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August 16, 1941

Miss Caldwell looked excited by my announcement, as well she should. Germanian science had a reputation as being on the absolute cutting edge. To be honest, to some extent we were benefiting from cloaking ourselves in the reputation of the Empire. In this period of time back in my previous life, America had begun taking the lead in technological sophistication. A knowledgeable eye could pick out the signs of the same thing happening on the Unified States's consumer markets.

They hadn't turned that sophistication into weaponry yet since they hadn't been dragged into a major war, but it was just a matter of time. Of course, the American government wasn't offering Miss Caldwell a tour of their latest technology, either.

"Follow me," I said.

I led her down the hallway and past a couple of security checkpoints. Finally we reached our destination: a windowless room whose only furniture was a chair that wouldn't have looked out of place in a cockpit, mounted on a platform with all sorts of tubes and wires coming out of it. The chair was facing a movie screen. Between the chair and screen was a piece of glass, mounted on the same platform as the chair. A cross-hair had been etched in the center of the glass.

"Every pilot has to learn," I said, "that aerial fights take place at high speed and long range."

Even I had needed to unlearn the habits ingrained in me by my experience with FPS video games. Putting the sights on the target and pulling the trigger did not in fact result in an instant direct hit in real combat. Fortunately, mages had access to tracking spells and to a miniature computer that could compensate for such things, so it was just a matter of learning to use the proper tool for the job. Fighter pilots, by contrast, had to develop an instinctive feel for lead time and bullet drop.

"By the time a bullet you fire arrives at the target, the target has moved and the bullet has dropped," I said. "Which is easy to say, but hard to process."

It was something that could be learned through combat, if you didn't mind throwing away perfectly good pilots. You could also train pilots by having them fly a real plane against training targets, but that burned fuel and ammunition. While Germanian combat operations weren't being constrained by any fuel shortages at the moment, we weren't so rich that we could afford to just throw gasoline away.

Miss Caldwell was looking at the contraption in the center of the room with open curiosity. "What is that?"

"An electronic training device," I said. "Go on, take a seat."

She gave me a doubtful look but took me up on the invitation, settling gingerly into the seat. A team of technicians swarmed over both her and the trainer, adjusting the height of the seat and making sure that the electronics and hydraulics were all properly connected. It was strange to think that in a generation or two far more sophisticated electronics would sit ignored in bars and arcades while teenagers focused on wooing their opposite numbers.

"This seems quite complicated," Miss Caldwell said, her head on a swivel as she tried to follow all the engineers at work.

"It's not that bad, once you get used to it," I said. The engineers finally finished up and moved away, giving me a thumbs up. "Try moving the stick around."

The seat was equipped with a control stick more or less like a real plane would use. Instead of being connected to flaps and rudders, though, the stick was set up to control the hydraulics that could rotate and tilt the chair.

"All right," Miss Caldwell said.

She let out a little eep the first time the chair moved at her command. It didn't take her long to figure out how it worked, though. Moving the stick side to side made the chair rotate. Pulling it back made the chair tilt back. Pushing it forward made the chair tilt forward. It didn't allow for a lot of travel, but it was enough for the cross-hair to be able to cover every point on the movie screen.

"Good, good," I said, once she looked comfortable. "Now you can try some target practice."

"What?"

I gestured to the technician. There was a clatter as the movie projector began warming up.

The point of this exercise was to impress Miss Caldwell and, through her, the American public. Ultimately, it all came down to money.

While the war was going well for us on the battlefield, the Germanian government's balance sheet was starting to feel the pinch. We were still a year or two away from truly dire straits, but it had reached the point that securing a new stream of income was worth sacrificing a little bit of dignity.

One thing that Americans were never short on was money. Another thing they produced in excess was defense contractors. When presented with a golden opportunity like this to alarm the public about the technological gap between America and a hypothetical foe, the American military industrial complex could be trusted to take the ball and run with it. It would be child's play for them to drum up political support for a generous spending bill that would put Americans on par with the European powers.

Once one of those firms managed to turn the congressional firehose of cash in their direction and landed the development contract, that's when we'd make our approach. A quiet offer to turn over the technology that had kicked off the whole panic, in exchange for a lump sum payment that was significantly less than developing the project from scratch would cost. A win win situation.

Was it embarrassing, turning ourselves into the research and development arm for the American military? Of course. But, as the saying goes: pecunia non olet. Whatever our feelings on the matter, we needed the money.

Of course, considering the Americans' history with communist infiltration, we couldn't sell them anything that would be damaging if it fell into communist hands. That still left plenty of fancy toys in the catalog.

The screen flickered as the movie projector was finally ready to go, drawing me out of my thoughts. The film roll began with a brief tutorial. First up was a dark circle in the middle of the screen with "50 meters" written on it in white letters.

"Put the cross-hair over the target and pull the trigger," I instructed Miss Caldwell.

She followed suit. For this first target, it was no challenge at all. "Oh, it lit up!"

"That's showing where the bullet would have hit," I said. "It will take longer and drop further for more distant targets."

The whole setup was almost charmingly primitive. A technician in the back had to turn a switch to inform the computer of the distance of the current target. When the trigger was pulled, the chair was frozen in position until the bullet would arrive, at which point the glass screen in front of the user would light up. The only calculation involved was, given the distance input, how long to wait before the light blinked on and how far below the cross-hair the light would be.

Determining a hit was the most contentious part. The pilot could tell for themselves, of course, but that was hardly good enough for an evaluation tool. Proper scoring required a mage to record from a prescribed angle and then for a team to review the recording, correcting for the difference between the pilot's angle and the recorded angle. As Miss Caldwell was a guest, she was working on the honor system.

The tutorial continued with gradually smaller circles, still holding still in the middle of the screen. Miss Caldwell adjusted well enough. My viewing angle wasn't perfect, but it looked to me like she put every shot on target.

Then the film switched to a moving circle. Now she had to anticipate its movement and lead the shot while still accounting for bullet drop. She did well at first, while the circles were still moving slowly and predictably. As their movement sped up and became more erratic, Miss Caldwell's actions grew more frantic.

"Oh, drat!"

She only lost control of herself the one time before settling down and focusing on the task at hand. All in all, she didn't do too badly compared to the new recruits that we had put through the trainer.

She sighed in relief as the film came to a close. When she stood and stretched, I saw that she had actually broken a sweat at some point.

Once she'd gotten her breath back, she turned to me with a gleam in her eye. "That's quite intense. Is this how all Germanian pilots are being trained?"

"We're still only beginning to roll this out," I said. "Here's what I wanted to show you."

I leaned forward and flipped up a switch cover on the control stick, revealing a button that could be pressed by the pilot's thumb.

"Here, try again," I said. "This time, instead of pulling the trigger, hit that button."

Miss Caldwell hesitated for a moment, but in the end she couldn't resist the invitation and settled back into the simulator. The film began again, with the same tutorial.

Miss Caldwell noticed the difference immediately. "It didn't drop! And the light is much bigger,"

"That's because it's simulating missiles instead of guns," I said. She gave me a curious look, but I directed her attention back to the screen with a gesture. "Keep going, I'll explain when you're done."

She set to with a will. Firing a simulated missile didn't require the computer to calculate bullet drop, but only the time that it took for the missile to reach its target. Naturally, it was much easier on the pilot as well.

Unfortunately, the technicians hadn't been able to configure the display to light up with different sized circles to represent the difference in the visual area of effect of a missile at different ranges. Instead, it had been calibrated to be accurate for targets at 250 meters. Pilots in training were informed of this, as well as the corresponding fact that close misses at close range would have been hits and close hits at long range would have been misses.

Naturally, I didn't want to burden Miss Caldwell with too much information. Especially information that would reveal the details of our weapons' performance to our enemies.

"Oh, this is much better!"

Miss Caldwell was soon as invested in the simulation as she had been the first time. It was easier when using simulated missiles, but the last few targets were still a challenge.

She had a smile on her face when she finished. "That was fun!"

Part of me wanted to record this moment for posterity. The very first time a player celebrated after a video game was patched to reduce the difficulty level. Instead, I simply favored Miss Caldwell with a smile.

"Someday, I hope this technology will be used for amusing diversions," I said, "instead of training for war."

I led her out of the training room and down the hall. We had to pass through a couple of security checkpoints before arriving at a hangar containing exemplars of all of Germania's active fighter planes. All of them had been equipped with missiles on their wings.

"What you experienced was the advantage of our air-to-air missiles," I said. "Since they are powered in flight, they do not drop as a bullet does. Since they explode on proximity with their target, you don't need to score a direct hit."

"That's very impressive," Miss Caldwell said, looking at the missiles with wide eyes.

My smile broadened at the thought that the Unified States would soon be experiencing its first panic over a missile gap. I could almost taste the greenbacks that would be headed our way. There was a risk that the commies would steal the technology, but it wouldn't be a serious problem as long as the Unified States didn't outright supply them with missiles. The Russy electronic industry was too far behind the standard of the rest of the world to produce proximity-fused missiles in any number any time soon. Honestly, if they dedicated their industrial capacity toward improving their electronics instead of making more tanks, I wouldn't really mind.

"Every time the Rus have sent their bombers against our prepared defenses, they've come off much the worse for it," I said. "I'm happy to say that airplanes like this one will soon be providing a defensive umbrella over Legadonia."

The most important component of air defense was ground based radar. Second most important, and arguably first, was the integration of observation and command. Of course, if that information got out, the Rus might actually learn something from it. Far better to talk up the efficacy of the air to air missile.

Miss Caldwell circled around the airplanes, taking in every detail she could. She was full of questions. I begged off answering anything that would reveal the specifics of what we were capable of doing, but I made sure to take every opportunity I could to heap praise on the fine scientists and engineers who were working so hard to provide an edge to our fighting men on the front lines.

I was sure that she could see through what I was doing, but I didn't mind at all. I had already expected that she would use her family connections to get a taste of the panicked spending that a laudatory article about Germanian technology would produce. I was happy for her to get a piece of the pie, just as long as I got my fair share.

ooOoo

August 16, 1941

The flight back to Berun was quick and easy. I touched down in the middle of the afternoon. When I headed inside, I found Zettour and Visha waiting for me outside of my office.

"Chancellor," Zettour said, "there's good news from Ildoa."

I ushered the two of them inside before taking my seat. "What is it?"

"Muzzioli is prepared to surrender," Zettour said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing an envelope that he dropped on my desk. "These are his proposed terms."

That was good news. Not a complete surprise, as the Albish blockade had been devastating to southern Ildoa's civilian economy and military readiness, but still good news. I hadn't been looking forward to slugging our way south down the peninsula.

I opened the letter and read it with interest. The first proviso was that the members of Muzzioli's government and his senior military leaders would be allowed to retire in peace, free from prosecution for their participation in his soft coup. To be expected, and honestly something I would have wanted anyways. If Ildoa was going to settle down as a united whole after all this mess, it would need to begin with a spirit of reconciliation.

The second proviso had to do with the treatment of Muzzioli himself. He asked that he be allowed to take exile to an island off the coast of Ildoa. If memory served, the island itself was home to a fairly small permanent population, and mostly served as a vacation destination for Ildoa's upper crust.

My eyelid twitched at the idea that this incompetent bungler was stumbling into the end state that I had failed to obtain for myself after so much hard work. There was nothing for it, though. The value of securing Ildoa without firing another shot far outweighed my vindictive desire to see Muzzioli brought low. Not to mention that a lenient attitude might discourage our other enemies from fighting to the death.

The final proviso had to do with Muzzioli's living situation. He requested that a comfortable residence be provided in the populated section of the island for himself and his wife. All well and good. He also requested a villa be maintained on the opposite side of the island for his favorite mistress.

I sighed. "What does Falasca think?"

"He's willing to take our guidance," Zettour replied.

I should have expected it. If everything went well, Falasca could grandstand in front of his countrymen about his statesmanship. If things went poorly, he could rail against the overbearing, heavy-handed Germanians. Well, that was fine. I wouldn't have lasted long in public life if I didn't have pretty thick skin. Let him manage his reelection prospects however he wanted.

Still, I needed an informed opinion from someone. I fixed Zettour with a serious look. "What do you think?"

"We could probably convince Muzzioli to give up his more extravagant demands," Zettour said, "but it would take some time."

I wondered if his delicate phrasing was due to his perception of my rigorous morals or because he still saw me on some level as a young lady. Either way, I could still take his hint: separating Muzzioli from his paramour wasn't worth the hassle.

As for Muzzioli returning from exile on a white horse, rallying the country to his cause, Zettour clearly wasn't worried. Neither was I. This capitulation would do a great deal to ruin the public perception of Muzzioli's strength, greatly diminishing the appeal of a strongman. Also, as long as the Ildoan mage core was loyal, even the short distance from the island to the mainland would be difficult for a would-be dictator to cross.

"I'd like to get this over and done with. Let the Ildoans know that I approve," I said, "Ah, perhaps ask for a stipulation that they return any cultural treasures that have recently entered their possession as part of the amnesty."

Dictators tended to have sticky fingers. When one man was above the law, nobody was going to stop him from shifting artwork from museums to his private collection. I wasn't going to go out of my way to seek absolute justice. If Muzzioli lived a comfortable life funded by money he had squirreled away from the Ildoan government, then so be it. Letting him stock his residence in exile with great Ildoan masterpieces and Roman artifacts was too much, though. Aside from my own personal taste, something like that was bound to tempt the Ildoan into trying to abrogate their agreement at some point, causing a diplomatic crisis.

"Very well," Zettour said. "I'll reach out to my Ildoan counterpart."

With that, Zettour left Visha and I alone in my office. I was lost in thought for a moment, still stuck on the idea that Muzzioli had pulled off the escape that I had so diligently planned. Try as I might, I just couldn't think of where I had made a mistake. Some people just had all the luck.

"You know," I said, "if things had gone differently, we could be stuck on a sunny island somewhere ourselves."

"Hmm," Visha said, nodding. She had been at the second conference of Londinium. She knew how easily the other countries could have insisted that I be sent into exile.

"It would be nice," I admitted, "not to have to worry about all this."

I was fortunate that I had surrounded myself with capable subordinates, so I hadn't been forced to step in and take on anybody else's job as well as my own. Even so, as the leader of a country at war, I had been working rather full days making sure that everybody was pulling in the same direction. Taking a vacation would be out of the question for the foreseeable future. It was hard not to be a little wistful at the thought of an island exile.

"We can do so much good here though!" Visha protested.

I had almost forgotten. Visha was perhaps the only person in the whole country who was more viscerally opposed to communism than I was. Small wonder she couldn't bear to imagine such an enormous war against the commies kicking off with somebody else at the helm.

"I guess you're right," I said.

For that matter, I hated to think of how some other leader might have bungled Germania's handling of the war. I would be the first to admit that I made my fair share of mistakes. No doubt in twenty years or so historians would be using their twenty-twenty hindsight to castigate my flawed handling of the war. Still, though, I had at least managed to avoid any major catastrophes.

If Germania had been led by a politician who came more squarely from the Imperial tradition of annexing territory whenever it was convenient, we could be at war against the whole world by now. Honestly, war against the Russy Federation was already fighting against a higher percentage of the rest of the world than I was really comfortable with.

"If we were on an island," Visha said, pulling me out of my daydreaming, "you wouldn't need a villa, right?"

I would have fallen out of my chair if I hadn't used my computation orb to catch myself at the last second. "Of course not!"

She studied me a moment before she smiled. "Good!"

I needed to remember to buy some chocolates the next time I was out of the office. That, or allow Visha to participate in one of our upcoming sorties against the Rus. She seemed to be feeling a little neglected.

ooOoo

August 17, 1941

The next day, I had a meeting with General Lergen to discuss our efforts to woo the civilians of Kieva. Honestly, our relationship with the people there had started out shockingly well. They were touchingly grateful to be freed from the yoke of communism. We couldn't just coast on that positive first impression forever, though.

The first order of business was to convert at least one major rail line over to standard gauge. Symbolically, it would act to connect Kieva to the rest of OZEV. Practically speaking, it would make it much easier for our army to move supplies. Over time we would convert as much of the rail system as we could.

Almost as important was the general survey we were conducting of the region. The communists had stripped the whole area bare of food. In part to deny our army the resources when it was clear our advance wouldn't be stopped before the Dnieper, and in part consistent with their general policy of mistreating the Kievans. We needed to get a decent count of how many people lived in the region and how much food they needed so that we could avert a humanitarian disaster come winter time.

I was hoping that the Unified States would pitch in, as they had with our efforts in the far east. Though their economy was taking a beating from the depression, their farms were still as productive as ever. I expected that they would be interested in anything that might help open up a new market.

In a related effort, a specialized team was following the general survey team around the region, conducting research into communist atrocities. I wasn't sure how closely this world tracked with my original lifetime, but communists being communists I was sure there was more than one mass grave out there. Once we had an idea of where to look, I wanted to assemble an international team to go in and document what they found. I had no intention of letting the communists whitewash their history.

The overworked General Lergen also had to organize the army's activities on top of all that. While the offensive had been a great success, it left us holding a great deal of land. That meant that defenses had to be organized on a scale that rivaled the Degurechaff line. Except that instead of working with the local government over a matter of years, our military had to do the whole job themselves with no idea just when the Russy counterattack would come.

Truly, the only thing that created more work for generals than defeat was victory. I offered to help General Lergen share his burdens, but he insisted that there was no need. I was a little worried that his sense of duty was going to cause his health to decline from overwork, but there wasn't anything I could do about it without undermining his confidence.

I was trying to come up with a tactful way to suggest that he made sure to take care of himself when Elya burst into the room.

"Chancellor!" she said, before she had to stop to catch her breath.

"What on Earth-"

"There has been an uprising," she said. The fact that she had interrupted me said as much as anything could just how serious the problem was. "Northern Bharat is in flames. They want to sever ties with the Allied Kingdom and establish a communist regime!"