A Young Girl’s Outer Heaven
03
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Commissioned by Sneakydevil.
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We gathered in the Ingrid’s briefing room the following morning. Accepting a cup of coffee from Visha, I sipped it and nearly choked. Coughing to clear my airway, I looked to Visha, who merely smiled brightly.
“This is not ersatz coffee.”
“No ma’am.”
“I uh, well, I thought you might like some fresh coffee, commander. So we bought a few bags of beans before things went south,” Grantz scratched at his head, looking embarrassed.
“You’re a good man, Grantz. I’ll mark this in your permanent folder. This kind of initiative deserves a reward. Keep it up, and when we’ve secured funding and a base of operations, I’ll see to it you get a raise. Perhaps even a promotion,” I promised, before slowly sipping at my coffee and enjoying the flavors.
Sweet and soft. Not exactly high quality, but better than I’ve had in a while, outside of Ildoan. This must be Arabica. And, of course, made just how I like it. Thank you, Visha.
Weiss unrolled a map and laid it out on the table. Looking it over, I found it was a map of the country, already marked with several locations of interest. A second map was rolled out on top of the first, showing the city and surrounding areas—also marked in Weiss’ neat script. He set weights at the corners before accepting a cup from Visha.
A moment later, we were joined by Captain Fischer and his executive officer, Commander Fuchs—a tall, statuesque blonde woman in her late 20s, with a trim figure that I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to sink my teeth into… or that I hoped my body would grow into. After all, sex appeal was a tool to use just like any other. At the moment, Tanya—I got by on my youthful, angelic looks. At thirteen, I was finally starting to sprout up in height and beginning to shed the cherubic look that had contributed to my success by making people underestimate me.
I’m going to miss being a tiny, slim target during aerial maneuvers. And then there’s the thrust to weight ratio… But perhaps the trade off will be worth it. If only in the utility of leveraging my looks in a different way. Beautiful women make men stupid and lower their guard.
There was, of course, the question of what I was going to actually do with that beauty if I attained it. Of who I would pursue, romantically speaking. I had no interest in men at all and while the Empire had been relatively open-minded about the subject of homosexual relations from a legal standpoint so long as one’s private life was kept private, I wasn’t certain of other places—such as Brasa.
But until we secured a future for ourselves beyond tomorrow, such thoughts were a luxury I didn’t have. So, I put the thought aside to deal with at a much later date and focused on the here and now as the meeting started.
“Good morning, everyone,” Fischer greeted, and everyone likewise went through the usual pleasantries. After a moment, he nodded to the map. “You’ve secured us some up to date maps, I take it?”
“Yes, sir,” Maj. Weiss confirmed. “I spent most of the night compiling what we’ve gathered. With your permission, I’ll begin,” he looked to me.
“Go ahead,” I agreed, before going back to my delicious coffee.
“Thank you.” Weiss took out a notepad from his pocket and began reading. “Our initial intelligence gathering has turned up several factions within the city of Bellum. These factions are divided up between government forces, gangs of varying size, and anti-government radicals.”
“From the top down then, major,” I instructed.
“Bellum is the capital and largest city of the state of Para, within Brasa. It can be roughly divided into five zones.” He pointed out each as he began to list them. “Shipping and the docks on the far north. Directly to our south, the business district. The next area down is all residential and small businesses. Day laborers and the like. This also contains the shantytown slums, the favelas in the local tongue. To the far south, the government district. Government facilities, schools, and a college. And then there are the outlying areas, which is basically everywhere else. All these little islands in the river, farmland to the east.”
Using his computation orb, Weiss projected a series of photographs over the map, all of them taken from local newspapers. “If we’re starting from the very top, then this is Julio Vargas, the ‘democratically elected leader’ of Brasa. In reality, he is a military dictator.”
Weiss made one of the photos larger and I examined the man in question. He looked to be in his early 40s. He wore a suit with a cape and several ropes at the shoulders and in the photo he stood tall, posing with a saber planted on the ground and his hands resting on the pommel. His dark hair was starting to thin out and he had a look in his eyes that I didn’t like. Something about his face and eyes reminded me of early photos of Vladimir Lenin, before he lost his hair.
“Brasa is currently undergoing a revolution, supposedly driven by communist infiltrators and dissenters from Sao Paulo.”
I clicked my tongue as Visha and Grantz both made faces at that. Fuchs grunted a quiet, “Communists,” filled with an impressive amount of loathing.
“It gives us an opening,” I pointed out, and Fischer nodded.
“She’s right. The government has a problem and we could be the solution.”
“It’ll be just like back home, colonel,” Grantz joked.
Visha nodded. “Even better, because we won’t be freezing our toes off!”
“Yes, I suppose I should think of this as a chance for us to get some live fire target practice in,” I mused as my lips twitched into a grin.
I motioned for Weiss to continue and he did. “Focusing on the city… The government here in Bellum is divided between the state and the city. The governor is a former general of the Brasa military, Pedro Vasquez.”
Another photo. This time of an older, hard looking gentleman in his sixties, with thick, dark hair with white at the temples, an equally thick mustache, and a deeply lined and serious tanned face. Or at least I assumed he was tan. It was hard to tell from a black and white newspaper photo. Vasquez wore a dark suit and looked like the very image of an old war horse put out to pasture. A man who was still large of stature and strong, but had gone soft about the middle.
“He’s a hard line conservative and Brasa nationalist. He’s on record as stating that the president should deploy the military to deal with the cocaine growers and traffickers, and the communist insurgents before they can spread and infect the country. He has control over the state military forces, but from what we’ve been able to gather, President Vargas is content to sit on his hands and order Vasquez to do the same.”
“He may be open to using someone else to clean up those problems,” I surmised, and Weiss nodded. “We should pay him a visit at some point in the near future. Who’s next?”
“The mayor, Juan Igual.”
A new photo, this time of a man in his late 30s perhaps. Just looking at him, I felt like he would be trouble. He was tall, with messy dark hair, a dark pinstripe suit, and clean shaven. The man looked like a thug, and I half expected to see him holding a Thompson and yelling, “Say hello to my little friend!”
That, or buried face first in a mountain of white powder high enough to ski down.
“Everything we’ve gathered says he’s corrupt. Owned by the cartels. The police supposedly reflect that and have been shaking down local businesses for protection money, taking bribes, and the usual.”
“Of course,” Fischer murmured.
“Moving on, next we have the various heads of the local trade unions, but all of them report to the harbor master, supposedly.”
“I heard about him last night, but I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
Weiss nodded. “I don’t have a photo of him, unfortunately. Nor do we know much about him personally. Just that he likes to keep out of the city politics and he’s running a smuggling ring—probably working with the cartels. I’ve heard that there have been some issues with piracy, both along the trade routes to the north and south and the trans-Atlantic route typically shipping to Africa.”
“We could easily hire ourselves out as an escort, captain,” Fuchs suggested.
“Yes,” Fischer turned to me and added, “it would necessitate some logistics, however. My men can take care of maintenance for the Ingrid, but we would still need parts, a more permanent drydock to conduct work, ammunition and torpedoes, fuel and other supplies. We’ve secured food, water, and fuel for now along with a temporary berth, but ideally we would like to have our own base of operations.”
“Agreed,” I nodded. “We’ll see what we can do. At the very least, we need to get housing for everyone off the Ingrid—that way you can run escort missions and it won’t impact my men and my own operations.”
Weiss took that moment to continue. “Next, we have the local gangs and the cartels. There are apparently too many small gangs to even bother naming and territory changes hands daily. There are two criminal elements everyone should be aware of, however. The first are the most dangerous. Los Carniceros—the Butchers. Thieves, murderers, rapists, arsonists, drug dealers. They kidnap people to take to their human trafficking ring outside the city. That was who Grantz ran into last night. They wanted to fight even after we showed up, but after the first few died, they scattered. Some of them wear a green bandanna, but most of them apparently prefer to blend into the crowd. Makes it easier to take people off the streets.”
I nodded. “Spread the word among the men. No one is to go out alone. Teams of four, sidearms and submachine guns. Make sure to keep your computation orbs on hand. Captain,” I looked to Fischer, “if you send anyone out, let one of my officers know and we’ll assign you a two mage escort.”
“Thank you, colonel.”
“These people are kill on sight if they engage, do you understand? However, if you think you can safely take a few prisoners to bring in for interrogation, do so. I’d very much like to know everything we can about them, and then remove them from this Earth.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Weiss nodded, Grantz and Visha echoing him. “The second criminal element is one of the large Brasa cartels. Familia del Verde—Family of the Green. They are allegedly the president’s backers and a government sanctioned cartel. The largest in Brasa. They export to the Unified States and Europe, and much of that passes through Bellum and leaves from these docks. They’re based in Sao Paolo, but have a large branch here in Bellum to look after their product.
“Finally, there are the anti-government revolutionaries. A communist group calling themselves El Puno del Pueblo, the People’s Fist, based in Sao Paolo. They’re extremely well-funded and have amassed a private army by buying up old surplus military equipment from the Brasa government. It’s not new equipment, but it works well enough to roll over any city they care to. Which they’ve done, taking over the state of Sao Paolo, the capital of which has become their base of operations. Everything I’ve seen says the president believes that the revolution will wear itself out eventually, so he’s been doing nothing, aside from reinforcing a few cities.”
And with that bit of information, everything became clear to me.
Sao Paolo was where the communist infection was spreading from. It was also where the largest cartel in Brasa was based. There was simply no way that these two groups weren’t connected. Not just connected, but in bed together. I would put money on the communists having taken root in the cartel, in order to use their influence and money to spread and finance their goals—likely with the promise that Familia del Verde would effectively rule the country when all was said and done.
The president was on the payroll, so this whole ‘revolution’ was really less about overthrowing him and more about getting rid of the old guard. Generals like Vasquez, who didn’t want to see their country fall to commies and cartels, poisoned by drugs and the rotten ideals of communism. Vargas had to look like he was doing something, otherwise he would likely be put in front of a firing squad. But that didn’t mean he had to be effective at whatever he was doing.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Vasquez retired, but I had my doubts about whether it was his choice. If it was, it either happened before Vargas took office, or after when he showed himself to be ‘incompetent.’ I needed more information there, but I didn’t think it really mattered. Either Vasquez had retired and now felt like the current president was turning out to be an idiot or in bed with the cartel, or he had quit in disgust after seeing it firsthand. Either way, I could use that angle. We were outsiders. We had no ties to the communists, the cartels, or the government. We were a group of German ex-patriots turned soldiers of fortune. Our loyalty was for sale.
Tony Montana—That’s what it was! He looks like Pacino! And now I can’t unsee it. That is, Juan Igual, was quite obviously another puppet of the Green Family cartel and, by proxy, the People’s Fist. That made him a natural enemy of Governor Vasquez.
The question is, who should we side with?
I almost laughed out loud at the thought. There was only one morally right answer and it was obvious.
Whichever side is killing communists, naturally!
However, before I could get too deep into the weeds on the benefits of a full communist purge of Brasa, I reminded myself that we were here for a reason. It wasn’t just myself and the Salamander Kampfgruppe. We were here with the Ingrid and her crew, and the families of many of my men. We were here to start over. To establish a forward operating base and secure a home for our people. The unspoken agreement between everyone was that we would eventually return to the Empire for the rest of the men’s families and those of the Ingrid’s crew. That, or find a way to get into contact with them and have them brought to us by ship. Either way, we needed to have a new home for them to come to.
Do we really want to get tied up in local politics, if it could bring danger to their families? Can we afford not to involve ourselves, when the alternative is letting the communists go unchecked, and potentially come for my men’s families regardless of whether or not we stick our noses in?
Thinking about it like that, the answer was obvious. You couldn’t sleep next to a rabid dog.
Either we need to burn the communist infection out entirely, or we need to find somewhere else to go. The problem is, there aren’t too many places we can go that will offer us the sort of opportunities to ply our trade that a country in the middle of a revolution will. So… we’ll have to make sure they’re secure, wherever we set them up. Secure and guarded. That, we can do. Then, we need to make sure that they can’t tie our organization to our families, or even to any one country. We need to become an international company of mercenaries, who can go anywhere and work for anyone.
No. Not mercenaries. Not a foreign legion. Not soldiers of fortune. A military without borders. A private military company.
“—and that’s where we stand on our treasury,” Visha finished, and I frowned at having missed it. But knowing Visha, she had everything written down, so I could just review it later. I had the gist of it, though. Our war chest was limited and dwindling rapidly with the burden of paying to refuel our only means of transportation, and pay for food and water. We needed to start making money quickly.
To that end, I said, “Captain, why don’t you take a few of my men with you and go speak with the harbormaster? See if you can scrounge up some work for the Ingrid.”
“Cmdr. Fuchs, I’ll leave that to you,” Fischer said to his second in command, who nodded.
“Aye, captain.”
“Weiss, send Cpl. Braun with them, just so there’s no confusion.”
“Yes, colonel.”
“In the meantime Weiss, I need you to come with me. We’re going to pay a visit to the governor. Grantz, put together a scouting team. I want an area nearby for the men to run drills.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
With that, we called an end to the meeting. Before I could leave, however, Fischer said, “Lt. Col. von Degurechaff, Maj. Weiss, Cmdr. Fuchs, please stay.”
I held back and Fuchs closed the door behind Visha and Grantz, leaving just the four of us. “Was there something you needed, captain?”
The man sighed and nodded. “A potential issue I wanted to bring to light, before it became a problem.”
“Yes?”
“We have left the fatherland. However, we are still operating as though we are Imperial troops.”
I nodded. “A… combined army and navy unit, yes. That’s how I’ve been thinking of it.”
“Likewise,” Fischer agreed. “I believe that a slight restructuring is in order. Someone needs to be in overall command. As a captain, I have the superior rank.” I frowned, but nodded. “However, your force is the larger of the two. You have more experience leading a large, disparate force made up of multiple elements. Therefor, lieutenant colonel, I am hereby field promoting you colonel—which is equivalent to a naval captain. Maj. Weiss and Cmdr. Fuchs are our witnesses for this.”
“Yes, captain,” Fuchs agreed, echoed a moment later by Weiss.
“You will have overall command of our joint forces, however, my authority takes precedence on my boat.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Looking to Weiss, I sent the man a grin. “Congratulations on your promotion, Lt. Col. Weiss. You are in command of the Kampfgruppe. Captain Serebryakov is in charge of the 203rd, when she isn’t serving in her duties as my adjutant. Let the men know.”
With that, we broke up and went about our tasks.
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“It’s beautiful,” Weiss commented as we rode along in a small military truck—something that looked very much like a Jeep.
Looking around the small villa that was the governor’s estate, I nodded. Brick and adobe construction, thick green lawn, flower beds full of large, vibrant flowers. But as pretty as the scenery was, I couldn’t help clocking the guards patrolling the area. The guard towers with snipers on the lookout. The fortified entry we had driven through. I couldn’t blame the governor for the security however, given that there had been more than one attempt on his life.
We stopped at the main entrance to the large house and the driver stepped out. “I must ask that you relinquish your sidearms to me. They will be returned to you when you leave.”
Weiss and I shared a look, before we both removed and unloaded our sidearms, keeping the magazines. It didn’t matter that they had the guns when Weiss had his computation orb and I didn’t need one anymore.
We were led inside, down sunlit marble halls cooled by ceiling fans, to a door our escort held open. Inside, we found an office with the window open and the ceiling fan going. It barely helped. The heat here was thick and oppressive, and I was miserable in my uniform. I made a mental note to look into some sort of climate control formula. I was sure that with enough time, I could make one. Until then, I would just have to endure.
Seated behind the desk was Governor Vasquez, who stood upon our arrival. He looked us both over, before turning his eyes to Weiss.
“Welcome. You wished to speak with me, Colonel von Degurechaff?”
Weiss coughed into his fist and shot me an apologetic look. I looked up at him and winked, signaling him to play along. “Good morning, governor. I am Lt. Col. Matheus Johan Weiss.”
The pair shook hands and the governor gestured at the chairs. “Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea? Perhaps some cocoa for your companion?”
“Coffee, please,” Weiss nodded.
“Andre, two coffees—”
“Let’s make it three, if you would?” Weiss corrected, and when the general looked at me, I simply smiled and nodded.
“Very well,” the governor nodded and the attendant left. Leaning back in his chair, Governor Vasquez studied us for a moment before he began. “So, what brings a German Imperial military unit to Brasa? Trying to outrun the war crime courts, now that your country has surrendered?”
Weiss sat up straighter, a severe frown on his face. “Governor, you are a military man yourself, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Then surely you’ve come across situations where the rules of war were not clearly and cleanly written down? Situations where there is no black and white correct answer? Perhaps even situations where there are laws on the books, but they keep you from achieving your objectives, and so you creatively interpret them to suit your needs.”
The man grinned. “Oh yes. Many a time has bureaucracy attempted to tie my hands and I’ve wished for a way around it. Sometimes, by finding creative solutions, certainly. Other times yes, the laws were not clear or there were no laws at all.”
“Then would you wish to sit and be judged by your enemies for the crime of besting them? Would you go, knowing that if there were not laws already on the books, the enemy would make new ones just for you and find you retroactively guilty of breaking them? Would you go to such a circus sham trial, knowing that you are to be a sacrifice for your country, to appease the enemy, when appeasement will only make them bolder?!” Weiss’s voice had now risen and the man was starting to turn red under the collar.
I reached out and laid a hand on his arm. After a moment, Weiss took a deep breath and let it out all at once. “My apologies, governor—”
Governor Vasquez laughed, shaking his head. “No, no! I understand. Truly, I do. I apologize. I wanted to test you, one soldier to another. You truly understand the plight of the soldier in today’s political climate.”
“We do.”
“Mm. Tell me, what do you know about the situation here in Brasa? In Para?”
“Only what information we have gathered since arriving. That your government is experiencing a revolution, led and fomented by communists who have taken over Sao Paolo. Your president refuses to do anything about it. The communists are most likely in bed with the cartels, who allegedly own the president. The cartels are working to secure power for themselves. And the mayor and police force of Bellum seem to be corrupt.”
Vasquez sighed deeply, before nodding. “That about sums it up.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, governor. One of the questions my commander wanted to ask was whether you retired before or after the president took office.”
Vasquez pulled a face. “After. I was disgusted by the man’s incompetence. It was only later that I realized it wasn’t incompetence, but that he is complicit in the attempt to subvert our nation and destroy everything we hold dear. He is too enamored with money from the cocaine sold by the cartel to care about the yoke the communists will put on us should they take power. You need only look at Sao Paolo to see what they intend for the rest of us. Starvation of the people, bread lines, confiscation of personal wealth, multiple families moved into large homes, labor camps, firing squads for anyone who dares to dissent or try to flee… It’s monstrous.”
It was at that moment that Andre returned. We accepted our cups and, as a matter of habit, I cast a poison detection formula. Frowning, I snapped, “Weiss.” The man froze, cup halfway to his lips, as did the governor.
“Is there a problem, miss…?”
I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled, savoring the scent. “This is a fine blend. One of the finest I’ve ever had the pleasure to smell. I’m not familiar with this particular bean and the scent of bitter almonds amongst the otherwise complex and rich aroma could just be how the roast presents. What I am familiar with, however, is my own magic—and the results of a poison detection formula.”
I placed the cup in the tray and put them on the desk in disappointment as Weiss did likewise, an angry look crossing his face. Behind us, Andre attempted to leave, but Weiss turned and gestured, and the man was launched across the room where he was pressed into the wall.
Standing, I sighed, putting my hands behind my back. “Governor, I assume that if you had any intention of poisoning us, you wouldn’t be so foolish as to poison your own cup.”
“Poison…?” the man asked, looking at his cup, before his eyed hardened. “Andre?”
The captured man spat in our general direction. “The revolution will not be stopped by the likes of you! The people will be free! We will—”
“Weiss, shut him up.”
“Ma’am,” Weiss nodded, before walking over and slamming a fist into Andre’s gut, before grabbing him up in a head lock. “Be quiet.”
“We are no strangers to the madness of communism, governor,” I began, turning my focus back on the man behind the desk. “We were there, on the eastern front, fighting them in their own towns. We watched them send wave after wave of their people at us, into the teeth of our machine guns, knowing that they would be chewed up without a care for the wasteful loss of life. We’ve seen them starve, beat, and execute their own. We’ve seen how their aerial mages are treated—locked up in the gulag when they were a threat, then rolled out to be thrown at us when they became useful again. Poison is the weapon of cowards, or a weapon of terror for cowing a populace. So it is no surprise that the communists would resort to using it against yourself and a new perceived threat.”
The man considered Andre and Weiss, before looking at his coffee cup. After a moment, his dark brown eyes met my silver-blue. “Who are you? It has become obvious that I’ve made a fool of myself by making an assumption.”
I held my hand over my chest and bowed slightly, putting on my best innocent smile. For some reason, Vasquez shivered in the uncomfortable heat. “Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff. Leader of the Salamander Kampfgruppe. Aerial mage and veteran of the first World War.”
“But you’re…”
“Just a girl?” I asked, and he nodded. “All children are tested for magical aptitude in the Empire at a young age. When I discovered I was a mage, I enlisted at the age of nine. The alternative was wait to be drafted into service, and the only way to enter the officers’ track and advance past a certain point was to volunteer. Unfortunately, I was not expecting a war to start on my first tour of duty, and so my dreams of retiring to the rear to a cushy job behind a desk were dashed.”
Weiss laughed. When I turned and raised an eyebrow, he grinned. “Sorry, Colonel. I have a hard time picturing you as a pencil pusher. We all know you’re one of us.”
“Yes, my band of bloodthirsty war junkies,” I murmured, before turning back to Vasquez. “I apologize for the deception, governor. I wanted to test you, one soldier to another.”
The governor chuckled quietly. “I see. I suppose that is fair. Now, let’s get rid of this before someone accidentally drinks it, then get that traitor out of my office.”
The man stood and went to the door, calling in a guard to have Andre removed and fresh coffee brought, before dumping the bad coffee out the window and throwing the cups in the garbage. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in lending me some of your aerial mages as a security detail?”
Weiss and I retook our seats. Crossing my leg over my knee, I laced my fingers in my lap as I considered it. “Weiss, how many do you think we could spare, on a rotation?”
“A platoon, easily. Perhaps two.”
“Twelve men,” I murmured, before nodding. “We’ll need to work out an appropriate rate for our services, of course. Aerial mages are expensive to field. That’s assuming we’re allowed to operate in your airspace?”
“Yes, absolutely. You and your people are free to operate within Brasa airspace. Not that we have any means of actually detecting you. And I’ll pay whatever it takes,” Vasquez agreed immediately.
I waved a hand dismissively. “Something to work out another time. Weiss, make the call and have some men sent over.”
The man nodded and stepped outside to make the call. While he did that, I asked, “How does it feel, to see a disease spreading across your country, only to have your leader tell you to sit on your hands and ignore it?”
Vasquez frowned, his jaw clenching so hard I could nearly hear his teeth grinding from where I sat. “Infuriating.”
“Well, as it turns out, my Salamander Kampfgruppe is very good at fighting communists. You could say that it’s a rather large section of our resume, under ‘past work experience.’ Right under ‘fighting against the best aerial mages Europe had to offer.’ We have no ties to any political factions within the country. We are something they aren’t expecting and so can’t plan for. And perhaps most importantly for you… we are an entirely deniable asset. A military without borders, capable of going anywhere and taking on any mission. Answerable only to the client.”
The door opened and a uniformed man came in with a tray, cups, and a carafe of fresh coffee, followed by Weiss. Once again, I cast the poison detection formula. When it came up clean, I nodded. I waited until we had our cups and the soldier had left, before sipping at my delicious coffee and sighing happily.
Looking at Vasquez over the rim of my cup, I asked, “The way I see it, governor, you have a problem. No one else can help. We’ve found you. Would you like to hire us?”