The Constitution
by
Sam
Worthington
Book 2 of the Aquitaine Trilogy
The
story of the peoples of the Earth
Copyright© Sam Worthington 2010.
The right of Sam Worthington to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patent Act 1988
Published by Sam Worthington at Smashwords.
Other books by the same author
The General (The first book of The Aquitaine Trilogy)
The War (The Third book of the Aquitaine Trilogy)
Kelly - the bar girl who would be president
Hookers Hero
A Superlative View (as Tim Randall)
Food and travel writing
www.samworthington.com
www.books.samworthington.com
Blog: www.asiabugle.com
Acknowledgement.
I would like to thank the following people for their help and advice in writing this book: David Dean for editorial and, as always, helpful comments, wikipedia.com (who always had a tidbit, or information, when I asked), Tibor Krausz (editing) and many, many others who have exchanged thoughts and ideas.
To educate a man in mind and not in morals is to educate a menace to society.
Theodore Roosevelt (1858 – 1919) President USA
This novel is a work of fiction and the characters and events in it exist only in its pages and in the author’s imagination.
Preface
This is the second book of the Aquitaine Trilogy, the concept of which was to envision a future community that can survey the old state of affairs — our own — with the benefit of hindsight and learn from our mistakes as they proceed to create a brand new civilisation.
In order to do this, I invented a nuclear apocalypse, which sets the calendar of civilisation right back to zero. Whether such a cataclysm remains a possibility in the post-Cold War era is a matter of opinion, although I fear it cannot entirely be ruled out.
Yet this is not about nuclear weapons and their effects, but rather about what a group of survivors might do in a world where they have to start anew from scratch without the benefits of technology and most human comforts.
In a way this second book is the meat in the sandwich of the trilogy, dealing as it does with the question of what kind of government would benefit people most. Many people, myself included, feel that Western democracy has done a rather poor job of it in recent decades. Yet what should replace it? That is the question that the People of the Earth in the story grapple with. Does a modern society, for instance, need religion and if so in what form?
All the characters in the book are fictitious, although they do represent certain traits and habits of actual people. The book’s protagonists come from a variety of nationalities. As we all know, there are good things and bad things in all societies. That is no less so in this book.
The location is France and the geography is as described. Instead of inventing a whole new country, I have preferred to work with real topography. That is not least because I cannot think of a better way to do research than to sit with a plateau de fruits de mer, while looking across the Arcachon basin and consider it work!
I hope you will enjoy the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I also hope that you will consider the issues raised, as I like to think that whereas this work of fiction deals with an imaginary future society, its issues have plenty of relevance for our world right now.
Chapter 1 Nukes revisited
Ted Dennison, brevet general of France and military prefect of Aquitaine, sat across the small coffee table from Captain 2nd Class Nikolai Kuznetsov, commander of a Russian delta class nuclear submarine. They were sitting in the sun on the front at Arcachon looking out across the bay. Captain Kuznetsov’s submarine was hidden from view behind Cap Ferret, but an inflatable guarded by three sailors rested on the beach fifty yards away. Ted has just been introduced to the Russian and his associate Captain Lieutenant Ivan Papanin by Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Tailor, prefect of Arcachon.
Ted was trying to be his usual friendly self, but was uncertain about the reason for the visit, which had required him to drive for nearly an hour from his headquarters in Portets. The Russians were skeletal, their clothes hanging loose on their bony frames, their faces drained and pallid. Ted glanced across at the sailors on the inflatable and realised they were equally emaciated. They were hopeless as guards, sitting on the rim of the boat, looking seriously debilitated. Ted knew he, too, had lost plenty of weight since that fateful day nearly a year ago when the world went mad with the apocalypse of Mutually Assured Destruction. In his case, though, weight lost had been to his advantage, reducing him to what his medics would call an ideal weight.
“Captain,” Ted said, trying to break the ice and speaking in his native English, “can I get you another coffee?” With a smile and shrug, he added: “Although I’m afraid it is not actual coffee.”
The captain tried to smile back, but it was a faint attempt. “Thank you general, but we have already had one coffee.”
“Right! Well, I will have one,” Ted said. “Why don’t you try a glass of our grape juice? Last year we made grape juice instead of wine. We decided that since we had masses of grapes and the wine market had rather collapsed, grape juice would be a useful health supplement in the winter as fresh fruit supplies have also dried up!” He explained with an attempt at humour.
He paused, then turned to his aide, Army Captain Yves De Moncay. “Yves, get me a coffee, will you and I think these two gentlemen could use some grape juice. And Andrew?” He looked enquiringly at Andrew Tailor, an African American.
The Russians nodded. They were tired as well as undernourished.
Ted ploughed on, “Captain, may I ask where you have popped up from? In nearly 12 months we have seen nobody and suddenly a bloody great submarine.”
“I fear that information is classified, General,” Captain Kuznetsov responded.
Ted was irritated by the reply. He was sure they were up to something. He glanced up and made certain Sergeant Havre, the head of the local police security detachment, was standing nearby with a couple of soldiers with carbines slung on their shoulders.
“Ok Captain, then why are you here?”
The submarine commander shuffled uneasily in his seat. “We were hoping to get some food,” the Russian said hesitantly.
Ted thought for a few seconds. “Well, we’re short of food ourselves as you may imagine and the Russians round here have not exactly covered themselves in glory.”
Seeing the captain’s face harden, he added, “Maybe it was your boat’s missiles that destroyed Bordeaux and blew up a perfectly good beach at Bicarrosse that is just to the south of here and destroyed over half this town?”
A small crowd was gathering at the cafe, outside which they were sitting. The crowd’s hostility to the submariners was palpable. The drinks arrived and allowed thoughts to be gathered.
“General, that was war. But I assure you we have done nothing to harm France,” the Russian said, then to change the subject, he asked, “You are English, are you not? Why are you a French general?”
“Mainly because after your lot had done their worst, France became rather short of generals,” Ted said ironically. “But tell me, was there a war? It all happened very quickly. We may not have been jolly good friends, but we weren’t fighting, were we, then suddenly boom boom and it was all gone. Is Russia the same?”
The junior officer, clearly older than his captain, remarked something in Russian to his superior. It didn’t sound friendly to Ted, who didn’t speak the language. The captain spoke again in English, “General, all we need is some food and we’ll leave you be.”
“Leave me be, Captain? Are you threatening me?” Ted snapped back.
“No, I’m just asking.”
“Well, why should I give you food? I have 30,000 people I am responsible for in central Aquitaine and God knows how many hungry people all around us who have little or no food.”
Ted saw the captain bridle. The Russian was getting angry too. “General, we’re a visiting ship and common courtesy would suggest you should at least help us with some provisions.”
Ted was about to retort when there was a roar behind him and a large motorbike ridden by a short, stout figure accelerated up the promenade, followed by ten motorbikes with sidecars carrying troops with rifles. Ted turned round, stood up and walked towards the figure clambering off the lead bike.
Army Captain Andre Massena was deputy commander of the forces of Aquitaine. A former sergeant in the French army, he had been a man with a reputation that was written over his face in the form of a badly broken nose and numerous scars. He liked a good fight and didn’t mind starting one. But the slightly insubordinate officer, who always had a twinkle in his eye, was a first-rate soldier in action, and Ted was fond of him.
Massena snapped a parade ground-perfect salute before clicking his heels and reporting, “General, Sir.”
Ted smiled. “At ease, Andre. Look, we have a Russian sub standing off Cap Ferret. Get some eyes on it and let me know immediately if anything happens. Get some men for crowd control.”
To the local sergeant who came marching over, Ted added, “Morning, Sergeant. Captain Massena will take over for the time being.”
Ted walked back to the table and sat down. The submarine captain was looking far from relaxed and Ted noticed the three boat guards were now on their feet. He tried another smile. “You were saying, Captain?”
“Is that little show of force supposed to give me a message, General?”
“Well actually, no, but when I heard there was a sub sitting offshore, I thought it wise to take certain precautions.”
“Do you think we would attack you?” Captain Kuznetsov was looking increasingly uneasy.
Ted shrugged, then said, “Part of the problem, Captain, is that one of your countrymen, a mafia type called Vladimir, has attacked us twice, the last time only a few weeks ago. Then we may be unfair to presume that Russia dropped some nuclear bombs on all major French towns and cities. We know that Vladimir tried to destroy us, mainly because we set about surviving by protecting our food supplies and environment. As a result, it’s inevitable that Russians are not exactly flavour of the month.”
Ted stared at the Russian captain, who seemed speechless. His shoulders sank, and he looked like a dejected man. The other Russian spoke rapidly in their native tongue, but it was clear the captain was not paying attention.
For a few moments the Russian captain sat there silently, and Ted exchanged looks with Andrew. Suddenly, one of the crew of the inflatable seemed to be speaking on a radio, then started running towards their table. He was too weak to really run, though, so it was more of a quick stagger. As he drew near, he began shouting in Russian.
The captain looked alarmed. He looked at Ted. “General, do you have an air force?”
Before Ted could reply, there was a faint buzz that turned into the sound of an aero engine as a small biplane came diving down towards them.
It was the Moth, Aquitaine’s only working aeroplane, a 1947 trainer built by Stampe of Belgium. It was the all important “eyes” of the new community. The plane pulled out of the dive and a hand was seen releasing a bag that plunged to the ground, thumping into the sand fifty yards away. A soldier ran over and retrieved it.
Ted smiled at the captain. “Yes, if you call that an air force. Why? Did we spook you?”
“General, submariners do not like planes, particularly if they come out of nowhere.”
The plane was circling round Arcachon basin in an elongated loop. Yves jumped up, took the bag from the soldier and opened it. Inside there was a single sheet of paper, which he passed to Ted.
The note was badly written, it had been scrawled in the back of the small bouncy plane. It simply said, “one very large sub, no other boats we can see. Mark says it’s a missile boat.”
Ted now knew the note had been written by Jane, who was the number two pilot and observer of the moth; the pilot was Mark. The two shared piloting duties, both having been young co-pilots arriving on different flights on that fateful day last May.
Ted looked up from the note, “Yves, signal them to return home.”
As Yves waved and pointed towards Merignac from the sand, the plane’s wings waggled and it set off towards the airfield.
Ted turned back to the submarine captain. “Captain, we don’t like surprises, either. We were just checking there were none!”
“General, looking around, you seem to be very well organised with whatever old and decrepit things you seem to have. An old plane, an old car you use. You could say it’s vintage,” the Russian quipped, indicating the Mercedes coupe that Ted had arrived in a short while ago. It was two-tone maroon and cream and made back in 1939.
“When a nuke goes off, you get an electromagnetic pulse covering a vast area,” Ted noted. “So with nukes raining down, as they were, there were multiple EMP strikes that just about killed anything electrical or electronic. Nothing with a computer chip in it works any more. That means no modern vehicles. But we’ve managed to get a few vehicles operational, some by bypassing the engine management system and others because they actually had a carburettor. So we have no radios but we have an old fashioned field telephone system that just about works, which is how I knew you had arrived.”
“Yes I know about that, General, because—” The captain stopped short and Ted guessed it was because he was about to say more than he wanted to let on. The captain’s older junior officer began to berate his captain in Russian, by the sound of it.
Ted had had enough. He realised this conversation was going nowhere and he was reasonably certain that the submarine and her crew needed them, not vice versa, and certainly represented no threat. They were starving.
He held up a hand and the older Russian glared at him, but stopped talking.
“Captain, I think we’ve started this conversation on the wrong foot. So let’s start again. It’s clear to me that you have no food so you need us a great deal more than we need you — or even want you around, to be frank. So maybe if you tell us where you have come from and where you are going, we may, I stress may, be more sympathetic.”
Ted sat back and looked the captain in the eye. The Russian looked weary and defeated.
In other circumstances, Ted thought, this guy might be all right.
“You’re right, General,” the Russian said as he held up a hand to stop his fellow officer from interrupting.
“As I think you have already worked out, we are a missile boat and last May we were a few days into a patrol in the Kuril-Kamchatka Trench from our base in Avacha Bay.
“Avacha Bay is on the Kamchatka Peninsula in the Far East, almost in the Bering Sea right at the top of the Pacific. It was a routine patrol and we had not been harassed by any American hunter subs. Nothing much was happening. Then suddenly, we received an alert, then a “Prepare to launch” and “Launch” orders in quick succession. It all happened within minutes.”
He looked at the faces around the table and added, “I command the boat and do what I am told. Soldiers take orders.”
He added lamely, “I am sorry.”
Ted nodded and the Russian continued, “The procedure requires that we evacuate from the launch area promptly and find a safe spot to lie low. This we did and it was all very quiet. Nobody seemed to be after us. Then suddenly we were hit by a shock wave. It nearly rolled the boat over, several hands were hurt, bones were broken and I thought we would all die. We came through, but more shocks followed.
“Initially, we thought it might be a nuclear depth charge, but we realised it was seismic. The Kuril-Kamchatka Trench is well known for big quakes and the like. After gathering ourselves and making a full damage assessment, we realised we had no major structural problems. But there was external engine noise as a result our speed was reduced. Not good if you think somebody is out there looking for you. We waited for orders for over a month, then returned slowly to Avacha Bay. When we arrived, we found an old volcano near the base had erupted and it was not safe to enter the bay. Still with no contact we headed for Vladivostok.”
The captain was clearly fatigued just from telling the story.
Ted interrupted to give him a breather. “It’s okay, Captain, we don’t need all the details,” he said. “I just wanted to cover the basics. I gather you realised that EMP would probably have been responsible for the lack of radio contact. I presume Vladivostok had been destroyed?”
The captain took a deep swig at his grape juice. Ted signalled to Yves to get some more.
“Yes, we thought about EMP, but satellites might still have been working. And yes, Vladivostok was gone. We hung around the area trying to get provisions. We established contact with land groups that had survived, but nobody was too keen on us.”
Captain Kuznetsov seemed grateful for the extra grape juice. “We did not know what to do. So I decided to set out for Murmansk. With a slow boat it took the best part of two months and by the time we arrived winter was setting in,” he carried on. “Murmansk was gone, too, but there are several other bases in that area and we found a couple intact.
“The problem is they had no contact with Moscow, or anywhere else for that matter. We wanted supplies and they didn’t have enough for themselves. We stayed for a month and tried to repair the shaft problems, but that required a functioning dockyard. There was little food so I decided to head for St Petersburg or Kaliningrad. The Baltic is not a good place for subs, but by then we realised that nothing was as it used to be. We found the Kattegat after Skagerrak was blocked to the south. We saw some communities in Denmark, but people ran away, or began shooting at us. We started hunting seals for meat. We passed many small communities, but they all wanted to keep to themselves. Same thing when we tried to approach some fishing boats to buy some of their catch. Then we spotted some of your boats this morning and trailed them here. The last few months have been hell, General. We have several sick men and as you’ve guessed we’re starving.”
The captain glanced wearily at his colleague, who was looking none too pleased.
“How long will your submarine able to keep going?” Ted asked.
“Well, obviously, it’s nuclear and so technically we have enough fuel for years of operation, but something might wear out or break. No, the boat is strong, but the people in it are not.”
“Your engines are electric, are they not?”
“Yes, the reactor produces steam to drive the turbines that produce electricity to run the motors.”
“How many crew do you have?”
“126”
Ted thought for a minute, then turned to Yves. “Can you find a baker and get 126 loaves, cheese to go with them and 60/70 litres of grape juice.”
Yves looked somewhat puzzled, but got up and walked off.
Ted turned back to the captain. “Captain, here’s an idea. Why don’t we adjourn to that seat over there and have a chat?” Ted pointed at a bench on the promenade. Andrew gave him a puzzled look.
When Ted stood, the captain rose, as did the senior lieutenant. Ted glanced at the captain, who then said something in Russian to the other officer, who didn’t look happy but sat back down.
Once on the bench, Ted turned to Kuznetsov. “What are your plans, Captain? Say we gave you some food, what would you do?”
The captain shot Ted a steely glance. “I think you know the answer to that already,” he said. “The only person who doesn’t know the answer is my weapons control officer, who thinks we’re still at war and must find a Russian base.”
“I presume you mean the officer who’s accompanied you to our meeting,” Ted said, glancing back at the table they had just left. “Does he speak English?”
“He denies it, but I’m sure he understands far more than he owns up to.” He added, “That’s why you wanted to get away from him, is it not?”
“Of course!”
“So what’s your idea, General?”
“Simple. Surrender your boat to us.” Ted smiled as the Russian’s face registered a look of shock. He added, “But it could be done other ways.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We need your boat, or rather your reactors and the staff to run them. We need electricity and you have a power station right on hand.”
The captain chuckled briefly. He thought for a second and said, “And what about the rest of the crew?”
“We need all the skilled hands we can get and I’m sure you have a highly trained crew. Besides, only this morning I was discussing our security needs and it turns out we could use a navy. As you said you’re a seaman first and foremost . . . as are your crew, I’m sure.”
“You’re either mad or up to something, General, but we couldn‘t squeeze the boat in here,” he replied, indicating the Arcachon basin. “On the surface we’re 13,500 tons and we have a nine metre draught.”
“Fair point. But there are several deep-water ports in the Gironde estuary. The Bordeaux ones are out, but I was thinking of Pauillac. There’s a dock where the A380 fuselage was transferred to barges, which of course is not used, but I’m sure you could moor there and we could set up factories in that area.” He added, “We need power for industrial purposes.”
The captain looked out across the Arcachon basin. “I must admit this is a nice spot,” he said wistfully. “Nor do I fancy sailing the seas forever with nowhere to go, like the proverbial Flying Dutchman. But what you suggest is — well, I suppose the word is — unusual.”
“We have survived to live in different times. All past norms are gone,” Ted half smiled.
“What you said about Russians earlier, is that true? Will your people accept us?”
“Don’t you worry, Captain,” Ted said. ““We are a very multicultural mix here as a thousand of us arrived on aeroplanes from around the world. Four planes that somehow did not fall out the sky but managed to land at Bordeaux. We have people from virtually all European countries, as well as Africa, America, Thailand, Singapore, China, Viet Nam, Philippines, Japan. You name it and we probably have one but of course the vast majority are French, mainly rural people because the towns got bombed. Maybe to begin with there will be some hostility but I am sure we can get over that.”
The submarine captain hesitated. “General, tell me one thing. How did you become a French general?”
Ted nodded. “Fair question. Like I said, we all came here on airliners and I suppose I got here first and kind of took control. Somebody needed to. Then soon the only surviving French general turned up and liked what we’d done. The airport had been a mess, but we cleaned it up, took over local hotels, created water supplies and sanitation. We’d buried the dead and were rationing the little food we had.
Ted was lost in his memories for a moment before continuing.
“He realised he had a group that was at least looking after themselves and were also taking in refugees — French people who needed help — and as there was nobody else to do the job he decided he would give us his support,” Ted carried on. “He knew if we were to seriously help people survive we needed an official blessing. So he made me a general and appointed a few others in key positions. He then left it to me. But I have run businesses all my life so I am used to organising and controlling people. In the end government is management.”
“Yes that makes sense, General. You were in the right place at the time!” Kuznetsov gave a tired smile.
Ted nodded. “Another question. What about radiation poisoning and other health matters?”
Ted frowned. “That has been one of our really weak areas,” he said. “Not only have we been short of doctors but we had no hospitals, drugs or equipment, either. We have a very capable senior doctor, but she’s hampered by what she doesn’t have and not by what she knows! As to radiation poisoning, early on we lost large numbers to that and we’re still losing people. We have no idea about the long-term effects. We presume that most radiation, except very near the blast centre, has now dissipated. Frankly, we don’t have much option but to get on with it.”
The submariner gave another weak smile and nodded. “Food?” He asked.
“We have a massive farming operation and we rounded up all the livestock we could find — to stop people eating everything. We’re short of fuel and our farming methods are old fashioned — if you get the gist.” Ted smiled at his own joke. “But we seem to be getting by and feeding the people we have.”
Looking across to the café, Ted saw Yves appear with Hervé, who was his friend. The two were completing a gap year when they took a flight from San Francisco to London. It landed at Bordeaux instead and Ted recruited the two graduates as translators. Hervé now worked as an assistant to Andrew. They had a hand cart laden with bread and grape juice.
The captain saw the food and realised the conversation was over. “I think I need to speak to my crew, General. That’s only fair,” he said. “I will make the decision but I will listen to them first. The bread will help them make up their mind the right way, I am sure!”
“Captain, I get the feeling your colleague will not agree to this?” Ted suggested looking at the other Russian.
“No, he’ll never agree. He’s old school. In his day he would be the political officer. He sees himself in that role anyway.”
“I will see what I can fix,” Ted replied.
They got up and started back towards the table. Ted took a short detour to speak briefly with Andre, who stood with a group of troops nearby. As Ted reached the table, he announced, “Sorry guys, I must use the facilities. All that coffee that is not coffee!” He dashed into the café.
When Ted returned he looked at the two Russians and said, “Before you go on that rather small boat and get bumped across Arcachon Bay you may like to use the loo.” He indicated behind him. First, both hesitated and Ted glanced at the captain, who suddenly jumped up and said, “Good idea.”
As the captain returned, the lieutenant decided to go too. As he entered the café, Ted said to the captain, “You go back to the ship and I’ll wait here for a while. Shall I meet you back here in, say, two and a half hours?”
The captain agreed and Ted started walking towards the inflatable.
Suddenly, Sergeant Havre came hurrying out of the café and reported to Ted: “The Russian officer has had a fall. He hit his head. Captain Massena is taking him to the clinic.”
The captain turned to go to the café, but Ted grabbed his shoulder firmly. “No worries,” he said. “We’ll look after him and you can pick him up later when you come back after the docs have had a look at him.”
The two senior officers exchanged knowing looks and this time there was most certainly a smile in the captain’s eyes.
“Also, Captain, you still do not know much about us. Do you want my aide Captain De Moncay to go with you? He can answer any questions you may have.”
The captain did not object so Ted turned to Yves, “Yves, I hope you like boats. You are about to get a tour of a nuclear sub.” Yves didn’t appear to relish the prospect, but he got in the boat anyway.
As the boat sped off towards Cap Ferret, Ted and Andrew stood watching it. “Ted, what are you up to?” The Arcachon boss asked.
“Easy, Andrew! We need something they’ve got.”
“But they have nothing. Obviously, they have no food; they may have a spare missile or two, but what else?”
It was early evening by the time Ted returned to Chateau du Portets, the headquarters of central Aquitaine. He was tired but pleased with himself, although he expected an outcry against his latest deed. He walked into John and Joan’s office.
John Davidson had been the pilot on the plane that bought Ted to Bordeaux and was now Colonel Davidson and Ted’s chief of staff. Joan Coleman was a former globetrotting solicitor from the City of London; she was now the head of administration. Initially, John and Joan, both in their early fifties, had been like chalk and cheese: John was easygoing and uncomfortable with command outside his aircraft, whilst Joan charged into her new job with something to prove. Putting them in the same room and making them responsible for the minutiae of administration, leaving Ted with the job of planning and implementing strategic decisions, had not been popular with either J’s, but now, much to everybody’s surprise, not only did the partnership work perfectly, but they had become an item, moving in together, leaving the single accommodation of the Chateau for a cottage up the road.
John was the first to speak. “Ted, what have you been up to? I can’t believe you have invited a load of Russians to stay here after what the Russians have done to us.”
Joan was just as unhappy, but more direct. “For heaven’s sake, Ted, have we not had enough of everything nuclear? The last thing we need is a nuclear accident. People will not put up with it you know. You have gone too far.”
Ted gave a resigned look, “Oh dear! Only a few weeks ago I was the hero of Aquitaine — quite unjustly in my view. Now that I think I should be the hero for pulling off a little coup, I’m the villain — just as unjustly, I might add.”
Joan was not letting go. “Ted, you really should consult other people,” she said.
“Joan, I’m in charge and you know I usually do consult. But maybe you should use that considerable intellect of yours and think why I have done it!” he snapped back.
“Well, the power will come in useful, I have no doubt,” John chimed in to lighten up the atmosphere.
“That would have been a good starting point but before you two go, let me explain,” Ted said.
He was getting irritated and wanted to get to his evening meal.
“First, as you quite rightly say, John, we need power,” he explained. “All the small generators we have are falling apart. The steam engines eat wood, although Jeff is working on making charcoal briquettes. Last year, when we first arrived we had stocks of most things, but now we’re running out. We desperately need to start making cloth, we need shoes, we need glass, we need building materials; in fact, we need many many items we once took for granted.
“Last year we concentrated on agriculture because we had to, but this year we need to concentrate on making things. For that we require power. In addition, the crew are all highly trained individuals and we need skills, all the skills we can get. We also need a navy of sorts so that we have the capability of patrolling our coast and protecting it. I was only talking about that this morning. We now have some experienced naval personnel and I think the sub’s captain is an excellent choice to set up that navy and coast guard service. So in one swoop I’ve solved several problems, problems that were at the top of my to-do list.
“As regards your point about safety,” he said, addressing Joan, “we have nuclear specialists on the sub and they’ll run that side of it. In about four to five years we will need to dispose of the beast and we will simply tow it to a deep spot in the Atlantic and sink it.”
“But all those Russians! Who’s going to accept them?” Joan was not backing down so easily.
“Look Joan, there are good Russians and bad Russians as well as good and bad Englishmen. The Karys and the Richardsons would have got along fine with Vladimir.”
“Well, I hope you are not going to trust them,” she said.
“At this moment I do,” Ted said. “Frankly, they’re too weak to try anything nasty. They haven’t eaten properly for months. Anyway, I will bring some of the officers here tomorrow, after they dock in Pauillac, and you can see for yourself. I only really met the captain. He’s taking the boat round and will come into the Gironde tomorrow morning. Are you guys eating here or at home tonight?”
“Home, Ted,” was John’s answer. “We were waiting for you to get back. We had a message from Andrew and everybody is asking questions.”
“Tomorrow night we’ll throw a welcome for our Russian friends and I’ll invite Jeff and Jean Soult.”
Chief engineer Jeff Siang had been the captain of a Singapore Airlines flight and was from that country. Ted called him their great innovator. Frenchman Jean Soult was a former mandarin who had the job of running the massive arable farming operation; as a man who had pushed paper for years, he was horrified when asked to run the farms, but he now loved the job.
The Js left to walk home and Ted walked into the bar for a glass of wine before his evening meal. Ted often joked that the only thing they weren’t short of was wine: after all, they were in the middle of one of the largest and most famous wine regions in the world. Chateau du Portets was the home of many of the single mangers of Aquitaine, whilst couples had been allocated a house each when they moved from their previous headquarters at Merignac (Bordeaux Airport) to this pleasant wine town on the Garonne river. The main meal of the day was midday when all local managers were encouraged to lunch at the chateau and this gave a good opportunity to exchange titbits of news and to sort out any small issues. However, the smaller evening meal was more relaxed and had a clubby feel as residents relaxed. But it also gave people an opportunity to discuss matters and Ted urgently sought out Bill, who was their civil engineering and building guru.
He needed Bill to go to Pauillac first thing in the morning. Bill knew about the imminent arrival of the sub. From the moment Bill had stepped off the Singapore flight ten months ago, Ted had appreciated the no-nonsense can-do attitude of the one-eyed civil engineer. That day he had not been fazed by the badly damaged airport; he simply put water in the system within 24 hours. Now he was the community’s services and building expert and all Ted had to say was “Please do it” and it was done.
Over a light supper the two now talked about what needed to be done: first, they decided, it had to be made certain that the submarine had a berth that was useable; second, they had to build factories or repurpose existing buildings.
Ted knew his next few days were going to be all about Pauillac, which would now become one of the community’s hubs along with Le Porge (animal husbandry), Saucats (arable farming), Arcachon (fishing), and Merignac (military base and engineering). Central Aquitaine was bounded by the Garonne river and the Gironde estuary to the east and north, from Langon to Bicarrosse beach to the south and by the Atlantic ocean to the west. Cadillac, near the only working bridge over the Garonne, had been used as a shelter for people desperate for food and other help during the winter months. In recent weeks the town and its neighbour Berguey had been fully incorporated into central Aquitaine.
After supper Ted had his usual nightcap with English actor Sean Paine and Harald, a German who had run factories in South Africa and Germany before he landed here. Sean had become the head of the Church of the Peoples of the Earth, which worshiped the earth and focused on not abusing the planet, as it is from this planet that we all come from and would ultimately return to, he insisted. The large church in Portets had become their Cathedral. Harald initially managed the restoration and running of the hotels at the airport, but his training was as an engineer and a metallurgist. He was now building and developing basic heavy guns. His cannons had featured in the destruction of Vladimir’s armoured column.
The three men were all about 60 years of age and had good intellects and conversation swung between light and serious. The story of the submarine has inevitably caused Ted to field a multiplicity of questions from those staying in the Chateau, and it was with some relief he found Sean and Harald with a bottle of wine sitting in their usual place.
“Well, me old luv, you have stirred up quite a stink with your submarine. I am not sure the church can support you. I mean nuclear is very naughty,” was Sean’s opening thrust.
Ted had had enough by then, even though he knew Sean was just joking. “Sean, do be quiet. Anybody would think I have planted a live bomb by the way they’re reacting,” he replied irritably.
Sean momentarily looked taken aback and for once was lost for words.
“Well,” Harald interjected, filling the awkward silence, “I think from what I’ve heard it’s a good idea: we certainly need the electricity. It will make a big difference, but I suppose there’s a risk of a nuclear accident, even if it’s a small one.”
“According to the captain an accident in a berth is extremely unlikely as it’s akin to being on land,” Ted reassured him. “The most important thing is to follow protocol in maintenance procedures. First sign of trouble and we ditch the thing. But hopefully, we will get four or five years out of it.”
“You’ve got their guys to keep maintaining and running it?” Harald asked.
“Yes, that was part of the deal. Anyway, I’m fed up with talking about the bloody thing. How’s the organ going, Sean?”
Sean had told Ted they could reconvert the church organ from electric to its original design of hand pumped bellows. “Wonderful,” he said. “And the guy who did the work has been playing it and he’s really good. All I need now is a choir. I tell you, I’m really excited about it. I think I’m really taking to this church thing. Not quite the Old Vic, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“All the village ladies seem to have taken to you” Harald suggested. “They say you are oh so good. I think you have got quite a fan club.”
“I know luv. I sometimes think all they come for is a chat.” Then he added with a smirk, “I wonder what else they’re after. Most of them are older than me!”
“Well that’s easy to solve,” Ted noted. “Just be like other priests and announce you’re celibate.”
Harald gave a guffaw and Sean looked almost bemused. “Well luvs, around here I might as well be, but one can always hope. As they say chance would be a fine thing.”
Soon the conversation relaxed into a light banter between friends and the woes of the day faded as the wine bottle emptied.
Chapter 2 Vladimir again
The next day the submarine was due to arrive early in Pauillac. Commandant Kevin Roberts, Aquitaine’s head of security and an ex-parachute regiment sergeant, had suggested to Ted that they may need beefed-up security. Ted thought that was unlikely, but took the view it was Kevin’s call.
Ted arrived to find the dock besieged by protesters, something alien in central Aquitaine. More troops had been sent for, and there was a great deal of pushing and shoving. Ted was unusually confused: after ten months, he was not used to having his authority so openly challenged by normal citizens. Ted despatched Yves to find the ringleaders and bring them to him.
Meanwhile, the huge submarine was edging closer to the dock that had once played a key part in getting the fuselage of the A380 to Toulouse. Bill was supervising the dockside operation, which sounded grand, but actually meant no more than grabbing some ropes and securing them. The sub crew did the rest.
Ted wanted to go and greet Captain Kuznetsov and his crew, but instead found himself confronted by four angry protesters.
Ted smiled grimly at the delegation and asked what their complaints were. The leader attacked immediately, “Why have you bought this evil boat here? It’s not safe. And those men” — he indicated a few submariners shuffling weakly around onboard — “they’ve killed Frenchmen! They come and they’ll take our homes and our town. This we shall not allow!”
“Hold on,” Ted said. “Take your homes? Why do you say that?”
“Well, where will the crew live? Not on the machine, I think. And they say you want to build factories here....”
Ted cut him short, “Wait and listen, will you. First, nobody will take your houses. As to the crew, most will not be living here. A few will — to maintain the reactor and the generators.”
“But these are Russians who nuked us, and only a few weeks ago they attacked us again,” the civilian stressed.
“What do you know about that attack? Most of the people who attacked us were Frenchmen,” Ted replied in a conciliatory tone.
The leader would have none of it. “They were Russian!” he growled.
“Listen, I was there, you know that?”
“Yes. They say you killed many Russians that day — with a shotgun. It’s become a legend. So you’re brave, but why...?” The leader sighed and shrugged.
Ted was embarrassed about the perception of events that day, but maybe the hero image might help for a change.
“The people who attacked us were mainly Frenchmen. They were led, and employed, by a Russian mafia boss. But they were Frenchmen just the same, and all the people who died for Aquitaine that day were Frenchmen,” he said.
“But we are from Aquitaine and we’re here to rebuild Aquitaine and France,” Ted continued. “There are bad Frenchmen, there are bad Englishmen, and there are bad Russians. But it does not mean all Frenchman, and all Englishmen, and all Russians are bad, does it?”
“No, but how do we know these are good Russians?” the man wondered.
Ted realised he was ahead in Round One, so he moved on, ignoring the question.
“The submarine is here to provide electricity,” he explained. “I’m sure you are aware that we desperately need power to manufacture items we are running out of, as well as to build new generating sources. Here you did not suffer as much from the bombs as they did further south. We’ve got to rebuild and this submarine will give us an enormous boost. Surely you see that?”
“But why here? It’s not safe. We heard before there were accidents,” the man said.
Ted now knew he was winning, but not only did he have to persuade the leaders, but he also had to give them something to take back to the protesters. He also knew the problem was partly his fault: this had all happened so quickly nobody had explained anything to local residents. All they had heard was rumour and the inevitable troublemakers had been stirring things up.
Ted saw that men were climbing off the submarine and onto the dock. They looked thin, pale and decidedly wobbly on their feet. There was an attempt to form the crew up, but it was obvious that was beyond them.
Ted looked back at the members of the little delegation, now all staring at the wasted crew. “I do not think those men represent much of a threat, do you?” he said.
There was no reply.
“I am going to meet the captain, if you’ll excuse me for a minute. Then we can talk some more.”
Ted knew he was taking a risk leaving the group before he had properly solved the problems, but he had seen the look on their faces. They understood how desperate the Russian crew was and their expressions betrayed a certain degree of sympathy.
Ted walked onto the dock and saw Kevin helping a Russian. Bill was helping another and several of Bill’s gang were helping yet others. Ted had organised transport, but it was presumably being held up by the protesters blocking the road.
Captain Kuznetsov suddenly appeared on the submarine. He was in full dress uniform and wearing a sword. He walked down a boarding ramp that had appeared and marched formally up to Ted and saluted him. “General, I surrender my ship and crew and place them under your protection,” he said, and with that he started unsheathing his ceremonial sword — in an age-old ritual of an officer surrendering to another.
“Please keep your sword,” Ted said.
Allowing an officer to keep his sword suggests there is no dishonour in the surrender. The officer has been defeated, yes, but only after fighting courageously and with honour. Of course, in this case the submarine crew had been simply starved into submission.
“Welcome, Captain,” he said. “I hope you and your crew will be happy here.”
He dropped his voice, adding: “There was no need to surrender.”
“I saw the crowd and thought it might help. It really makes no difference,” the Russian explained.
“Thank you for the thought, Captain. I’ve organised some transport and you will go to Chateau Pontet Canet, just up the road. They have some accommodation they use there for workers during the vendage. It’s a sort of holding point so we can get your men fed and sorted. The non-engineering officers will then go on to Portets.”
The two had discussed the day before the immediate management of the submarine: the reactor would be shut down and overhauled; the mooring might need dredging to ensure there was enough water around the ship.
Ted was pleased to see two old busses and couple of trailers being towed by old tractors appear though the crowd. The crowd also seemed to have quietened down: probably the sight of the debilitated crew had helped; the formal act of surrender must have helped, too.
Ted returned to the delegation.
One of the men, rather than their leader, spoke first. Ted had noticed him before: he seemed to be less belligerent than the others.
“General,” the man addressed Ted. “One thought occurred to us: like everybody else, we have no electric. Presumably, it will be possible for the submarine to supply the town with some?”
Ted considered the point. It hadn’t been his intention to supply the town and he had no idea how much electricity was required, or if the submarine output was enough to supply the town, on top of servicing the planed factories. “I see no reason why we should not work on that,” he said cautiously, then added, “Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”
He continued: “Clearly, it will take some time to get everything up and running. We’re shutting down the reactor; then, we can start working on how to get the electric ashore and distribute it. But yes, that’s a good idea.”
Ted now knew his problem of protests over the submarine and her crew was as good as solved — for the time being at least. Then it was up to him to make certain that new problems did not crop up.
That evening a party was thrown at Chateau du Portets for the Russian officers. Ted had asked all his regional managers to attend. He hoped that way word would get out that these Russian were decent chaps and take some of the sting out of the growing resentment that seemed to be sweeping central Aquitaine.
Jean Soult, the suave mandarin, warned Ted had made a big mistake. Then Soult qualified it by saying, “But I must admit there are several things you’ve done before which I thought were wrong, but in the end turned out to be good decisions.”
Ted was getting more frustrated by the minute. “Jean, I am not sure what you think is wrong. We are desperate for energy, as you well know. We’re down to the dregs on diesel and most of the vast forest around here is pine, which is useless for steam engines and we have no coal as yet.”
“But what happens if there is an accident?” the Frenchman pressed on.
“You know as well as I do that that’s highly unlikely if everything is done correctly, and maintenance and procedures are done by the book. I believe the risk is acceptable in view of the benefits.”
“And the crew?”
“They are all highly skilled people. We need skilled people. I am hoping that these guys can build an X-ray machine for the hospital, among other things. And the seamen are going to be our navy.”
“You trust these men?”
“Why not,” Ted said. “I trusted you, too, just as I trusted many other people I didn’t know when we first got here. Everybody on those planes was a stranger and within a week we had an organisation up and running. Sometimes you just have to look somebody in the eye and decide whether they’re capable. When I ran my business, I was seldom interested in the most qualified. I wanted the guy who could do the job best.
“Jean,” he continued, “surely, the most important point is, we need that electricity and I would have been negligent in my duty to this community if I had simply let it sail away. Then there was also a humanitarian issue — the crew were desperate, should we not help them?”
“Ted, as ever you have a powerful argument. Furthermore, I have learnt to trust your judgement. I just hope you are right!”
Ted did not respond, but thought, I hope so too!
Earlier Ted had sat down with Captain Kuznetsov and his first lieutenant Ivan Isakov and introduced the two to Guy De Villiers. Guy, who was in his late fifties, had been an estate agent for twenty years. Before that, he had been a Sandhurst-trained company commander in the British army. Ted had recently appointed him as his security adviser tasked with coordinating all aspects of security from intelligence to training to acquisitions. They had discussed the logistics of creating a navy. There were many large yachts in Arcachon, and it was agreed a few would be converted to be patrol vessels, as far as it was possible using sail.
Niki Kuznetsov had not realised exactly what role Ted envisaged for him and he was excited at becoming a real sailor again. Ivan, his number two, was a very keen and experienced yachtsman so he relished the idea of sailing rather than motoring.
As the meeting was ending, the new navy commander asked, “I wondered, General, what has happened to our weapons officer? Since his unfortunate accident we have heard nothing of him.”
“I am sorry,” said Ted with smile, “he’s convalescing in hospital. He should be out tomorrow and I have a good job waiting for him.”
The hospital in question was in fact a cell in Arcachon’s police station. However, his treatment for malnutrition there was more than adequate.
Ted was worried about the Russian officers as they had not drunk for months, and although they had had some food they were still very weak. So for once he kept the alcohol flow under control. Getting people to relax and open up was one thing; having them all falling over was another.
The meal went well, however, and a nice atmosphere was building. In the end it was Nostrovias! all round and the Russians wobbled their way up to their rooms one by one, each swearing undying allegiance to Aquitaine.
Ted was pleased to see all those present thought the Russians were a good crowd: they just had to get the message out to their staff the next day.
Ted recommended to the officers that they relax for a few days at Portets. He also had the former weapons control officer bought to the chateau. He was bought into Ted’s office and immediately started complaining in Russian.
Ted stopped him. “Captain Lieutenant Papanin, I apologise for your inconvenience, but I think you have been well treated. As I am sure you are aware, your captain and submarine are now under our control and the crew are being well looked after. I think you understand English, do you not?”
Papanin glared at Ted, then in heavily accented English said, “I must protest.”
Before he could continue, Ted spoke again. “Protest noted,” he said. “But you are now my responsibility. Would you like me to find a translator? It will be one of your fellow officers.”
“Nyeit. I will understand.”
“Good, because I have a job for you,” Ted said. “Let me explain. We’re anxious that we preserve all the knowledge we have for future generations. Our mistakes are sometimes as important as our successes, so we’re preserving all the books we can find and trying to write down what is in our heads. Understand?”
The man nodded.
“You are I believe a former communist and grew up in a Soviet Union that was a major superpower,” Ted continued. “You will have been indoctrinated with communism, as well as seen the cold war from the other side. You have witnessed the fall of the Soviet Union from the inside.”
Ted looked enquiringly and received a bemused look in response. He went on, “I want you to catalogue those experiences so we’ll have them on file. You can also work with others of your old crew to get information that needs recording. We want to know everything; with the exception of knowledge about nuclear weapons and I suspect that means technology as well. I think we will let future generations find that out for themselves. When we sink your sub in a few years — hopefully, that will be that!”
“I think I understand,” Papanin said, still looking puzzled. But he was no longer protesting.
“We have a chateau — once a spa hotel — set aside for this task. So you will be comfortable. There’s a small crew of older academics and the like doing this job. I have spoken to the man in charge. He’s a former professor of geography and expecting you.”
“I understand. It sounds interesting ... maybe,” the Russian said. “But I am a prisoner of war and must return to Russia.”
“Ivan Papanin, you still don’t get it, do you! There’s no Russia. There’s no America, nor England, nor France, as you think of them. This is a new world. I am not sure but I think ninety percent of the people of the so-called developed world have been wiped out. Elsewhere I have no idea.”
Ted looked at the Russian, who still seemed unconvinced.
“A final word — and it’s a warning,” Ted said. “I am putting you in a pleasant job and a great environment. If you screw up, the only alternative is a military punishment camp. And it’s not pleasant.”
Aquitaine used two languages, English and French, and over time most people had learnt French. Ted, for one, thought he had just about mastered the language, but he had always spoken a little.
Yet many of the Russians spoke neither language, although a good smattering spoke English, some for technical reasons. So the first part of the integration for them meant language courses.
After a week in Chateau Pontet Canet, the Russian crew had virtually all recovered and were assigned to different tasks. A few marines joined the military operation, but most went to Arcachon to join the new navy. Electricians and nuclear engineers stayed at Pauillac and were housed in the Hotel de France et d’Angleterre.
The development of Pauillac was important, but another vital job, one that now involved thousands of workers, was recycling. One of the restrictions was getting the right materials. The first year had been all about food and water; this second year was about development, and for that they needed materials — and essentially the only avenue was to recycle. There were vast supplies of metals like copper, lead and iron from the remains of what had once been the city of Bordeaux. The periferique had been their arbitrary boundary: set by Ted to avoid radiation and selected with nothing other than guesswork. The area had suffered serious bomb damage.