bbbyouuujhhjhgyh

April, 1940

Charles Morrow looked out over the New Amstreldam skyline. The shining streetlights and illuminated skyscrapers certainly lived up to the reputation of the city that never slept. Central Park was a blob of darkness in the night. Morrow's apartment was up high enough that he couldn't make out even a hint of the bums in their ramshackle shanty town.

He knew his neighbors would be just as happy if the bums were also invisible in the light of day. Out of sight, out of mind, and for the folks still living high off the hog the only real problem with the Great Depression was the disgraceful increase in public vagrancy. Morrow could understand where they were coming from, though he had spent too much time living hand to mouth to really fall into that way of thinking. It gnawed at him, seeing so many decent people so far down on their luck.

He shook his head and stopped looking out the window. It didn't help to dwell on that kind of thing. He tossed in some cash whenever Father Murphy passed the hat around, and he made sure the men who served under him were doing all right. He couldn't do much more. The Great Depression was too big for one man to fight.

Looking down brought a more personal problem to his attention. His liquor collection, nestled in a small cabinet, was down to half a bottle of Kanatian whiskey and the dregs of a truly disgraceful fifth of gin. If he didn't do something soon, he was facing a real risk of involuntary teetotaling.

It was a pickle. Kanata wasn't that far away, but flying over the border under his own power would light up too many magic detectors for him to smooth things over with a handshake and a friendly conversation. He could try buying locally, but the boys he'd seen running the liquor trade lately had been a bit rougher than he wanted to rub elbows with. Considering his track record, that was really saying something.

In the end, that was a problem for the future. Morrow put his worries aside as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and immersed himself in the simple joy of mixing a drink. He chopped up most of a lemon and tossed it into his cocktail shaker along with a handful of mint leaves. He added a spoonful of gum syrup and had just started muddling the mixture when he heard the radio come on from the neighboring room.

The first couple bars of a big band tune drifted through the air before it was replaced with the static between stations. Morrow smiled and shook his head. He should have known Madge wouldn't sit still for long.

He ignored the noise from the radio and poured a healthy nip of whiskey into the mix. After giving the whole thing a few shakes he fished the crushed ice out of his ice box and half filled a pair of glasses with ice. That done, he poured the mix out through the strainer, making sure an equal amount went into each glass. Finally, he tossed a sprig of mint on top of each glass and carried the fruits of his labor into the living room.

By the time he had finished, Madge had found something she liked on the radio and had settled back into her position on the couch. Charlie paused in the doorway for a moment to enjoy the view.

Margaret Caldwell was the grand dame of the New Amstreldam social scene. Her husband's tragic death two years earlier had barely put a dent into her social calendar. Her iron will and sometimes acerbic wit gave her a bit more substance than most of Charlie's flings, although he was honest enough to admit that he wouldn't have given her a second look if she didn't carry her age so well. At forty-five the slender brunette was still a handsome woman who looked better than a lot of gals who were half her age.

The two of them had been going steady for six months. The widow Caldwell had decided early on that shacking up with Morrow was just the kind of scandal that she needed to spice up her life. For his part, Charlie knew that his old commanding officers would have said prayers of thanksgiving if he had limited himself to just one woman, and a woman whose husband was safely dead at that. He couldn't even explain the change in his ways himself. Maybe he'd been chasing the wrong sort of dame during his misspent youth.

She smiled when she saw him standing there in the doorway. Morrow responded with a grin and stepped forward, handing her a drink. He took a seat next to her on the couch, only then recognizing the familiar voice coming over the radio. It was his buddy Frederick Rosenvelt, explaining his plan to fix the economy.

"Your friend sounds quite sure of himself," Madge said.

Freddy had gotten himself on the radio an awful lot. He didn't seem to mind that he hadn't yet been nominated on the Democratic ticket, let alone elected president. Morrow thought Freddy might be getting ahead of himself, but he was never one to run down people behind their back.

"He oughtta be, if he's gonna be president."

Madge let the comment slide, focusing her attention back on the radio. The interviewer had pushed Freddy on whether his plan would really work. In response, he'd begun talking about how the same thing had worked out great when Degurechaff tried it.

Madge gave a disdainful snort. "He sounds quite enamored of that woman."

"You don't like her?" Morrow asked, surprised. "I'd've thought you'd be a fan."

"Me? A fan of her?" Madge asked, almost hissing the last word.

"Sure," Morrow said. "A broad getting a chance to run a country... she's a real success story for you girls."

He knew for a fact that Madge thought she could've done a better job than the last few Presidents at keeping the Unified States going. He'd thought she would hold Degurechaff up as a shining star of a role model.

"Some success," she sniffed. "Where's her husband? Her children? Who's going to take care of her in her old age?"

Morrow raised an eyebrow, thinking back to the one live speech he'd managed to catch back when he'd been in Germania. Degurechaff'd had that whole crowd ready to run through artillery fire for her.

"She didn't strike me as the type that needs much taking care of."

"I suppose you're used to treating women like men," Madge said, shaking her head, "as their commanding officer."

"If they could fly the same and shoot the same, I never saw why I should treat them any different," Morrow replied, shrugging.

"That's all well and good for mages," she said, "but what about the ordinary women?"

Madge didn't have a lick of magic, and she had by all accounts run her husband's life pretty much from the day their honeymoon ended. Morrow had heard more than one wag suggest that the man had died young just so he could make his own decision about something for once. He had a feeling something was up, but he knew better than to interrupt Madge once she'd gotten this riled up.

"Do you know what Millicent said to me yesterday?" she continued.

Morrow shook his head. Milly was a real firecracker. The spitting image of her mother at twenty two, the two of them probably would have gotten along better if their personalities weren't so much alike.

"She told me she wants a career! A career!" Madge said. She took a healthy slug from her drink, hardly breaking stride. "I have a list of eligible bachelors as long as your arm lining up to meet her, and she wants a career!"

Morrow was fairly confident that Millie's interest in a career would fade away once that list of bachelors had been adjusted to her liking. He had also been in the army for long enough to know a hopeless battle when he saw one. He didn't respond with anything other than an agreeable hum.

"She wants to be a reporter, of all things," Madge continued. "She's going to Germania to write about that soccer tournament."

Maybe Millie was more serious about this than he had thought. "I didn't think her pin money would stretch quite that far."

Madge didn't begrudge her eldest daughter any sort of material possession, but she did make sure that any kind of serious purchase would require maternal approval. Morrow had enjoyed a ringside seat to a few of the ensuing negotiations, and he certainly didn't remember Madge agreeing to spring for any kind of international travel package.

"She's already signed on with the Observer and the Germanians are covering the travel costs," she said. "What am I supposed to do? That woman is paying for my baby to fly across the ocean to a country where women run for office and they sell booze right out in the street and-"

Morrow stretched out an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close for a comforting hug. "Hey, you've got me, right?"

She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "You?"

"Sure, me. I know a guy over at the Observer. I can sign up as her photographer," he said. "That way, I can follow Milly around and keep her out of trouble."

"You'd do that for me?"

He took a moment to study the face of the teary-eyed mother in his arms. He spared a thought for the monumental task of riding herd on a girl fresh out of college who was exploring a new country for the first time. He wavered for a moment, before he remembered his barren liquor cabinet.

"Of course, doll. You know I hate seeing you cry."

He leaned in for a kiss, cutting off any more conversation. Charlie didn't play the white knight very often. If he was signing up for that kind of trouble, then he was definitely going to enjoy the favor of a fair lady first.

ooOoo

June 3, 1940

Flying was not nearly as exciting as Millicent Caldwell had expected it to be. Sure, she'd felt some nervous anticipation when the dirigible had first started rising off the ground, but all that had followed was hour after hour of quiet forward progress. She was happy that they would be making the trip from New Amstreldam to München in only three days, of course, but she couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed at the lack of adventure.

When she'd boarded the dirigible together with the national team and the international press corps she had harbored some hope of getting a story out of the trip itself, but nobody was going to buy a paper to read about a smooth journey. Even though she had known sky pirates weren't about to fly out of the pages of the pulps for any dramatic aerial duels, she was still disappointed that they hadn't at least run into a thunderstorm or two to spice things up.

The observation deck would have provided a wonderful view of the fury of nature being unleashed against the works of man. Instead, she was stuck with a peaceful view of the Germanian countryside that had gotten old several hours ago. She was alone in the room, nobody available to distract her from doodling in her notebook.

She had spent much of the trip alone. The athletes and the other reporters had been friendly enough, at first. Perhaps a little too friendly. Once her Uncle Charlie made the rounds, though, none of the men dared to exchange more than a few words with her.

Milly sighed, closed her notebook, and stood. The view wouldn't be as good from the dining room, but at least she could help herself to a snack.

The plush feel of the carpet under her feet as she made her way down the hall put her in mind of the extravagant hotels that her mother preferred as seasonal residences. The Germanians certainly hadn't skimped on any creature comforts. Her own cabin was so lavishly decorated that it almost felt as if she had moved back in with her mother, and the rest of the ship was decked out to match. Each little piece of thoughtful opulence spoke of the high hopes the country held for the World Cup.

She arrived at the dining room to find some pleasant company awaiting her, as well as the snack she had been anticipating. Anna, the woman sent by the World Cup Committee to act as their guide, was seated alone at a dining table, working her way through a stack of papers. Milly snagged a roll from the basket placed near the entrance and headed over.

Milly had hesitated to approach Anna at first. The blonde was pretty in an intimidating sort of way. She carried herself with confidence and ordered men around like she expected them to obey, and for the most part they did. Milly had been fascinated by Germania ever since they elected a woman to run the country, but it was one thing to read about social equality and quite another to see it play out right in front of her.

If the men on the ship hadn't been avoiding Milly like the plague, she never would have mustered up the courage to approach the other woman. Fortunately, Anna's chilly exterior had turned out merely to be a cover for her warm heart. She was a charming conversationalist, happy to share advice whether it had to do with finding her way around München or managing a professional career as a single woman. Without her, Milly would have found the flight completely unbearable.

"Mind if I join you?" Milly asked. Anna had volunteered early on to help Milly bring her conversational Germanian up to snuff. Two years of instruction on the language at Barnard hadn't quite brought her to full fluency.

"Not at all. I'm almost finished," Anna said, her own Albish as perfect as always.

It seemed she had been working to assemble loose papers into packets that were then tucked into oversized envelopes. Just as she said, the table was largely covered with stacks of filled envelopes, with few loose papers to be seen.

"What are you working on?" Milly asked.

Anna looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, tapping her chin with her finger, before she shrugged. "I suppose it's fine to give you a head start."

She fished an envelope out of one of the piles and handed it over. Milly saw her name written on the outside and prised the envelope open, eager to see what was inside. The first thing that fell out was a leather billfold. She opened it up to find her own face looking back at her. Her picture had been printed onto a thick cardboard tag that was labeled "PRESS" in both Albish and Germanian. A complicated filigree pattern seemed to vouch for the press pass's authenticity.

Setting the billfold aside, Milly kept digging through the envelope. She found maps, both of München and its surroundings and of the country as a whole. There was also a list of local attractions, keyed to the map. Finally, there was a document that spelled out the privileges associated with her press pass.

Milly could feel her eyebrows rise as she worked her way down the list. She'd known that the Germanians were rolling out the red carpet, but this was really something else. Not only did her press pass entitle her to access the press box at every game in the World Cup, not only was her hotel stay covered by the Germanian government, but the press pass would also function as a train ticket for every rail line in Germania. It would also entitle her to half price drinks in any city that was hosting a World Cup game, and even allowed free access to the motor pool provided for foreign correspondents.

She looked up to find Anna looking amused, but didn't let it slow her down. Her excitement had her resorting to her native tongue. "There's a motor pool?"

"The trains are better for most things," Anna said, nodding, "but we thought some of you might like to explore the countryside."

"But you can drive between cities, too, right?" Milly asked. "On those new highways?"

This was it! This was her angle! Milly could feel her mind going a mile a minute. She hadn't been able to develop any sources on the national team, so why bother staying in the same city? People back home were hungry for news about the "Germanian miracle." She could give it to them by driving from town to town, interviewing the folks she met along the way. She could-

Actually, she'd have to talk her Uncle Charlie into driving the whole way. That could be tough. He'd made it clear that he saw this whole trip as a relaxing vacation. He'd also seemed to hit it off with some of the other men during the flight to München. Prying him away from the gang could be tough.

"Yes, of course," Anna said, before raising an eyebrow as she saw Milly's shoulders droop. "Ah, do you know how to drive?"

Milly shook her head.

"Would you like to learn?" Anna asked. "I'm sure I can find the time to teach you once we land."

Milly only hesitated for an instant. Her mother had always sworn up and down that driving was unladylike. On the other hand, her mother was an ocean away.

She could feel the grin spreading across her face. "That'd be swell."

ooOoo

June 5, 1940

The small cafe on the Aerial Mage Academy campus had long since become the traditional gathering place for post-game debriefings. Besides the convenient location, it offered excellent coffee and a surprisingly wide array of chocolate desserts. Perhaps not so surprising, considering that the cafe played host to the chancellor once a week.

Viktoriya Serebryakov had secured a seat at a side table where she could enjoy her coffee and dessert along with a convenient view of the corner booth where the chancellor was holding court. Tanya was engaged in an animated discussion with the six cadets who had made up the opposing team. She attempted to diagram out what she was explaining using tableware for a moment before shoving everything to the side and using an illusion to replicate the field of play from earlier.

The cadets were hanging on her every word. Just like everybody always did.

Visha sighed and looked down at the table. Stirring her coffee, she occupied herself watching the patterns formed as the cream mixed in with the rest of the drink. She was brought out of her thoughts when a blonde force of nature invaded her table. Unfortunately, not the one she would have preferred.

"What's wrong?" Elya asked, staring at her with genuine concern. "I haven't seen you look so mopey in months. Did one of the stadiums fall down?"

Elya had invited herself along for the day's activities because they were going to be playing against the cadet class that had won the right to represent Germania in the upcoming exhibition games. In the end it hadn't made much difference as the veterans of the 203rd had cruised to their usual ten goal victory, but Elya seemed to enjoy the show. It was only natural that she would invite herself along to the party afterwards.

"No," Visha replied, not in the mood to play along with her friend.

The stadiums were quite solidly built. The whole World Cup project was on solid footing, after Visha had poured her heart and soul into it for the last few months. Supervising so many people and coordinating so many moving pieces had been the most challenging thing she had ever done. Convincing the country to vote for Tanya couldn't even compare. She had hoped that once she completed the project she would receive some special recognition from the chancellor. Instead, Tanya seemed to have taken it for granted that she would succeed.

The worst part was that she couldn't even be mad about what was, in the end, a show of trust.

"Did you two have a fight?" Elya asked, though her tone suggested that she could hardly imagine that such a thing could actually happen.

"No," Visha said again, kicking at the table leg in frustration. She cocked her head, then reached into her magical senses to detect the hum of a privacy spell that would prevent their conversation from being overheard. As expected of Elya. Visha sighed. She might as well confide in her friend. "It's just, sometimes everything is so wonderful, but sometimes it's like we're nothing more than friends."

Elya studied her face for a moment before leaning back and taking a sip of her coffee. "Ah, I forgot that you're still so innocent."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Elya said, her expression softening into a nostalgic smile, "a seduction has a sort of rhythm to it."

Visha almost choked on her drink. "What?"

"The uncertainty is part of the fun," Elya continued. "Otherwise you might get bored."

"Are you saying that the chancellor is some sort of, of," Visha said, stumbling over her words, "seductress?"

Visha had been following Tanya Degurechaff for well over a decade. After all those years, while she had certainly wondered at times if the other woman understood the idea of romantic love, she had never had any reason to doubt her chastity.

"She's toyed with the emotions of every crowd she's ever stood in front of," Elya said, giving her a flat look. "You'd be hard-pressed to find anybody with a better understanding of the human heart."

"What should I do, then?" Visha asked. "What would you do?"

"Well, normally I'm the one doing the seducing," Elya said, rubbing her chin in thought, "so unless you want to take a more direct approach…"

Visha did her best to hide behind her coffee, and cursed the fair complexion that made her visible blush answer enough to Elya's question.

"Then I suggest you just relax and enjoy the ride," Elya said, waggling her eyebrows as if there were any chance Visha could have missed the double entendre.

This time, Visha did choke on her coffee. Even as she scrambled to grab a napkin and clean up the table, though, she could feel a weight falling off her shoulders that she hadn't even realized was there.

ooOoo

June 7, 1940

Commander Ian Flemons, together with his superior officer Admiral Godby and three of the girls from the office, strode into the Royal Oak on a mission. An actual, government-sanctioned, paid mission, not just the sort of activities that usually ensued when men visited a pub.

It had caused quite a commotion in some quarters of the Allied Kingdom when they learned that Chancellor Degurechaff planned to appear personally to introduce the inaugural game of the World Cup between the Allied Kingdom and the Unified States of America. Flemons thought it was a bit overblown. He'd met the woman, and she had all of the warmth and human kindness of a viper. Letting the public get to know her could only be a good thing, in his opinion.

The higher ups were not so sanguine. In the end, though, they decided that it was safe enough to allow her to give a brief speech to the Albish people. She was, after all, the head of a state with which they had somewhat cordial relations, and in the context of a sporting event there was really little damage that she could do. Still, out of an abundance of caution, it was decided that His Majesty's intelligence services should keep careful watch for any sort of trickery by the Germanian chancellor.

A pair of unfortunate analysts had been tasked to stay in the office and watch the speech closely on a television requisitioned by the Office of Naval Intelligence. Not only that, they were to record the whole thing on their own computation orbs. Flemons, on the other hand, had zeroed in on the fact that Degurechaff had gone to great lengths to put her televisions in eating and drinking establishments throughout the country. Therefore, in order to understand what she was planning, one had to observe her speech in its natural environment, so to speak.

The fact that he would be able to charge his food and drink to the government's account was, of course, a happy coincidence.

The first thing he noticed after they entered the Royal Oak was how smoothly the television had been incorporated into the bar. The Royal Oak had always boasted two tiers of seating, allowing the television to be positioned so it could be seen reasonably well by almost everybody in the bar. It wasn't quite as efficient as the Germanians had it in their mathematically laid out television parlors, but it wasn't nearly as awkward as he'd feared.

Their party, of course, claimed one of the reserved tables that was quite close to the television. In order to do their vital work for His Majesty's government they would need an unobstructed view.

They had hardly taken their seats before their waitress appeared, ready to take their order. Rosie was a charming young brunette who ran a laundry business on the side and had a cute little mole on her lower back. Flemons greeted her with a smile and put in an order for the shepherd's pie. Godby ordered a round of pints for the table and a Welsh rarebit for himself, while the girls decided to split two orders of fish and chips between themselves.

"I must say," Godby said, once Rosie had bustled off to put in their orders, "this is a very civilized method for watching a football game."

Flemons couldn't help but agree. The last time his mates from school had dragged him out to see a game, he'd been crammed into a standing room only section with hundreds of strangers and forced to stand in the wind and rain for hours. By contrast, sitting in the comfortable warmth of the pub and enjoying a decent meal while the game played out on screen was positively decadent.

The food soon arrived and the group of them engaged in a pleasant bout of small talk. They all kept one eye on the television, though, and once the test pattern transformed into a Germanian flag, they all turned their attention to the screen. A jaunty marching tune began to play, gradually silencing the rest of the pub goers. The barkeep was quick enough to hop out and turn up the volume so that by the end of the song it could be heard clearly throughout the room.

As the last strains of the song died out, the view on screen switched over to a very plain room with a very plain desk behind which sat a blonde whom Flemons would very much like to get to know. She glanced down at the papers in front of her before looking up at the camera with a bright smile.

"It's my honor to introduce your hostess for the evening, the chancellor of Germania, Tanya von Degurechaff!"

The display changed once again. This time, instead of the nearly empty television studio, the camera was focused on what was clearly a working office. Degurechaff sat behind an imposing desk of solid oak, covered with the usual detritus of office work. Behind her to the right of the screen was an overflowing bookshelf, while to the left of the screen stood another woman.

Unless Flemons very much missed his guess, she was Deputy Chancellor Viktoriya Serebryakov. She had been Degurechaff's adjutant since the early days, and was known as an effective operator behind the scenes. He'd never heard that she was much of a public speaker, though.

"Thank you. It's my pleasure to host this second edition of the World Cup," Degurechaff said.

Her Albish was, as usual, almost completely free of the usual Germanian accent. That's not to say there was no foreign accent at all. There was something exotic about her, though Flemons couldn't quite put his finger on the source. The linguistic specialists back at the office had wasted many hours if not days trying to pin down her accent. At least one fist fight that he knew of had been the result, but no firm conclusion had ever been drawn.

In any event, Degurechaff sounded completely unphased by being on television. She seemed perfectly at home in front of the camera.

"With me today is my deputy chancellor," Degurechaff continued, "Viktoriya Serebryakov."

Serebryakov, by contrast, was practically vibrating in excitement. She began waving to the camera as soon as her name was mentioned. Degurechaff waited a beat, then turned back to see what was going on.

"Say hello to the people, Visha."

Serebryakov jumped in surprise and stopped waving. "Ah! Hello to the people!"

Not a public speaker, indeed. Flemons smiled and shook his head. On screen, Degurechaff smiled fondly and shook her head. He felt a jolt of ice down his spine at the idea of empathizing with Degurechaff and took a heavy pull from his beer to steady himself. In the mean time, Degurechaff had collected herself and was once again addressing the camera.

"Visha took charge of the committee responsible for preparing for the World Cup. You wouldn't be watching this broadcast if not for her hard work," Degurechaff said. Behind her, Serebryakov stood tall at the praise. "So remember, if you have any problems with the broadcast, please direct your complaints to the office of the deputy chancellor."

Serebryakov's shoulders slumped. Degurechaff ignored what was going on behind her and rose to her feet.

"Now, rather than the two of us," she said, spreading her arms wide, "it's more important for me to introduce the city of München, the site of today's game."

All of a sudden, the office disappeared. The camera hadn't changed, as the two women were in the exact same place, but now it was clear that they were floating in the air, thousands of feet above the city.

Flemons sat up straight and stared at the screen. He'd known that Degurechaff was capable of that level of illusion, but to coordinate seamlessly with another person was a different animal altogether. Even as Serebryakov had looked every bit the hyperactive ball of nerves, nothing she had done had suggested that she wasn't standing firmly on the ground. He had a feeling he would be reviewing the recording of this act more than a few times.

"Conveniently located at a crossroads of trade, the city of München has been offering a warm welcome to guests for hundreds of years," Degurechaff continued. "This is a place where you can enjoy any meal that you like, as long as it's sausage."

"Ah, actually," Serebryakov said, raising her hand like a schoolgirl, "you can order sausage on a roll and have them hold the sausage."

"Yes, of course," Degurechaff said, with a wry smile, "the vegetarian plate."

Flemons took another heavy pull from his pint. He'd met quite a few Germanians when he was stationed on the continent after the war. Perhaps one or two of them was capable of decent comic timing. But he had never, not once, run into a Germanian capable of self-deprecating wit. Up until a moment ago, he would have said that such a thing was antithetical to the national character.

He watched without paying much mind as Degurechaff continued to extoll the virtues of the city of München before leading Serebryakov in a fine bit of formation flying down to rooftop level and then to the stadium. He was finally brought out of his funk by an elbow in his side. He turned to find himself meeting the bright eyes of Claire Blanchet.

"Is that the Devil of the Rhine you're always talking about?" she asked, a smile on her face. "She's cute as a button."

All he could do was nod and reach for his pint glass. Finding it empty, he flagged down Rosie as quickly as he could for another round. All the while, the line that had stuck in his mind since his schoolboy days kept running through his head.

The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.