Vavra Bey honed her instincts to their finest edge.
“Gentlemen,” she began, “there is no doubt that aggression has taken place. However, the question of aggression, by whom, against whom, is seen in a different light by the Security Council. It is felt by the Council that the actions of the UNAFIN force elements involved were correct and justified, given the evidence recovered. This evidence being indicative of an active military campaign launched against the nation of Guinea by the West African Union.”
“We deny these allegations,” Belewa growled. The big African’s elbows rested on the tabletop and his fingers were interlaced in a doubled fist that half concealed the scowl on his face.
“Do you deny these, General?” Vavra Bey swept her hand over the tabletop, indicating the photographs and photocopied documents scattered across it. “Arms and military stores bearing the markings of the West African Union’s armed forces, captured documents bearing the signatures of senior Union naval and army officers, battle plans and reports on insurgency operations—”
“Lies!” Umamgi exploded. Half standing, he leaned over his section of the table. “We have examined these documents and we have found them to be blatant fabrications produced by Western intelligence organizations. We refuse to acknowledge them!”
Bey noted the jump of a small muscle under the curve of Belewa’s jaw and the momentary narrowing of his eyes. The African took a deliberate breath before speaking. “The Union admits the possibility that some of its citizens, even perhaps some of its military personnel, may have joined with rebel factions within Guinea in acts against that nation’s government. Segments of our population have strong feelings about the corruption and injustice rampant in that country. However, I again categorically deny that my government has ordered any hostile acts performed against our neighboring state.”
“And what of those men, General?” Bey asked softly. “The thirty-four Union nationals currently being held by the government of Guinea. Do you deny them as well?”
The muscle in Belewa’s throat twitched again. “The West African Union is always concerned about the welfare of its citizens, wherever they may be. It is our hope that the United Nations might be able to assist us in arranging for their return. The ambassador from Guinea has been most… truculent in this matter.”
Vavra Bey lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “General, if indeed these men are acting on their own recognizance, there is nothing I can do. As you have said, no recognized state of war exists between the Union and Guinea. Thus, these men cannot be classified as prisoners of war. Accordingly, their fate now rests in the hands of the civil courts of Guinea. Your men will stand trial for murder, piracy, and terrorism. I fear that the penalties handed down will be most severe.”
Bey held Belewa’s gaze with her own. “Perhaps if the West African Union would accept at least some responsibility for the actions of these individuals, grounds might be found for U.N. intervention on their behalf.”
The General’s eyes were brown ice. “There is nothing more to be said on this matter.”
“As you wish.”
Bey removed a cream-colored folder from the briefcase at her side, its cover bearing the embossed silver seal of the United Nations. Deliberately she placed it in the center of the conference table. “As you no doubt have been advised by your ambassador to the U.N., the Security Council has elected to act upon the evidence of Union aggression recovered by the United Nations African Interdiction Force. The trade embargo against the West African Union has been expanded to include all goods and materials except for food and medical stores. Also, the UNAFIN rules of engagement have been formally amended to permit operations inside of Union territorial waters at the discretion of the UNAFIN commanders, should such actions be necessary in support of the blockade.”
“Any further violation of our territorial sovereignty will be met by armed force!”
“Then that will be at your discretion, General.” Vavra Bey closed the latches of her briefcase with a decisive snap.
My dearest Arkady:
Well, we’ve pulled it off The first go-round, at any rate. Upon reflection, I’ve decided that I was lucky to be dumped into this command in the middle of a crisis. Total immersion! Sink or swim! I never had time to think about all of the things I might be doing wrong.
I’ve been lucky in another area as well. As with our old team aboard the Duke, I’ve got another bunch of exceptionally good people to work with. I hope I can be worthy of their potential. I’ve just got to remember that I have to adapt to the rules of the tribe and the environment. If I can manage that, I think I’ll be okay.
We’ve cleaned out Belewa’s boat hides inside of Guinea and, surprisingly, no one’s complained about the rather unorthodox way we went about it. The local government is just relieved to have the pressure off for a while. Our major concern, now that we have the Union kicked out, is with not letting them sneak back in.
We’re running a barrier patrol now and I’m going out with it daily (or nightly — that seems to be when most of the action is around here). I just got back in from one a short time ago. I’ll be darned if I’m going to let myself develop a “squadron commander spread” by sitting around on this barge all of the time.
Even after taking out the hide network, we’re still spread awfully thin. Too few hulls to cover too many miles of coast. My Three Little PGs are fast, but not fast enough. (By the way, check the attached picture file. It’s their new squadron patch. Unknowingly, I had a hand in designing it.) I’m worried about our ability to execute a fast response should anything blow out along the line.
It’s a heck of a thing for a good surface-warfare officer to have to say, but I wish I had you and your helos here. And that, love, is for any number of reasons. I think about our last night together in the cockpit of the Seeadler, usually just before I go to sleep at night. I hope you think of it as well, and I also hope that we have the chance to finish that conversation soon. We still have a great deal to say on the subject.
There was an odd feel to the way Queen of the West rode the low, oily swells. Drifting off cushion and powered down, there was a slight but decided hesitation to the hovercraft’s roll. Amanda idly analyzed the phenomenon and concluded it must be caused by the drag of the deflated plenum skirt beneath the hull.
Steamer Lane slouched in his command chair, staring out into the darkness, one hand resting on the propulsor pod controls. Intermittently his fingers would move and the Queen would tremble slightly as he poured a shot of power to the propellers, deftly holding the seafighter precisely on station.
As usual, the PGAC had the inshore post. Glancing at her tactical display, Amanda could see the Patrol Craft Sirocco circling slowly in her endless racetrack pattern six miles farther offshore. And six miles beyond her, the French corvette La Fleurette loitered out in deep water.
Odds were, though, if there was going to be any action, it would come here, creeping in along the coastline.
Amanda arose from her seat and stretched as well as she could in the cramped confines of the cockpit. “How’s it looking, Snowy?” she inquired, peering up through the overhead hatch.