Harry Turtledove (Editor): Alternate Generals II

Thirty yards from the first buildings, flame stabbed into the night. A machine gun spat tracers, dashes of light crawling toward Smedley, then whipping past him. Four marines spun backward into darkness.

Smedley fired the Thompson in bursts toward the source of the tracers. He pulled down on the forward grip to keep the gun from climbing. His shells chugged out with a deep roar. The line of marines fired and screamed curses as they ran into the machine-gun fire. Men died and fell.

Butler leapt a low ditch, Suleyman beside him. Both fired into the machine-gun team as they landed. A rifle butt whipped out of the darkness. Butler fired, letting the Thompson rise, spewing shells across the soldier's body.

A Mauser jabbed from an open door. Suleyman fired. The enemy rifleman staggered back as shells slammed into him. Butler sprinted between a series of low sheds, closer to his target with each dash.

He paused in the shelter of the last building as a dozen men, including one of the sappers, caught up with him. A long, narrow dock separated them from the sub, and Smedley saw figures moving behind piles of supplies.

Butler whipped off his campaign hat and held the Thompson at his side. He ran into the open, gesturing wildly behind himself, Suleyman at his side.

A figure on the submarine called, "Kiminiz?"

Suleyman called back in Turkish.

Half a dozen men separated from the shadows ahead of Butler. One shouted, "Dur! Dur!"

Smedley fired, holding the Thompson's barrel down but letting it sweep from right to left across the group. Men fell or spun into the darkness clutching wounds. As the last round spat from Butler's Thompson, an officer in a long gray coat stepped into view.

Butler dropped the submachine gun, feeling the sling's pull on his shoulder, and clawed at his.45. The officer's pistol snapped up and Smedley dove aside. A bullet tugged at his sleeve. Smedley fired as his pistol rose, the upward recoil of the automatic sending his second round into the Turk's gut. Beside him, Suleyman screamed as a Mauser shell slapped into his chest. A burst of Thompson rounds swept Suleyman's killer from the dock.

Smedley ducked behind a stack of cargo and changed drum magazines on his Thompson. He pointed to three marines. "Hold here if the Turks attack."

Butler leapt for the sub, landing heavily on the foredeck. He scrambled up a ladder to the conning tower, firing at a figure in an open hatch, but missing. Smedley reached for the closing hatch. The metal slipped from his fingers as it clanged shut.

"Here, sir!"

Butler dropped back to the foredeck as a marine fired into an open torpedo-loading hatch. Smedley grabbed the hatch cover and nodded to the marine, who pulled a timer and hurled an explosive pack into the depths of the sub. Butler slammed the hatch closed. "Get off! Now!"

The marines jumped to the dock as a deep explosion shook the submarine. Roiling bubbles of air erupted from the ruptured hull. The flash of tracers stabbed toward Smedley again, and he heard the rattle of a German-made machine gun from the warehouses.

The slow thud of Thompsons echoed from the buildings. The Maxim stopped firing. Cooper's voice called from across the dock, "We got this lot, but more are coming."

A marine private stared at the body of a fallen Thompson gunner, who had taken a burst of machine-gun fire in his head. "God, it took off Roland's head."

"Steady, Warren, steady. Carry him out, son."

Butler hoisted Suleyman's body and dashed for the buildings, followed by the surviving marines with the other dead and wounded. At the warehouses, he dodged around a shattered Maxim gun and three dead Turks before letting two of Cooper's men take Suleyman's body.

"The camp is clear, General," Cooper reported. "About twenty dead wogs. The rest took a shine. Judging from the lights, a convoy's coming up the main road, sir."

"All right, back to the boat. Fast." Butler felt sweat, or Suleyman's blood, on the back of his neck.

Mustafa Kemal walked to a sideboard and picked up a crystal decanter. "Raki, General?" Kemal poured two glasses and handed one to Pershing.

Pershing sipped, the anise-flavored liquor sweeping all other taste from his mouth.

"In the field, I denied myself the pleasure of raki, but we are here as friends." Mustafa Kemal drank again. "General Pershing, give the American people the thanks of my nation. Your occupation saved us from the British and the French."

Pershing saw the trap, and smiled. "I believe our presence has helped the Turkish people."

"Your charitable organizations spared the people of Istanbul much suffering and saved many refugees from starvation. Let us forget your attempt to invade Eastern Anatolia. I am sure you wish to as well."

"We have much to discuss."

"No, General Pershing, we discuss only how you leave Turkey: as an enemy driven from our land or as a friend who leaves in peace."

"If you try to drive us out, we'll have a million men here in six months."

"We sank your dreadnought, General. We will sink your fleet as it tries to rescue you, or give you aid."

"Not with the same submarine, Kemal Pasha. We just sank it," Pershing said. If, he thought, Butler is on schedule. "Constantinople remains under the protection of our navy."

"That gives you the guns of your cruisers and destroyers. It does not give you more troops." Mustafa Kemal smiled. "We drove out the Greeks, and will drive you out as well. If your troops stack their arms and board your ships, we shall let you go."

"That would be surrender. Demand surrender and dishonor, and you will call down the wrath of America," Pershing said. "But I do not want to see your men, or my men, die needlessly."

"Our peoples can remain friends." Mustafa Kemal sipped his raki. "If we can find honor for both of us. Will Governor Fall agree?"

"Fall I can deal with, Kemal Pasha. Can you assure me that your army will not attack as we withdraw-with our arms?"

"I guarantee my army. I can not guarantee the people of the city."

The sleek patrol boat carrying Butler and his attack force bumped against Princess Matoika. Smedley knelt beside a wounded marine, adjusting the rough bandage on the man's shattered leg. "They've got a full surgery aboard the Matoika, and you'll be in top shape by the time you steam into New York." Butler stood aside as sailors slid the man onto a litter that was quickly hoisted up the liner's white flank.

Butler stared at the row of eight blanket-covered bodies on the small fantail. To Butler's surprise, the captain of the patrol boat had found a red-and-white Ottoman flag, which now covered Suleyman's body. "Eight dead, Sergeant Cooper, and another twelve wounded. That's a high price."

"Yes, sir."

"It will be higher if the Turkish army attacks."

Butler climbed a ladder to the small conning tower, seeking a better view. The Golden Horn flowed west to east, pouring into the Bosporus and dividing the peninsula on which Stamboul, ancient Constantinople, sat from its northern suburbs. The Galata Bridge, the first of two bridges over the waterway, crossed the Horn near its mouth. Smedley scanned Seraglio Point and the mosques of the ancient city. Turks crowded the shore of the Golden Horn, held from the southern end of the bridge by a cordon of troops.

Further east, through the arch of the Galata Bridge, Butler saw the Upper Bridge, also defended by a line of troops confronting a growing crowd. "I think the Turks smell blood. Ours."

Butler slid down the ladder to the deck. Gripping his Thompson, Smedley jumped from the boat to the Galata dock before the waiting sailors had secured the lines. Major Shaw saluted sharply. "Welcome back, General. Did you sink the bastard?"