“We intend to smoke out the bees,” Gerta said. “Or to put it less poetically, we intend to depopulate the Sierra, with your assistance. Your people aren’t fond of the Sierrans”—that was an understatement, if she’d ever made one—”and after the war, you can colonize with your own subjects. There will be land grants for your soldiers, estates for your officers, a virgin field for your business supporters—including intact factories, mines and buildings. We’ll leave enough Sierrans for the labor camps.”
“Ah.” Libert’s face was expressionless. “But in the meantime, the Union would need considerable support in order to undertake a foreign war so soon after our civil conflict.”
“Could you be more specific?” Gerta said wearily.
“As a matter of fact, Brigadier . . .”
He slid a folder across the table to her, frictionless on the polished mahogany. She opened it and fought not to choke. Oil, wheat, beef, steel, chemicals, machine tools, trucks, weapons—including tanks and aircraft.
“I’m . . .” Gerta ground her teeth and fought to keep her voice normal. “I’m sure something can be arranged. But as you must appreciate, General, we need to strike now.”
“That would indeed be the optimum military course,” Libert said. And so you must give me what I ask, or risk unacceptable delay, followed unspoken.
“I will consult with my superiors,” she said. “We must, however, have a definite answer by dawn.”
Or we’ll kill you and take this place over ourselves, equally unspoken and equally well understood.
Gerta rose, saluted, and walked out.
“Why do we tolerate this animal’s insolence?” young Johan Hosten hissed to her as their boot heels echoed in step through the rococo elegance of the palace’s halls.
“Because with Libert cooperating, we gain an additional two hundred thousand troops,” she said. “Most of them are fit only for line-of-communication work, but that’s still nine divisional equivalents we don’t have to detach for garrison work. Plus another hundred thousand that we don’t have to use to hold down the Union in our rear while we fight the Santies.”
Her aide subsided into disciplined silence—disciplined, but sullen.
I’m going to enjoy our final reckoning with Libert myself, she thought. Aloud: “I’d rather have three teeth drilled than go through another negotiating session with him, that’s true,” she said.
“Sir . . .”
Gerta looked aside. “Speak. You can’t learn if you don’t ask.”
“Sir, you were against opening our war with Santander this early. Have you changed your mind?”
“That’s irrelevant,” she said. “We’re committed now. Conquer or die.” She sighed. “At least my next job is a straightforward combat assignment.”
* * *
Air assault was no longer a radical new idea. Most of the troops filing into the dirigibles nestled in the landing cradles of the base were ordinary Protégé infantry, moving with stolid patience in the cool predawn air. A few of the most important targets still rated a visit from the General Staff Commando, and she’d ended up on overall command. Gerta looked around at the faces of the officers; they seemed obscenely young. No younger than she’d been at Corona, mostly.
It’s déjà vu all over again, she thought to herself.
“That concludes the briefing. Are there any questions?”
“Sir, no sir!” they chorused.
Confident. That was good, as long as you didn’t overdo it. Most of them had more experience than she’d had, her first trip to see the elephant. Policy had been to rotate officers through the war in the Union, as many as possible without doing too much damage to unit cohesion.
“One final thing. The Sierrans have much the same line of bluster that the animals did here, before we conquered the Empire. They have a word for it in their language . . . machismo, I think it is. There’s one crucial difference between the two, though.”
She looked around, meeting their eyes. “The Sierrans actually mean it. They couldn’t organize an orgy in a whorehouse, but they’re not going to roll over at the first tap of the whip either. Don’t fuck up because you expect them to run.”
“Sir, yes Sir!”
As they scattered to their units she wondered briefly if they’d take the warning seriously. Probably. Most of them had enough experience not to take the legends about Chosen invincibility too literally.