The Price of Flight – part fifteen.
The Arms Race.
After my brush with that emissary of Pestilence called Covid-19, let's get back into it now my enthusiasm is back.
In which Olga realises an Arms Race is going on between the two Superpowers.
The Flying Sheep of Syrrit are discussed more fully in The Compleat Discworld Atlas (canonical) and have a cameo appearance in my tale Gap Year Adventures. They are very unique sheep indeed.
Gods damn, I only ever intended "Price of Flight" to be a one-off short story about broomsticks not being the only means of (wo)manned flight on the Disc. Now it looks like this is going to be the repository for all Olga/Irena/Air watch themed tales and short stories….
V0.3 Corrections, elimination of typos and improved bits, like an extra gag or two, will inevitably follow.
Still not sure if the correct spelling is OMNICOM - OMNIscope COMmunicator - or OMNICON - something like OMNIscope CONversation. I'm guesing the Air witches aren't either, so both spellings are used interchangeably!
From the Ankh-Morpork Times, second evening edition, Wednesday 5th Grune.
WE HAD PROBLEM. WE DEALT WITH PROBLEM. NO PROBLEM.
These were the words of Air Policewoman Vassilisa Budonovka(19), who as an officer of the Pegasus Service led a mission into and out of the troubled land of Syrrit, despite heavy and determined Klatchian opposition that sought to close the airspace over Syrrit and opposed her flight at every step of the way.
This Klatchian action stands in complete defiance of the established and accepted international convention, the informal agreement among all states on the Discworld that the Pegasus Service, an organisation which is explicitly not used for military purposes and all of whose flights are peaceful and used to facilitate speed of diplomatic communication around the Disc, can fly where it likes and its mounts and pilots are not to be impeded nor interfered with.
She was accompanied on this eventful flight by Air Policewoman Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons (17), who is the daughter of Professor Ponder Stibbons, (Vice Chancellor of Unseen University) and Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes, a notable member of the Guild of Assassins.
A Flight Navigator accompanied them.
The Air Station, Pseudopolis Yard
"Thank you for your reports." Vetinari said, nodding at Bekki and Vasilisa. "Most informative and enlightening."
He looked across to Olga Romanoff.
"For now, you are both dismissed." Olga said, reading the mood. She read another raised eyebrow from Vetinari.
"I will want to speak to you both later, so please remain in the Air Station for now."
"Permission to tend to Stravinsky, ma'am?" Vasilisa said.
Olga nodded.
"Da. Your Pegasus requires grooming, feeding and watering. Please attend to that. When I am finished here, I will find you."
She nodded dismissal, and raised her voice.
"All non-essential Air Watch personnel are requested to leave the Control Room." she said. "Attend to your duties, or retire to the Crew Room. Lord Vetinari has requested the use of this space for a City Council conference and access is now Restricted. Thank you."
Bekki and Vasilisa went to the stables.
Rufus Drumknott placed a batch of papers near Vetinari's right hand. The Patrician picked up the top paper and began reading. City Councillors, standing respectfully at a distance, kept up a susurration of low whispering conversation as Vetinari attentively read the despatch. When the Air Policewomen who were not required to be present had left the room, the loudest sounds in the room were Mother Hen Control, who was dispassionately dealing with incoming coms, and Mrs Swindells the Watch Cook, who was pushing a clattering tea-trolley around the room and dispensing mugs of tea and coffee. (1)
FAO Mr Martin Vinhuis, Ambassador to Ankh-Morpork
c/c Mr Pieter van der Graaf, Minister of State for Foreign Affairs.
Codicil: Officer Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, of the Ankh-Morpork Pegasus Service, advised me that this mailing will be returned to Ankh-Morpork via the Palace. She made this clear to me whilst agreeing to carry any diplomatic post on behalf of the government of Rimwards Howondaland. I have therefore written my report on affairs in Syrrit in the Morporkian language, as a courtesy for those not fluent in Vondalaans.
It is true, as the Ankh-Morpork Times reported, that there was a session of the Whistlestop Parliament where high feelings and emotionally charged debate led to actual fighting, which then spilled over as civil disorder and threatened civil war. After nearly two days of disorder and factional fighting (with remarkably little actual death or damage to property) during which we of the diplomatic community retreated to our quarter and grouped together for self defence, the Klatchian Army marched in, ostensibly to restore civil order and stability in Syrrit.
It has been pointed out that the nearest Klatchian Army barracks is at least four days march away inside their own accepted Border. The disorder here lasted for two days. Therefore logically, the Klatchians must have begun marching here two days before the violence actually began. Either their Wizards are extremely good at predicting the future, or they knew in advance there was going to be trouble here that would offer them a pretext for invasion.
Miss Smith-Rhodes also volunteered the information that Syrrit is low down the list of priorities for the Pegasus Service to visit. It merits a visit at possibly three week intervals, sometimes monthly. Therefore the Klatchians could have amassed sufficient forces for this invasion, on their most remote Hubwards border, without anyone noticing.
Vetinari frowned. He made a marginal note, to the effect that since the Pegasus Service would shortly number nineteen active units, there could be more frequent overflights of the border regions between Klatch and its neighbours. An Army large enough to invade another nation should be spotted earlier. Several thousand men, cavalry horses and the necessary supporting logistical infrastructure covered a large land area. And when spotted from the air, especially in a place where there had previously not been an Army, this came under the heading of what Captain Romanoff had earlier described as "reconnaissance". He returned to the letter.
A little over twelve months ago, local shepherds reported sheep were going missing. Usually this is down to predators such as eagles and vultures coming down from the mountains, as well as things such as bears and mountain lions. They keep dogs to guard the flocks and warn off attackers, and most Syrittan shepherds are resigned to losing one or two lambs in every season to predation. However, a larger than normal proportion of the year's lambs were disappearing. There were none of the usual telltales, such as gnawed bones, torn fleeces or other remnants.
Most of the vanished lambs, in fact, were males. Anyone who runs a plaas and who deals with livestock will know most males are surplus to requirement. With cattle, you can geld the surplus males at an early age and they become oxen for draught and burden. With pigs, you can geld a boar piglet and then allow it to fatten for meat. But shepherds see surplus ram lambs as, well, things to allow to grow so far and which are then slaughtered for meat. Any Boer knows you retain only the best males, and not many of them, for breeding.
It was not long before unrest began, low angry grumbling about sheep-theft and rustling. Anywhere on the Disc where there are sheep, the most shocking thing to do, the greatest taboo, is to steal them. At first the shepherds blamed each other. (Possibly there were whispered voices spreading rumours, perhaps with Klatchian accents?)
More thoughtful people were asking – why only male lambs? If you want to take the risk of sheep-theft, knowing the formidable punishment if discovered, then you should take the ewe-lambs. Who year upon year for several years make more lambs.
But male lambs vanished and there was much debate and argument, which in this tribal society where there are already family and clan animosities going back for centuries, left lingering resentment.
This faded over the year and the disappearances stopped as the spring's lambs became fully-grown sheep.
And now, in this year's lambing season – male lambs began to vanish again. And the arguments at the Whistlestop, this time, became a sort of low-level civil war. And as if on cue, the Klatchians stepped in to "help a friendly neighbouring nation restore civil order"
The special and unique nature of Syrittan sheep is well-known. This adds another level of outrage to the anger and resentment being expressed by the people here. There is a prohibition, verging on taboo, regarding exporting these sheep outside Syrrit and Laotan and I can assure you, this is enforced. The growing suspicion, whispered for a long time and then first stated outright and then shouted loudly at the assembly, that the Klatchians are responsible, precipitated the civil unrest. Klatch has long had a friendly party here, and its shepherding clans were outright accused of facilitating the "acquisition" of male lambs of the Syrittan breed. Accusations were made, fighting began, and the Klatchian army arrived.
And the appearance of Klatchian flying sheep - rams - in the sky over our heads, I would suggest, is a telling thing…
Vetinari read the Rimwards Howondalandian Consul's report to the end and put it on the "read" pile. He noted that the Consul had emphasised that even though Miss Smith-Rhodes was working for the Ankh-Morporkian government, she remained a Citizen, and therefore the attempt to arrest her was an affront that the government should be aware of.
You know the Smith-Rhodes family look out for each other. Get a sucker punch in on one – if you can – and the whole family gets a bruise. I'm waiting to see what they do about this. I'm sure this young meisie will not be the only red-head from the Transvaal I'll see here.
Request send more klipdrift and boerewors as we're running out here. A man can get tired of mutton.
Vetinari steepled his fingers. He reflected that the stories from all the diplomatic missions in Syrrit had broadly told the same tale. All had expressed acceptance and approval that inevitably, he, Vetinari, would get to read their reports first. Quite properly, Officers Budonova and Smith-Rhodes had made them aware that this was the price of their reports being delivered within the hour by Pegasus. The verbal report from the returning Zlobenian diplomat had also been invaluable. Despite his being shaken up, looking disorientated and shaky and smelling slightly of a little bout of airsickness, he had provided eye-witness testimony and had praised the professionalism and the flying and fighting skills of the Air Watch. Vetinari had provided him with a courtesy flight to the Zlobenian Embassy, and trusted he could get fresh clothing more suitable to Ankh-Morpork on Embassy expenses.
"Drumknott? Schedule an interview with the Rimwards Howondalandian Ambassador, please. No great rush." he said.
Then he turned his attention to the City Council members who were present.
"Let us discuss the situation, now we have had reports out of Syrrit." he said, pleasantly. "Now we have more reliable information, there is less need to speculate. We can decide on a course of action. Admiral Harrap, as Syrrit is land-locked, your involvement can only be indirect and tangential. But your advice is welcome, still."
He nodded to others present.
"I have given some thought to the idea of a regular meeting of the joint Chiefs of Staff to co-ordinate our military establishments." he remarked. "As we are in the rather impressive heart of our Air Arm and we have all seen for ourselves how our air forces are co-ordinated, I propose Captain Romanoff is accepted alongside the higher echelons of the Army and the Navy to or joint planning sessions. I trust nobody objects. Capital."
"You'd think Olga might have been happier to see you." Robyn Myers said. "Is she bloody-well made out of stone or something?"
Bekki shrugged. She carried on helping to sponge down Stravinsky, who smelt of Syrrit and two recent, strenuous, flights.
The sound of debate from the Control Room was filtering through to her. No words were distinct, but it occasionally rose suggesting a loud debate of some sort was going on. Not my problem.
"It's her way." she said. "Dad told me about a mission in Howondaland years ago. When the Air Police was only Irena and Olga and two or three Feegle. And they were both only Constables. You know, right in the beginning. Irena was late back off a flight over enemy territory and getting later all the time. Mum and Dad were both there and Dad said Olga was getting more worried and frantic all the time, just watching the sky in the direction she thought Irena would be flying back from. Then when Irena turned up and they could see she'd been fired on, because her Pegasus had a damaged wing, Olga apparently just shrugged and started acting like it had been no big thing and pretending she'd never been worried." (2)
"A Pegasus got hurt?" Sophie Rawlinson said. There was an edge to her voice. Bekki looked over at her. Sophie was a big muscly girl, and she had fixed opinions about people who were so depraved as to injure horses of any sort. (3) That was a berserk button to Sophie.
"Her wing got scorched by a fireball. She lost flight feathers. The funny thing is, Sophie, she was ferried over to Lancre to recuperate in the countryside and grow the feathers back. And this stallion sort of found her, and, err, a few months later there was a Pegasus foal. Nottie Garlick birthed the foal."
"So that's where the Service began…" Sophie said.
"I'm not saying it wouldn't have happened." Bekki said, diligently applying the cleansing and cooling wash. "But if it wasn't for that fireball, they might not have realised a Pegasus can breed with a normal horse. And there wouldn't be seventeen of us today with two more on the way."
"Da. Two new girls. Shaping up well." Vasilisa remarked. "One is Rodinian."
"Lexi? Nice kid. But only thirteen." Robyn said. Her voice had hints of slight envy. Air Witches who were broomstick-only tended to have that envy, directed at the smaller group who had Pegasus status.
"So was Nottie when she started out." Bekki pointed out. "And Lexi's bright. The Cadet Arm's got her, to shape her up and give her a gentle introduction."
"You were their pupil, Bekki." Sophie said. "You started here when you were eleven."
Bekki considered this. Her mentor and teacher in Witchcraft, Godsmother Irena, had centred her early Witch training here at the Air Station as it was expedient. The other Air Witches, beginning with Olga Romanoff and Nottie Garlick, had added their input into her training and had, among other things, taught her to fly. The Air Watch way, right from the beginning. Bekki had been a part of the Air Watch for a long time. Her first broom of her own, the one she still flew, was a Watch-issue ME109. (4)
Bekki hadn't realised her good fortune until, aged sixteen and with a Pegasus, she had been trained into the Watch and formally sworn in. Everything was familiar to her. Other new girls had found the Air Station and the mildly military set-up to be a huge shock.
"That was pretty much informal." Bekki replied. "Irena did say she and Olga had a think about that and how it should work. So what they decided was that girls who'd had a couple of years in Lancre and with other Witches should rotate to Ankh-Morpork and go on a training circuit here. You know, City Witches."
"The Inner Circle said "yes." Sophie remarked. She frowned. Younger Witches told stories about the semi-mysterious Inner Circle, the Council of Senior Witches, who were said to meet formally and make big decisions.
The Air Cadets were Olga and Irena's solution to the problem of up and coming witches with above-average flying skills, naturals for the Air Watch, or else who had been adopted by Pegasi, but who were far too young for City Watch service. Mr Vimes was prepared to lower the minimum age for Watch service to sixteen in exceptional cases, but he drew the line at twelve-year-old Watchwomen.
The answer was the City Circuit, an extension to initial training from Witches in their home countries, followed by the Circuit in Lancre and the Chalk. The City Circuit was aimed at witches with a more urban inclination, and for those who were hungry to fly. For part of the week, these junior witches were apprenticed to one of the City steadings. As they all had Air aptitude, they were released to the Air Watch Cadets for specific flight training and an induction in what it meant to be Watch. If they had a Pegasus, as Lexi and Samantha had, they and their mounts were getting specific and directed training with the Service. So that once they turned sixteen, they'd be pretty much fully ready.
The Air Watch Cadets were under the guidance of the senior Watch ranks, who each took classes in their specialisms. In practice, Sergeant Nadezhda "Mother Hen" Popova did a lot of the pastoral stuff with them. Mother Hen was nearly forty, had three children of her own, and knew all about looking after young girls. Her callsign wasn't just Air Watch whimsy.
Sam Vimes nodded at the arrangement and was following the experiment with interest. Anything that promised to generate at least a few good Watchmen was alright by him. The ones who went on to do other things were more likely to be better citizens for it, and that was okay too.
Bekki and Sophie moved on to the duty of grooming and feeding their own Pegasi and cleaning their stalls. Bekki realised she needed to take Boetjie on a necessary exercise flight; he hadn't moved since she'd flown him out of Howondaland in a long-ago early morning, many hours before, and he was getting restive. But she was also feeling dog-tired and shaky. That large vodka she'd reluctantly consumed in Syrrit was wearing off, its job done, and her head was feeling a little swimmy.
She looked at Vasilisa. Who seemed completely unaffected.
Rodinians do this all the time, she thought. How do their livers stand it?
"Bekki, you're all in." Sophie said, concerned. "Look, you need to get home. It's only just across the City for you. I can take Boykie up on a leading rein to exercise him."
Absently, Bekki reflected that people who didn't speak Vondalaans simply couldn't get the knack of pronouncing a name like "Boetjie". Their vocal chords were not up to it.
"Settle him down. He's restless." she observed.
"That would be a very good idea, Officer Rawlinson." Captain Olga Romanoff said, as she entered the stable. "I give you permission to do that as authorised and necessary overtime. You may do this immediately after the shift change when I will be addressing all officers and groundcrew."
Commander Vimes was with her. He nodded at his officers and took a draw on the inevitable cigar.
"Debate is continuing. I have excused myself for a few moments. Lieutenant Politek is holding the floor for the Air Watch."
"And Angua's arguing on my behalf. For the rest of the Watch." Vimes said.
"So we can make time to talk to you. Privately. This is important." Olga said. She smiled. Then she grabbed Bekki, who was standing nearest, and drew her in for a long close hug, kissing her on both cheeks.
She did the same for Vasilisa. There was an exchange of words in fast, low, Rodinian, too fast to catch.
Olga stood back, and saluted her two pilots. Bekki saw the suspicion of tears on her face, and saluted back.
"I am so very, very, proud of you both, and so very pleased." she said. "And relieved that you came back. I have lost people before. It is never pleasant."
"And bloody expensive." Vimes grated. The end of his cigar glowed a deeper red. "You girls wouldn't believe what it costs to get a mason to carve names on that memorial plaque outside. They want a call-out fee, and then they charge by the letter. Miss Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons."
He glared at Bekki.
"And Miss… he consulted a piece of paper, then slowly read "Natasha Vasilisa Danutyavichniya Budonova. And I know Air Watch tradition for you people is that it goes on the plaque twice, once for each alphabet. Just because you people have to be bloody awkward and use a different alphabet from anybody else, Masons charge half as much again!"
He glared at Vasilisa, who looked impassive.
"So don't you dare get yourselves killed. It costs."
He scowled at Olga.
"Can't you recruit girls with nice short names, like Jane Smith?" he demanded. "You know, plan ahead?"
Bekki glanced at Olga, who was now trying not to laugh.
Then Vimes grinned. He held out a hand first to Vasilisa then to Bekki.
"Bloody well done! Both of you. At the first chance I get, I am reminding the bloody Klatchian Ambassador that my Watchmen go anywhere. And that is anywhere, on Watch duty. Nobody stops my Watchmen when they're on duty. Nobody. You both made that point today. Twice, once on the way in and once on the way out. In between you turned up evidence of crime. Several crimes. Ladies. You are both City Watch, and I'm bloody well proud to have you."
He nodded to them, and turned to go.
"Back to the talking shop, Olga?"
"Da, but one minute."
Olga smiled slightly.
"I had to be severe in there with everybody watching." she said. "Austere. If I'd hugged and kissed you both in front of them all, I would have been dismissed as a weak silly emotional woman. Silly, but in front of those people. In front of whom I need to be seen as objectively cold and professional."
A thought hit Bekki.
"When Dad can get five minutes?" she asked. She suddenly felt guilty and felt a surging need to be with her father, who must have suffered horribly inside.
Olga nodded slightly.
"Da. Your father is having work found for him. Stupid questions are being asked to which he is patiently trying to find intelligent answers. But I will seek to make sure he has time for you. Be ready for the handover briefing in ten minutes. It will take place in the crew room."
The crew room was filling with Air Watch members. Not just the Witch pilots, but also flight-Feegle, ground crew, Tekniks, the new category of ground-based personnel called plotters, and two nervous-looking darker-skinned and turbaned men who were Air Watch in their own right and had every right to be there. Right now Ali and Faisal were looking uncomfortable and nervous.
Bekki smiled at the two MOKOs (5) on her way in and greeted both by name as if nothing major was happening, guessing the reason for their worry and slightly miserable appearance. Within seconds, she and Vasilisa were being swept forwards on a wave of hugs, kisses and backslaps. The story of their flight and combat – it was being hailed as air combat – had spread widely.
Bekki noticed even regular Watch members who were honorary Air Watch had turned up. Sally "Fledermaus" von Humpedinck gave her a toothy grin and a thumbs-up, and Officer Yuri, who while she couldn't fly, had a special place here, were present for the muster.
And at the front of the crowded room were the senior officers of the Air Service, all of them. Commander Vimes was present. And Captain Carrot. Bekki saw her father there, alongside his old friend Victor Tugelbend, who now had rank in the Cable Street Particulars as a detective. Until quite recently, Victor had been the only Wizard in the Watch. She wondered why they were both here.
Olga, who had the look of a tired woman at the end of a hard day, stepped forward.
"Thank you all for being here." she said. "I will first perform the routine briefing for the Night Witches, who will be the duty squad until eight tomorrow morning. Sergeant Garlick will take command when I stand down and go off duty. You will therefore take your flying instructions from Ynci Control."
There was more of this. Bekki listened with half an ear. With any luck she was going off shift in a few minutes. She could get home. Be with the family. Eat…. She felt her stomach rumbling. The hazy distant memory of a half-eaten meat goulash came back to her. That felt like half a lifetime ago.
"You have all no doubt heard a version of events which happened this afternoon over Syrrit." Olga said. The room paid more attention. "And that the war brooms left their hangar and were powered up and ammuntioned. I thank the Tekniks for performing this duty promptly and efficiency. Mr van Fokker, Mr Schmidt, are the battle-birds fit for flight? And having checked their airworthiness, are they now powered down, made safe and back in the secure hangar? Thank you. I have informed the Press that this is a periodic maintenance check we must perform, to ensure we can be combat-ready within minutes."
Olga smiled slightly.
"Sacharissa Cripslock had a disbelieving look on her face when I told her that, but nevertheless she will print it tomorrow, and many people will read it. Not just in Ankh-Morpork. Which is good."
Olga looked serious again.
"I will now summarise what happened when we sent a communications mission, a civilian and not a military flight, over Syrrit on diplomatic business…"
Olga told the story. There were noises of disbelieving anger in the room. Olga waved for silence.
"This is an unprecedented situation." she said. "Only once before has an enemy ever attempted to impede or to attack a Pegasus in flight. And the Klatchians are employing a new air platform which they believe gives them an advantage. By sheer weight of numbers and a surprise attack they very nearly succeeded today. We have a Situation, people."
Olga eyeballed the room, studying her people. She passed quickly over the two MOKOs, not wanting to single them out even though she knew one of them had been blackmailed into reporting back to the Klatchians. Well. He can describe this scene to them. I am happy for him to report on the mood among my pilots.
"Lord Vetinari has asked me to emphasise the following. We are not at war with Klatch. He wishes to avert war. I agree with him. You are all to remember the Rules of Engagement. This afternoon, Firebird and Sneguroshka got up to the third level. We will not ascend to the fourth until we are definitely and clearly fired at by them. Preferably in the presence of independent witnesses, who will then affirm the Klatchians fired first."
Somebody asked about Level Five. There was a roar of agreement from among the Flight-Feegle. Olga smiled.
"Level Five involves a response that will involve application of terrible shattering force." she said. "We will hold that in reserve for now. Level Five is not a step to take lightly."
Then her smile faded.
"Lord Vetinari has asked me to plan further flights over Syrrit." she said. "Be prepared and be on standby. Any Pegasus we send will be escorted. This is to make it abundantly clear to the Klatchians that the Pegasus Service is not to be interfered with or impeded."
She held up a hand to quiet the excitement.
"I will brief selected aircrew when the plan is finalised. But the Rules of Engagement are paramount. They will be written in large letters, and prominently placed where all can see and read them."
Olga paused and looked serious. Very serious.
"Listen to me. Once before, we left being policewomen behind and we fought in a war as a Combat Air Force. Against an enemy who were terrible, deadly and pitiless. We helped win that war but the victory came at a price. I led twenty-eight pilots into battle. Twenty-four came back. There are four names outside this door, carved onto a memorial stone. Four people I knew, who I will never see again. If you wish for cold statistics, fifteen percent of our then strength of the Air Watch died in that war. The Klatchians have a far larger Air Force. It is professional. It is well trained. It is equipped for war with the best the Klatchian Empire has to offer. They are not Elves."
Olga touched metal.
"If I recall reservists, and ask retired pilots to come back, I will have perhaps seventy pilots. And I can tell you in advance that if we go to this threatened war I will lose many more than four of you."
Olga let this sink in.
"If you wish to fight in a war, go to any of us who wears the five-eighty-eight medal ribbon." she said. Her finger traced the black and silver tape sewn below her left breast pocket. "That is the mark of our combat veterans. They will tell you the Lancre war was a week of little sleep, too much flight, relentless fighting with an enemy who kept coming at us, of too little food, too few baths, so we all stank, including me, and the continual thought that Death stood behind us, watching the sand running down in our hourglasses. And recall that we are Watch. We serve and protect. We keep the peace. Our job is to prevent war, not to seek one."
Olga looked at her silent command. Sam Vimes nodded his assent to Olga's words.
"But if war comes. I know this afternoon two of our number met a desperate situation which they did not invite, and responded to aggression with resolution, bravery and counter-aggression. No direct shots were fired, but the Klatchians sought to kill two – three – of us, in a cowardly way that they could have claimed later was due to a regrettable flying accident. I know, from the way those two pilots responded, that I have no doubt all of you would fight as hard and as well in combat. Officer Vasilisa Budonova, and Officer Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, step forward."
Irena Politek, face impassive, formally handed a salver to Olga. There were black and silver ribbons on it.
"After informal consultation with those who were there over Lancre, we have decided to extend membership of the five-eighty-eight club to all pilots who have faced death in combat." Olga announced.
Irena issued three ribbons to each girl.
"Sew them underneath the left breast pocket on both your everyday issue tunics and on your dress uniform." she said. "This will be done in time for parade, tomorrow morning."
Cheers and applause greeted this. Irena formally kissed them on both cheeks. Bekki sensed both relief and love in her Godsmother. She felt warmed by this.
"Now. All Officers who have security clearance to carry Omnicons are to remain." Olga said. "Professor Stibbons will give you a technical briefing of some importance. Everybody else – dismiss!"
Dismissal, Olga knew, included the two MOKO's. Good. She could now freely discuss the things she did not want the Klatchians to know about.
Ponder Stibbons kept it brief. He kept it simple.
"We've been…" he looked down at his daughter, realising how near he'd come to losing her. Bekki smiled back up, supporting her father and expressing love for him. He felt warmed. He gathered himself, and looked across a room full of attentive Witches. Who were giving a Wizard their full respectful attention. This was rare.
"We've been analyzing today's events. We are getting a fuller picture of what happened over Syrrit, and HEX has been studying the records of all today's comms. Two things have emerged."
He gulped and took a deep breath.
"The Omnicon system was devised at the University as a means of giving the Watch, especially the Air Watch, a reliable means of communication over a distance, in real time, that allows you to exchange information and co-ordinate your movements." He paused.
Sam Vimes took over.
"And, hats off to the bloody wizards, they came up with something useful for once. It's a Hell of an advance on using carrier pigeons or semaphore flags or racing to the nearest Clacks tower." he grated. Captain Carrot (6) nodded assent.
"They certainly make a difference, sir." he agreed.
Ponder smiled an uncertain smile.
"Thank you, gentlemen. But what I have to tell you is important. It is absolutely definite that over Syrrit, the Klatchians, who we know have mages and wizards of their own, have found a way to critically interfere with Omnicon transmissions. We have examined the evidence. And we can be sure that when Bek… Officer Smith-Rhodes – arrived in Syrrit and made a partially successful transmission to Ankh-Morpork, the moment she activated her device, somebody other than Valkyrie Control was listening. This gave the Klatchians a fix, and they were able to vector an air unit immediately to the source of the transmission."
"Go on." Olga said. She kept her face impassive. Inside she felt a sense of horror. She had wondered how the Klatchians had located the flight almost immediately after they arrived in Syrrit. In her experience, once a Pegasus had arrived in real-world space, it took a lot longer than that for the local Air Force to respond. Now, she knew…
"We don't know how, but hypotheses are emerging." Ponder said.
"The other thing we are sure of is that having got a fix on the Omnicons, they have developed a way – and I frankly do not, yet, have an idea of how – of destroying them from a distance. We recorded a massive thaumic surge, externally applied, that caused both Omnicons to blow up. Or at least, the controlling imp inside was blasted into soot. I've got people looking at the damaged devices to see if we can find more clues as to how, and whether or not they can be repaired."
"Somebody threw a spell at our comms devices." Irena Politek said, flatly.
Ponder nodded, soberly.
"Yes. They did. I can say, with one hundred per cent confidence, that Bek… my dau…. Officer Smith-Rhodes – was fired at today. It takes conscious intent to fire a spell. You were attacked with magic. A shot was fired."
"I see." Olga said. She looked at Irena and Hanna.
They waited for horrified gasps and whispered conversations in the ready room to subside.
"And there's more." Ponder said. "As I have said, HEX is analysing traffic patterns in your comms report – he will be looking back over months of comms – to find patterns. A pattern emerging in today's comms is that wherever an air policewoman went, or wherever a Pegasus went, there were Klatchian flying carpets waiting for them and watching them. This happened far too often to be happenstance."
Ponder looked at the witches.
"One recurring theme was that there was one carpet in the air. All day. Seemingly flying in aimless circles. Witches in the air reported three Klatchians aboard and some sort of Device."
He nodded to Detective-Inspector Tugelbend. Victor took over.
"They were intercepting your Comms. Listening. And directing other carpets to shadow you."
Olga and Irena looked at each other.
"We know the damage over Klatch was limited by the fact only two Omnicons were present. But they were linked on the IC network. The spell appears to have leapt from one comms unit to the other via IC within a fraction of a second. And destroyed both. As well as the suspicion that your comms are not secure, Ol… Captain Romanoff. If the Klatchians fire the same spell here. It would destroy every Omnicon in service. Like some sort of virus."
"Slava bogu." Irena said. Dear Gods.
"What do you suggest?" Olga asked.
"Well, this is now my department." Victor said. "Cable Street Particulars. What I need to know is - how did the Klatchians get hold of this technology? Is it possible there has been a breach of security?"
Olga thought quickly.
"I can account for all issued Omnicons." she said. "Because they are sensitive and restricted items, the only people issued them have been Air Witches. Ground crew have no access, and if a carpet pilot is used operationally, he invariably has an Air Witch as aircrew. Or a broom flies as escort. She alone has an Omnicon. Our Klatchian personnel have no official access. I considered that to be prudent. The spares are kept in a very secure safe in my office. Professor Stibbons, you advised as to the technomantic lock on the safe."
Olga nodded at Bekki and Vasilisa.
"You two see me tomorrow when you report for duty. I will assign replacements."
"So we know only three kinds of people have the skills to break into your safe." Victor mused. "Thieves' Guild, Assassins' Guild or Wizards."
"Narrows it down a bit." Vimes grated. "We can do any potential criminal investigation later. More privately. So speaking practically. What do we do?"
Olga thought frantically. An idea emerged. She addressed her watching pilots. It would be best to wrap up the briefing and clear the room…
"I believe the Klatchians will refrain from damaging our equipment over this city. Because there would be much to gain from simply passively listening, as any information gained will be vital to them. If they kill our comms, then that source of intelligence is lost. Tonight and tomorrow, I instruct you to continue using the Omnicons as usual. Maintain the pretence we do not know our communication network is compromised. If there is anything we need to communicate which is of genuine use to the Klatchians, I will not do that on the network. I will communicate it face to face. Pilots, watch for suspicious activity, and if anything is wrong or suspicious or out of place, report it when you come in to land. Professor Stibbons, how quickly can you isolate what magic or technomancy they are using, and defend against it?"
She added
"Thank you, and you are dismissed. You may go about your duties or consider yourselves free to leave for home as is applicable. Officer Budonova, Officer Smith-Rhodes, wait for me. There is one more duty to perform, and a senior officer needs to be present."
"I'll get my best people on it." he said. He sighed. "Bekki, when you get home, can you tell your mother I'll be at the University tonight?"
"I need to check security." Victor Tugelbend said. "Here and at the University. I suspect there's been a leak somewhere. If we can find where the leak is, and where it's leaking from and to, that's a start."
"I want that bloody carpet." Vimes said. "The one with bloody Klatchians on it fiddling with a Device."
There was a brief interlude before father and daughter parted. Bekki found herself saying, in mid-hug
"Dad. You must have heard people saying this. People say it a lot. What part of the saying "Smith-Rhodes women are hard to kill" is not getting through at the moment? You married one. I'm her daughter. Your daughter."
Ponder hugged harder. He paused before replying.
"I've heard that, Bekki. But do remember I've said to your mother. And to your aunt. And to your cousins. You may be hard to kill, but it's not impossible."
"Got it, dad." Bekki said.
Olga Romanoff and Commander Vimes himself escorted the two pilots out of Pseudopolis Yard.
"Brace yourself, devyushka." Olga said, before the doors opened.
They walked out to a cacophony of shouts and the explosions of salamander flashes and lots of shouting.
Miss Smith-Rhodes!
Miss Budonova!
Over here!
Can you tell our readers how it felt to be shot at by Klatchians?
Sam Vimes had thought ahead and deployed Sergeant Detritus and a squad of Troll officers on crowd control. The troll silenced the journalists by sheer lung power and volume.
Olga Romanoff stepped forward. The clack of her boot heels echoed on the pavement. The journalists watched her, and some braver iconographers took pictures. Bekki noted her commanding officer had poise and grace and presence and was incredibly iconographic.
"This is now a press conference." she said. Olga didn't need to shout to get a point over. "You are interviewing two of my pilots. Therefore any questions you ask will go through me first. I hope this is clearly understood."
The next half-hour or so passed in a blur. She remembered Vasilisa was asked some sort of inane journalist question. Vasilisa considered, and delivered the golden quote.
"Meh. Was problem. We dealt with problem. Then there was no problem."
She got home. Vasilisa had said she was going to the Bucket with some of the girls for a celebratory drink. One vodka, apparently, was not enough sometimes. Tomorrow, Firebird.
Bekki must have had her broomstick to hand. She didn't quite remember. But she recalled flying in and seeing Spa Lane from above. Her street. Her house. Where she'd grown up. Where her family still lived.
She recalled Claude the butler opening the door to her. He was pleased to see her, as always.
Her mother, looking up from her chair in the living room. Where she'd been reading the papers. Bekki glimpsed a headline.
"Hell of a way to find out you've been in a fight." Mum said, mildly for her. "Reading about it in the papers."
Johanna Smith-Rhodes stood up, and placed a hand on each of her daughter's shoulders. She studied Bekki's face for a while. There was a lot of eye contact. Careful scrutiny. Then her mother grinned and everything became a great big hug.
"My little baby girl is all grown up." Mum said. Bekki sensed irony. As if getting into a massive fight and risking death for the first time was a rite of passage for a Smith-Rhodes woman.
More hugs came from her sister Ruth. The family dogs came up to say hello. Bekki petted them.
I survived it. I'm home. My bed's upstairs. But am I too late for something to eat?
"You cow! You utter cow! I'm so jealous!"
Bekki turned to look at the speaker. She sighed. Today was Wednesday. Sports Afternoon at the School. On Wednesdays…
She turned to look at a foot-stamping package of green-eyed and red-haired early teenage strop.
"And hello and how are you to you too, Famke." Bekki said.
"It's not fair!" Famke exclaimed. "I'm stuck in a deadly boring Morporkian Literature class all morning with that boring wet-rag drip of a teacher Fanny Barton…"
"Guild Teacher standing right here, Famke Cornelia!" their mother reminded her.
"Then in the afternoon, Mr Bradlifrudd has me running all the cross-country courses for hours, just because Aunt Mariella was a good runner and just because of that he thinks I can be a good long-distance runner too, can you believe that? So I'm getting covered in mud and all the time you, my great soppy dippy big sister, you're getting to do all the cool stuff, throwing fireballs at Klatchians and having this really cool fight and shooting them down and blowing them up and things, and I'm so incredibly jealous!"
Bekki sighed. Only her younger sister could be screaming at her in rage and hugging her with love at the same time.
"Mum? Is there anything to eat?" she asked.
To be continued…..
(1) "There you go, love, two sugars, set you up for the evening!""Thank you." Lord Downey of the Assassins said, with grave courtesy. Lord Venturi's mouth had opened, wobbled slightly, and closed again in sheer shock at being called "darling". But he had still accepted the tea. Getting the tea trolley upstairs to the Air Station had caused headaches .The only way up was either a flight of narrow steep stair,s or else going right round to the outside of the building and using the cargo lift. However, the logical and practically-minded Engineering Sergeant Gertrude Schilling found a way. It involved intimidating a Feegle into dealing with a drinkable beverage that had no alcohol in it, reminding him that tea fuels Witches, and threatening that if even a drop got spilt, there would be a Reckoning. The Feegle had then crawstepped the trolley up to the second storey. Taking great care not to displease the Hag. Gertrude had noted a memo to Olga – "we need an internal cargo lift of some sort, possibly a larger dumbwaiter. I'll sketch a couple of plans for you to look at." Thanks to a reader for alerting me to the real world Gertude Shilling and challenging me to slot her in somewhere. She will appear properly in later chapters where her expertise has a role to play.
(2) All in my tale Bungle In The Jungle, in which a much smaller and newly minted Pegasus Service is just starting out with two Air Witches and two Pegasi.
(3) That is, in Sophie's opinion, people who deliberately hurt horses should be fixed on the sharp end of a very large impaling stake or spear, bottom-first.
(4) Of course, all this is part of the monster tale Strandpiel, Book One. As you may be guessing, I am playing with ideas for the format and events and structure of Strandpiel Part Two. This tale sort of emerged. Chronologically, we are maybe six or seven months on from the last couple of chapters of Strandpiel, where Bekki, her Pegasus, a devoted Feegle sworn to her side as Navigator, and one demonic familiar, arrive in Howondaland to start a new life there. For most of the week, anyway.
(5) Morporkian Of Klatchian Origin, Watch shorthand for ethnic Klatchians in the City, sons and daughters of immigrants.
(6) Callsign, Kzad-bhat, ("Head-Banger")
Notes Dump: think of it as a sort of dispersal area for recovered ideas which can be cannibalised for spare parts so as to get new ideas up into the air again.
Nope, nothing this chapter. Yet. Except - thinking about "Witches Abroad" - I discovered there is a breed of chicken called a Cotswold Legbar. Terry Pratchett is from the Cotswolds...