"Wine-John, please, they're going to order you to attack the capital!"
"Interesting." His features tightened suddenly and his eyes became alert. Then he relaxed and let the whiskey take effect. "If we obey those orders I'll need Major von Thoma's good offices to get my equipment back. Doesn't Bannister know what will happen if we let them catch us on those open plains?"
"Howie Bannister knows his way 'round a conspiracy better'n he does a battlefield, General," Black observed. "We give him the Secretary of War title 'cause we thought he'd drive a hard bargain with you, but he's not much on battles."
"I've noticed," Falkenberg said. He laid his hand on Glenda Ruth's arm and gently stroked it. It was the first time he'd ever touched her, and she sat very still. "This is supposed to be a party," Falkenberg laughed. He looked up and caught the mess president's eye. "Lieutenant, have Pipe Major give us a song!"
The room was instantly still. Glenda Ruth felt the warmth of Falkenberg's hand. The soft caress promised much more, and she was suddenly glad, but there was a stab of fear as well. He'd spoken so softly, yet all those people had stopped their drinking, the drums ceased, the pipes, everything, at his one careless nod. Power like that was frightening.
The burly Pipe Major selected a young tenor. One pipe and a snare drum played as he began to sing: "Oh Hae ye nae heard o' the false Sakeld, Hae ye nae heard o' the keen Lord Scroop? For he ha' ta'en the Kinmont Willie, to Haribee for to hang him up…"
"John, please listen," she pleaded.
"They hae ta'en the news to the Bold Bacleugh…"
"John, really."
"Perhaps you should listen," he said gently. He raised his glass as the young voice rose and the tempo gathered.
"Oh is my basnet a widow's curch, or my lance the wand o' the willow tree! And is my hand a lady's lily hand, that this English lord should lightly me?"
After the song John forbade talk of politics. They spent the rest of the evening enjoying the party. Both the Friedlanders and Falkenberg's mercenary officers were educated men, and it was very pleasant for Glenda Ruth to have a roomful of warriors competing to please her. They taught her the wild dances of a dozen cultures, and she drank far too much; but all during the party, and even in Falkenberg's quarters later, the old border ballad haunted her.
When she left Falkenberg's room the next morning she knew she could never warn Bannister, but she had to do something. Finally she persuaded the president to meet John away from the shouting masses of the Council Chamber.
Bannister came directly to the point. "Colonel, we can't keep a large army in the field indefinitely. Miss Horton's Valley ranchers may be willing to pay these taxes, but most of our people won't."
"Just what did you expect when you began this?" Falkenberg asked.
"A long war," Bannister admitted. "But your initial successes raised hopes, and we got a lot of supporters we hadn't expected. They demand an end."
"Fair-weather soldiers," Falkenberg said. "Common enough. Why did you let them gain so much influence in your Council?"
"Because there were a lot of them."
And they all support you for President, Glenda Ruth thought. While my friends and I were out at the front, you were back here organizing the newcomers…
"After all, this is a democratic government," Bannister said.
"And thus quite unable to accomplish anything that takes sustained effort." Falkenberg activated his desk top map. "Look. We have the plains ringed with troops. The irregulars can hold the passes and swamps practically forever. If there is a threatened breakthrough my Regiment stands as a mobile reserve to meet it. They can't get at us-but we can't risk battle in the open with them."
"So what can we do?" Bannister demanded. "Franklin is sure to send reinforcements. If we wait, we lose."
"I doubt that. They've no assault boats either-they can't land in any real force on our side of the line, and what good does it do to add to their force in the capital? Eventually we starve them out. Franklin itself must be hurt by the loss of corn shipments."
"A mercenary paradise," Bannister muttered. "A long war and no fighting-you must attack while we have troops! I tell you, our support is melting away."
Falkenberg had a vision of armies thrown against the Friedland armor. He made no answer.
"John, he may be right," Glenda Ruth said. "The Council is going to insist…" His look was impassive, and she felt she was losing his respect. But he had to understand, these were only civilians in arms, and they hadn't money to pay them properly, while all the time they were guarding the passes their ranches were going to ruin… was Howard Bannister right? Was this a mercenary paradise, and John Falkenberg wasn't even trying?
The vision she'd had that lonely night at the pass came unwanted again to her mind. She fought it with the memory of the party, and afterwards…
"Just what in hell are you waiting on, Colonel Falkenberg?" Bannister demanded.
Falkenberg said nothing, and Glenda Ruth wanted to cry.
X
The Council had not voted six days later. Glenda Ruth used every parliamentary trick her father had taught her during the meetings, and after they adjourned each day she hustled from delegate to delegate. She made promises she couldn't keep, exploited old friendships and made new ones, and every morning she was sure only that she could delay a little longer.
She wasn't sure herself why she did it. The war vote was linked to the reappointment of Silana as governor in Allansport, and she did know that the man was incompetent; but mostly, after the debates and political meetings, Falkenberg would come for her, or send a junior officer to escort her to his quarters-and she was glad to go. They seldom spoke of politics, or even talked much at all. It was enough to be with him-but when she left in the mornings, she was afraid again. He'd never promised her anything.
On the sixth night she joined him for a late supper. When the orderlies had taken the dinner cart she sat moodily at the table. "This is what you meant, isn't it?" she asked.
"About what?"
"That I'd have to betray either my friends or my command-but I don't even know if you're my friend. John, what am I going to do?"
Very gently he laid his hand against her cheek. "You're going to talk sense-and keep them from appointing Silana in Allansport."
"But what are we waiting for?"
He shrugged. "Would you rather it came to an open break? There'll be no stopping them if we lose this vote. The mob's demanding your arrest right now-and for the past three days Calvin has had the Headquarters Guard on full alert in case they're fool enough to try it."
She shuddered, but before she could say more he lifted her gently to her feet and pressed her close to him. Once again her doubts vanished, but she knew they'd be back. Who was she betraying? And for what?
The crowd shouted before she could speak. "Mercenary's whore!" someone called. Her friends answered with more epithets, and it was five minutes before Bannister could restore order.
How long can I keep it up? At least another day or so, I suppose. Am I his whore? If I'm not, I don't know what I am. He's never told me. She carefully took papers from her briefcase, but there was another interruption. A messenger strode quickly, almost running, across the floor to hand a flimsy to Howard Bannister. The pudgy president glanced at it, then began to read more carefully.
The hall fell silent as everyone watched Bannister's face. The President showed a gamut of emotions, surprise, bewilderment, then carefully controlled rage. He read the message again and whispered to the messenger, who nodded. Bannister lifted the microphone.