In the morning, Todd did not take the field. He and Irma made love all day. Despite his absence, the San Franciscans won the day. Mid-morning, a small quake destabilized a feeble portion of the Shambles. Tumbling cement crushed twenty Angelenos, but no defenders were harmed. Accustomed to temblors and darkly superstitious, the San Franciscans embraced the omen and told one another that the forces of their native land fought with them against the invaders. Emboldened by the shaking Earth, the militia fought ferociously, as though God were at their back. When dusk settled, the Black and Orange had won the day.
Startled by the setback, the vice mayor called Isoka, Wellman, and Aslanian to his war room for an evening conference. A crude map of the Shambles covered the planning table; the four commanders stared intensely at the puzzling and inaccurate mass of colored lines.
Under Benharash’s leadership, before the schism at the Delta, the general’s cartographers had been among the most potent weapons in the hands of the Army of Los Angeles. Guided by their attentive work, the sagacious general had followed in detail the patterns of the enemy, anticipating resistance and tracking the vast deployments of the opposing forces. The vice mayor tried to emulate the absent general’s method, but neither he nor his staff had the skills for such a stratagem. In addition, the Shambles’ berserk terrain would have challenged the most accomplished map makers, and the vice mayor’s men were far from that. They had managed to produce only hastily scribbled and artless charts. Yet on this inaccurate picture of the inhospitable and foreign field, Aslanian and Wellman dutifully marked off dead ends, meadows, troop movements, and the like as they planed for mortal battle.
Equipment decisions made before the Reconqeste began meant that the ALA’s strategy had, from the beginning of the campaign, relied on positioning and bold aggression. The original military plan was to blitz through the center of the state while incrementally securing the canal. The Angeleno operation was expected to last less than a year and depended on moving quickly before their opponents could amass a force sufficiently robust to provide protection against the invasion, so the planners decided they could achieve their aims without the use of heavy artillery.
#
For fifty years, the City of Angeles had deployed big guns as a defensive ring around its mountainous parameter. The artillery and the generously-manned mountain patrols had provided a half-century of protection from outside attack and the stability to allow the city’s commercial life to thrive. Like most of LA’s arsenal, the artillery had been salvaged from the Camp Pendleton marine base. Old and heavy, the ancient weaponry was unsuited to the four-hundred–mile trek through the hot and dusty Central Valley. There was another reason that the artillery needed to stay near LA. With the bulk of the city’s army now deployed in distance battles, artillery became even more crucial for defense against the mayhem of the ever-present brigand armies that menaced the islands of civilization throughout the shattered state. Redeployment of this proven shield was anathema to the Parliament and the populace of the City of Angeles. For all these reasons, the ALA expeditionary force was without any heavy weaponry.
#
So the ALA had left, back behind the Tehachapis, the guns they now needed to bombard San Francisco across the narrower portions of the Shambles--an attack that would have broken the defenses and morale of comfort-loving city. (It should be noted that the absence of the requisite big guns was among Benharash’s arguments against waging this haphazard battle.)
As the generals stood staring hopelessly at the slipshod drawings and the baffling patterns of this grotesque urban war zone, the vice mayor put his pink finger on what was once the location of the Coit Tower.
He said uncertainly, "The northeast corner is thick with gunmen.”
“Numerous, but informidable,” said Isoka.
"A thick lump of weaklings," Aslanian grunted.
"We could kill them all day but gain nothing," added Wellman.
Aslanian rubbed his hard, scarred cheek with his fist. He said, “Maybe we pound it anyway. They have a very low tolerance for dead meat. Each casualty shakes them."
No one spoke for several moments as each man gathered his thoughts. The vice mayor and Isoka had no stomach for killing just to cause terror. They merely made a show of considering the proposed crime. Wellman waited to see what the others thought; barring other objections, he would throw in with Aslanian’s position.
A knock came on the door and the vice mayor called absently, “Come in.” A tall guard with grievous facial wounds bent under the doorframe and entered the room. The noseless man walked to the vice mayor’s side and said, "Mr. Kout is outside. He demands to see you."
The idea amused the vice mayor: an actual demand coming from someone in the position occupied by Kout, a turncoat who had already given all he had to offer. The vice mayor looked around the table to see if anyone else thought it funny, but his colleagues were transfixed by the bewildering map, and they acted as if the guard had said nothing. He shrugged and said with a grin, "Indulge him."
As the guard went out, the vice mayor quickly turned back to the map and the group. “We can maul them, but to what end? They defend nothing. It’s a tactic divorced from strategy. As far as demoralizing them . . . I-- well . . . just killing to kill seems a bit over the top.”
Isoka, leaning back with his feet on Benharash’s empty chair, said, "I agree. We could bog down there. We’d lose our own good men to odds and chance. I understand what you're getting at: Hammer their morale. But time is getting on. Their morale is what it is. We need to start having meaningful engagements, take and hold land, move closer to the city." He sat up and pointed to the intersection of Market and Van Ness. "If we continue focusing on the southeast, we will eventually create a breach on this long flat strip that leads right to Lafayette."
The vice mayor nodded. Aslanian and Wellman also indicated they accepted the diplomat’s logic—at least momentarily (ALA action plans had a short life span).
The guard re-entered with a well-dressed man in his fifties. This was Alexander Kout, Irma's father, formerly the head banker of San Francisco. He was only slightly taller than his daughter. Like her, he had thick black eyebrows, a high forehead, and a vigorous presence. Before changing sides, he had overseen the largest gold supply and coin-pressing operation west of the Rockies. Kout walked straight to the vice mayor, ignoring Aslanian and Wellman, though he did acknowledge Isoka with a brisk nod; he knew that the ambassador was a man of the upper class and someone he would have to deal with in business and society once the war was over.
His red face was wrinkled with perpetual concern. All his life, the banker had taken business seriously 24/7. Palm outstretched, he announced, "I’m not happy, Vice Mayor!"
"Good evening," said the vice mayor, as though he had not a care in the world. "Would you like some coffee?”
Kout waved him off. "I utterly disrupted the San Francisco banking system and brought you invaluable strategic information--"
"A scone?" the vice mayor asked with obtuse cheerfulness.
"I came in no small part," said Kout methodically, "because of the promises made by the Los Angeles banking community."
The vice mayor nodded understandingly, "Well if you won’t eat . . . ”
“Vice mayor, I have fulfilled my part of the deal! It is now your turn to make me whole and send me on my escorted way to Los Angeles.”
“Be assured that we will stand by all of our promises,” said the vice mayor, with mock seriousness.
From their seats around the table, the others glared at Kout. To them he was not a powerful banker or a man of authority, but merely a traitor. They had the military man's disdain for collaborators.
"The time is now," the banker went on. "I’ve done what I can here. My contributions have been considerable. Now I want to go to Los Angeles. I want to go this week."
The vice mayor smiled and held out his hands. "We’ll accommodate!"
"I want an full escort and two baggage wagons."
"Done!"
"And I want my daughter."
This took the vice mayor aback. He did seem to recall a mention of reuniting the man’s family, but it had slipped his mind, and now the cozy idea seemed a bit farfetched. He hardly wanted to take chances just to rescue Kout’s brat. He had once given such a reunion lip service, and now, as so often happened in his desultory life, his flippancy came back to haunt him. The vice mayor had not expected to have to think hard about filling Kout's wish list. He had allowed him to come in because he thought he would have fun with him. He looked at Isoka.
The ambassador studied the banker. He saw before him an opportunist of the first order, a man whose finger is so much to the winds that any reasonable gust swayed his allegiance. Yet after the war, Kout would regain control of the San Francisco Mint. Backed by Los Angeles, he would have even more power than before the war--he would merely pay taxes to a different government. It was a bad sign that he now asked to leave the camp. It showed that he had no faith in the ALA’s ability to successfully complete the siege. After all, anyone who marched back to Los Angeles with this army should have stupendous political and social advantages. The banker must have decided that it was not in his interest to hang around because the vice mayor’s army would return in less than triumph. Isoka knew that Kout was not only an opportunist, but also a man with a record of backing the right horse. He had been ready to defect as soon as the siege began.
#
While the San Franciscans watched the ALA’s year-long drive up to the Delta, Kout was impressed with the ruthless strength of the grand army. When the LA host beat back the San Franciscan volunteers in King City, killing a Wentworth in the process, the banker decided that Los Angeles would dominate California. He looked around his own city and saw impotent anger and unwarranted bravado. Kout saw that war was coming and that the Angelenos would win. Immediately, he contacted collegial men of finance in the Los Angeles community. Together with his friends to the south, he designed a plan for their common enrichment, the first step of which was his own flight. To add advantage to his new lieges and to curry favor with the military men with whom he must deal until he could get safely to LA, he brought maps of four tunnels, thereby handing Benharash the most valuable strategic assets possessed by the San Francisco military. The banker fulfilled his part of the plan within days of the ALA’s arrival at the doorstep of the Queen City.
However, once he crossed over, he discovered to his chagrin that Benharash had abdicated. As time went on, it became clear to Kout that Benharash, not the ALA, had conquered California.
#
Isoka did not like to be on a side against which such a man was betting. He nodded slightly, encouraging the vice mayor to go along.
Without further thought, the vice mayor said cheerfully, "Just requests."
"You’ll comply?" the banker asked skeptically, looking at Isoka.
"You brought chaos to our enemy,” said the vice mayor. “You want to go LA, so be it."
"And my daughter?"
"That may be a sticking point," Isoka said. He doubted that the banker cared deeply about his daughter; if he had, he would have taken her along during his first flight. But, instead, he had taken the gold and left the girl to the tender mercies of the betrayed San Franciscans.
In fact, the diplomat was at least partially wrong in this judgment. Kout now felt that Irma’s forgiveness and allegiance would fully mend his esteem in his own and society’s eyes. His sudden concern for his daughter was driven by want, not need. Isoka’s insight into human behavior was based on the interaction of communities, and he perceived only behavior based on necessity. He understood sociology but not psychology. He did not perceive that a man like Kout, who had spent his life richly satisfying his wants, invariably staked a great deal on such things.
The vice mayor's eyebrows rose. "Will the Wentworths give her up?"
Kout had come armed for passive resistance. He saw the vice mayor as slothful and debauched, the kind of man who always found an excuse not to do something. "You and I both know San Francisco will do anything to protect its people. Benharash suggests a prisoner exchange."
" ‘Benharash suggested’?" growled Aslanian, looking at Wellman, who shook his head in disgust.
Isoka, however, brightened at the idea. He said, “Prisoners are a burden to feed. Let’s get some off of our hands."
"Oh, for Christ’s sake!" Aslanian shouted.
The vice mayor smiled at the simplicity of his friend’s motive. "You’re right!" he said to Isoka. "Wentworth will jump at an exchange. He needs to throw crumbs to the war-weary masses. He could have a gaggle of happy wives."
Kout looked at the vice mayor contemptuously. He then glanced around the room and found it surprisingly well arranged, each object subtly placed to its best advantage. The room was visibly comfortable; even the cluttered planning table was far away from all else in the room and so was framed. Kout straightened, raising his eyebrows and voice. "I would have felt better if you’d have thought of it."
The vice mayor dismissed the insult with a snort. He turned to Isoka. “I think I like the idea."
Suddenly Aslanian cried, "If Benharash wants to run this war, he damn well better be willing to fight in it."
Kout huffed himself up and smirked. "If he were in your place, this war would be over."
Aslanian flew up from the table and leapt toward the banker with a ferocity of mien that Kout had never before seen or dreamt of. Isoka moved between them. The guard with the shattered face took hold of Kout and pushed the civilian behind him while Isoka and Wellman held back Aslanian. Kout looked around the room and saw that he had no friends or champions here. The representative of civilian values, the vice mayor, looked on with complete indifference. Kout warned himself to fear these bloody men. His death would mean no more to them than a mess on the floor and a couple of wagons of unclaimed gold. The vice mayor smiled sublimely. He took the guard’s hand off Kout and politely led the blanched banker to the door.
"Your requests are reasonable, and they are granted."
The vice mayor nodded to the guard, who roughly escorted Kout out of the room.
Aslanian returned to his seat and said to Wellman, "I hate traitors. Use them and kill ’em, I say." Other mean words were exchanged.
The vice mayor shrugged, poured a Chardonnay. "The man merely wants his daughter back."