“Wait,” Atvar said. “The SSSR and Nippon were not at war with each other when we came to this miserable mudball. Yet Molotov admits to aiding a Chinese faction against the Nipponese?”
“He does, Exalted Fleetlord,” the translator replied.
“Then ask him why we should not expect the SSSR to supply the Chinese with arms against us, with whom his not-empire also would not be at war.”
Uotat spoke. Molotov answered. His interpreter relayed his words to Uotat, and Uotat to Atvar. “He says that, unlike the Nipponese, the Race would have both the power and the interest to punish any such violations.”
Such breathtaking cynicism made the fleetlord let out a sharp hiss. Nevertheless, the approach was realistic enough to make dealing possible. “Tell him violationswill be punished,” he said, and added an emphatic cough.
“He acknowledges your concern,” Uotat said after Atvar had spoken.
“How good of him to do so,” Atvar said. “And now, back to the matter of Poland, which appears to be the principal concern remaining before us here.” As he spoke, he wondered if that would be true in the long run. China had a much larger area and many more Big Uglies living in it than Poland did. It also had a long frontier with the SSSR that even the Race’s technology would have a hard time sealing. Sooner or later, the males of the SSSR would try to cheat and then deny they’d done it. He could feel that coming.
The male from Britain spoke up: “A moment, please.” He was polite; he waited for Uotat to gesture for him to continue before going on, “I must reiterate that His Majesty’s government, while acknowledging the Race’s conquest of large portions of our empire, cannot consider any sort of formal recognition of these conquests without in return obtaining a cease-fire identical in formality and dignity to the ones to which you have agreed with the United States, the Soviet Union, and Germany.”
“So long as the conquest is real, whether you recognize it does not matter,” Atvar replied.
“A great deal of history contradicts you,” Eden said.
As far as Atvar was concerned,Tosev3 did not have a great deal of history. He did not say that; it only nettled the Big Uglies. What he did say was, “You must know why Britain is not in the same class as the not-empires you named.”
“We have no atomic weapons,” the British male answered. “And you must know that is not necessarily a permanent condition.”
For a moment, Atvar was tempted to grant the British the formal cease-fire they craved on the spot. If for no other reason than to inhibit their nuclear research program. But he held silent with three Tosevite not-empires already in possession of atomic weapons, what did one more matter, even if the British could make good on the warning? “Poland,” he said.
“Is and must be ours,” von Ribbentrop declared.
“Nyet.”Atvar understood that word without any help from the interpreters; Molotov used it so much, it had become unmistakable.
“The Race shall, for the time being, retain possession of those parts of Poland it now holds,” the fleetlord said. “We shall continue discussion with Deutschland, with the SSSR, and even with the Poles and Jews, in an effort to find a solution satisfactory to all parties.”
“General Secretary Stalin has instructed me to acquiesce in this,” Molotov said.
“TheFuhrer does not, will not, and cannot agree,” von Ribbentrop said.
“I warn you and theFuhrer once more: if you resume your war against the Race, and especially if you resume it with nuclear weapons, your not-empire will suffer the most severe consequences imaginable,” Atvar said.
Von Ribbentrop did not answer, not to bellow defiance, not even to acknowledge he’d heard. The only thing that worried Atvar worse than a blustering, defiant Big Ugly was a silent one.
Ludmila Gorbunova pressed the self-starter of the FieselerStorch. The Argus engine came to life at once. She was not surprised. German machinery worked well.
Ignacy waved to her. She nodded back as she built up revolutions. She would have had to push theStorch hard to get it airborne before it rammed the trees ahead. Her old U-2 could never have taken off in so short a space.
She nodded again. More partisans bent to remove the blocks of wood in front of the light plane’s wheels. At the same time, Ludmila released the brake. TheStorch bounded forward. When she pulled back on the stick, its nose came up and it sprang into the air. She could see the trees through the cockpit glasshouse: dark shapes down there, almost close enough to reach out and touch. The Poles whose candles had marked the edge of the forest for her now blew them out.
She buzzed along steadily, not wanting to gain much altitude.
As long as she was on the Lizard side of the line, she might be shot down as an enemy. Ironic that she’d have to make it to German-held territory to feel safe.
Safe wasn’t all she hoped she’d feel. By the coordinates, she was returning to the same landing strip she’d used before. With luck, Heinrich Jager would be there waiting for her.
Off to the right, muzzle flashes blazed in the darkness. Something hit the side of the fuselage, once, with a sound like a stone clattering off a tin roof. Ludmila gave theStorch more throttle, getting out of there as fast as she could.
That complicated her navigation. If she was going faster, she needed to fly for less time. How much less? She worked the answer out in her head, decided she didn’t like it, and worked it out again. By the time she discovered where she’d gone wrong the first time, a glance at her watch warned her it was time to start looking around for the landing strip.
She hoped she wouldn’t have to do a search spiral. The Germans were liable to start shooting at her if she buzzed around for too long, and the spiral might take her back over Lizard-held territory if it got too big.
There! As usual, the lanterns marking the landing strip were small and dim, but she spotted them. Lowering the enormous flaps on theStorch killed airspeed almost as if she were stepping on the brakes on the highway. The light plane jounced to a stop well within the area the lanterns marked off.
Ludmila flipped up the cockpit door. She climbed out onto the wing, then jumped down to the ground. Men came trotting up toward theStorch. In the darkness, she couldn’t be sure if any of them was Jager.
They recognized her before she could make out who they were. “There-you see, Gunther?” one of them said. “Itis the lady pilot.” He gave the word the feminine ending, as Jager sometimes did, as she had so often heard Georg Schultz do (she wondered what might have happened to Schultz and Tatiana, but only for a moment: as far as she was concerned, they deserved each other).
“Ja,you were right, Johannes,” another German answered. “Only goes to show nobody can be wrongall the time.” A couple of snorts floated out of the night.
Gunther, Johannes-“You are the men from Colonel Jager’s panzer, not so?” Ludmila called quietly. “Is he-is he here, too?” No point pretending she didn’t care; they couldn’t help knowing about her and Jager.
The panzer crewmen stopped in their tracks, almost as if they’d run into an invisible wall. “No, he’s not here,” one of them-Gunther, she thought-answered. He spoke hardly above a whisper, as if he didn’t want his words to go beyond the span of theStorch’s wings.
Ice ran down Ludmila’s back. “Tell me!” she said. “Is he hurt? Is he dead? Did it happen before the cease-fire started? Tell me!”
“He’s not dead-yet,” Gunther said, even more softly than before. “He’s not even hurt-yet. And no, it didn’t happen in the fighting with the Lizards. It happened three days ago, as a matter of fact.”