The Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Eighteen- Northern Planning
15/11/1924/ Berun, Germanic Empire / Abwehr Office, Interrogation Room / 12:34
Vice-Admiral Fredrich Canaris was a pragmatic man above all else.
If a challenge was too difficult: retreat and approach from a different angle. If one of his secretaries grew cumbersome or with child: remove and disavow. If she grew too unwieldy to settle with blackmail or manipulation: silence her. When the Supreme High Command asked for results: beat old expectations but avoid outpacing his abilities.
From behind the one-way mirror in the observation room, recording the interrogation he was reminded of the principle applied to his subordinates. In particular, the young lieutenant currently retrieving information from a prisoner. He could feel her body with his eyes while he paused to drink his expensive coffee – neither imported bean nor women were too grand for his position. Large breasts, and posterior under an officer's uniform, a mop of blond hair tied off with a ponytail, a cute innocent face. Her figure was one he could – and often did – lose himself in.
She was Lieutenant Ruth von Hans, daughter of General Mortiz-Paul, commander of the Western Theatre. A healthy donative from the paternal figure and the Abwehr's influence kept her stationed in the capital. She was worth keeping around for her looks, conveniently, her skills in interrogation were matched by her looks and combat capabilities.
Ruth stood in front of the prisoner tied to a metal chair in the centre of the soundproof room. Imperial discipline reflected in her posture contrasted with a lighter personality breaking through in an adorable smile as she tenderly stroked the shoulder of the hunched shivering figure.
Canaris suspected he could get away with pursuing a general's daughter. It was riskier than picking from the litter of urban poor girls that lacked alternatives for high wage work but not impossible. Despite the inconvenience, it might cause — the blond might have been worth it. However, he was a pragmatic man above all else.
That girl was unique. Powerful, independent, slightly ditzy but not a person that could be contained. Ruth was naïve, he could keep her happy with a play of romance and expensive trinkets. His rewards had to be docile and easily manipulated. He could control and teach her as director of the Abwehr but would certainly lose it in the bedroom.
Above all other rational reasons for not extracting a sexual encounter — Ruth von Hans scared him.
The Muscovite agent whimpered out the same feeble defence. He was an immigrant, innocent, not an embedded agent. All lies and Canaris knew it. Ruth might have known it too; it was hard to figure out what that thing thought. She behaved like an obedient dog and waited for her master's signal, picking up the phone mounted on the wall when he put the receiver to his mouth.
"I think he's lying Vice-Admiral." Ruth whispered into her mouthpiece.
"I agree." Canaris stifled a groan from within. He needed something credible on the Albion and this Communist was his remaining option before he had to go with the critical option provided by the crown prince.
"Requesting permission to get Caridea?" Ruth squeezed with excitement, ignorant to the larger game she took part in. The request and manner she asked sent a shiver down Canaris' spine.
"Not yet Lieutenant. Proceed onto step twenty of the procedure."
"Yes sir."
Ruth went behind the prisoner, his head locked in one arm and painfully twisted back against her torso. Her free hand tightly gripped the prisoner's left arm to start the process. A smile remained on Ruth's face as she muffled the screams of the scared prisoner.
A secondary reason Canaris knew Ruth was off-limits for a reward was the expertness in mana-based torture methods. Unseen, nearly untraceable, a new method that was without counter-training and consequently highly effective. The Muscovite screamed a whimpered cry when the particles within his body began to change. Regardless of previous experience, a mage inexperienced in this practice would likely kill the recipient by boiling their blood. Undoubtably dangerous and possibly unethical but more effective than traditional beatings or threats. Worth it alone for the psychological knowledge that their life was balanced on a knife's edge. It always made them talk, no matter how long it took.
Ruth pulled on the man's head to add to the pain. Her smile of satisfaction on her pretty face made Canaris look away for the remainder of the procedure. They had gradually increased the temperature, but her expression remained the same since they started that morning. Ruth knew when to stop just before she killed the prisoner — if she would do such was speculative.
This time, like every time, Ruth cut off her mana supply in time and the prisoner fell limp. He gasped for air crying out the name of a woman that was most likely a wife back east.
Ruth patted his head of hair as the crying overwhelmed the room. A strange girl indeed. Canaris turned on the microphone and asked the same question that had been on his lips since the morning. "What was your mission on the Commonwealth warship?"
"Dacia!" The spy heaved another fit as Ruth continued to play with his hair. "I was sent to Dacia to gather information for the Federation."
"What information were you sent to gather?" The prisoner paused, panted heavily until Ruth lifted his thin frame out of the chair by his scalp. The same question came from her lips.
"Military leaks! Military leaks! The Central Committee want to know what your puppet kingdom has on the Federation's military. I was looking for a manifesto of any kind on the Commonwealth's ship. When I got off your rats cornered me and brought me to this hell."
Canaris rubbed his brow, curse words muttered under his breath as he made the appropriate notes. He believed the starved, beaten, nearly cooked man — that was the problem. He needed something on the Commonwealth more tangible than an opinion piece. This spy they caught under the nose of those foreigners had multiple hopes fixated on him. Ruth was unsure of the stakes and pressed onward with the routine of the interrogation.
"The Federation would not send an operative for reconnaissance. What were you hoping to find in Dacia?"
"I can't! I'm sorry." The man cried, likely from both his body and emotions to those back home. "They'll kill my family. They will know, they always know! I'm sorry."
Ruth pulled harder until clumps of hair came out in tune with further repetitive screaming. It was unlikely the prisoner would survive a day outside of the Abwehr anyways, Canaris saw no harm in letting the girl run wild. He called the phone to give the Lieutenant her permission to skip to the final step: disposal.
"Lieutenant." Ruth looked at him through the one-way mirror. "Go get Caridea."
Ruth squealed in excitement for the permission to fetch her ironically named mutt. These modern aristocrats got everything they asked for.
Canaris squeezed his wrinkled face in the new silence, bar the whimpering Muscovite. He did it again, he place too much faith on a single, unreliable, source. He was certain he would get something on the Commonwealth from a source he can abuse freely. He would have to move on to blackmailing Rachel Stuart with her old photos. The possibilities of the new plan failed to make up for his disappointment but was a comfortable reminder. He could get something on naval routes or their trade doctrine. Then, he could have his way with her. After cataloguing the collection, he would need to visit his secretary after hours again.
It was all for the Empire. He was just taking what he was owed.
Canaris waited until the crazed woman came back with a Beauceron dog half her size on a leash. A violent breed — dog or woman — could get out the desired answers.
Ruth kept the creature back as it violently bit at the seated balding man. Her joyous question shouted over the dog's bark. "What was your objective?"
"I was tasked to investigate our planes in Dacia. Marshal Tóth requested assistance from the Federation. We gave them aerial support during the battle for the capital."
Ruth asked for a name. Canaris already had a vague idea of what the prisoner spoke of but needed conformation for the record. The reluctance was swiftly punished by Ruth loosening the reigns of her dog.
The canine bit into the prisoner's leg, drawing out blood and further screaming. He rapidly yelled as the taste of blood prompted the dog to dig in further.
"The 566th! The 566th Night Bomber Regiment! Lieutenant Colonel Bershuninski leads the unit!" The dog was pulled back when the information was relinquished. A gory wound left below the knee leaking the same blood that coated the growling dog's teeth. It bled as the Muscovite clarified they were responsible for the small incident the Imperial army and Commonwealth air force recorded.
They had a name, unconfirmed and practically useless considering the secrecy of the Federation. At least it was something Canaris could promote to the kleptocrats that ran this country. If that was all they could gather from the prisoner, then he was of no use. He had no compromised agents in the east and had no need to offer a spy trade. So there was no need to keep the dead man alive for another day.
Canaris gathered his thoughts for a moment, the cutely named mutt barked in the back of his mind. Was he to be concerned or distraught at the situation or emboldened to carve a new path? Would that new path bring the Empire out of the reach of the Commonwealth or merely delay them?
This setback had to be downplayed for the Abwehr to remain prestigious. This was a dead end, not a total rout. He refused to admit defeat this quickly, there was too much on the line and a prize-worthy of the struggle.
Canaris picked up the phone again. Lieutenant Hans immediately calmed her dog to sit in place. Placated instantly from a violent rage into a low growl that stared at its next meal. No matter what he could say against his best interrogator, whether she be simple-minded or frightening; she was remarkable in training her dog.
"Is it time for Caridea to play?" She smiled at him through the mirror. Canaris felt intimidated into permitting what he was about to say. The girl knew her place, but it frightened him to admit this might be the only human to make him flinch.
"We're done here. You know where the evidence camera is. Please remember to clean him up before you leave."
Ruth nodded, hung up the phone pointed at the prisoner. The dog instantly pounced and began to bite deep into the man's neck. It was a scene Canaris had no interest in viewing. The screams of a wounded man were enough. He had a letter to draft, a plan to finalise, and an evil smile to forget.
16/11/1924 / Port Arnelus, Legadonia Entente Alliance/ Mooring Dock / 09:30
Brigadier Oscar Donahue uncrossed his arms as he watched the ships docking in the harbour. The port was busy with both working men and civilians boarding transports as those with enough wealth sought to flee the war-torn country. His small section had the rare gift of moderate privacy, far away from the crowd of women and children destined for the Unified States.
His boat however was a guild merchant ship, loaded with anything permitted by international law instead of equipment for the war. Some of his men waited in the parking area with their few vehicles that would take their supplies back to headquarters. Although he had an affection for them, this was a task he wanted to do alone.
A moment alone with salty air decreased his anxieties without the need of his flask. He hoped the boat had all the items he requested for the brigade, especially if they were to weather an assault from the Empire. He frowned as he watched a man descend from the boat, certain that he would ruin his day. It would not be the first time the old man had failed to serve his purpose.
"Mr. John." Donahue's posture offered no hand to shake or salute. It was unnecessary to do either for the spy-diplomat hybrid.
"It's Captain actually, Brigadier Donahue, this is my vessel after all." Mr. John tipped his top hat with a sly grin on his face. His other hand gripped a large briefcase, too large for mere papers.
"New cover?"
"Of course not, it is natural to frequently change careers in times of war. Consul Arcand wants to stockpile as much equipment as possible before the years out."
"More quotas are nothing new." Donahue was already tired of this exchange. Mr. John meanwhile could not be happier, if most likely forced.
"They are stricter than last year but when we consider the circumstance I can hardly blame him."
The small talk was painful. It bred no progress and was a fruitless formality that ate up Donahue's valued time. He decided to cut to the matter at hand. "Captain. Have yo-" A third party joined their conversation, long hair under his top hat. a younger face for the business and a scowl designed to intimidate conversation partners.
"Brigadier Donahue, have you met Mr. Cain? A magic-user such as yourself and a newer player to this game we all play."
"That game being seafaring?"
"You seem to catch on quickly, sir." The fresh blood did not change his expression and neither did Donahue. Good. He had better things to do than befriend spies. Mr. John was the only one who put on the front of happiness.
"Did you manage to bring the snow ploughs and lorries for my unit?"
"About that." Mr. John smirked, either humbled or amused. He looked to his side to dismiss his fellow spy. "Mr. Cain. Why don't you find the harbour master and see how much coal and oil they will let us bring home?"
"And when it isn't enough, I'll give him a display of the Unitary's mage power." Mr. Cain did something that surprised Donahue, he grinned. It was the same happiness a shark might have when it smelled blood. He might not be threatened but it was the same appearance one of his subordinates would have when they were ready to loot, drink, or set a building alight. If it helped Mr. Cain work then there was no point in assigning judgment or further thought. Mr. John picked up on the sinister undertone and attempted to curtail his long-haired companion.
"Just don't hurt anyone this time. We're staying in port for some time, I'm not having you cause another uproar." At that, the man walked away without a formality or mark of respect.
"What happened this time Mr. John?" Donahue asked once the young man was out of earshot, no effort was put in to hide the frustration in his voice.
"Some of our ships were intercepted by the Empire, the cargo confiscated. The ships were under different flags so there is no link back to the Unitary – according to the law."
"Lucky for everyone except my Brigade?" The infantry could not adequately respond to the enemy if they had to move on foot.
"Maybe the mages can carry the foot soldiers. So long as they aren't afraid of heights." Mr. John chuckled at his joke with no care for his failure.
This was not the first time the spy had botched a mission for the 44th. The nature of their operations required secrecy and smuggling was second nature. Mistakes could be tolerated in small quantities; animals were never free of them no matter how well trained. Mr. John had a habit of proving how poorly trained he was. Daqin, Afrika, and Dacia had missing equipment, it forced them to steal from civilians or their "allies" for luxuries and basics. If Mr. John was intentionally doing it or incompetent remained a mystery.
"The Empire is nominally aware our presence goes Beyond delivering the ideals of non-intervention and Red Cross humanitarian facilities. It is better they stop the ships than blow them out of the water, these are difficult times after all."
Donahue was tempted to point out that the increased risk meant John had to work harder. However, the useless blathering that it would bring outweighed the satisfaction he would gain. "No matter, we have enough mages in the brigade. We can scavenge some trucks for necessities and keep the infantry stationary if we need to."
"See, it all works out in the end." Donahue noticed Mr. John force his smile to grow. If the old man had something to say he refused to let it pass his lips. What did come was an unsolicited comment on the military situation. "I'm sure the Entente will survive the Imperials without your ground unit's direct involvement. Your leadership in the air matches your reputation Brigadier, I am certain the situation will improve one way or another."
Mr. John continued his performance of the cheerful friend. Able to shift the topic before he had to acknowledge his failures..
"I received information about your escapade at the capital. I almost thought you didn't have it in you to become a knight in shining armour."
"You mean the girl?"
"I mean the three soldiers you killed and the political mess you left for me to untangle. I know it is none of my business but surely you could have done better. Why not get the kid out and have your men pay them a visit in a more secluded area?"
The use of the word "men" triggered something within Donahue.
"You're right John, it is not your business. They deserved it and I would do it again. People who do that sort of thing are not even human." Donahue took a deep breath, the smell of salt water gradually returned as he calmed. "I fired a warning shot and they continued to resist. That is all I have to say."
"Yes, a warning shot, I heard." My John continued to force his smile. "You are resourceful as always."
For a spy, Mr. John lacked subtly. At least he was smart enough to keep those opinions veiled
"This came through for you Brigadier." Mr. John handed the briefcase to him. Donahue hoisted it to chest level and opened it. A disassembled submachine gun was inside the padded box.
"New model from the Waldstätte Confederacy. The SIG MKMO. The Vatican guards are using it too from what I hear. His Holiness must be ready for the war to reach Ildola."
"It must have cost a pretty penny."
"Quite a pretty one. Consider it a gift. I have noticed the 44th has a record of eating up official resources so try to make it last. We can never tell when you will need a new weapons shipment."
"How considerate of you John." Donahue closed the case and lazily maintained eye contact with the spy, dedicated to the inevitable end of this exchange.
"These things happen in the military; supplies get used so quickly as they appear it's funny. I was working with the Republic while you and your boys were down south in Dacia. When I got back to Londinium I noticed some of our chemical weapons were missing. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you Oscar?"
Mr. John's smiled innocently, the leech. He knew the rules of the game they played as well as the rest of them. Donahue had to grit his teeth for his answer; a fight to remain calm while images of that Dacian boy he shot and the wreathing experiments in the tents returned to his mind. It was a job, to test equipment and remove useless vermin, there was nothing else to it.
"Sorry Johnny, I haven't the slightest clue. You should ask Robert if you want answers."
"Still on first name bases with the Consul I see, how enviable. Mr. Cain asked me if you really were the "Consul's pet" when we were on the boat. I can't say I approve of the nickname, but I understand the sentiment." Mr. John's attempt to infuriate him nearly worked, Donahue fought to keep his tongue in line as the degradation continued. "You should ask him for a deployment in a warmer climate."
"My job is here, and I will do it until it is complete, or I am ordered to stop. I think we should all do the same."
"I respect the work ethic, but let's not pretend Legadonia is worth anything without foreign support." Donahue suspected Mr. John was fully aware he had contradicted himself about the Scandinavian army. At least their engagement was finally over.
"I must be off Brigadier. I hope the gun works well against targets when they shoot back." Mr. John tipped his hat once more and strolled away, a gleeful hum followed him away.
Donahue contemplated the advice as he marched back to his men. What did John mean? The old man might have been inept at smuggling, but he was not without intelligence or wit. Oscar Donahue was a soldier and mage; hence violence was always in his profession.
Donahue paused in his tracks; the case's weight drastically increased to impossible proportions at the realisation. Dacia. Mr. John had mocked the recent secret mission into the Balkans. The smell of smoke and strong chemicals returned, and sulfur mixed with blood followed soon after. So much blood. That spy had no right, it was none of his business. Donahue gritted his teeth; he cursed the bloody spy as he took a swig from his flask.
Whisky: the best friend a man could ask for. It would heal his pride after Mr. John insulted his work ethic. That was all it was, just a workplace spat, and the spy wanted to aggrandize himself by insulting others.
It was a waste of effort to construct it any other way.
Donahue walked back to his men and their vehicles with a wonderful burn in his throat. Major Hackenthorn was in the open to greet him before they were reintegrated with the group. "Sir."
"Major. We'll have to rely on mages for the foreseeable future. I trust we can manage that between the two of us."
"Of course. But sir." Hackenthorn stepped in front of Donahue to prevent him from walking further. "That girl from Stockholm, she's here sir."
Donahue had to process the information, then he had to erase the scared face she made as he burned that creature alive. He should have left her alone in the alley. "Why?"
"There isn't a point where she's not talking sir. Her dad is shipping her and the wife off to the Americas. She wants to see you."
Donahue could ask the same question again. What business did a little girl have with him? He thanked his informal second in command and braced himself for another annoying child to act unprofessionally. One of their lorries was turned into an impromptu stage for an accordion player to guide the men in tune to the Brigade's unofficial anthem. The remainder moved in a circle with the vocals freely shouted in between sips from flasks.
We are the men of the Beneficiarius. Hiya ho ho!
Glory-comes for us men who take-it. Hiya ho ho!
Take a step. Fix-bayonets. Hey! Into-the-battle-lines we will go.
Take a step. Fix bayonets. Into-the-Devils-house we will go. Hiya ho ho!
In the centre was Mary Sue, unaware of the words but she mimed to the best of her abilities. The bowler hat Hackenthorn kept from the Dacian mayor was loosely worn on her scalp, several sizes too large. Donahue knew he could be brutish, but a happy child was admittedly pleasant to witness.
"Mr. Donahue!" Young Mary shouted when she saw him. Some of the men chuckled at their leader's name being used in such a manner. She ran up to him before he could react, a big smile and blue eyes underneath her borrowed hat.
"Hello, kid." Donahue looked down at her, he silently contemplated if this child was a preferable alternative to Mr. John. She hastily explained why she was here in two different ways and that her papa trusted the Beneficiarius enough to let his unsupervised daughter mingle with the men she recognised in three different ways. As questionable as that might be, everyone appeared pleased to have her around. Where Mary lacked clarity she also was without insults or crude evaluations. She was more excited to tell him about the farm in Arkansas she would live with her grandparents. At least she was not asking about an imaginary wife again; he did not want to think about that ever again.
Donahue pretended to listen to the kid as he retreated into his mind. She followed him to his horse and continued as he started to pat the animal's neck. It would appear Mr. Sue took his words about not all civilians surviving the war to heart. Good for them. That was two more farmhands to plough the fields and create foodstuffs for the human race. The hard work might put some strength into Mary so she could prevent a repeat of that regrettable circumstance.
"Mr. Donahue. What's that?" He looked down, she pointed at his oversized briefcase.
The weapon bestowed onto him by that pest of a spy. He had no use for a constant reminder of a man he loathed, much less one that might technically save his life. Then he would have to face Mr. John, hat in hand to thank him for being so kind as to gift him an expensive toy. There was a better way to be rid of it completely, without the risk of ever hoping it got lost somewhere among the Brigade's officers. It would also remove the kid from his presence to where he would never see her again.
"Let me show you, kid." He bent down and opened the case for Mary to see. Her eyes did not light up until he explained it was a machine gun, a rapid-fire weapon. "Why don't you go give it to your father? He can use it to protect you and your country. Call it an early Christmas gift?"
"Really?" Mary's eyes lit up instantly. The brigade men noticed and commented amongst themselves. Mary picked up random pieces of the gun and ask for an explanation of its function. It quickly became tedious but if it eventually got rid of the child he would stomach it. Her last question pertained to the large body of the weapon, a finely crafted piece of wood that brought out an old memory he assumed would never reappear for as long as he lived. Mary's genuine passion and curiosity had unlocked old forgotten memories of the past.
"Why don't we make it special, have it engrained with his initials. How does that sound kid?" Mary usurpingly agreed immediately with the enthusiasm only a child could maintain. Donahue produced his knife and began work on the wooden front of the receiver. Mary stood over his shoulder as he worked with the wood in his lap, the questions expectedly turned to how he knew what to do. The sliver of truth he told was it is an old trade he once knew. It had been years since he used the skill, but his old teacher was proficient, he could never forget a word or lesson from her if he tried. How often he did.
After a bit of time, borrowed equipment from his dancing men and some whisky to steady his hand, the gun was branded with its new owner. It would only need varnish to set it, but it would. Forever someone else's problem and another memory Donahue did not need to suppress. For what it was worth, the annoying child had brought him back to the better days of the past, if only for a few minutes.
He closed the case for a final time and placed it beside Mary. "Here you go, kid. Now, run along and give it to your dad before the boat leaves. Try not to get seasick on the trip."
"Yes Mr. Donahue, thank you, thank you so much."
She tried to hug him; her fingertips barely touched him before he firmly pushed her off. He was not willing to entertain that aspect of the girl's personality or emasculate himself in front of his soldiers. Mary thanked him again before trying to take the briefcase away; the size and weight made it an arduous task to witness. Donahue sighed; his eyes rolled back into their sockets. He took the case from her and led the way. "Come on kid, Let's go see dear old dad."
Mary skipped after him, singing praise and thanks as he called out for Hackenthorn to maintain order for a moment longer. She was a nice kid, at least he would be rid of her after this, and she would be safe from lustful scum on her grandparent's farm.
16/11/1924 / Norden Territory, Germanic Empire / Northern Army Headquarters, Officer Waiting Room / 12:30
Major Tanya Degurechaff refused to believe the Empire's production capabilities and scores of human intelligence had run out. They had not come to the present point of military and economic hegemon with mere luck. The Empire, and more importantly, herself had not come this far and gained so much only to lose it due to the ineptitude of the Northern General Staff.
General Rudersdorf had asked her to attend the meeting of the Northern Army's planned winter offensive. The event with the controversial Northern Department had concluded in a fit of anger. Admittedly, her smug reassurance might have gone overboard. Her plan was to be a rule-abiding soldier that would ideally exempt her from criticism of being overly cautious. They could whine but would immediately run against the defence of not preserving the Empire's human resources. If they saw her in a negative light, they would likely locate her in the rear and exempt her from the winter campaign.
If she was uncharacteristically lucky, a desk job in Berun would only be a slip of paper and a train ride away.
What she did was entice the hairy beast that was Chief of Staff for the Northern Army Lieutenant General Schreise to shout "shut the hell up" at her for being a "little brat." It was an embarrassing exchange that did nothing to improve her reputation. The Northern Command was still the runt of the litter, and she was still stationed at the front.
Now she was left to pace the length of the room. General Rudersdorf and Lieutenant Colonel Rerugen on one side while the General sucked a cigar from an armchair. A map of Scandinavia on an easel overlooked the post-conference interaction.
"You look troubled, Major. Please, speak your mind." Rudersdorf said as Tanya continued her march around the room.
"It is inappropriate for a subordinate to comment on her superiors." 'When in front of those superior's colleagues' was left silent on her tongue. She could never trust those with such power over her on their word alone.
"Then what about the discussion by those superiors?"
"I stand with my analysis of pulling back the line for a spring offensive. The three weeks of stockpiled supplies are insufficient by all metrics." The room hummed but no one countered her analysis of the situation.
"Hypothetically, if the North commenced its attack in the near future. How would it impact the Empire?" She hung on Rudersdorf's question for a moment. Tanya ceased her pacing as she sensed the shift in the discussion.
"I suppose it is ." Both sets of eyes were on her as she touched on the familiar points. Three weeks of supplies, winter attrition, and a potential distraction for the Rhine. "It would not be us rolling up a carpet as the North seems to think. Although, I will admit a spring offensive would not have the same results. The Entente, Republic and even the Unitary can concentrate too many forces in a single area for a decisive breakthrough." Tanya looked at the map that overlooked the room. She imagined all the armies in a small area, and the rest of the Scandinavian Peninsula would be barren of fighting or soldier. An unguarded and expansive coastline. "Although, that might be the point."
The room flinched. The gears within Tanya's head continued to grind together, a gradual spin that swiftly took on a life of its own.
"No, of course. The plan is to create a diversion in one area we can control and leave their rear exposed."
It was a riddle Rudersdorf wanted her to solve. Not an expectation Rerugen shared.
"How did you know that? There is no possible way you simply just figured out highly confidential information!" He neared a yell but remained mostly composed. It was a surprise to her. "Did General Zettour leak you this information?"
"No sir, it was just a logical deduction." Tanya kept her composure. It was an unorthodox way to receive confirmation. She had not seen Rerugen that agitated, except for the time she threatened a summary execution in the war college. That was somewhat warranted, even if she was within the right to split open the brains of a disobedient cadet.
"A deduction only a handful of Imperial officers knew?"
"Stranger things have happened Lieutenant Colonel. We are in this war after all." Rudersdorf came to her defence.
Rudersdorf stood up and presented his words on the map. "The 203rd mage battalion will lead the Imperial Navy in a sneak attack on the old Norge coastline. The target will be where the enemy least expects it." He pointed to the location on the map. "The famed Osfjord fortress. A surprise attack from your battalion will neutralise their defences and clear the way. The 27th mechanised mages will arrive in the second wave with the marines and infantry units. If their record is accurate, they should maintain air superiority for the invasion."
General Rudersdorf glanced over to Rerugen. Their silent conversation was amiss to her; however, she could determine the Lieutenant Colonel lost. Her friend remained quiet while the moustached general looked down at her.
"Major Degurechaff, what do you think?"
16/11/1924 / Norden Territory, Germanic Empire / Imperial Airfield, Boardroom / 15:20
"Major Hanover, what do you think?"
Tanya turned away from the map to address the Albion. She tried to stay humble but was nearly bursting to tell them the full diversion and surprise attack.
It was an ingenious plan, further aggrandised so her deciphering would be more spectacular to the Albion major and the regal Lieutenant. The men sat together on the opposite side of the table to her. The latter still held his arm in a sling. General Rudersdorf sat at the head of the table without Rerugen at his side. The man appeared pleased as much as his regular harsh expression would allow.
After she solved the General Staff's puzzle Rudersdorf wished to inform their allies through standard means. However, when she proposed that she could propose the same dilemma to the 27th that afternoon he jumped at the chance. It was possible he wanted to see who else could decipher the winter offensive for the distraction it truly was. If they did not, the makeshift test would let the General Staff show strength and massage their hubris while she could present herself as the sole figure to deduct the answer. If Hanover or the Lieutenant proved themselves, it would be stunted by her achieving the same. The last part was the most important part for her, the pride of the state was second to the presentation of her intelligent character.
Hanover nodded for a moment, the question raised to the General instead of her.
"It could work, but I fail to understand why it must start so soon." Major Hanover finished his point to the general instead of her. Tanya pretended to not be bothered by that mistake in social respect. "Why not wait until the spring? The plan could get you some ground, perhaps enough to scare the Republic into sending more men and resources. Somewhere a mistake is made, and one front fails to hold off the Imperial forces. The mistake the Generals in Northern Command made is assuming they can achieve total capitulation with their plan alone. You're trying to roll up a carpet while standing on it."
Tanya liked the assessment, even if it was only rational speculation. The offensive could not win on only one front, it was not a vacuum, a detail not missed on herself. It was the prince that surprised her when he was pressed for an answer. After he asked his Major for unnecessary permission to speak, he hesitantly started a soliloquy.
"General Rudersdorf, Major Degurechaff, I am uncertain if it is appropriate for myself to have an opinion on this matter. I withhold my further conclusion out of respect for those around my person. I remain only a First Lieutenant."
Hanover pinched the bridge of his nose at his second's answer. Tanya was impressed with the honesty of her benefactor but mirrored the Major's frustration.
"Please know you're in good company Lieutenant. There is no need to be coy." Rudersdorf kept his composure better than Gabriel's countryman.
"It is not only the present company, the proposal confuses me."
"Is that all to say? You don't have any semblance of what is going on?" Rudersdorf pushed his question further. Gabriel looked to Hanover again for permission to speak. Another nod set him off. His stern expression was withheld through his explanation.
"If that is what you wish." Gabriel took a deep breath to stall for time, he gave a final glance at her. "General Rudersdorf. Requesting permission to have a brief explanation?"
"As long as it is relevant to the discussion at hand." Tanya wanted to laugh that Rudersdorf had to give consent to another tangent.
"King Charles Stuart landed with his wife Annabelle and papal soldiers in Caledonia during the winter but waited into the spring before they marched south into Britannia. They won by biding time for strength. In the Gallic wars, Caesar was forced into desperate situations and had to fight in winter conditions and narrowly avoided disaster through strategy. He already had decisive advantages over the enemy but still suffered significant losses, sacrificing time for strength." Tanya smiled; the prince was on her side.
"So, you mirror the opinions of Major Degurechaff?" Rudersdorf questioned the apparent conclusion.
"Not exactly sir. Emperor Heraclius was confident in his victory he campaigned in the winter during the final Roman-Sassanid war. The Stuarts and Caesar were reactionary while Heraclius was decisive. The Empire does not appear desperate, but neither is it biding its time. Therefore, there is something you are not telling us. That is why I have no opinion."
General Rudersdorf drank in the flurry of words with another puff on his cigar. "How legalistic of you. I suspect you would get along well with Zettour. It is almost a shame the occupation of a lawyer would conflict with your position, Lieutenant."
The prince made a sour face but kept whatever thoughts occupied his mind private. It was just as well; Tanya did not want Gabriel to ruin what she could acquire from him by tarnishing his reputation pre-emptively.
It was the closest either would get to the true nature of the push. Tanya prescribed Major Hanover to be the closest as he gave an answer as opposed to an elaborate abstain. She had completed the job of aggrandising her employers, now it was her turn to receive her reward. As directed, Tanya remained silent to let Rudersdorf explain the operation once again. To her benefit, he emphasised her "particular analytical capabilities" to the prince on her behalf. The two officers followed the plan without interference. That eventually came when Rudersdorf concluded and Major Hanover took a deep breath in place of traditional emotions.
"Permission to prescribe judgment, sir?" Rudersdorf smoked in silence as Hanover's question hung in the air. Tanya wondered what could have exhausted him already. Was his pride wounded by the realisation the officer he had ignored had upstaged him? Instead of running him out of the room, the Imperial nodded for Hanover to continue.
"Osfjord fortress is not the only fortified port in the area. It is the largest and most fortified but coastal guns are not the only weapon that can cripple a ship or an invasion."
"If you are referring to the regional navy, I can assure you that the Imperial Admiralty have accounted for retaliatory actions by the enemy navy, ships and aircraft included."
Tanya had to step in to protect her superiors if only with a nominal effort. "The Legadonia Entente's navy is barely more than a coast guard. The Empire's navy does not need to concern itself with reprisals."
"The Entente might be the lesser power, but they are not foolish, they have two capital ships and neither has been reported to be in the Baltic Sea. It would be logical to place them near the Osfjord if they are not already there."
Hanover pointed to the map above Tanya's head. She was once again reminded of her regrettable stature while the Major continued his rabbles.
"My guess is the island of Smøla. It is a short distance to the south of Osfjord. After the war in Daqin when I was still a Lieutenant, I visited the island in a supervisor role. Unless you have information to the contrary, the facilities there were adequate to dock a sizable contingent of ships. All of which would have likely been increased since the annexation of Norge. If the armada remains hidden and both Entente capital ships are not already committed to interception, then they could pose a threat to the Imperial navy."
Major Hanover tapped his fingers across the table for a moment. His private thoughts materialised as he stood up. Lieutenant Stuart mimicked his superior without hesitation but resigned to stand against the wall and remove himself from the conversation. Tanya caught a glance from Gabriel, unreliable for a deeper meaning.
"You Germanic gentlemen can win that fight with the Nordic race; I have no doubt about that. However, you are describing an invasion force, not a pitched sea battle. The old Vikings only need to cripple an armament or troop transport to take the momentum out of the invasion. That is to assume the Imperial navy is lucky, properly equipped and thoroughly trained. If this surprise attack is the definitive blow you consider it to be, that will make the defenders more dangerous. A desperate enemy is one that can be more effective than a well-equipped enemy. Major Degurechaff, you and your silver wings medal should know that." Hanover had a sly grin under his facial hair, if it was at the expense of someone else, she would have been more impressed. She wanted to befriend the man, but it took her available willpower to not leer at him in that moment.
General Rudersdorf seemed indifferent, almost amused, at the minor sparing match that occurred between the two majors. "The Commonwealth has always been focused on the naval aspect of war. What do you have to suggest?"
"Lieutenant Stuart, what is the old Latin saying about the Germanic tribes?"
"Divide et impera. Divide and rule, sir." Tanya assumed that might have been a choice of words to protest their secondary status. If her benefactor was involved or only the translator was up to speculation.
"That's it, divide and rule. It might be a bit literal in this instance. We can break up the 27th in two, half to attack the Entente navy in port and half to follow the 203rd mage battalion and support the land invasion. We can coordinate the attacks to sow further confusion among the enemy and disguise our main target for long enough."
"Can you be sure your men will be capable of neutralising the enemy ships, Major?"
"I have seen them in combat personally, sir. They are fully trained in close combat support and aerial engagements. I have yet to see them take on any activities comparable to naval attacks." Tanya wanted to get her own back for Hanover's slight against her. Hanover was ready for her comment and did not hesitate to answer her.
"We have the best pilots from all corners of the Commonwealth. They will either know what to do or they won't be in my unit for much longer. A spot of refreshers and drills for the mages would not be amiss, however." He looked to the general in a way that suggested he was not intentionally under assessing her. "General Rudersdorf, how much time will we have until the mission is launched?"
"The operation will be reliant on the success and conditions of the offensive. However, the projected date of the invasion is the first of next month. We will consider the proposal Major. If the Abwehr and Imperial Navy can produce acceptable reconnaissance on potential naval threats, we will approve the port strike. The Northern Command will need confirmation your team can pull off such an attack before they alter the plan."
Hanover seemed to keep a witty comment in his mouth, he settled with a lesser one that made Gabriel's eyes bulge out of his skull. "I won't need to prove anything sir, His Highness will be leading the attack."
20/11/1924 / Cunxhaven region, Northern Sea / HMS Belfast, Bridge Exterior / 10:02
Princess Rachel Stuart leaned against the railing of the heavy cruiser. Her hands were occupied with her cigarette case. The little silver case was returned to her boots, safely kept next to her knife for emergency situations. Ever since she made that mistake a lifetime ago, she refused to be without protection or tobacco.
The fag was well-deserved and desperately needed. Rachel placed the filter in her mouth and flicked her lighter. The flame lit her fag, the first pull taken and breathed out her nose. Mother had taken a vehement anti-smoking stance for her family and the Commonwealth. Only moderately successful across their realm out of respect to the individual's free will. Regardless, it would not be sound for one of the great queen's children to be seen smoking. Rachel knew she was selfish but never wanted to harm others with her mistakes.
Rachel had the decency to hide her dirty secret from those around her. Unfortunately, not the only one she had but the one she would rather admit to.
On the horizon, several steel warships swam through the dark blue water that filled the majority of God's planet. The Home Isles might have fallen to terrorists, but the true overlords of Albion could still claim to rule the seas. She wanted to help the Empire for the sake of their sailors more than internal pride or treaties. The thought of how many decent men could die from manageable inefficiencies was gut-wrenching. The ships could float and might win a battle, but they would never survive in a prolonged war or win a set-piece battle without countless avoidable deaths. She had heard rumours of an upcoming operation that involved the Imperial Navy, something that involved the HMS Titus again. She just hoped the enemy was worse off than her nominal ally.
Rachel heard the metal door open behind her. For their sake, it better have been worth the interruption, or else there would be another sailor getting reprimanded today. She took one final drag on her fag as her adjutant bowed.
"Telegram, Your Highness."
Rachel flung her fag over the steel railing to disappear below. She turned around to face her adjutant. Her nerves of being isolated from a man subsided around those few she trusted – her adjutant one of them. She decided to vocalise a thought that had lingered in the back of her mind for the past hour.
"What is your opinion on the situation? You didn't think I was being too hard on the Imperials in the meeting this morning?"
"It is as you say, ma'am, the Empire needs better training and adaptability more than they need technology. They should listen to you and the Royal Navy instead of insisting on their superiority. They might as well still be on wooden galleys with slaves manning the oars."
Rachel failed to properly thank the man before another guest stepped through the metal doorway. An adorable and fluffy black smudge that made her gush, the miserable day was already better for seeing the ship's mascot and resident rat deterrent.
"Hey, kitty kitty." Rachel's voice became a high-pitch parody of itself. Calling the cat closer to her and crouching for a better visual.
The cat came out for its self-interests, but as every feline was an opportunist it wandered closer to the railing for a convenient petting. Its back arching at the force of Rachel rubbing her hand through the fur while complimenting his handsome ears, snout, and paws.
Black cats were supposed to signal bad luck, according to superstition prevalent in North America. Less prevalent rumours from the Stuart's original home of Caledonia and the Isles pinning them as harbingers of good fortunes.
Rachel thanked the man while taking away the message. She did not cease providing love for the small creature huddling against her knee-high boots. It might be something James would whine about her doing in front of a captain and lower grade officer, appearances, and such. But who else would remind the black cat what a handsome boy he was or pinch his kitty cheeks?
It was a critical mission on par with modernising the Empire's decaying navy.
"A summons from Vice Admiral Canaris?" Rachel muttered to herself, reading the telegram privately after Elliot and her staff departed.
She reread the telegram over, surprised that her complaining from the previous days had reached that high in the Empire rapidly. The man ran the intelligence agencies as far as she knew, while a former sailor himself, talking modernizing equipment was out of his jurisdiction.
Rachel continued to pet the cat, overstaying her welcome as the temperamental creature began to wander away. Meowing each time Rachel picked him up to put him back at her feet.
This must have been one of those "extracurricular" situations Mother and James talked about. When the alleged beauty of human systems came together for a common goal. If Canaris wanted to solve this issue with her personally, then she must have been doing something right. She would send a telegram confirming the meeting tomorrow in Berun. Hopefully, she could rearrange her calendar after tonight's meeting with Elliot and the others. To align busy schedules was always an arduous task.
Maybe Canaris had a cat she could play with during the meeting. He seemed to be the type of man, old with no kids, married to a lovely wife and his career. The Abwehr being his metaphorical child. Probably a sweetie deep down, once past the gruff exterior.
"That's why he wants to speak in person." Rachel finally lost her grip on the fat cat, it finally running away to be unmolested by her continued smooching and back rubs. "He just wants to make a deal with me in person."
AN:
Hello all, I hope you are doing well.
This chapter, along with the next two chapters will be moderately shorter than average. It is in part practicality, as both are similar in content but there is a risk of having it become bloated if made into a single chapter. To remedy this I plan to release them simultaneously. Hopefully, it will keep the pacing up and put them out quicker. My living situation has not improved hence my time for editing is minimal, but it should work out (I apologise for no details, it involves other people, so I must respect their privacy).
Maybe I should buy a second-hand MacBook or something so I can finally join the twenty-first century. It is either an additional computer or to stop playing Project Zomboid and Left 4 Dead 2 when I should edit.
There is a chance some are confused about who Mr. Cain is. He is the younger Albion mage and spy that appears in the manga. If you want a face to the image look to the end of chapter twenty-six in the manga. For the life of me, I cannot find a name for the character, so I took a recommendation from Sailormage (so blame him if you don't like it). So, it is another odd case of a canon character becoming semi-original since there isn't much in the source material.
So, I bet you all thought I forgot about the Federation and Night Witches? It does frustrate me that my upload time is sluggish, so plot elements and characters are left stagnant. However, it is all planned out. I just hope it is enjoyable to read and I am not creating hot air.
Now, two points on canon I have changed (or one change to canon and an alteration of fan translations).
To me, it makes more sense for the morally corrupt Donahue to arm a child than the morally ambiguous Mr. John. The weapon is going to her father in both cases, but it is remarkably irresponsible to give a weapon to a child untrained. What would stop Mary from hurting herself or someone from attacking and taking the weapon from her? In the canon, it doesn't impact John significantly, so I don't see a problem with shifting the act to Donahue so it can be built upon. It will be revealed in good time.
In the manga the alternate Red Cross was called Peace World and originally I stuck with the name. However, none of my beta readers liked it so I changed it. It is not a big deal but at least the name is less silly, and we already know what the red cross is. I am only willing to run water uphill for so many occasions.
Thank you for reading. God be with you all.