Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(10)
Conscription had been instituted in the Empire of the New Britain Isles, and now in the Republic of Real People as well. But nothing like that had been proposed in the Homes forming the new Union simply because, once the war practically surrounded them, there was no place left for “runaways” to go. Particularly after the battles of Aryaal and Baalkpan. That was when it was driven brutally home that there weren’t any noncombatants and it became understood that every person, male or female, capable of bearing arms and living under the protection of the Alliance from the Malay Barrier to the Filpin Lands, was a member of a local guard. Even factory workers attended daily drill sessions (usually at work) and fell in for larger unit instruction once a month in the open killing grounds beyond the ever-expanding earthen walls protecting the cities. Armories stocked with old-style muskets were conveniently situated and factory and yard workers were assigned defensive positions close to where they worked.
That was all well and good, but though anyone was theoretically subject to being called up and sent to an Advanced Training Center and assigned to a building regiment, or shipped off to replace casualties, it almost never happened. They needed workers as badly as troops. The addition of the Great South Isle, or Austraal, to the Union would help a great deal—eventually. The populous Homes there had remained an untapped reservoir of potential sailors, soldiers, and labor for most of the war. Now they were in it, and though most had to stay and build their own factories and defend their cities, many wanted to fight for their people—and their new nation. Getting them here—or anywhere—was a major problem, however. The Allied sea-lift capacity was stretched to the breaking point, supplying forces in the east and west, halfway around the world. And Austraal didn’t have the same nautical mind-set of other Homes in the Union. Their huge island was lush and fertile (on this world) and never depended as much on the sea. They had a few decent shipyards, but it was taking time for them to gear up—and there was no point in building more old-style ships like they were used to, in any event. They’d agreed to focus on heavy haulers and auxiliaries, based on the hull design of the Scott class steam frigates, but half again as big. In the meantime, Allied seagoing Homes ponderously freighted steam engines down to Austraal shipyards, and just as tediously returned with loads of volunteers. Alan considered it his duty to, by example, get those recruits to choose the Navy or Marines. Besides, he thought, wearing the uniform lets me remind everyone that I belong to the Amer-i-caan Navy Clan, and, chairman or not, whether I currently outrank him or not, Captain Reddy’s still my high chief.
The carriage slowed as it passed the growing military cemetery on the shady grounds surrounding the Great Hall, and finally stopped. The Great Hall was once supported high in the air by the massive Galla tree growing up within it, but had “expanded” down to the ground. Alan was running late for his rendezvous with Lord Bolton Forester, ambassador from the Empire of the New Britain Isles, but the tall, gray-haired man with a huge mustache stood from a bench on the hall’s porch and smiled up at Alan. Forester’s aide, Lieutenant Bachman, had been pacing on the carefully fitted timbers, watched by a relatively short and wiry, and also apparently amused, man named Henry Stokes. Stokes had been a leading seaman aboard HMAS Perth, and was now Director of the Office of Strategic Intelligence (OSI). Alan remained in the carriage as a pair of Lemurian Marines escorted the men to join him, ready to assist them up if necessary.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Chairman!” the Imperial ambassador said through a grin behind his mustache, climbing up with an agility that belied his years.
“It’s still just Alan, unless you want me calling you Lord Forester again,” Alan replied dryly.
“Oh, no. Bolton’s the name.” He sat opposite Alan and leaned forward. “I confess some difficulty resisting the urge to rub it in, as it were, however. I apologize.”
“You shouldn’t be sorry,” Stokes said, hopping up and sitting next to Alan. He was quickly followed by Bachman, who stiffly folded himself on the bench beside Forester. “He needs to get used to it an’ quit maunderin’ about, wishin’ he was just a simple sailor again. He ain’t,” Stokes continued. “Bloke’s the bloody chairman, an’ needs ta act like it. Includin’ lettin’ folks be polite to ’im.”
Alan shook his head and glared at Stokes, wondering if the Australian could read minds. There was no doubt he was well suited to his intelligence role. Probably better than Commander Simon Herring had been. Herring had always seemed more interested in the process of his “game” than achieving results. With one possible exception . . .
The two Marines climbed on the back of the carriage and Alan instructed the driver to proceed. The paalka mooed, and the carriage trundled forward. “I let people be polite,” he defended. “Hell, I’m polite! But it’ll take time to get used to all this.”
“With respect, Mr. Chairman, you ain’t got time,” Stokes stated simply. “Not any.”
Forester frowned. “I doubt it’s of any great importance how we address one another as friends, but Mr. Stokes has a point. My own Governor-Empress was thrust into an arguably more difficult situation than yours. At least you enjoy a measure of domestic stability, after all. She”—he nodded at Alan—“with the help of Captain Reddy, of course, survived an attempt on her life, the loss of both parents, and the destruction of her entire government. This, immediately after our country was plunged into wars both foreign and domestic.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as they moved into what remained of the old commercial district. “She kept things together largely by insisting the proprieties be observed—even as she fundamentally reworked the Empire around her. She couldn’t have succeeded without help from our allies,” he conceded, “or if she’d shown the slightest indecision. Or, frankly, flexibility.”