John reached into one of the cabinets and took out several folders, putting the kerosene lamp in the center of the table. Gerta swung her knapsack around and took out her camera, screwing on the flash attachment and setting out a row of magnesium bulbs.
“The first one’s the report on the amphibious assault,” he said.
“Jeffrey’s masterpiece. I nearly killed him during it, you know—sheer chance. I was there on inspection, bugged out when it started, and nearly ran him down.”
“That was you? He told me about it, but he wasn’t sure.”
“Mm-hmmm,” Gerta said in agreement. The camera began flashing as she methodically photographed each page and diagram.
“Pity I missed. He’s far too able to live; he should have been born among the Chosen. Ah, fifteen percent losses. Excellent work, we estimated half again that. The Gut’s been pure misery for us every since, we can barely run a train within reach of the coast. Should get better now that we’ll be producing more fighters and ground-attack aircraft and wasting less on Porschmidt’s damned toys.”
“Here’s the specs on the multi-engined tank. They’re still working on it.”
“Glad to see we’re not the only ones who waste time and money,” Gerta answered. “Our model can do as much as three, even four miles between breakdowns now. Of course, if it did go further there isn’t a bridge in the world that could hold it.”
The last folder was bulky, an accordion-pleated box of brown cardboard stamped TOP SECRET and bound with blue tape.
“That’s a duplicate,” John said. “I got a copy because my firms are involved with special equipment for it and because of my intelligence connections.”
“They let you make a copy?” Gerta asked, looking up at him suspiciously. “That’s pretty sloppy, even for Santies.”
“They didn’t let me,” John said. “I’ve got an electrostatic copying machine in my office. It’s a new design, sort of like an instant photograph. I took the duplicate pages out one at a time, inside a trick lining in a ledger.”
Gerta nodded grudgingly. “Odd paper,” she said, opening the first set.
“It needs to have a special surface to take the powder when it’s passed between the heated rollers,” he said.
“I see Jeffrey’s been bumped to corps commander,” she said, and whistled. “Twenty-five divisions. Now that’s what I call a strike force, and too mobile by half. We were hoping they’d try to bull through the confrontation line.”
“They might have, except for Jeffrey,” John said. And me, and Raj and Center through us.
Gerta’s fingers froze on the papers. “Ahh,” she said. “The Rio Arena?”
“It worked for you, so they think it’ll work for them,” John said. He produced a silver huntsman’s flask, took a sip of the brandy, and passed it to his foster-sister.
She sipped in her turn, not taking her eyes off the document.
“Want to cut us off in the southern lobe, do they?” she said. “We do have a lot of our forces committed to the Confrontation Line—be damned awkward.”
“It’s to be combined with a general offensive there,” John said. “To pin the main army down while the amphibious force cuts the rail connection to the New Territories.”
“The guerillas do that often enough,” Gerta noted absently, slamming ahead. “General uprising . . . ya, it makes sense. It’s even good staff work. Meticulous. They’re learning.”
John sat back and silently lit a cigarette. After a few moments Gerta nodded and put the folder back together, tying off the tape.
“Damn,” she said mildly. “This will be a distraction.”
“Distraction?” John said.
“We’ve been pushing for more emphasis on air and sea,” she said absently. “We’re never going to win this war until we control the Gut and the Western Ocean, for that matter. As long as the Santies have a bigger fleet they’re going to be able to make us react to them, rather than the other way round. Ah, well, needs must when the demons drive.”
She stood and shook his hand, her own as hard and calloused as his. “Keep up the good work,” she said.
He smiled. It turned gelid as she added: “Assuming this isn’t disinformation.”