Post by Lorpius Prime on Jul 21, 2008 5:44:59 GMT -5
Captain Ivers rolled his tongue around in his cheek for a few moments before doing anything. In the meantime, Margaret put her hands on her hips and tried to ignore all the soldiers now openly staring at her. The lieutenant with whom Ivers had been conversing seemed particularly suspicious of this strange woman, and when the captain and his horse finally ambled over towards her, he seemed reluctant to follow.
Margaret deliberately kept from making eye contact with him and smiled at the captain instead, "Hello, Gerald, how are you?"
He turned his head to make a sweeping glance around the airfield before responding, "I'm afraid I've had considerably better days, Margaret Joyce, and I really haven't the time for an extended reunion right now. Is there something I can do for you?"
Margaret huffed slightly at his distraction, but forged ahead regardless, "Yes, Captain, there is. I'm afraid my travel companion has run off on me, and I was hoping you could help me catch up with him."
Ivers looked directly at her again and screwed up his eyes, "Pardon?"
"A Colonel Holland?" Margaret tapped her foot. "Do you know where he went?"
"Yes, I sent him off to brigade headquarters so he could speak with the CO," he pointed over his shoulder with one thumb. Then he held out the same hand when Margaret took a step in that direction. "But I can't let you go over there yourself!"
"Why not?" Margaret demanded.
He looked slightly appalled. "Margaret Joyce, I don't suppose anyone told you, but you've just landed in a war zone." He nodded towards the people who were starting to emerge in streams from the Apollo behind Margaret. "I've got to get all of you away from that airship and into bunkers before the enemy starts dropping shells on your heads."
"What?" Margaret tensed.
Ivers nodded, "Just follow the men's instructions; they'll get you away safely."
He started to guide his horse into a turn away from her, and Margaret had to summon up all her will again to drive his little revelation aside. She shook her head, "Gerald!" He paused. "Gerald, I'm here with Martin—Colonel Holland, that is. We're here to find Jay Thomson."
The captain winced. "Ah, I'd heard about the accident." He shuddered, "I had just seen him and your father a day or two before, as we were shipping out to deploy here. I don't think your brother recognized me." He shivered again, as if it was now a dark memory.
"Colonel Holland thinks Jay Thomson's alive. He thinks he might be here in the city. We were going to find him."
Ivers frowned, "It's not a good time to be in the city…" His frown deepened and he shook his head, "Colonel Holland didn't say anything about you when he passed through."
Margaret held up her hands, "Just tell me which way he went, Gerald. I'm not going to just cower around here while he's off playing hero without me."
Gerald Ivers sighed.
Martin Bozeman Holland worked his jaw silently as he followed a few steps behind the noncommissioned officer who had been assigned as his escort to the infantry brigade's headquarters building. Ordinarily, Martin would have been content to proceed in silence, but this time…
"Ah, Colour…"
"Colour Sergeant Mozdzierz, sir," the soldier responded without looking back.
"I see. Colour Mozdzierz," Martin thought he did a reasonably passable job of pronouncing the name, "forgive my curiosity, but I'm rather intrigued by—"
"The axe, sir?" Martin's escort patted the broad-bladed axe which hung from one side of his belt.
"Indeed," Martin nodded even though the colour sergeant was looking the other direction. "I can't say I've ever seen a man carry one of those, certainly not in uniform at least."
Mozdzierz chuckled, "It's a bit of a family heirloom, sir." He spoke with a definite Lancashire accent, which Martin found odd set against his name and his square-jawed Slavic appearance. "My great-grandfather carried it when he fought as an infantry pioneer against the Russians. No one ever updated the uniform regulations to get rid of it."
"And how often do you have to break into wooden fortresses these days, Colour Sergeant?" Martin snorted.
"Not often, sir." The soldier looked over his shoulder to Martin and showed a demonic grin through his beard, "But I find it's better than a bayonet for hand-to-hand."
Martin smiled long enough for the colour sergeant to turn away, then shuddered. Martin himself had significantly more training in close quarters combat than any of his counterparts in the other services, including the infantry, but even he wouldn't want to tangle with someone wielding a thing like that.
He didn't bother Mozdzierz for the rest of their trek to the headquarters building. Instead, Martin worked on just exactly he was going to say to the Brigadier in order to convince the commanding officer that he wasn't a fool on a fool's errand. It didn't help that Martin was not at all sure himself.
"Colonel McGuire? I have a Colonel Holland from the Security Service to see you, sir."
The thin colonel was bent over a large map table in the center of the room, but he pushed himself upright and adjusted his bifocals to look at his Brigade Major. He pursed his lips, but decided there wasn't any point to asking the question he wanted, he would find out soon enough.
"All right, send him in, Evan."
The chief of staff saluted and opened the door into the map room to allow in a broad-shouldered man in a civilian coat and pants. Colonel McGuire folded his hands behind his back and nodded to the guest.
"Colonel Holland," he said, "welcome to the headquarters of the Devon and Cornwall Brigade. What can I do for you?"
"Colonel," Martin returned the nod, and his eyes flicked about the room, "I was hoping to speak to your Brigadier."
"I am in command here," McGuire replied curtly. "I'm afraid Lord Tilworth was attending an opera the night of the attack and has been missing since, so you'll have to deal with me, Colonel Holland. I assume you were on board the airship which has just touched down?"
Martin didn't say anything for a moment. The Army colonel seemed less than pleased to see him, and Martin decided to proceed cautiously.
"Yes, I'm afraid I had to order them in despite your warning."
"That was unwise, Colonel. We've been surrounded and cut off from relief for two days here at the station, and the enemy seems to have acquired artillery now. I shouldn't need to inform you that hydrogen and bombs don't mix well."
"I was well aware of the risk," Martin held his ground. "However I believe my own mission is urgent enough to justify it."
"Oh?" McGuire raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Martin nodded, "Before I go into that, however, if I could ask you just what exactly it is that happened here. When I left, I wasn't aware of anything untoward happening in this region."
The Army colonel frowned, and half-turned away from Martin towards the big map table, "We were caught rather off-guard ourselves. There was some sort of insurrection near Augsburg. It happens occasionally, and the Prussians dispatched their infantry battalion here and another one from Ingolstadt to suppress the rebels." McGuire traced over a few places on the map with one finger. "Apparently this was more serious than anyone expected, however. Whoever the rebels are, they defeated both of the Prussian formations and advanced on the city. Of course, we didn't find out about that until they were already engaging the Hungarian occupation forces." His expression became very dark for a moment and Martin waited politely for him to continue.
"Anyway," the colonel shook his head, "it only took them a couple hours to push the Hungarians across the river. We did manage to get up our gunship, but the enemy knocked her back down almost immediately, and they encircled us shortly thereafter. We still had the telegraph until about eight hours ago, they finally cut the line. But the Hungarians were still holding the bridges and the Prussians were regrouping at Dachau, so I'm hoping for relief sometime today. So far, they've only managed to put one mortar on us, we think they captured it from the Prussians, but one of my platoons was able to neutralize it pretty quickly. We think they've been focusing most of their attention on taking the bridges, I suppose they think they can finish us off after taking the city."
McGuire shrugged and Martin took a few steps forward to peer at the detailed map of Bavaria spread out across the table. "And this started at Augsburg?" He rubbed his chin, "it couldn't have been very long ago to have escaped the news."
"Well the Hungarians have gotten pretty good at keeping a lid on the press," the colonel snorted. "But from what I understand it has only been three or four days. We don't get involved in that sort of business, so we're always at the end of the line for intelligence. And," he sighed, "it didn't help that Lord Tilworth was never too concerned by the military situation."
Martin noticed the slight pause in activity among several of the aides in the map room, but none of the said anything. He didn't know anything about the air station's missing Brigadier specifically, but he did know that the officers the Army picked for occupation duty on the continent did not tend to be its best and brightest. Actually, they tended to be high-born fops looking for an easy ride to honor and glory. But Martin pushed those thoughts aside and refocused his attention on Colonel McGuire, who seemed to at least be taking his job seriously.
And if this mess had begun three to four days ago, that put it in exactly the right time frame to have been the result of precisely what Martin had been hoping to avoid. What his whole office had been working to avoid for most of the past few weeks. Which meant his job had become considerably more urgent if he was going to nip things in the bud before it all got completely out of hand. Assuming it wasn't too late already.
"All right, Colonel. It looks like things are more critical than I realized, and I'm going to need your help." He paused for a moment to look McGuire square in the eye. "I need to get to the Service's station in the city; can you tell me where that is?"
"Ahm," McGuire blinked, "yes, the consulate. But it's too far outside the perimeter."
Martin's brow furrowed, "Where?"
The colonel turned to his map and pointed to a large palace complex in the city's northwestern quarter.
"But that's right next door!" Martin exclaimed, ignoring the sharp looks he drew from the junior officers. Their commanding officer was well off the mark, the palace he'd indicated was less than two miles from the air station. "Just send me with a company and we'll secure the whole place."
"We can't," McGuire sounded exasperated. "I've got an infantry brigade, Colonel Holland, and not a very well-equipped one. I've got no artillery to speak of, our only special ordnance are machine guns, but we only have about a hundred of those, and we shot nearly three quarters of their ammunition in the first battle. We've redeployed to set up better overlapping fire zones, but even so I don't think we can really hold out against another full-on assault. I cannot support an offensive movement of any kind given my current disposition. The best we can do is to stay dug-in and try to hold out for relief or reinforcement."
"Colonel, I'm on a mission of the absolute highest national urgency—"
McGuire cut him off, "To hell with your mission. I've got five thousand men to keep alive here, not to mention however many hundreds of civilians you just dropped into my lap. I will not compromise our position any further for some fancy-ass secret mission." Martin started to open his mouth in reply, but the colonel held up a silencing finger, "Don't try to pull rank on me, Colonel Holland. I know that's a favorite trick of your sort, but you are not in my chain of command. Until Lord Tilworth returns or the General of the Wessex Division says otherwise, I am the commanding officer of the deployment and my word is law. And if you try to co-opt any of my soldiers, I will have you arrested and summarily shot for treason in a time of war, so don't think any such tricks will work outside this building either."
Martin shut his mouth. Usually he was the one steamrolling other men that way, and it felt odd to be on the other end of a tongue-lashing. But it was always good to be reminded of the power of such weapons, he told himself, and it helped to refine one's own technique. And he couldn't fault Colonel McGuire too much, from the other man's perspective Martin must have seemed like nothing so much as an interloper determined to undermine his own rather precarious position. Telling the man that his defenses were less than irrelevant alongside Martin's mission seemed unlikely to help matters.
He shrugged. When there was only one option remaining to you, you took it, regardless.
"Very well, Colonel," he said, calmly. "If you're unwilling to lend me any meaningful offensive support here, then I suppose I have no choice but to proceed by myself. Might I at least trouble you to grant me a rifle and some cartridges?"
McGuire twitched, as if he hadn't expected the Security Service man to give up so easily. "Colonel Holland," he began, slowly, "our best estimates are that we were attacked by something like seven thousand men last night, just this position. Most of them didn't even carry weapons, but they charged right into our guns like the Zulu, or the Russians. We very nearly couldn't cut them down fast enough and we've got this nice open ground to shoot over; they ran right over the Hungarians in the streets. If you go out there," he waved a hand at a windowless interior wall, "you're walking straight into the swarm. They will kill you, and probably cut you to pieces."
Martin smiled, "Have you ever been to Barcelona, Colonel McGuire?"
The army officer blinked a couple times in confusion at this turn in the conversation. "No?"
Martin nodded, "The Republican armies there, they're basically street gangs, and the Civil Guard isn't much better; all of them will slaughter anyone who walks too casually around their territory. Outsiders, and civilians too, quickly learn to move around the city without being noticed."
McGuire shook his head, "This isn't Spain, Colonel Holland."
"Due respect, Colonel, but you're right. The Spaniards have been doing this a lot longer," Martin grinned to show his teeth, "and so have I."
The colonel huffed slightly, but shrugged. "Well, on your head be it. Evan," he called to the Brigade Major who was speaking to an enlisted man by the door, "get Colonel Holland here an Enfield and a few magazines."
The Brigade Major, however, seemed distracted and he turned towards Colonel McGuire, lifting a finger, "Uh, sir, it actually seems we have an—"
"No I will not 'just keep waiting please'!" an angry voice shouted from just outside the door. "Now step aside before I walk straight over you!"
The enlisted man to whom the Brigade Major had been speaking, a corporal, stepped hastily back from the map room door before he was trampled by a woman in blue-gray skirts with an uncovered head showing her rather disordered hair. She stomped passed the soldier wielding her handbag like a mace. Her smoldering glare quickly fixed on Martin, and she walked straight up to him before anyone else in the room had quite got his wits about him.
"Why Colonel Holland," she said in the falsely-sweet tone which was becoming all too familiar to Martin, "how good it is to see you again."
"Margaret," he said. For all that the situation should have him alarmed and concerned, he was actually trying not to chuckle at her tenacity. "Shouldn't you be sheltering with the other civilians?" He placed a very careful emphasis on that final word.
She cocked her head, "Was that your plan, Colonel?" Her voice positively charming, but her eyes could have melted stone, "Well I'm afraid you won't be disposing of me quite so easily. I don't take oaths lightly, Colonel Holland, even if they don't mean much to you."
All the heads in the room were turned towards them now, and Martin sighed. Much as he appreciated her spirit, he couldn't let her put everything in jeopardy. "Let's talk outside, Margaret."
"No I think I prefer to talk right here," she said with a very contrived smile. "Let's tell all your friends what you told me, shall we?"
Colonel McGuire's left eyebrow shot up and Martin closed his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. When he opened them again, everyone was still watching him, waiting, and Margaret was still glowering, refusing to budge. So Martin dealt with the situation.
He grabbed Margaret tightly around her upper right arm with one hand and began marching her, forcefully, out of the room.
"Excuse us a moment," he said to the room in general, and now both of McGuire's eyebrows were raised in surprise.
Margaret, for her part, slapped at Martin's offending arm with the palm of her left hand, "Unhand me you fiend! Let me go!"
Martin was used to much worse, however, and he ignored her, but continued to half-drag the snarling woman all the way out of the map room and then the headquarters building itself, until they were a comfortable few yards away from the door sentries in the moonlit dark of night.
Martin set Margaret down slightly, but did not release his grip on her arm, and with his free hand he held up a warning finger in front of her nose and eyes.
"Now you listen very carefully, Miss Blake," he began, injecting as much command into his voice as he could muster, "because I cannot—cannot—permit you to continue like this. So you can either restrain yourself or I will do it for you."
He paused a moment, just long enough to give her the impression that she was being allowed to speak. But when she opened her mouth he jabbed his finger forward again, nearly striking her between the eyes.
"No," he snapped. "This is too important, there's too much at stake, to permit it to all go down because a single woman decided to throw a tantrum. Am I perfectly clear in that regard?"
She shut her mouth again and glared at him through angrily slanted eyebrows. But after a few moments, she nodded. Martin let her go, but did not allow the stern expression to pass from his face.
Margaret took a few steps back, rubbing her arm where he'd held her, then set her hips. After about a minute, she decided to try speaking again.
"You said I could go with you to find Jay Thomson. You promised—"
"In different times!" he huffed. He made a sweeping gesture around the dimly-lit air station. "Has it not been made clear to you that we've landed in the middle of a battlefield? I can't allow you to go cavorting about here under these conditions!"
She stamped one foot, fists digging into her hips, "And what makes you think I give a damn about what you can or can't allow anymore? After the way you simply abandoned me back there, I rather think I'm done letting you make decisions like that. I said I don't take oaths lightly, so take it to heart when I say I am not letting you out of my sight, Colonel Holland, until you have found my brother. As we agreed."
"Margaret," he held up his hands in exasperation, as if he wanted to strangle her, "you're going to get killed!"
She folded her arms over one another, "Shout all you want, for as long as you want. Not one step out of my sight."
Before he could bluster even more, Martin was stopped by the sight of Colonel McGuire's Brigade Major, Evan, hurrying over to them.
"The Colonel said to give this to you, er, Colonel Holland," he said, and handed Martin a long infantry rifle. Martin took it, and accepted three clips of cartridges as well before the Brigade Major scurried off back to the headquarters building.
Martin glanced at Margaret, who was still looking determinedly at him over crossed arms. He grimaced angrily and stuffed two of the rifle clips into his pockets before sliding open the bolt of the weapon to load the third.
After taking a minute to check the weapon's action, charge the first round, and secure its safety, Martin looked back to Margaret, and his eyes narrowed.
"Do you have any idea how stupid this is?"
Margaret tilted her head very slightly to the side, but her expression did not change, "I'm prepared to deal with whatever it is we may run into. But I will not be left behind again."
Martin sighed and shouldered his weapon. He was about to say something tacky and which would probably be yet another in a long series of grave mistakes in dealing with the uncontrollable woman, but his ears picked up on a low and distant whistle.
Margaret was not prepared for Martin to leap forward and tackle her quite abruptly to the ground.
Margaret deliberately kept from making eye contact with him and smiled at the captain instead, "Hello, Gerald, how are you?"
He turned his head to make a sweeping glance around the airfield before responding, "I'm afraid I've had considerably better days, Margaret Joyce, and I really haven't the time for an extended reunion right now. Is there something I can do for you?"
Margaret huffed slightly at his distraction, but forged ahead regardless, "Yes, Captain, there is. I'm afraid my travel companion has run off on me, and I was hoping you could help me catch up with him."
Ivers looked directly at her again and screwed up his eyes, "Pardon?"
"A Colonel Holland?" Margaret tapped her foot. "Do you know where he went?"
"Yes, I sent him off to brigade headquarters so he could speak with the CO," he pointed over his shoulder with one thumb. Then he held out the same hand when Margaret took a step in that direction. "But I can't let you go over there yourself!"
"Why not?" Margaret demanded.
He looked slightly appalled. "Margaret Joyce, I don't suppose anyone told you, but you've just landed in a war zone." He nodded towards the people who were starting to emerge in streams from the Apollo behind Margaret. "I've got to get all of you away from that airship and into bunkers before the enemy starts dropping shells on your heads."
"What?" Margaret tensed.
Ivers nodded, "Just follow the men's instructions; they'll get you away safely."
He started to guide his horse into a turn away from her, and Margaret had to summon up all her will again to drive his little revelation aside. She shook her head, "Gerald!" He paused. "Gerald, I'm here with Martin—Colonel Holland, that is. We're here to find Jay Thomson."
The captain winced. "Ah, I'd heard about the accident." He shuddered, "I had just seen him and your father a day or two before, as we were shipping out to deploy here. I don't think your brother recognized me." He shivered again, as if it was now a dark memory.
"Colonel Holland thinks Jay Thomson's alive. He thinks he might be here in the city. We were going to find him."
Ivers frowned, "It's not a good time to be in the city…" His frown deepened and he shook his head, "Colonel Holland didn't say anything about you when he passed through."
Margaret held up her hands, "Just tell me which way he went, Gerald. I'm not going to just cower around here while he's off playing hero without me."
Gerald Ivers sighed.
* * *
Martin Bozeman Holland worked his jaw silently as he followed a few steps behind the noncommissioned officer who had been assigned as his escort to the infantry brigade's headquarters building. Ordinarily, Martin would have been content to proceed in silence, but this time…
"Ah, Colour…"
"Colour Sergeant Mozdzierz, sir," the soldier responded without looking back.
"I see. Colour Mozdzierz," Martin thought he did a reasonably passable job of pronouncing the name, "forgive my curiosity, but I'm rather intrigued by—"
"The axe, sir?" Martin's escort patted the broad-bladed axe which hung from one side of his belt.
"Indeed," Martin nodded even though the colour sergeant was looking the other direction. "I can't say I've ever seen a man carry one of those, certainly not in uniform at least."
Mozdzierz chuckled, "It's a bit of a family heirloom, sir." He spoke with a definite Lancashire accent, which Martin found odd set against his name and his square-jawed Slavic appearance. "My great-grandfather carried it when he fought as an infantry pioneer against the Russians. No one ever updated the uniform regulations to get rid of it."
"And how often do you have to break into wooden fortresses these days, Colour Sergeant?" Martin snorted.
"Not often, sir." The soldier looked over his shoulder to Martin and showed a demonic grin through his beard, "But I find it's better than a bayonet for hand-to-hand."
Martin smiled long enough for the colour sergeant to turn away, then shuddered. Martin himself had significantly more training in close quarters combat than any of his counterparts in the other services, including the infantry, but even he wouldn't want to tangle with someone wielding a thing like that.
He didn't bother Mozdzierz for the rest of their trek to the headquarters building. Instead, Martin worked on just exactly he was going to say to the Brigadier in order to convince the commanding officer that he wasn't a fool on a fool's errand. It didn't help that Martin was not at all sure himself.
* * *
"Colonel McGuire? I have a Colonel Holland from the Security Service to see you, sir."
The thin colonel was bent over a large map table in the center of the room, but he pushed himself upright and adjusted his bifocals to look at his Brigade Major. He pursed his lips, but decided there wasn't any point to asking the question he wanted, he would find out soon enough.
"All right, send him in, Evan."
The chief of staff saluted and opened the door into the map room to allow in a broad-shouldered man in a civilian coat and pants. Colonel McGuire folded his hands behind his back and nodded to the guest.
"Colonel Holland," he said, "welcome to the headquarters of the Devon and Cornwall Brigade. What can I do for you?"
"Colonel," Martin returned the nod, and his eyes flicked about the room, "I was hoping to speak to your Brigadier."
"I am in command here," McGuire replied curtly. "I'm afraid Lord Tilworth was attending an opera the night of the attack and has been missing since, so you'll have to deal with me, Colonel Holland. I assume you were on board the airship which has just touched down?"
Martin didn't say anything for a moment. The Army colonel seemed less than pleased to see him, and Martin decided to proceed cautiously.
"Yes, I'm afraid I had to order them in despite your warning."
"That was unwise, Colonel. We've been surrounded and cut off from relief for two days here at the station, and the enemy seems to have acquired artillery now. I shouldn't need to inform you that hydrogen and bombs don't mix well."
"I was well aware of the risk," Martin held his ground. "However I believe my own mission is urgent enough to justify it."
"Oh?" McGuire raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Martin nodded, "Before I go into that, however, if I could ask you just what exactly it is that happened here. When I left, I wasn't aware of anything untoward happening in this region."
The Army colonel frowned, and half-turned away from Martin towards the big map table, "We were caught rather off-guard ourselves. There was some sort of insurrection near Augsburg. It happens occasionally, and the Prussians dispatched their infantry battalion here and another one from Ingolstadt to suppress the rebels." McGuire traced over a few places on the map with one finger. "Apparently this was more serious than anyone expected, however. Whoever the rebels are, they defeated both of the Prussian formations and advanced on the city. Of course, we didn't find out about that until they were already engaging the Hungarian occupation forces." His expression became very dark for a moment and Martin waited politely for him to continue.
"Anyway," the colonel shook his head, "it only took them a couple hours to push the Hungarians across the river. We did manage to get up our gunship, but the enemy knocked her back down almost immediately, and they encircled us shortly thereafter. We still had the telegraph until about eight hours ago, they finally cut the line. But the Hungarians were still holding the bridges and the Prussians were regrouping at Dachau, so I'm hoping for relief sometime today. So far, they've only managed to put one mortar on us, we think they captured it from the Prussians, but one of my platoons was able to neutralize it pretty quickly. We think they've been focusing most of their attention on taking the bridges, I suppose they think they can finish us off after taking the city."
McGuire shrugged and Martin took a few steps forward to peer at the detailed map of Bavaria spread out across the table. "And this started at Augsburg?" He rubbed his chin, "it couldn't have been very long ago to have escaped the news."
"Well the Hungarians have gotten pretty good at keeping a lid on the press," the colonel snorted. "But from what I understand it has only been three or four days. We don't get involved in that sort of business, so we're always at the end of the line for intelligence. And," he sighed, "it didn't help that Lord Tilworth was never too concerned by the military situation."
Martin noticed the slight pause in activity among several of the aides in the map room, but none of the said anything. He didn't know anything about the air station's missing Brigadier specifically, but he did know that the officers the Army picked for occupation duty on the continent did not tend to be its best and brightest. Actually, they tended to be high-born fops looking for an easy ride to honor and glory. But Martin pushed those thoughts aside and refocused his attention on Colonel McGuire, who seemed to at least be taking his job seriously.
And if this mess had begun three to four days ago, that put it in exactly the right time frame to have been the result of precisely what Martin had been hoping to avoid. What his whole office had been working to avoid for most of the past few weeks. Which meant his job had become considerably more urgent if he was going to nip things in the bud before it all got completely out of hand. Assuming it wasn't too late already.
"All right, Colonel. It looks like things are more critical than I realized, and I'm going to need your help." He paused for a moment to look McGuire square in the eye. "I need to get to the Service's station in the city; can you tell me where that is?"
"Ahm," McGuire blinked, "yes, the consulate. But it's too far outside the perimeter."
Martin's brow furrowed, "Where?"
The colonel turned to his map and pointed to a large palace complex in the city's northwestern quarter.
"But that's right next door!" Martin exclaimed, ignoring the sharp looks he drew from the junior officers. Their commanding officer was well off the mark, the palace he'd indicated was less than two miles from the air station. "Just send me with a company and we'll secure the whole place."
"We can't," McGuire sounded exasperated. "I've got an infantry brigade, Colonel Holland, and not a very well-equipped one. I've got no artillery to speak of, our only special ordnance are machine guns, but we only have about a hundred of those, and we shot nearly three quarters of their ammunition in the first battle. We've redeployed to set up better overlapping fire zones, but even so I don't think we can really hold out against another full-on assault. I cannot support an offensive movement of any kind given my current disposition. The best we can do is to stay dug-in and try to hold out for relief or reinforcement."
"Colonel, I'm on a mission of the absolute highest national urgency—"
McGuire cut him off, "To hell with your mission. I've got five thousand men to keep alive here, not to mention however many hundreds of civilians you just dropped into my lap. I will not compromise our position any further for some fancy-ass secret mission." Martin started to open his mouth in reply, but the colonel held up a silencing finger, "Don't try to pull rank on me, Colonel Holland. I know that's a favorite trick of your sort, but you are not in my chain of command. Until Lord Tilworth returns or the General of the Wessex Division says otherwise, I am the commanding officer of the deployment and my word is law. And if you try to co-opt any of my soldiers, I will have you arrested and summarily shot for treason in a time of war, so don't think any such tricks will work outside this building either."
Martin shut his mouth. Usually he was the one steamrolling other men that way, and it felt odd to be on the other end of a tongue-lashing. But it was always good to be reminded of the power of such weapons, he told himself, and it helped to refine one's own technique. And he couldn't fault Colonel McGuire too much, from the other man's perspective Martin must have seemed like nothing so much as an interloper determined to undermine his own rather precarious position. Telling the man that his defenses were less than irrelevant alongside Martin's mission seemed unlikely to help matters.
He shrugged. When there was only one option remaining to you, you took it, regardless.
"Very well, Colonel," he said, calmly. "If you're unwilling to lend me any meaningful offensive support here, then I suppose I have no choice but to proceed by myself. Might I at least trouble you to grant me a rifle and some cartridges?"
McGuire twitched, as if he hadn't expected the Security Service man to give up so easily. "Colonel Holland," he began, slowly, "our best estimates are that we were attacked by something like seven thousand men last night, just this position. Most of them didn't even carry weapons, but they charged right into our guns like the Zulu, or the Russians. We very nearly couldn't cut them down fast enough and we've got this nice open ground to shoot over; they ran right over the Hungarians in the streets. If you go out there," he waved a hand at a windowless interior wall, "you're walking straight into the swarm. They will kill you, and probably cut you to pieces."
Martin smiled, "Have you ever been to Barcelona, Colonel McGuire?"
The army officer blinked a couple times in confusion at this turn in the conversation. "No?"
Martin nodded, "The Republican armies there, they're basically street gangs, and the Civil Guard isn't much better; all of them will slaughter anyone who walks too casually around their territory. Outsiders, and civilians too, quickly learn to move around the city without being noticed."
McGuire shook his head, "This isn't Spain, Colonel Holland."
"Due respect, Colonel, but you're right. The Spaniards have been doing this a lot longer," Martin grinned to show his teeth, "and so have I."
The colonel huffed slightly, but shrugged. "Well, on your head be it. Evan," he called to the Brigade Major who was speaking to an enlisted man by the door, "get Colonel Holland here an Enfield and a few magazines."
The Brigade Major, however, seemed distracted and he turned towards Colonel McGuire, lifting a finger, "Uh, sir, it actually seems we have an—"
"No I will not 'just keep waiting please'!" an angry voice shouted from just outside the door. "Now step aside before I walk straight over you!"
The enlisted man to whom the Brigade Major had been speaking, a corporal, stepped hastily back from the map room door before he was trampled by a woman in blue-gray skirts with an uncovered head showing her rather disordered hair. She stomped passed the soldier wielding her handbag like a mace. Her smoldering glare quickly fixed on Martin, and she walked straight up to him before anyone else in the room had quite got his wits about him.
"Why Colonel Holland," she said in the falsely-sweet tone which was becoming all too familiar to Martin, "how good it is to see you again."
"Margaret," he said. For all that the situation should have him alarmed and concerned, he was actually trying not to chuckle at her tenacity. "Shouldn't you be sheltering with the other civilians?" He placed a very careful emphasis on that final word.
She cocked her head, "Was that your plan, Colonel?" Her voice positively charming, but her eyes could have melted stone, "Well I'm afraid you won't be disposing of me quite so easily. I don't take oaths lightly, Colonel Holland, even if they don't mean much to you."
All the heads in the room were turned towards them now, and Martin sighed. Much as he appreciated her spirit, he couldn't let her put everything in jeopardy. "Let's talk outside, Margaret."
"No I think I prefer to talk right here," she said with a very contrived smile. "Let's tell all your friends what you told me, shall we?"
Colonel McGuire's left eyebrow shot up and Martin closed his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. When he opened them again, everyone was still watching him, waiting, and Margaret was still glowering, refusing to budge. So Martin dealt with the situation.
He grabbed Margaret tightly around her upper right arm with one hand and began marching her, forcefully, out of the room.
"Excuse us a moment," he said to the room in general, and now both of McGuire's eyebrows were raised in surprise.
Margaret, for her part, slapped at Martin's offending arm with the palm of her left hand, "Unhand me you fiend! Let me go!"
Martin was used to much worse, however, and he ignored her, but continued to half-drag the snarling woman all the way out of the map room and then the headquarters building itself, until they were a comfortable few yards away from the door sentries in the moonlit dark of night.
Martin set Margaret down slightly, but did not release his grip on her arm, and with his free hand he held up a warning finger in front of her nose and eyes.
"Now you listen very carefully, Miss Blake," he began, injecting as much command into his voice as he could muster, "because I cannot—cannot—permit you to continue like this. So you can either restrain yourself or I will do it for you."
He paused a moment, just long enough to give her the impression that she was being allowed to speak. But when she opened her mouth he jabbed his finger forward again, nearly striking her between the eyes.
"No," he snapped. "This is too important, there's too much at stake, to permit it to all go down because a single woman decided to throw a tantrum. Am I perfectly clear in that regard?"
She shut her mouth again and glared at him through angrily slanted eyebrows. But after a few moments, she nodded. Martin let her go, but did not allow the stern expression to pass from his face.
Margaret took a few steps back, rubbing her arm where he'd held her, then set her hips. After about a minute, she decided to try speaking again.
"You said I could go with you to find Jay Thomson. You promised—"
"In different times!" he huffed. He made a sweeping gesture around the dimly-lit air station. "Has it not been made clear to you that we've landed in the middle of a battlefield? I can't allow you to go cavorting about here under these conditions!"
She stamped one foot, fists digging into her hips, "And what makes you think I give a damn about what you can or can't allow anymore? After the way you simply abandoned me back there, I rather think I'm done letting you make decisions like that. I said I don't take oaths lightly, so take it to heart when I say I am not letting you out of my sight, Colonel Holland, until you have found my brother. As we agreed."
"Margaret," he held up his hands in exasperation, as if he wanted to strangle her, "you're going to get killed!"
She folded her arms over one another, "Shout all you want, for as long as you want. Not one step out of my sight."
Before he could bluster even more, Martin was stopped by the sight of Colonel McGuire's Brigade Major, Evan, hurrying over to them.
"The Colonel said to give this to you, er, Colonel Holland," he said, and handed Martin a long infantry rifle. Martin took it, and accepted three clips of cartridges as well before the Brigade Major scurried off back to the headquarters building.
Martin glanced at Margaret, who was still looking determinedly at him over crossed arms. He grimaced angrily and stuffed two of the rifle clips into his pockets before sliding open the bolt of the weapon to load the third.
After taking a minute to check the weapon's action, charge the first round, and secure its safety, Martin looked back to Margaret, and his eyes narrowed.
"Do you have any idea how stupid this is?"
Margaret tilted her head very slightly to the side, but her expression did not change, "I'm prepared to deal with whatever it is we may run into. But I will not be left behind again."
Martin sighed and shouldered his weapon. He was about to say something tacky and which would probably be yet another in a long series of grave mistakes in dealing with the uncontrollable woman, but his ears picked up on a low and distant whistle.
Margaret was not prepared for Martin to leap forward and tackle her quite abruptly to the ground.