The Eternal Empire (22 page)

5th
April 1920

Minden,
Saxony

None of the officers in the conference
room could recall seeing the "Ice General" smile before. It was not a
beaming ear to ear grin that is associated with great amusement or laughter, it
was more a softening of the cold rock like expression that the Generals face
seemed set in. They took it as an indication that something had warmed the iron
heart of the man.

The person responsible for the sudden
thaw was Franz Maleric. He was standing up in front with charts and maps
attached to the walls having made his presentation to Count Godisger and the
rest of the Saxon army staff. He kept his face impassive not wishing to appear
proud or smug at being the first of his colleagues to have proposed a plan that
seemed to have met with the Generals approval.

Godisger had joined Maleric at the
front and walked carefully and deliberately from one display to the next,
taking in each map, chart or diagram, nodding slowly as he did.

"Tribune Maleric's' ideas are
refreshing," he said at last, turning his attention to the officers seated
before him, "he proposes unusual, yet practical solutions to neutralising
key advantages that the imperial armies have over us." He paced up and
down the platform on which Maleric had made his presentation whilst Franz stood
to one side, "he also considers the political aspect, something that the
rest of you have conspicuously ignored!" He gave the seated officers an
accusing glare. Some fidgeted in their seats whilst others reddened in
embarrassment.

"You didn't bother to look more
than a hundred miles beyond the Rhine!" snapped Godisger.

"The Empire stretches from
Britannia to Egypt. It borders the Ottoman and Arab Empires as well as Saxony
and the Duchies. It has over half a million soldiers and a population of nearly
three hundred million."

Godisger spoke to his staff like a
school teacher hammering home a basic piece of knowledge to a particularly
dense group of students. "Its size means that it has resources that we
can't match! But never forget that we are not their only potential enemy. There
are the Ottomans, the Arabs and as Maleric had just pointed out in his
presentation, they can also have themselves as an enemy."

Godisger allowed a blanket of silence
to descend upon the room. The officers glanced at one another with their eyes
trying to discern the reason for the generals’ dramatic pause whilst Godisger
stood like a statue before them. When he was sure he had their full attention,
he spoke.

"Tribune Maleric," he said
still looking at the officers in front of him, "in view of the recent
announcement from Constantinople regarding the punitive increase in duty and
the unilateral imposition of a tariff for using the Rhine, Danube and other
waterways, do you have any comments?"

Franz Maleric smiled. The news of the
new imperial trade policy had been announced as he was putting the finishing
touches to his presentation. There had not been any time to change his maps or
charts, but he had made some notes in case the opportunity presented itself,
and the general had just given him that opening. He moved from his position to
one side of the platform where he had been standing since he had concluded his
presentation.

"When I drew up this plan,"
he said, his confidence boosted by the Generals approval, "I had no idea
that a situation would develop so quickly that could provide a favourable
environment for its execution." There was a stirring amongst his fellow
officers as the implication of what he had just said sank in. Maleric looked to
Godisger.

"Go on," he ordered.

Maleric took a deep breath.
"General, I formally recommend that the Saxon army begin to prepare
detailed operational plans based on my presentation today for offensive action
against the Empire.

He noticed the look of surprise, or was
it shock, on the faces of several of his colleagues. Godisger showed no emotion
at all. Maleric continued.

"There's a lot of work to do.
Production of the 'special weapons' and training for the special operations
mentioned in my report must begin at once. The current mobilisation schedule
must be changed, and diplomatic and covert activities, especially in Britannia,
must be co-ordinated."

Godisger began to nod his head slowly,
but otherwise his expression did not change.

"The opportunity presented to us
by their arrogant pronouncements," continued Maleric, "together with
the reductions in the imperial forces and the internal problems within the
Empire must not be wasted."

Maleric stood before Godisger, not at
attention but erect and proud of what he had said.

Godisger remained immobile, thinking
deeply. The desire for revenge and the fear of the consequences of failure
pulled him in different directions. It could work, he thought. At last he could
grind those arrogant Roman faces into the dust of defeat! Make them acknowledge
Saxony as an equal! He would have to persuade the King and the Royal Council,
but Maleric was right. There was no time to lose.

"Yes tribune Maleric," he
replied at last, fixing Franz with his eyes. "I do believe that you are
correct. This may be too good an opportunity to miss." He turned to the
rest of his staff and shot off a series of orders.

"All other activities of this
staff are suspended. I want everybody working 24 hours a day on preparing
battle plans in line with this presentation. Tribune Maleric will have overall
control of the military planning and will allocate work to each of you."
He looked at Maleric who nodded in acknowledgement.

"I will contact Count Boling for
support from the diplomatic service and Admiral Keslitger for some navy
personnel to be seconded to my staff so that we can co-ordinate their
activities as well."

Godisger looked at his staff. They were
his hand-picked men, the best from the staff school. Now they would be able to
put their training to good use. He felt proud as he surveyed their confident
and enthusiastic faces.

"You all have plenty to do, so
I'll leave you to get on with it," he picked his generals cap from the
table; "I am going to see the King."

5th
April 1920

Colonia
Agrippina, Rhine frontier

Cornelius arrived at the frontier late
that evening, and his diplomatic passport got him across the bridge to the city
of Colonia Agrippina with the minimum of formalities. An optio from the legio
IV Macedonian was waiting for him with a motor carriage and he was driven to a
small airfield on the outskirts of the city. An Imperial Airways transport
plane was waiting for him on the runway. The optio stopped the motor carriage
beside the boarding ladder and Cornelius got out.

A steward with a clipboard was waiting
at the foot of the ladder.

"Cornelius Petronius?" he asked
curtly.

Cornelius nodded.

"Please board immediately
sir," the steward said perfunctorily, "this flight has already been
delayed for three hours in order to accommodate you. Your baggage has been
loaded already."

Cornelius noticed the single bag that
he had hurriedly packed on his return to the embassy being unceremoniously
tossed into the cargo hold beneath the aircraft. He was about to say that it
was hardly his fault that the plane had to wait, when the steward, possibly
noticing Cornelius's anger at his rudeness, gave him a disarming smile.

"The other passengers sir,"
he said in conspiratorial tones, "are a bit upset over the delay."

"Oh," said Cornelius,
"that's too bad," and climbed the ladder into the aircraft.

As he entered the dimly lit cabin,
there were sighs of relief and muttered expressions of 'at last' and 'about
time' from the dozen or so other passengers. Cornelius smiled pleasantly at
each of them as he made his way to a seat at the back, making it very clear
that he did not give a damn.

The narrow plane had about ten rows
with a central aisle and a single seat on either side each next to a small
round window with red velvet curtains. Cornelius took a seat opposite a man in
a legionary uniform. He was fast asleep. Cornelius had just about enough time
to fasten his seat belt when the engines started up and the aircraft took off.

Once airborne, the legionary woke up
and leaned across the aisle. "Tribune Antonius Granicus, adjutant legio XX
Valeria Victrix," he said in greeting offering his hand.

Cornelius took the offered hand and
introduced himself. "Cornelius Petronius. On attachment to the embassy in
Minden. At least you don't seem upset by being kept waiting for three
hours."

The tribune snorted a small laugh.
"I'm in the army, you spend most of your life waiting for something to
happen, and the rest of it wishing it hadn't."

Cornelius laughed back. "That's
true, I'd almost forgotten. Where are you heading?"

"Milan and then by train to
Ravenna, I'm attending a course on some new fangled piece of technical wizardry
that'll reduce the number of fighting men and increase the number of
mechanics!"

"Well that's progress for
you," commiserated Cornelius, "when I was in Africa the cavalry units
in the legion were just that, men on horses. They looked after their own mounts
with a small number of veterinary surgeons to assist. Now they consist of
armoured motor carriages and tracked landships with more men keeping them
running than actually driving and fighting in them."

For the first part of the flight
Cornelius and the tribune swapped stories of life in the military. The
twentieth legion was stationed in Britannia so Cornelius mentioned that his
brother was with the second Augusta, and asked how things were in the province.
The tribune frowned.

"Not good," he said.
"Everyone's on edge, the local populace is sullen and fights between our
men and local youths are so common that we have had to double the number of
military police patrols in the garrison towns. Relations with the auxiliary
units are not much better, whenever we try to organise joint manoeuvres we get
no co-operation at all."

Cornelius sat quietly taking in what
the tribune had said. He remembered what Sextus had said at Titus's party last
year.

"How do the regular troops
feel," asked Cornelius a few moments later.

"Sorry?" said the tribune who
had lost track of the conversation during the silence.

"About the situation in
Britannia?" explained Cornelius, "how do the legionaries and the
troops of the auxilia palatina feel about it?"

Granicus was thoughtful now. After a
few minutes considering his reply, he gave Cornelius an answer.

"Some, mainly the older ones like
me, think that Constantinople should ease up. This new policy will cripple the
economy in Britannia, and you can't expect people to sit idly by while their
livelihoods disappear down the latrine. Then," he continued, "there's
a movement amongst some of the younger officers that I find quite
disturbing."

Cornelius could see that Granicus was
uncomfortable but he was intrigued and also a bit concerned by what he had
heard so far. "Please continue," he urged.

"They feel that the Empire is in
danger of falling apart and that by reverting to ‘traditional values’ they can
stop the rot."

"Sounds like the standard traditionalist
party manifesto to me," said Cornelius.

"Yes, but much worse,"
continued Granicus, "they feel that the only way for our neighbours to
learn a 'proper respect' for the Empire is by aggressive military action."

"That means constant war,"
said Cornelius shaking his head in disbelief, "and what do they think the
answer to our current problem is?"

"Oh, they don't have any real
solutions - just knee jerk reactions. If the radical party is demanding a
reduction in military privileges - ban them! Unruly demonstrators are causing a
riot - shot them! Pirates raid the coast - blow every ship in the area out of
the water!"

"Popular policies with some,"
observed Cornelius.

"Popular with too many - until the
consequences catch up with them. Needless to say, this new policy of Exanzenus
to charge for the use of the waterways around the borders meets with their
approval."

"I'm sure it does," agreed
Cornelius, "but what about the increase in duty for cross border trade?
What do they make of that?"

"That, my friend is economics, and
beyond their area of expertise or interest! Heck, I don't understand it myself;
economics is for smart arse bureaucrats and university professors with no hair
and thick eye glasses!"

During the rest of the flight,
Cornelius wrote a short letter to his parents which he asked Granicus to post
for him. At Milan he took his leave of the tribune and boarded another aircraft
to Singidunum in Moesia. He had a six hour wait and managed to catch up on some
sleep before he took his final flight to Constantinople.

It was dark when his plane touched down
at the military airfield outside the city.  Cornelius had to argue with the
duty centurion to get transport to a hotel as his travel arrangements did not
seem to have made it ahead of him. However his diplomatic credentials and
persistent manner eventually managed to produce a motor carriage and a bleary
eyed guardsman to drive him to the city.