-3-
Field Marshall Dolph Erikson crumbled the report with his gloved hands then threw it across the room. He swiped a stray lock of red hair from his prominent forehead then focused his hard green eyes on the captain that delivered the report. His look was as cold as the snow falling by his office window.
“Failure is unacceptable!” he shouted. “Unacceptable!”
The captain cleared his throat. “Unexpected circumstances impeded our plan. It seems one of Tellak’s slaves stole the book after it was found.”
Erikson looked at the captain. “These natives are an untrustworthy lot. There should have been contingencies. We should have been present.”
“It was unavoidable, Herr Field Marshall,” the captain replied. “Tellak has not failed us before. Besides, he wouldn’t reveal the location of the book until he was prepared to exchange it. He feared we would not honor our debt.”
“Who does he think we are, British?” Erikson spat. “Prussians always honor our word.”
“They are natives, sir,” the captain answered. “They don’t differentiate between white men.”
Erikson pinched his chin. “What were our losses?”
The captain cleared his voice. “One airship and the entire crew.”
“Shiesse!”
“And Tellak?” Erikson required.
“Dead,” the captain answered. “He was the first killed.”
Erikson waved his hand. “Leave me.”
The captain saluted, turned on his heels then marched from Eriksson’s office.
Eriksson slammed his fist on his desk. He’d have to file a report with his superiors; there was no way he could hide the loss of an airship. That meant he would have to endure another humiliating discussion about the importance of this mission. The captain said the natives were ignorant but as far as Erikson was concerned he need look no further than the Second Reich for his fill of stupidity. Before Erikson chose a military career he was an intellectual prodigy destined for a prosperous career as a professor at Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg. But the family profession beckoned; that and the fact that military service in Prussia was mandatory. The man who excelled in academics also shined in warfare, becoming one of the main builders of the new German army that crushed the French so easily in the recent war. Like his family, he was a man whose bulk matched his brain; tall, broad-shouldered and thick armed.
Erikson pushed away from his desk then strode to his window to gaze on the Arc de Triomphe. Winter in Paris should have been a relaxing time, but not this year. He was part of the Prussian occupation army that had come to make sure France paid its debt after losing the war. He came so he could distance himself from the Reichstag and pursue his project in peace. But the loss of an airship would require an explanation and he didn’t have time to suffer ignorant people, not with so much at stake. He returned to his desk then took a piece of paper from his stationary. Dipping his quill into the inkwell, he composed a letter that he hoped would satisfy his superiors. Writing soothed his anger as it always did, allowing his mind to refocus on the business at hand. They would find the stolen book, of that he was sure. In the meantime his agents had informed him there was another book hidden in plain sight. That book was located in the most unlikely of places; Freedonia.