Dragons Of Englor

Chapter 10

For three days Blade was assigned a private room in one wing of Special Operations headquarters. Except for the view and the different color scheme, the room was identical to the one in which he'd awakened on his first day in the service of the Division. During those three days it was made clear that he not only didn't have to do anything but shouldn't even try.

The medical officer was blunt. «It's a pattern we're trying to break. Tough young man does four field jobs in rapid succession without resting up between them. Thinks he's indestructible. Sneers at doctors' orders to rest. Goes out on fifth mission and stress load catches up with him. End of tough young man.» He glowered at Blade through thick-lensed glasses. «With a war on we can't afford this, even if you think you can.»

So Blade spent three days catching up on lost sleep, missed meals and intelligence reports that had come in while he was out in the field. He didn't mind three days of it, but he was glad it ended before boredom set in.

He spent a number of hours during those three days studying the files on the huge VTOL transport planes. Officially they were Avro Model 167 Assault Transports. Unofficially they were «the Elephants.» Blade's status as an Independent Operations man gave him an acceptable «Need to know» for information about them, and about a good many more of the latest Imperial weapons and devices.

As Blade told the chief clerk, «I may be traveling in one of the Elephants before too long.»

The clerk looked dubious. «Maybe, captain, and maybe not. They're lovely great machines, no doubt of it. But they've got a ways to go before anybody except the test pilots will be riding in them anywhere.» Blade nodded politely, dropped the files into the attache case chained to his wrist, and returned to his room.

The clerk had probably been giving him a cover story. The existence of the transports could not be kept a secret, so somebody must have decided to do the next best thing-give out a story that they were still full of bugs. Blade was quite certain that the assault transports were much closer than that to being ready for combat.

After reading the files, he was even more certain that the Empire had to be saving the Elephants as a nasty surprise for the Red Flames. It certainly would be a nasty surprise when it came. The big planes could carry fifty tons of cargo or two hundred fully equipped soldiers two thousand miles, land vertically, unload, take off vertically, and return to base. They could exceed the speed of sound at low altitude and move even faster higher up. The variable-sweep wing helped give them an incredible combination of speed, range, and maneuverability.

As Blade expected, these qualities required a number of technological breakthroughs. At least three new alloys were involved in the construction of the assault transports, all superior in strength-to-weight ratios and heat resistance to anything else in existence. So was a new chemical fuel, five times as powerful as the best of conventional jet fuels.

There was no hard data in the files on either the alloys or the fuel. Blade didn't expect to find any. The fuel and the alloys were undoubtedly classified several degrees beyond MOST SECRET. It would be a long time before he would be able to prove any «Need to Know» for them.

It took time, though, to build the factories and refineries to produce the new alloys and the new fuel. Until these were ready, the assault transports would have to remain experimental and secret. After that, they could be turned out fifty or a hundred each month, instead of two or three. Then the Empire of Englor would be able to fly whole divisions thousands of miles and land them in the Red Flames' vital areas. Then the Red Flames would have to worry about every square mile of their immense territories. Englor might never land a single soldier inside Russland. But the fear that they might do so could keep hundreds of enemy leaders awake at night and hundreds of thousands of enemy soldiers tied up on local-defense duties. The whole balance of the war might shift in Englor's favor.

After the three days of rest and reading, Blade was assigned to his light duty. This meant more reading of more files, four to six hours a day. It also meant occasional administrative decisions. Some were routine, some not. There was one occasion when he was asked for a decision on whether a certain pro-independence politician in one of Englor's African colonies should be assassinated. Blade advised against it.

«There is no compelling reason for doing so at the moment,» his memorandum read. «The loyalty of the African units has not been seriously impaired. We are more likely to impair that loyalty by making Case 28 a martyr than by leaving him alone.»

Blade hoped that recommendation would do some good. He wondered, though. The fact that he was allowed to handle files and make recommendations might mean that no one in Special Operations suspected a thing about his origins. But he had no way of knowing how many levels there were between him and the real decision makers. He didn't know if he was actually functioning in isolation, continuously watched for some revealing slip. He didn't know a great many things, and while he was resigned to this situation, he still didn't like it.

One thing he knew was that the more background he got, the less likely he was to make slips. So he read files the six hours a day his duties required, and another six or eight hours each day on his own. He could only hope this would look like conscientiousness, rather than a desperate effort to learn things he should have known as well as he knew his own name.

One evening he was sitting in the Senior Lounge, a glass of beer on the floor beside his armchair and a file on Russland electronic countermeasures spread out on his lap. He became aware of someone passing in front of him and looked up in time to see a young woman sit down in the armchair on the opposite side of the little alcove. For a moment Blade pretended to be looking at the painting hanging on the wall over the woman's chair-what looked like a vintage 1900 battleship at sea, pouring out great clouds of smoke and firing her guns furiously in all directions. Then he saw that the woman was looking directly at him, stopped pretending to ignore her, and returned her gaze.

He recognized the woman as someone from the Headquarters staff, but this was his first good look at her. Short, but carrying herself so well that she looked a good deal taller. Excellent figure, shown off to advantage in a gray tweed skirt and a maroon blouse, and very good legs. Hair cut in a neat pageboy bob, so blonde that it seemed to shimmer against the-dreary wallpaper and even drearier upholstery of her chair. Large, intensely blue eyes, and a wide mouth that began to curve upward into a gentle smile as Blade watched.

«Good evening,» she said. «I've seen you around here a few times, but we've never really been introduced. My name's Elva Thompson.»

Blade smiled, acknowledging her polite frankness. «I could say very much the same thing.»

Her smile extended itself to her eyes. «Does that mean that your name is Elva Thompson, too?»

Blade laughed. «No. It means that I've seen you here several times too, but- Anyway, my name is Richard Blade.»

«Oh yes, you're the newest of the Independents, aren't you?»

Blade spent a moment considering how she might have discovered that fact. He did this more by reflex than because of any real suspicion. Here in the headquarters, where practically everyone had a Grade One or Two security classification, there were few secrets about who was doing what. When, where, and how were another matter.

«Yes,» said Blade. «You're on the staff here, somewhere.»

She nodded. «I'm Assignment Coordinator for Staff Personnel.»

Blade was impressed. Elva couldn't have been more than thirty, but her position was the second most important one for the day-to-day running of the headquarters. It was her job to keep track of staff assignments and shift people from one to another as circumstances demanded. That meant a Grade One classification, since she had to know a good deal about at least the planning end of every major Special Operations job.

Elva's eyes fell on the files spread out across Blade's lap and on the rug beside his chair. «Am I interrupting something important?»

«Not really,» said Blade. «I was beginning to think of tidying this up and tidying myself off to bed.» He looked at his watch. «It's getting toward eleven, and I'm doing refresher jump training tomorrow. The alarm will be going off about five.»

«You're going to jump in on your next mission?»

Blade shook his head. That might be a perfectly normal and innocent question. He was still glad that he could give a perfectly polite answer that revealed very little.

«Not necessarily. You know the way we Independents get pushed around. Forty-eight hours' notice, all of it spent getting briefed. Then off we go, to some place whose name we may not even know until we get there. That means we've got to keep up every skill that we might possibly need.»

«I see.» She seemed to be hesitating, even a little nervous for a moment. Then she continued. «Do you suppose you could get me on one of the jump-training flights?»

«To jump?»

«Yes. I've got my own gear.»

«Are you planning to apply for a place among the Independents?» said Blade.

Elva laughed. «Oh no. I know my limits. I'm competent enough, but not that athletic. I'm also too sociable to spend my working hours perched on top of some frozen mountain in Russland, with nothing more intelligent than a sheep for fifty miles. It's just that skydiving used to be a hobby of mine. Now the fuel allocation for civilian flying has been cut down so far that it's hard to get someone to take me up.»

Blade knew what Elva meant. Bit by bit, the Imperial government was forcing the people of Englor to tighten their belts. Food, fuel, all sorts of consumer goods were slowly being restricted. Full-scale rationing was at most a few months away.

«I don't think I can do anything for you this week,» said Blade: «There's too heavy a training schedule. Next week, on the other hand-well, I'll see what I can do.»

«I can't ask for more than that,» said Elva, with a smile that seemed to light up the alcove. «Except perhaps if you would care to buy me a drink?»

Blade looked at his watch. It was now past eleven, and he'd been awake and on the go since well before six. On the other hand, he no longer felt tired or sleepy. Perhaps it was the effects of Elva's company? In any case, a drink with her suddenly seemed like a very good idea.

«I'd be delighted,» said Blade, and rose from his chair to take Elva's arm.