John Ringo: East of the Sun, West of the Moon

Megan waved in appreciation of the applause as, shadowed by Meredith, they stepped down the stairs to the floor of the large room. The room was not filled to overflowing, by any stretch of the imagination, but Washan in summertime was hot and the candles and lamps that lit the room added to the heat of the pressed bodies, turning it into a sauna. Megan was afraid she could already feel her hairdo wilting.

“Remember, the slave said,” Herzer said, leaning over to whisper in Megan’s ear, “you too are mortal.” He was dressed in the most formal uniform of the UFS, a tight coat worn short, open at the front in deference to the heat, with a blinding white undertunic on which his Eagle hung from a thick scarlet ribbon. The coat was gray, the newly chosen color of the UFS Army uniform, with light blue lining to denote his branch of infantry. The gray pants had a blue stripe down the side as well. It was topped by a light blue beret. The coat was heavy with his medals and qualification badges; two silver eagles to match the gold, the now defunct aurea victorous, wound badges, dragon qualification, maritime aviation badge, air combat medal. Megan had insisted that he wear all of them. There were a few with more medals in the room, the UFS Army was already getting medal happy. But there were none with more medals for valor in combat.

Megan snorted softly and took the first hand that was outstretched to her.

“Duke Okyay, a pleasure to see you this evening…”

Herzer detached himself as soon as Megan began politicking, grabbed a glass of sarsaparilla and a plate of munchies and worked his way over to the corner where Edmund and the Army commander were ensconced.

“Duke Edmund,” he said, pushing past an aide. Most of the flunkies were staying well back from the great men and surreptitiously acting as a filter. The Army commander’s new aide had apparently not recognized the unknown major.

“Hey, Herzer,” Edmund said grumpily. “Welcome to the jungle.”

Herzer grinned slightly when he saw the turning aide grimace and face back to watch the goings-on.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be spending far too much time, here,” Herzer said, frowning. “Megan’s taken to it like a duck to water.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Edmund replied. The duke was noticeably older every year as the weight of being the preeminent field commander of the UFS forces bore down on his shoulders. What little hair he had left was entirely gray and was shorn close to his scalp. But he still retained his salt and pepper beard and an almost alarming presence. Next to him General Galbreath, ostensibly the commander of all UFS ground forces, was a pale, thin shadow. Effectively Edmund let Galbreath get on with the politicking and administration while Edmund got on with winning the war.

Barely seven years before, the world had been a virtual utopia with unlimited power and technology so advanced it approached magic. Disease and want had been eliminated and a worldwide network of teleportation and replication permitted humans to live as gods, their bodies and lives playthings in a continuous life of merriment.

In a moment it ended as the Council of Key-holders that controlled the network fell out in what amounted to a worldwide civil war. Now the majority of the power from the twelve remaining fusion power plants was devoted to energy attacks between the two factions of Key-holders and armies were forming on both sides. The Freedom Coalition, those who fought on the side of Queen Sheida and her allies, used unChanged humans for their forces while the New Destiny coalition modified the bodies of their soldiers, and increasingly their support forces, into bestial creatures that were almost incredibly tough and strong while being loyal to the point of suicide. Already, the United Free States, the portion of the Freedom Coalition that held Norau, had beaten off major attacks from the orcs of New Destiny. It was time for some payback.

Edmund Talbot had been a reenactor before the Fall, a person who spent his time creating a very close approximation of a time “when.” He’d lived in a stone house, crafted swords and armor, and generally lived a comfortable life as a feudal lord with extra amenities such as antique flush toilets. After the Fall it had been revealed that he was one of the few legends of the pre-Fall period, Charles “The Hammer,” a man who had gone into Anarchia and tamed it in a few short years, disappearing thereafter, as mysteriously as he had appeared, but leaving in his wake a stable government that, as far as anyone knew, still existed.

Since the Fall he had been the UFS’ preeminent general, winning battle after battle against New Destiny.

The brand new Key hanging from a ribbon around Duke Edmund’s neck, the one recovered from Elnora Still after her assassination by New Destiny, showed just who had true precedence between the two.

“Your reputation precedes you, Major,” Galbreath said, sticking out his hand. “I think that what the duke meant was that, given the planned counterattack on Ropasa, it would be… difficult for the Army to lose one of its brighter field lights to politic in Washan.”

“I’ve got a dozen posts I need you at now ,” Edmund growled. “Professor at the War College comes to mind. So does a battalion command. Hell, command of the new legion we’re trying to raise. Get married, go on your honeymoon, get your tubes cleaned and then pack your bags.”

“Hell of a choice, sir,” Herzer said, grumpily. “With Megan, who I love and want in a the worst possible way, in the capital, doing this ,” he said, with a dismissive wave at the height of Washan society, “or eating cold monkey on a stick in Ropasa.”

Edmund chuckled. “Let me guess which way you’d hop.”

“Cold monkey,” Herzer admitted. “Although, if I was at the War College Megan would at least be no more than a day away.”

“Once we have control of a significant portion of Ropasa,” Edmund reminded him, “we can set up portals. Then she’s just a jump away.”

“You’re going for a direct invasion of the mainland?” Herzer asked. “Megan supports an invasion through Gael and the retaking of Breton first.”

“Is that an unofficial message from a fellow council member?” Edmund asked, raising one eyebrow. “That is, after all, what parties like this are really for.”

“No, of course not,” Herzer said, testily. “But you know she supports the Gael. Don’t you?”

“I’m well aware of it,” Edmund said. “But with an invasion force on his home coast, Chansa will be forced to recall the units that are attacking the Gael. Then they can have Breton for all I care.”

“There’s that,” Herzer said, frowning. “I suppose you’re correct.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Edmund grinned.

“Your mind is a bog, boss,” Herzer admitted after a moment. “But Chansa is anticipating a direct attack on the coast and from what I’ve seen he’s building up significant forces around fortified positions. From the reports I’ve seen he appears to already be pulling back forces from Breton. Even if we get a beachhead, we’ll be stuck butting our head against division after division of his orcs, many of them in fortresses. Even if we get the new legion, which is a real hot topic right now, the parity of forces will be extreme. And if we don’t take the fortresses, they’ll be in our rear. All of the ports are heavily defended so support will have to come over the beach. And it means shuttling all our forces across the Atlantis until we can take and hold a large enough area that Mother will consider it to be held by force majeure and we can set up portals.”

“Teaching me to suck eggs, Herzer?” Edmund said, smiling faintly.