“One of the few signs of rationality yet detected among the Tosevites,” Atvar said with heavy sarcasm. “I gather this unwillingness to use the poisonous gases did not keep them from producing such gases in limitless quantities.”
“Indeed not,” Kirel said. “No empire trusted its neighbors not to do so, and no empire cared to be without means of retaliation should its neighbors turn the gases against it. And so production and research continued.”
“Research.” Atvar made that into a curse. “The blistering agent the British threw at us is quite bad enough, but this stuff the Deutsche use-Have you seen those reports?”
“I have, Exalted Fleetlord,” Kirel said. His tailstump curled downward in gloom. “First a male finds the day going dim around him, then he has difficulty breathing, and then he quietly dies. I am given to understand, though, that there is an injectable antidote to that gas.”
“Yes, and if you inject it thinking you have breathed the gas but are mistaken, it makes you nearly as ill as the gas would without treatment.” Atvar hissed mournfully. “A perfect metaphor for Tosev 3, would you not agree? When we do nothing, the Big Uglies wreck us, and when we take steps against them, that presents problems just as difficult in a different way.”
“Truth,” Kirel said. He pointed to the map. “In aid of which, what are we to do about the northern pocket in Britain? We have not been able to suppress British artillery, and it can reach every spot within the pocket. The closer our males get to London, the more built-up areas they have to traverse, and fighting in built-up areas means heavy losses in males and materiel both.”
“That’s not the worst of it, either,” Atvar said. “Flying transports over Britain gets riskier by the day. Not only do the British seem to keep pulling aircraft out from under flat stones, but the Deutsche in northern France strike at our machines as they fly back and forth to Britain. We have lost several transports, and cannot afford to lose many more.”
“Truth,” Kirel repeated glumly.
“If we have to start using starships instead, and if we start losing starships in significant numbers-” Atvar didn’t go on. He didn’t need to go on. If the Race started losing starships in significant numbers, the war against the Big Uglies would be within shouting distance of being lost along with them.
“What then is our course in regard to the northern pocket in Britain, Exalted Fleetlord?” Kirel asked.
Atvar hissed again. He heartily wished the northern pocket did not exist. If the British kept pounding on it, it wouldn’t exist much longer. That, however, was not what he’d had in mind as a means for disposing of it. Bitterly, he said, “If only the sweep around London to the west from the southern force hadn’t been halted at the river line, we could have withdrawn the males north of London without undue trouble.”
“Yes, Exalted Fleetlord,” Kirel said dutifully. Although he had every right to, he didn’t remind Atvar that ifs like this had no place in military planning.
“Bringing the males out from the north would be feasible,” Atvar said, “but with the heavy transports having such difficulty there-with all manner of fixed-wing aircraft having such difficulty there-we would be compelled to leave behind a great deal of equipment.”
Not until the words had left his mouth did he realize he’d abandoned all hope of salvaging the northern pocket. The battle there was one the Race would lose, and he couldn’t do anything about it except make the defeat less costly.
He hoped Kirel would contradict him. He’d phrased his comment hypothetically; the shiplord might well find reason for optimism where he saw none. But Kirel said, “Exalted Fleetlord, if we stay in the pocket we shall lose not only the equipment but the males as well. We should do our best to deny the materiel to the British, lest it be turned against us.”
Now Atvar said, “Truth.” In a way, acknowledging defeat was liberating. In another way, it was terrifying. The fleetlord said, “If we withdraw from the northern pocket, the political consequences will be unpredictable but surely unfortunate.”
“They shouldn’t be as bad as that, Exalted Fleetlord,” Kirel said, his voice soothing. “We will have kept the British from meddling on the main continental mass for some time to come, and other Tosevite empires opposing us can hardly be stimulated to more effort than they are already making.”
“Those were not the consequences to which I was referring,” Atvar answered. “I was thinking of possible developments within the ranks of the shiplords themselves.”
“Ahh,” Kirel said. “Now I see.” He paused thoughtfully. “My view is that, with Straha gone, it will likely be too divisive an issue for any male to raise. His defecting to the Big Uglies has worked to your advantage, because it discredits in advance those who would rebel against your leadership.”
