A\N 1: Working draft of Chapter 32 also available on my Pat reon
A\N 2: Adult version of this story up to Chapter 20 on Questionable Questing and ArchiveOfOurOwn

Chapter 31

August 27, 1930, Abyssinia - Eritrea border

In a somewhat ironic twist, I was now experiencing the one aspect of soldiery that I had skipped over entirely during my career in the Imperial military. I was standing watch on a dangerous post while reading letters from home.

Well, if one could classify the pseudo-family I had established with Lena and Jenny in New York as 'home'. I suppose in this life they were the closest thing that counted. And at least their letters made for interesting reading.

Lena was coordinating with her not-boyfriend Murdoch to make sure Abyssina's arms and supplies were delivered in a timely manner. She was also apparently having great success selling the Scorpion machine pistol to the domestic American market. Knowing the kind of people who were likely to buy such an item, I could only wonder if the Scorpion would replace the Thompson as the signature 'gangster gun' in American cinema.

And speaking of the cinema, apparently Jenny was spending her summer vacation in Reina del Angel, shooting for Hughes' latest masterpiece, an espionage thriller of some kind. She was also doing her best to scandalize Hollywood by being openly seen courting both men and women, and along the way had become an outspoken advocate for gay rights, as well as a harsh opponent of media censorship.

I could only sigh. I recalled how Visha had racked up a string of arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct and seditious activity when she was the same age. And they say teenage boys are troublesome! Thank goodness I wasn't a father. Even the little bit of responsibility I felt towards Jenny was enough to give me a headache.

I decided that as soon as I was back in Addis Ababa, I would write back to Lena instructing her to put Jenny's nose to the grindstone. Maybe an after-school job at Velvet Iron or Household Magicks. School, work, and combat training. That should surely be enough to keep Jenny out of trouble, at least during the school year.

Her vacations would remain a source of anxiety if Hughes kept dragging Jenny off to Hollywood, but I knew better than to try and tell a teenage girl that she isn't allowed to become a movie star. The best I could do was tell Lena to keep Jenny's escort on task and a lawyer on retainer. I was frankly dreading the day when Jenny would reach her age of majority and even Lena's nominal control would disappear. Particularly when one considers all the money Hughes was paying her, money Lena was locking up tight in trust funds, money that would become available as soon as Jenny hit the appropriate age. Thankfully, the age of majority in the state of New York was twenty-one. Maybe Jenny would have calmed down a bit by then. One could only hope.

Jenny's own letter was at once more and less informative. While containing very little in the way of news about the wider world, it was chock full of details on her personal life. I had to give her points for honesty, she was pretty open about all her misdeeds. Of course, she didn't see them as misdeeds. She presented her actions as perfectly logical, and they really were once you rejected societal mores as artificial and irrational constructs.

I couldn't in good conscience reject an argument rooted in rationality, so my response would instead draw her attention to the idea of the cost-benefit analysis, and ask her if the benefits of her actions (whatever they were) would outweigh the cost of effectively rendering herself unemployable by any respectable organization. Hopefully, she would draw the right conclusion.

Jenny was also eager to tell me all about the plot of the movie she had been recruited for. I immediately recognized some of my own exploits, crossed with what felt like 'Heart of Darkness', assuming that book existed in this world. I had no idea if anyone would be interested in such a thing, especially considering how the plot seemed to take a dim view of western society's treatment of Africa's natives at a time when racism and segregation in the US were very much alive and well. Well, if the movie bombed, at least Jenny's acting career would be over and Lena would have one less thing to worry about.

Sighing, I put away the letters. I could see why soldiers always looked forward to these, they were the best cure for the tedium that filled most military duties. Now I was wishing I had dragged along all the other messages that arrived over the past week from my various contacts and businesses. I'd already read them, but re-reading them to make sure I didn't miss anything would have at least been a productive use of my time. I had honestly forgotten how boring soldiering could be when someone isn't trying to kill you.

As fate or Being X would have it, the thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard the radio squawking.

I looked into our little dugout towards Barrow and Olonga. The three of us represented one of two border patrols currently being operated by my new mercenary company, Silver Lance. Taking Barrow out on this patrol was a bit of a risk. Even though he was a veteran of the streets of New York and Londinium and a master of close combat, his flight training was barely complete. Olonga might never have seen battle, but he had been the first of Koenig's Rhodesian recruits, so he was actually the best trained of the non-203 members of my company.

It felt strange to be flying without Visha at my side, but it had occurred to me that I had put personal comfort over properly developing my most valuable subordinate. I had long since promoted Visha from adjutant to second-in-command, yet ever since the mess in Colombia I hadn't really allowed her an independent command without me looking over her shoulder. Putting her in charge of training the Abyssinian recruits while I ran border security several hundred kilometers away was my way of showing my confidence in her ability.
That, and I really needed to get my hormones in check before I did something inappropriate. While it was flattering how much she had pouted when I insisted on us working separately, I had to remind myself that Visha was simply a very affectionate girl and that I shouldn't let wishful thinking lead me into ruining an excellent friendship and working relationship.

I snapped myself out of thinking - again! - about Visha. Really, I couldn't wait for this second bout of puberty to be over. Forcefully focusing on where Barrow was waving me over, I said, "What news?"

"Scanner B-126 again, ma'am," replied Barrow. "Four contacts flying along that ravine, same as last time. 2,200 meters." I could feel my lips stretching into a shark's grin as I heard that report. Truly, being predictable on the battlefield is the greatest sin.

Scanner B-126 was one of the many mage detection arrays that I had talked King Tafari into paying for. This particular one had been placed to plug a gap in the coverage of the border with the Ildoan colony of Eritrea. When I had first proposed these arrays, I hadn't really expected to find anything except perhaps the occasional European mage patrol testing the waters by toeing the border. However, within weeks of going operational, several scanners had started reporting repeated incursions from Eritrean Ildoa. One particular platoon had been in the habit of using this particular route that went right by Scanner B-126.

These incursions could not be explained away as mere misunderstandings. Our location was currently a good thirty kilometers on the Abyssinian side of the border.

The mystery behind these incursions could be explained by one who followed the news. When Ildoa had originally allied with the Empire during the war, their then government had promised massive territorial gains and the wealth to alleviate Ildoa's ongoing problems with unemployment and poverty. However, the war had ended with the Empire doing pretty much all the fighting. Ildoa's contribution had amounted to a single disastrous attack across the Alps and having their navy be stalled by the Commonwealth without firing a shot. As a result, when the time came to divide the spoils, they had to be satisfied with a meager chunk of North African coast bordering their Libyan holdings. This naturally upset the voters, and in Ildoa's 1928 general elections, a new party had come to power, one with a highly expansionist foreign policy. Conquest, glory, riches, all that good stuff. The new government had started a large rearmament program and was now spoiling for a fight. It was perhaps not too surprising they'd start eyeing Abyssinia. Their failed attempt to conquer the country forty years ago was something of an embarrassment that their new firebrand of a leader was undoubtedly eager to erase from history.

So far, at least, there had been no reports of major troop movements. These mage incursions were more likely early scouting runs in order to judge the feasibility of an attack. The King had given me discretion on how to handle this, and I had decided that the Ildoans needed a good sharp shock. Better to put them on notice that Abyssinia is far from being easy meat, lest the lack of opposition encourage adventurism.

This brought us to now, and why my patrol was hiding on the ground instead of being up in the air. We wanted the Ildoan scouts to come in deep… deep enough that we could cut off their retreat.

After confirming the location of the patrol, I told Barrow, "Get in touch with Ernest. Tell her to get in position to screen any reinforcements. We're going in."

Ernest, along with Vogel and Staelle, the girl Shaman Abara had recommended, formed the other patrol. It was their job to make sure no other Ildoans showed up to interrupt my chat with these four interlopers.

Going up against four mages only backed by two rookies was a bit of a risk, but I was confident. I might not have the Type 95, but I'd faced worse odds without. Besides, if the Ildoans were anything like the Imperials, none of them would think to check for illusions.

Within seconds, our patrol had reached 4,000 meters, close to the operational ceiling of our orbs. I'd also placed us so we'd have the sun at our backs when facing the Ildoan patrol. Yes, the sun. It was actually around 11 in the morning. Why bother scouting at night into a country without mages when you can fly across in broad daylight and get a good look at the terrain?

Amazingly, we got all the way into position before my magnified vision told me that the Ildoan mages had suddenly stopped flying slowly and instead were climbing rapidly. Either they'd seen us or their own border scanners had picked us up and relayed a warning. No matter the reason, it was far too late.

"Unknown mages! This is Colonel Jennifer Ecks of the Abyssinian Armed Forces!" I shouted on open comms in Albish, using my Abyssinian military rank to let them know who I represented. "You are in violation of Abyssinian airspace! Surrender immediately or be fired upon!" I wish I had someone who spoke Ildoan, but alas that was one language skill currently missing from Silver Lance. Becker spoke it, but he was still in the Congo, working for Cold Steel. Hopefully, my tone was enough to convey my message. Just in case, I repeated myself in Francois.

The second one did the trick, and a voice came back. "This is Lt. Jilani, we are sorry for the error in navigation, we shall be leaving imme - "

"Tell it to the judge!" I barked back. "Now surrender or be fired upon!" No way was I letting them simply waltz back. No country would permit such a blatant border incursion to happen unopposed, not unless they wanted to be thought of as weak.

The Ildoans did not slow down or give any sign of submission. Instead they angled themselves to race for the border. Disappointing but not unexpected. I led my own patrol on an intercept course.

"Back off," the Ildoan lieutenant growled. "We have you outnumbered, and we are just going to leave. No one has to get hurt."

"Unless I see you heading for the ground, someone is definitely going to get hurt," I replied. "Surrender. Now."

Their only response was an adjustment to their course. Now they were angling to meet us head on, clearly planning to blast past us with numbers. My world slowed down as I poured on the reflex enhancement, and sped ahead of my companions.

As I expected, they took the bait. All four of their guns immediately started tracking me. Once the distance closed to eight hundred meters, all four fired a volley of homing-explosive spells, the bread-and-butter of mage combat.

Now, homing spells are not by any means guaranteed hits. At the speeds involved, they allow for a slight bit of course-correction, and that's about it. It's why both the Francois, and apparently the Ildoans relied on volley fire. By saturating a target's location with homing spells, they can usually generate a hit against a moving target.

Unless, as in my case, the target has vision keen enough to see which way their guns are pointing and reflexes fast enough to make full use of the half a second the bullets take to travel the distance.

The first volley missed when I applied thrust straight up, suddenly gaining ten meters in height while still maintaining my forward momentum.

The second volley exploded off to my left as I jinked to the right.

The third volley was less well placed as they tried to anticipate my maneuvering. A quick stop- and-reverse was enough to throw off their aim.

Their fourth volley was interrupted by a bit of volley fire from my own side, as two shots struck their radio operator. The first explosive shattered his shield, and the second sent his broken body spiraling out of the sky.

The Ildoans' surprise was understandable. After all, Olonga and Barrow were still over two hundred meters behind me, and neither had their weapons ready. Or rather, the illusions of them were. In the meantime, my two companions had snuck in much closer under camouflage, and landed a flawless first strike.
With the odds now even, I breathed a sigh of relief as I dismissed the illusion and shunted the power to my shield spell. Dodging explosive spells without the benefit of a shield had only been practical because we were still over half a kilometer from each other. Being able to cast shields and illusions at the same time was a luxury I'd left behind with the Type 97.

I could tell the Ildoans were badly shaken by my little sleight of hand. It really was amazing how many combat mages ignored the utility of illusions. It was probably because they didn't want to leave behind the safety of shields. I could understand the sentiment - I too felt much safer inside a bubble capable of stopping light artillery. But as Sun Tzu said, all war is deception, and ignoring the possibility just opens you up to being deceived in turn.

With no more need for tricks, my patrol reformed ranks and charged forward, exchanging shots with the Ildoans. The enemy patrol's training wasn't terrible, but it was clear no one had taught them proper aerial maneuvering. My team's full use of all three dimensions threw them off their game, and by the time the range reached two hundred meters another enemy had bit the dust.

Not that their efforts had been entirely futile. They managed to land some glancing hits, and Olonga may well have died if I hadn't interposed myself. That had certainly stressed my M27, but not beyond its capacity.

Now outnumbered, the Lieutenant and his surviving flight member began clawing their way towards the border. I let them, rather than try to fight desperate men. For a moment they must have thought they were going to get out. Then they came to a dead halt. I knew what they had seen - Ernest's team, standing between them and escape.

At that point, Lieutenant Jilani realized the same thing I had. Even if there were other Ildoan mages in Eritrea, they wouldn't be able to reinforce him before he was blown out of the sky. And even if there were some of his fellows close by, he wasn't going to be able to contact them without a radio operator.

Formally accepting his surrender took but a minute. By that evening, I was back in Addis Ababa, this time with two captured mages to prove that Ildoa had been violating Abyssinia's sovereignty.

King Tafari definitely looked surprised when he heard my report. I guess he was so used to having European mages running roughshod over his forces that actually having some captive was taking some getting used to.

He still seemed puzzled by what to do with them when I left. Well, not my concern. I was no longer Boris, I was Jennifer Ecks, and politics was not my bailiwick.

Instead, I headed over to the training grounds to let Visha know I was back. She greeted me with her usual exuberance. She also tried to express her feelings using the orbless empathic communication spell we'd discovered so long ago, but it quickly became clear to me she was no closer to mastering it than I was. Some of the emotional data was badly garbled, leaving me feeling all hot and tingly but no closer to understanding what she had been trying to convey.

I was still happy to see her, and the temptation was strong to spend a few days enjoying her company. Still, I had a job to do, and I couldn't afford to lollygag. Until the first generation of Abyssinian mages were ready for combat, Silver Lance was the only thing keeping the Abyssinian sky safe.

October 17, 1930, Zueri, Waldstatten Confederacy

Anton Jaffe had been a banker since he turned twenty, over fifteen years ago. In that time he had heard every single Merchant of Venice joke from tasteless friends and not-so-clever rivals, and had long since learned to ignore the idiots.

Unlike Shakespeare's Shylock he lent no money himself. Rather, he was a confidential account manager for the Credit de Confederation, one of the Waldstatten Confederacy's largest and most prestigious financial service providers. Or, as crude people would put it, a very fancy bank.

As his title suggested, a confidential account manager saw to the needs of those clients who wanted to remain confidential. It was a post of considerable trust, and it was a testament to Anton's excellence that he had been entrusted with the title after a mere eight years of flawless service.

He managed dozens of accounts on a day to day basis and so he usually didn't remember individual accounts, unless they did something to stand out. Something like, for example, incurring some of the highest service fees charged to a single account relative to its size.

The thing about confidential banking, the kind where the customer would only ever be known by an account number and a password, is that the tighter you want your security, the more inconvenient it becomes to access your money. At the highest levels of security, money would only ever be released if the proper codes were given in person at a specific branch of the bank.

If, on the other hand, you wanted both security and accessibility? That's when things got expensive, with entire books' worth of codes, countersigns, and routing numbers. And if you wanted access to your money from places which simply didn't accept wire transfers, like say in Central Africa? Sending a trusted courier on a weeks-long journey with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist was not cheap.

The thing was, confidential accounts like this one were usually used for storing money, often away from the prying eyes of the tax collector. It was unusual to see this much back-and-forth activity. Anton had never laid eyes on Ms. Jasmine Smith, but his instincts told him this was a person who liked to see her money put to work - and judging by the inflows, someone who had an eye for good returns on investment.

So when instructions came to almost empty the entire account and send it all to the Congo? Anton decided to take a bit of a risk. When he sent the courier with his briefcase full of banknotes, he also included an offer to extend a line of credit to the tune of a million francs.

The offer was accepted. The credit was used. And the bank started charging interest at 3% a month. When a year went by with not a single missed payment, Anton received a quiet word of commendation from his immediate superior.

Now though, things were getting interesting. Some months back the account had seen a massive inflow of cash. All loans were squared, all dues paid, several purchases made, and at the end of it, the customer for the first time chose to make use of the bank's mutual investment funds. A corpus of ten million francs, all available to the bank to invest on her behalf.

Ten million francs was hardly a big deal to the Credit de Confederation. It was, however, big enough that Anton's boss' boss had sent him a commendation. Buoyed by this accolade, Anton decided to spread the good cheer. In short order he had the paperwork ready to increase the account holder's credit limit to three million francs at only 2.6% monthly interest, as well as pre-approve her for a loan of up to fifteen million at 12.5% per annum.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the letter to convey this to his client when the secretary informed him that someone wished to speak to him, and regarding the very account number that had been on his mind recently.

Anton could confess to some mild excitement as he made his way to the meeting. Certainly, the pretty and stern looking young brunette looked like the sort to represent the mysterious Ms. Smith. Considerable, then, was his disappointment when she identified herself as a member of Interpol.

Anton had heard from his colleagues about visits such as these. They were rare, because the police knew better than to approach them with anything short of ironclad evidence of wrongdoing, which the very nature of a numbered account made doubly difficult to prove. This would be the first time he had heard of Interpol approaching this bank, though, and he wondered if this international force had actually managed to meet the evidentiary criteria needed to get access to his customer's information.

It turned out they hadn't. Instead what the young Ms. Sioux had, was a whole lot of bluster and ill-defined threats. Anton wasn't too upset though. It was his first occasion to refuse cooperation with law enforcement, and so he found himself enjoying the experience for the novelty value.

No, he couldn't give access to anything about this customer until certain criteria are met.

No, Waldstatten being the host country of Interpol made absolutely no difference.

Yes, it would be sad if America and the Empire were to make this bank persona non grata. No, that's still not going to get you your information.

The only time anything even came close to cracking Anton's composure was when Sioux revealed that the account was suspected of being operated by no less than Tanya von Degurechaff, the Devil of the Rhine herself.

Anton had contemplated this new information for a moment, then shrugged and said that it didn't change a thing. The law was the law, and it was high time Interpol left instead of wasting everyone's time.

Eventually he got back to his office. While he'd done his best to shrug it off, he couldn't help but consider if the Devil of the Rhine really was Jasmine Smith. Sitting at his desk, he spent a while contemplating what he knew about Tanya von Degurechaff, and comparing it to what he knew of Jasmine Smith. After some deliberation he came to a decision. Tearing up the letter he'd written, he started writing a new one. Just in case there was something to Interpol's suspicion… Perhaps a credit limit of five million francs would be more appropriate.

"I warned you, Miss Sioux," came the smug words from Interpol's local representative. "We here in Waldstatten take our laws very seriously. We will certainly continue to gather evidence in the hopes of conclusively linking that account to criminal activity. But until then, there is no chance the banks will compromise their reputation for confidentiality."

Mary's heated response was cut off by Paquet. "So you have said. We thank you for your time. Now, it is a fine day, and my colleague and I will take a little walk to clear our heads."

Mary scowled at her partner for this trip, but didn't say anything. Paquet too seemed willing to keep the silence until several minutes into their walk. "Do not feel too upset, mademoiselle. It was a long shot to begin with that these bankers would see reason. After all, their fortunes were built on being unreasonable about their customers' confidentiality. At least this journey was not entirely a waste of time."

"You found anything?"

"Straws in the wind. The CEO of Velvet Iron, for example, visited the country four years ago, around the time the company was first being established."

Mary huffed. Tiny bits and pieces were all they got these days.
"On the other hand, I hear those we left behind in Berun are having a bit more luck tracing the money in the other direction. Oh, and Jennifer Ecks has resurfaced."

"What?!"

"Oh yes," Paquet mused, tugging at his moustache. "The confirmation came this morning. I hope you will forgive me for holding on to it till now, but I thought you would need the good news after your meeting with the bank. Jennifer Ecks has been identified as acting as a military adviser to the newly crowned Emperor of Abyssinia."

"Abyssinia? Damn it! Can we go after her?"

"I'm afraid not. As you may have surmised, the African nation's relations with Europe are mostly contentious. Assuming Miss Ecks maintains her usual standards, I very much doubt the Emperor will be inclined to part with her services. Either way, it is now a diplomatic matter. The best we can do is focus on what the rest of our team found in Berun."

November 5, 1930, Berun, Chancellor's Office

"Have you seen the latest that Interpol turned up?" muttered Zettour as he went through his reports. "Some mysterious party in Albion, the Crown Prince of our Empire, and unknowns from the US have all purchased large amounts of stock in Cold Steel, and all going to considerable length to conceal their identities during the purchase. Purchases that were made directly from one private major shareholder. Just what is going on there?" The Chancellor leaned back to tap his clean-shaven jaw and narrowed his eyes at the table.

"Fascinating," rumbled Rudersdorf, mustache twitching in annoyance and chair creaking beneath his bulk as he shifted forward to glare at his old friend. "Now quit dodging the question. What are you going to do about this Ecks person? Who we all suspect to be Degurechaff? The Ildoans are screaming about her whittling away at their mages. The Albish are nervous about her growing influence with the Emperor of Abyssinia. And the Francois - the Francois! - are actually appreciative of how she's helped expand their influence in the country. The Kaiser is raring to start another war by ordering the 207th into Abyssinia! So now what?"

"That is indeed the question, is it not? You know, Tirpitz was in here the other day. He seems to think Degurechaff is drawing a bit too much attention and I should order her to lay low."

"And will you? Order her to lay low?"

"If I thought for a minute that she'd listen to any order from anyone in Berun," came Zettour's dry response.

Rudersdorf huffed. "Your deception is coming home to roost my friend. Do we now admit you have long since lost control over her?"

"Sometimes I wonder how much control we ever really had over her. No my friend, you do not control someone like her. You give her an objective worthy of her attention, then stand out of her way," mused the Chancellor as he started pacing the room, his thin frame and grey hair giving him the air of an aging wolf. "Degurechaff seems to be operating almost openly as a mercenary now. She seems to feel she has enough aerial mages under her banner to fight off or evade capture attempts."

"Yes?" agreed Rudersdorf doubtfully.

"So what does any mercenary want, but a big juicy contract with an employer powerful enough to shelter her? And which of our friends is in desperate need of a modernized mage force to help stabilize things, and rich enough to make it worth even Degurechaff's while?"

Rudersdorf blinked and went over what few nations could be called the Empire's 'friends'. Then his eyes widened. "You don't mean the Turkmen Empire!"

"Indeed I do. Incessant Albish and American meddling has left their empire on the verge of collapse, and they are now our biggest source of oil since the Kaiser refuses to lift his trade embargo against the Americans. We need to keep a friendly government in power there - or at least one willing to take our money. And since they are flush with cash, they can offer enough to make it worth Degurechaff's while. We can even throw in a little bit on top to make sure."

"And the fact that the current government is closely tied with their religious fanatics? Or that their state religion has very firm views on a woman's place in society?"

"Well, it's not like we're asking Degurechaff to settle down there or anything. Just stay long enough to whip their mage corps into shape. We'll even dangle the new Standard Type 30 in front of her. That ought to get her attention."

Rudersdorf winced. "To give up our latest single-core design…"

"A small price to pay to put her out of harm's way," replied Zettour firmly. "I even have the perfect man in mind to accompany the Turkmen representative in presenting our offer to her. I believe Brigadier Lergen can take a few weeks' leave without drastically affecting things in the Congo."

"Lergen? But his opinion of Degurechaff almost matches the Republic's!"

"And yet, for whatever reason, he seems to have a knack for earning her trust. Let's hope he can once more work his charm."
"You are gambling, my friend."

"In this world of confusion, gambles are all we have left."

"Indeed. And speaking of orbs, any news on Schugel?"

"No." For the first time, the Chancellor's face showed genuine anger. "That lunatic has disappeared with all his research notes. At least some of his test subjects are showing signs of recovery… the ones that are still alive."

"How could the Kaiser let him get away with this… madness?!"

"I don't think anyone realized exactly what he was doing. We'll put out discreet warnings. Hopefully no one will be so desperate as to give him shelter once they hear of what he has done."

"Hopefully."

The two friends spent a long time in the darkening office, pondering on the costs of failure.