact remember. Excellent. I continued, "Of course, those were the days when we were all under Imperial military law."
"Ah, that is true! We're just civilians now!" Visha agreed, a definite note of relief in her voice.
"Indeed, Visha. And that means my methods for dealing with troublesome subordinates are no longer limited by the military code of conduct." I carefully kept up a pleasant demeanor to hide my inner amusement as I watched Visha's face pale and the last of her smile disappear. "Just as an example, Imperial Law specifically forbade using things like chains and whips."
Once Visha processed that statement, her face flushed and her entire body froze even as her eyes stared off into the distance. I blinked at the sudden change in expression, then nearly slapped myself. Damn it, I overdid it. Now she's scared stiff. Really, Visha, after all this time you still can't tell when I'm joking? As if doing something like that wasn't even more illegal as a civilian! Well, unless you were into that... My brain came to a screeching halt as I suddenly started seeing visions conjured by that last stray thought. Curse you puberty, now is not the time!
Mentally shaking myself to dislodge that nonsense, I was relieved to see Visha hadn't noticed, stuck as she was in what looked like a mild panic attack. Still, better snap her out of it before she did something I would regret. "Lieutenant!" my sharp bark, infused with every ounce of command authority, did an admirable job pulling her out of her thoughts and into something resembling coherency. I considered apologizing for making such extreme statements, but in the end if hyperbolic threats were what it took to maintain discipline, then so be it. So all I said was, "Now that we understand each other, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could start filling me in on what has been going on. Right. Now."
"Ah... right, Major! So, it was mostly quiet, but then on Tuesday the 7th..."
As my subordinate cheerfully recounted how she had attacked a company of American aerial mages, killing five and taking one prisoner, I could feel my face becoming frozen in the calm expression long and bitter experience had taught me to always present to others.
I wanted to scream and rage and curse her out for signing all our death warrants, but I was honest enough to realize this was my fault. Before I'd come down with the flu, my standing instructions had been to maintain the peace at all cost. While I'd entertained the possibility of outside interference, I'd always assumed I'd be there to guide the company through such a scenario. And even in my worst nightmares I hadn't expected an entire US flotilla! In fact, I'd put far higher odds on the Colombian government mobilizing its own army than to see any kind of foreign intervention.
The worst part was that I strongly suspected the Americans had been there with the permission of the Colombian government. Sure, Visha reported that Colombian destroyers and mages had actively started patrolling following the skirmish, but that sounded to me like ass-covering after the fact. Considering how we had received no warnings or instructions and the Colombian mages had made no attempt to intercept before the Americans got to shore, it was obvious in hindsight that the Colombian military had been instructed to stand aside and let the Americans do the dirty work of breaking up the strike. As for why the Colombians hadn't warned us, I could only assume they'd never even dreamed that a private security company would be insane enough to go up against the mightiest military in this hemisphere. I mentally scoffed. Clearly they'd never encountered the kind of battle maniacs that ended up forming the 203rd.
I considered explaining all this to Visha, but one look at her innocently hopeful face stopped me in my tracks. It was clear she was expecting to be praised for being a good subordinate, and I couldn't bring myself to dampen that enthusiasm. There would be enough doom and gloom in the future, so I might as well let her be happy for a little while longer. "That... is exemplary work, Visha. Well done. I was a bit worried about what might happen without me there to keep an eye on things, but you have certainly managed to... exceed all expectations."
Visha turned red as a tomato while bashfully shuffling her feet. "I'm just doing as you taught me, Major. And really, you shouldn't worry so much. You trained us all so well, I'm sure we can handle things on our own whenever you need to take a break."
"Yes, you've certainly proven that beyond doubt. I hope you're treating the prisoner well?"
"Oh yes, we've got him in Santa Marta's best hospital. He hasn't regained consciousness except briefly, but he should be healthy enough to question within a few days. We've also been helping the Colombians examine his orb. It's strange though, the thing is not nearly as good as what we are using. I thought our orbs were based on an American model."
I considered this, and details from the last report from Hughes Magical Works floated up. "The M27 was purchased by the US Army. The Navy insisted on a version specialized to their needs, so I guess these guys haven't been upgraded yet." To be exact, the Navy insisted on some bells and whistles (like depth-finder spells) that made the orb a bit more useful for naval mages. Of course, these little details didn't actually improve the combat performance of the orb one bit, but that didn't stop the makers from slapping the M28 label on it, and hiking the price by $3,000 per unit. The M28 had only been approved for limited production last month, so it's not surprising that mages all the way out here were still using what I suspect were the old 6F models.
Visha accepted my explanation, then went on, "The Government rep we talk to told us we were to carry on as we have been, and things have been pretty quiet over the last few days. I don't know if that will last though. Several people were close enough to witness the fight, and news of what the Americans tried have already spread. There's a lot of anger there, Major. I'm worried that the workers will start a riot. There's already been some people calling to burn the plantations to the ground and drive United Fruit out of the country. And that's not even counting the diplomatic shouting match that I've been hearing rumors of."
I nodded in agreement, "We're going to have to step up our patrols. Call in a few more squads of troopers and start patrolling more openly. Hopefully we can break up trouble before it gets organized."
"I'll get right on it!"
"And on your way out, get me a telephone."
"Major, you really shouldn't be straining yourself just yet..."
"I'm not going to leave my bed Visha. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to help. Besides, boredom is likely to make me sicker than a few telephone calls."
After a bit more fussing, she agreed to give me a phone, then left to see to the patrols.
I wished her luck, but to be honest it was just something to keep her busy. I'd already realized our contracts didn't matter anymore. The Americans had been given discreet permission by the Colombians to operate on their soil. By stopping them the way we did, Stillwater had deeply embarrassed both governments, not to mention the lives lost. The only reason we hadn't already been fired was probably because the Colombians wanted us where they could find us while they hashed out a deal with the Americans that kept them from declaring a war.
I had a queasy feeling that any such deal might include the head of one Sarah Witherspoon on a silver platter, so I frantically started calling every single ally I had in the Colombian government. I was not foolish enough to think the Colombians would ever choose my friendship over that of the Americans, but I was hoping I could at least talk them into giving me a head start.
Meanwhile...
When the USS Nevada's mage company returned beaten and broken, the result on the American fleet was akin to a bucket of cold water to the face. The initial decision to send in the mage company had been taken as a cost-effective alternative to attempting an amphibious assault on potentially hostile soil. The Colombian Navy did have enough destroyers and frigates in local waters to outnumber the American flotilla, even if the flotilla outmassed them. If they chose to press the matter, the Americans would win, but not without hundreds of casualties. Thus Commodore Whitaker had approved a mage company to carry out what on the paperwork would be called a 'reconnaissance-in-force'.
The results were less than optimal. While resistance had been a possibility, no manner of planning had allowed for the resistance to be so fiendishly effective. The Commodore had contemplated pushing forward with the full weight of the flotilla and the several hundred marines that had been taken aboard for just such a purpose, but it was the identity of the opposing mages that had given him pause.
The woman leading the enemy mages had openly identified herself as Viktoriya Serebryakov. Recording spells from the survivors had gotten a clear image of her face, which had matched what little information they had on the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Even worse, one of the other mages had been identified as a Captain in the same battalion.
Whitaker was not someone who had ever paid much close attention to European aerial mages, but even he had heard of the single most highly decorated and feared mage battalion of the war. Which begged the question - why the hell were some of the most dangerous mages in the world here in Colombia pretending to be a civilian security firm?
It didn't take long for him to reach the obvious conclusion - having established themselves as the supreme power in Europe, the Empire were now stretching out their influence to the other side of the Atlantic. Why they had picked Colombia of all places he had no idea, and he cursed Naval Intelligence for not having even hinted that the Empire might have an interest in the region.
On top of that, there was the mystery of Sarah Witherspoon. Local American contacts were confident she was Albish, and the leader of Stillwater Security, the firm the Imperial mages were supposedly part of. This was either some kind of smokescreen to try and blame the Albish (but if so, why did Serebryakov identify herself so openly?) or the Albish were actually making common cause with the Imperials in trying to force American interests out of Colombia.
Whitaker didn't know what to think. The local ambassador and the reps from United Fruit were clearly no help, since they didn't even seem to know who Serebryakov was. However, there was one thing the Commodore did know. Potential multinational intrigue was at minimum a fleet admiral's problem, and he wasn't even a flag officer. Naval officers were expected to act independently and show initiative, but that independence included knowing when a problem had exceeded their pay grade.
Thus, Whitaker chose to exercise his initiative by pulling back from shore, setting his flotilla on high alert, and scorching the airwaves demanding instructions from higher up while steadfastly ignoring any demands from local American officials or executives. In his considered opinion, the situation had long since exceeded the bounds of ordinary business, and he was NOT going to be the officer responsible for starting a shooting war with Europe.
When Commodore Whitaker started calling back to base for further instruction, his wasn't the only message headed for American territory. The American ambassador in Colombia, having been thoroughly chewed out by his hosts, was burning the telegram lines to Washington. The senior executive of United Fruit, panicking at the ugly mood sweeping through the workers along with rumors of the failed intervention, was screaming at the telephone for a connection to Florida. Then there were several other representatives of American companies that had been following the United Fruit debacle with interest, and who were now busy calling home asking if there was going to be war, and if so could they please come home, thank you kindly. And on top of that were visitors from other countries who thought people should know about the very public air battle near one of Colombia's biggest ports.
All through Friday night, government officials and business executives were running around like headless chickens trying to figure out what would be the appropriate response, and who should be blamed for this debacle. Because, at the end of the day, six ordinary soldiers would not have been worth mentioning. Six aerial mages, on the other hand, represented a significant loss even to a country as large as the Unified States.
Attempts were made to keep matters confidential, but with so many people in the know, information was bound to leak out. It might not have made the papers, but many important people had heard at least a garbled version of the news. And these important people included major investors in a variety of companies with an interest in South America.
When the stock market opened for its half-day of trading on Saturday, May 12th, initially there was a sharp dip in the stock of United Fruit, as those in the know sold out their shares. This naturally garnered the interest of various other investors who desperately tried to investigate why, but that thanks to the information blackout all they got was garbled rumors of chaos and death in South America. What started as a run on United Fruit stock quickly turned into a general loss of faith in any company involved in Central and South America. Even then the situation might not have been so bad, except most of the better-informed investors knew the American stock market in 1928 was heavily overpriced. With so many companies' prices dipping, they saw it as a sign that the bubble might finally burst. When the half-day of trading ended, the stock market had lost 4% of its value.
This was painful enough to garner the attention of the biggest players. Several major banks came forward promising to buy shares in the worst affected stock as an expression of confidence. The White House released a statement that there had been a minor skirmish in Colombia between American forces and 'local partisans', with the courageous American forces suffering only six casualties while their opponents had suffered a 'large but undetermined' number of fatalities. Even now diplomats were in negotiation to ensure a peaceful end to the situation, and it was fully expected that the ordinary course of business would resume in a matter of days.
These announcements were widely reported in the Sunday morning papers, and among the more active investors (who didn't stop work just because it was a Sunday) there was a growing feeling that the market might yet steady its course. Unfortunately for their growing sense of optimism, one particular detail had escaped the attempts at secrecy to arrive into the hands of two particularly well-connected reporters - the name of Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov.
One reporter got the information early on Sunday. He spent the morning frantically researching every scrap of information he could. When the afternoon edition of one of the country's most respected newspapers came out, it contained a fairly accurate biography of Visha, along with rampant but well-reasoned speculation on why one of the Empire's most capable mages might be fighting American troops in Colombia. The theories proposed included the Empire attempting to supplant American interests in South America along with speculation that the Devil of the Rhine herself might be involved, seeing as how Serebryakov had been her second-in-command.
The second reporter got the information much later in the day. A tabloid journalist with a deadline to meet, all he knew was that Serebryakov was a Russy name and that the woman was a mage. That was enough. One of the most widely read tabloids in the country ran a front-page spread declaring to all that the Rus had sent a battalion of their elite mages to overthrow the governments of South America and establish communist regimes. Older reports of the labor unrest in Colombia were held up as proof of the obvious Communist influence. The reports of the Communists disbanding their mages were nothing more than a ruse to pull the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting West. Instead all those mages had been sent to conquer South America, starting with Colombia. Why Colombia? Because right next to Colombia was the Panama Canal, of course! The next step to the revolution was undoubtedly capturing or destroying the canal, and choking off one of the arteries of American business.
Both these reporters also had radio contacts, which meant both publications were followed up within hours by radio reports talking about the exact same thing.
The US Government immediately responded with a statement assuring the public there was no evidence of any sort of uprising or invasion - but when questioned about the presence of foreign mages famed for their association with the Destroyer of Brest, the responding denials were audible in their absence. Early on Monday morning, several major New York papers contained a letter from a respected scientist pointing out an explosion the size of the Brest disaster would be more than adequate for putting the Panama Canal out of commission.
When the stock market finally opened, it lost another 3% within the first hour. Then a rumor spread that the banks that had committed to buying shares to shore up the market had quietly cancelled their overnight orders.
At that point, the entire market entered a race to find the bottom.
May 15th, 1928, Berun, The Empire
Major General Zettour looked up as his old friend Rudersdorf barged into his office unannounced. The visitor was not long in communicating the reason for his unseemly haste. "Zettour! Have you seen the latest news from South America?"
The aging general nodded. "Colombia, to be exact. And yes, I have. Miss Serebryakov seems to be enjoying her American vacation."
"You knew about this?"
"Of course not. I knew Serebryakov planned to visit the Unified States. I honestly have no idea how she got from there to Colombia, but then she is no longer in the army so that is hardly my concern."
"I don't think you can afford to be quite so cavalier about this, my friend. The Americans have been demanding to know what the 203rd is doing in Colombia."
"The 203rd is disbanded."
"That's what we told them, at which point they claimed they'd positively identified other mages of the 203rd fighting alongside Serebryakov. They also seemed to insinuate Degurechaff might be involved as well."
"That's rich, considering we have strong circumstantial evidence that Degurechaff may have been hiding out and working for the Americans for years now."
"Yes, well, the latest Interpol reports place Jennifer Ecks, Degurechaff's suspected identity, in Colombia. The Americans are accusing us of using Degurechaff to run a long-term espionage mission into the Unified States, and now we are moving to cut off their South American influence. This has gotten all the way to the Kaiser. As you might guess, he is displeased."
"Tell the Kaiser that, considering how Serebryakov and other members of the 203rd have been leaving the country, it's far more likely the Americans are using Degurechaff to recruit some of our most talented aerial mages out from under us. These accusations against us are nothing more than a distraction from their own culpability."
"You really think so?"
"Well, what else are we supposed to think? We had nothing to do with Degurechaff's disappearance. The only thing we know is there is very strong suspicion she may have been involved in developing American combat orbs. As for Colombia, might I remind you America has a long history of intervention in that region? Much of Central America and the Caribbean is an American protectorate. For all we know, Degurechaff, Serebryakov and the rest have been recruited by the Americans to destabilize the Colombian government and usher in a new era of American control, and this whole so-called conflict is nothing more than a smokescreen to justify a full-scale occupation of the country."
"That's quite the theory, Zettour."
"But it holds together, which is enough to placate the Kaiser."
"And the fact that this scheme has caused their stock market to drop like a rock?"
"Unintended consequences, as might be expected of any such overly elaborate scheme. Markets recover, hegemony lasts much longer."
Rudersdorf pondered this for a moment, then gave a sigh deep enough to ruffle his mustache. "It makes sense as long as you don't think about it too hard. I'll write up a report and forward it to the Palace." He then fixed his friend with a gimlet glare. "Now, Zettour, tell me what you really think."
Zettour studied his friend for a long moment, then dropped his voice to a soft whisper. "I think Serebryakov and the rest of the 203rd have been leaving the country to join Degurechaff. Somehow, under all our noses, she managed to get the word to her former subordinates. And they have decided they prefer to serve her rather than the Empire. As for all the rest - the American orbs, the film, Colombia? I have absolutely no idea."
Rudersdorf chewed his mustache in frustration. "Why? What is the purpose in all this? What can she possibly hope to achieve?"
"I don't know, my friend. But I do know this. She had a mind for strategy unlike any other. Using the most disparate pieces of information, she could see patterns where all we saw was chaos. No one even dreamed the Francois could be so duplicitous, yet she saw it, and acted on it. I feel this is more of the same. All we can see are actions without rhyme or reason. It will only be after the fact that we will realize the method to her madness."
"But to what purpose, Zettour? Every strategy, no matter how insane, must have an ultimate goal."
"Ah, there is the rub. What is Degurechaff's goal? Three years ago, I could have said without hesitation it would be the greater glory of the Fatherland. Now? I think all we can do is pray it is not us she has in her sights."
There was a long moment of silence as the two friends contemplated the future. Then Rudersdorf spoke. "By the way, good news. We got Tirpitz."
Zettour's eyes sharpened. "So, the old Admiral is on our side?"
"I wouldn't say on our side, so much as he thinks we need a Chancellor that actually knows how to tell the Kaiser 'no'. And you're a much better option than, to use his words, 'that penny-pinching ass-kisser Siegfried'."
Neither of the generals needed to say out loud how significant this was. Tirpitz had been Secretary of the Imperial Navy for almost thirty years. The 'grand old Admiral' was an institution unto himself. If it wasn't for his steadfast refusal to leave his precious Navy, the man could have made Chancellor decades ago. He represented the single largest unaligned power bloc in Imperial politics. With his support, Zettour was effectively the most viable choice for Chancellor. Of course, the Chancellor served at the Kaiser's pleasure, and right now Siegfried von Roedern had the Kaiser's support. Still, even the Kaiser couldn't completely ignore political sentiment, particularly not when his public support had been growing shaky as the Empire had been slower than expected recovering from the stresses of the war. With Tirpitz throwing his weight behind Zettour, it simply became a matter of keeping up the pressure on Roedern. Inevitably, the man would make a slip, and the Kaiser would have no choice but to replace him with a Chancellor that actually enjoyed a degree of political support.
Zettour glanced at his oldest ally. "You know, you could probably make an even better candidate for Chancellor. You have a certain way with people. I tend to make the gentler sorts nervous."
Rudersdorf huffed. "I thought about it. And I realized something - I am old. Yes, yes, I know you're even older than me. That doesn't change the fact that I am old too. And as I grow older, I find myself less and less inclined to throw myself into conflict, even in the political arena." The general seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, before continuing, "The truth is, I am comfortable where I am. The Army can be equal parts delightful and frustrating, but I am used to it. To leave this and go to the Palace, to wrestle with our Kaiser on a daily basis over the fate of our nation? No, I am more than happy to leave that to you."
The two longtime friends sat in silence for a moment, before they both lit up their cigars at the same time. "Well, here's hoping," puffed Zettour. "Speaking of, how is our friend Brigadier Lergen doing?"
"Quite well I hear," responded Rudersdorf. "Colonial administration seems to suit him. Morocco is on its way to being fully integrated into the Empire, and the locals seem far happier with him than they ever were with the Francois."
"That is good to hear. Better than the quagmire in the Congo."
"Indeed. Having it declared the Kaiser's personal property was a mistake. He's pretty much given free rein to the corporations to do whatever they please," mused Rudersdorf.
"You don't know the half of it. I have to field constant complaints from the garrison commander about Captain Grantz."
"Isn't he one of Degurechaff's? What has he been doing?"
"Refusing to massacre the locals when they object to being enslaved, apparently."
"Good man," rumbled Rudersdorf. "We're supposed to be civilized. Unlike the damned Francois."
"Roedern was the one who proposed that mess, it is his cronies who are benefiting. So look on the bright side, my friend. If Congo blows up, it will be more grist for the mill."
May 16th, 1928, New York, Unified States
The dark-haired young woman glance around before entering the diner. Slipping into a private booth, she faced her superior. Who looked distinctly odd, and somewhat younger, dressed in a casual shirt and pants.
"Captain Strong," she greeted.
"Ensign Sioux," came the response. "How goes your undercover operation?"
"Interesting and frustrating. I am learning far more about more traditional forms of spellcraft than I ever expected to know. Some of it is quite fascinating. I have also confirmed that Jennifer Ecks was the one who trained the CEO of Household Magicks, so the link is there. But so far, they refuse to send me to Velvet Iron for combat training until I am closer to eighteen."
They both paused as the waiter came by with a pot of coffee. Mary Sioux noticed the Captain had ordered for her as well.
After pouring enough cream and sugar into the brew to make it palatable, she took a careful sip. As she did so, the Captain remarked, "While that is interesting, it's hardly useful. In the meantime, we confirmed Ecks disappeared to Colombia where, surprise, surprise, other mages of the 203rd have started showing up."
Mary nodded. "Yes, I've heard. Do you... do you think it was deliberate?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this whole stock market crash. 'Black Monday', they're calling it. Do you think she deliberately started the whole fight just so she could trigger the collapse?"
The Captain chuckled. "Degurechaff is a soldier, not an economist. The market will recover soon enough. Besides, what reason could she possibly have to do something like that?"
"Captain, I know our theory is she might be working for some clandestine branch of the American government, but what if they had a falling out? It would certainly explain her suddenly starring in that picture. A way of giving the finger to her former allies and making her presence here public. And now she's in Colombia deliberately screwing with American interests."
"You think her actions are motivated by petty revenge?"
"It's as good an explanation as any. Besides, she already turned her back on one country. Turning her back on another would only be easier, whatever her reasons."
"Interesting, but its all speculation Ensign. Now, do you want to come in? I really don't think you're doing much good where you are, and all the action seems to be in Colombia."
"Does Interpol have permission to enter the country, then?"
"No, not yet. Honestly, Interpol's needs seem pretty low down the list, the diplomats all seem to agree on the primary importance of bananas."
"Bananas?!"
"My reaction exactly."
The ensign shook her head in disbelief. "Well, as long as we're stuck here, I might as well stay in place. Besides, Captain, here's something else I heard. Turns out, I'm not the first combat-rated mage to join Household Magicks. Before me, there was a young man named Charles Norris. He was sent here for the same reason I was, being underage. Here's the thing though, a few months before his eighteenth birthday, he was transferred. Destination unknown, but he talked about leaving the country."
"You think Degurechaff sent for him?"
"90%. I think Degurechaff insists on personally training every combat mage that she comes by. Barrow was trained by her. The 203rd was trained by her. And Norris was sent to be trained by her. I think I just have to sit tight, and soon I'll get an invitation right to wherever she is."
Captain Strong was silent for a long moment, then he nodded. "Very well. This is as good a lead as any. I'll get in touch if anything changes."
"Thank you Captain. Oh, I forgot to ask, is the harlot back yet?"
Strong chuckled. "I didn't know you cared, Ensign. Yes, Roth's been back for some months now. Apparently the Kaiser is pissed. The Imperials came to the same theory we have, and they've been raising Cain in diplomatic channels."
"Watch me weep," came the dry response. "I should get going Captain. Don't want to get spotted."
"As you say. Goodbye, Ensign. And good luck."
May 18th, 1928, Santa Marta, Colombia
I had just returned from Bogota after meeting with the Minister for Foreign Affairs. I figured that was as high up the governmental food chain as I could get on short notice. The man had gone to considerable length to assure me that my actions had upheld the honor of Colombia. He had also mentioned that much of American ire seemed to be aimed at my aerial mages, and that the Americans were accusing the Colombians of signing a secret treaty with the Empire.
That last might have been an honest misunderstanding, except Visha had quit the Empire months ago, passed through American immigration, and had clearly identified herself as an employee of Stillwater. All the others had also openly resigned, some of them years back. I refused to believe American intelligence was so incompetent they weren't tracking the full details of some of the best aerial mages in the world. No, it was obvious this baloney about the Empire was just the Americans giving the Colombians an out. Claim Visha and the others were agents of a foreign power, throw them out, and war need not be declared.
It was a pretty good deal for the Colombians too, since it allowed them to get rid of the people who had spoiled their little understanding with the Americans. If my experiences with Imperial justice had taught me anything, it was that no one holds a grudge like a politician embarrassed. I chalked it up to my efforts to build goodwill that we hadn't already been deported.
The foreign minister had also been kind enough to mention the diplomats were still negotiating, but that the talks should be concluded in a month or so. That was the deadline I had to quit the country.
Now that I knew I had a bit of time, I could wrap things up properly before I left. Sunrise Botanicals was running with almost no input from me, so I didn't need to do much other than brief the CEO to deny everything. A trickier proposition was the hundreds of troops working for Stillwater Security. I couldn't simply fire them, especially when they were doing some genuinely useful work propping up both Sunrise and the Coffee Growers Association. In the end, I decided to have Velvet Irons Protection perform a corporate takeover of Stillwater. All the employees that the Americans hadn't identified (which basically meant all the non-aerial mages) became employees of VIP, and Stillwater effectively ceased to exist.
Sure, the ruse wouldn't fool a child, since I was sure by this time my pursuers had connected my Jennifer Ecks persona to VIP. But it would force the Americans to prosecute a company based in their own country, enjoying the protections of the American constitution. It would also give the Colombian government a degree of plausible deniability, which I hoped they put to good use. Poor Lena would probably curse a blue streak because of all the extra paperwork I just landed on her, but her own fugitive status meant she was unlikely to betray me and I was willing to take ruthless advantage of that.
By sheer dint of seniority, I ended up placing a man named Josef Perez in charge of the Colombia branch of Velvet Iron Protection. A grizzled veteran of the war for Panama, he had the respect and the experience to hold the troops together. Tony Almeida would act as his second and his liaison to VIP head office.
The only aerial mage who was going to stay back in Colombia was Charles Norris. Surprisingly, the young man wasn't too upset about having had to fight fellow Americans. He was, however, reluctant to head any further from home, since he had ambitions to return to the Unified States one day. Well, I doubted he had been identified given how badly mauled the American mages had been. As long as he took some basic precautions, he should have no problem avoiding any arrest warrants. In the meantime, Perez would have at least one combat-mage grade on call, which would undoubtedly prove handy.
Still, I felt a bit bad leaving Norris all on his own. The only time I'd flown solo in combat had been during my first deployment over Norden, and it sucked. I decided he needed a wingman. My first choice would be Barrow, but I knew he was doing a sterling job beating the new recruits into shape. Lena needed him where he was. That left the girl over at Household Magicks. I fired off a telegram instructing her to be transferred to Barrow's tender care for basic training. Once she'd been trained in the basics of ground fighting, she'd be sent over to Colombia for aerial mage training under Norris. Training another mage was a big responsibility, but I had high hopes. Norris had proven himself both dedicated and talented, and in pure skill I'd judge him on par with most of the 203rd during our first deployment to Dacia. He still had a ways to go, but his fundamentals were solid, and I was sure he'd do an adequate job training up his wingman when she got here.
I also instructed Norris to keep an eye out for Becker and Royce. True to his word, Becker had left for Colombia after six months, and he was accompanied by one last ex-203, one of Weiss' old subordinates by the name of Royce. I'd have liked them to support VIP in Colombia, but I had no trust in the discretion of those warmongers, especially with the Americans bleating about Imperial interference. So, Norris' job amounted to handing them my forwarding address and sending them on their way.
As for me and the members of the 203rd who, for whatever insane reason, persisted in following me - I had already decided on our next destination.
Visha had filled me in on the odd conversation she had with General Zettour. It was clear he was suggesting that a fugitive might find a friendly place in Congo, particularly if they had friends among the former 203rd.
I appreciated the invitation, I really did. But I just couldn't trust it. The Empire had already sold me out once. The only members of the 203rd I felt I could trust not to report me immediately would be my company commanders, and members of the company I had personally lead. And the ex-203rd would hardly be the only Imperial soldiers in the Congo. Now, it was possible Zettour had already foreseen all of this and had made appropriate arrangements. But I couldn't be sure, and showing up and hoping for the best was no way to test it.
No, Congo was still a viable destination, but I was going to do this by stealth. Unlike my previous efforts that had at least involved entering the country in a semi-legal fashion with open declaration of my business, I and the members of the 203rd would be entering entirely illegally. After all, I was no longer hoping to conduct legal business, I simply wanted somewhere to lay low from the manhunt.
Fortunately, I was aided in this by the undeveloped nature of much of Africa. I'd already bribed a cargo ship heading for Africa to take us aboard without bothering to record our presence. Once we got close, we'd sneak ashore on one of the many stretches of African coast unwatched by magic scanners. Once ashore, even our fair skin tone wasn't too big of a problem. I'd been training all of them in low-profile illusions, and Point Noir, the primary port of the Congo, had a large population of whites.
No, I was not going to risk my freedom by trying to re-establish contact with the Empire. They had washed their hands off me, and I was happy to return the favor. I was determined our sojourn in the Congo was not going to create so much as the tiniest ripple where any Imperial official could spot it.