Chapter 36
Taken to Task
22nd of Eighthmoon, 6 Charles 9
Saintcharles, Merice Province, Kingdom of Byrandia
Lord Bartlebert wished his office came with a view of one of the gardens. It could feel so claustrophobic being stuck in an interior room like this. Supposedly the positioning provided better security, but he would almost rather face the risk if it meant a more pleasant sight than these four walls.
The phone on his desk buzzed. He went over to pick up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Don Pascal here to see you, milord," his secretary said.
"Send him in," Lord Bartlebert said.
Lord Bartlebert then seated himself at his desk before the door opened and Don Pascal Pascali, South Malvina's ambassador to Byrandia, stepped in. Don Pascal was a small, unassuming man who used too much grease in his hair but was otherwise fairly unremarkable. Some people saw his assignment as an insult to the pride of Byrandia. The more impressive an ambassador appeared, the greater the respect for the host nation. It was a silly, superficial notion that needed to go the way of powdered wigs and silver buckles on shoes. By all accounts, Don Pascal was a diligent, competent diplomat and that was more important that having a man two meters tall with a chiseled jaw and a winning smile.
"Good morning, Your Excellency," Don Pascal said.
"Good morning, Don Pascal," Lord Bartlebert replied, not rising from his seat. He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "Please have a seat."
"Yes, Excellency."
Don Pascal shuffled over to the chair and sat down. He glanced around himself, looking for the usual servant to offer him a drink. This was not an occasion for the usual hospitality, however. There was no one else in the room but the two of them.
"Ah, Excellency, what is this? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Do you remember the diplomatic mission we sent to your nation last month?"
"Of course."
"And you remember the misfortune they suffered after leaving your nation?"
"Yes. Terrible tragedy."
"Indeed. And you know about our requests for information from your government and the obstacles they have placed in our way."
Don Pascal cleared his throat.
"Pardon me, Excellency, but when you say 'obstacles', you make it sound like a deliberate move."
"Was it not?"
"I can assure you it was nothing of the sort, Excellency. My country has always seen yours as a friend."
Lord Bartlebert narrowed his eyes and said, "Tell me, Don Pascal, how many people do you have to kill before you stop seeing yourself as a friend?"
"Excellency?"
Lord Bartlebert opened the top secret folder on his desk, took several pictures of the wreckage of the Junker Jorg and spread them out in front of Don Pascal.
"Twenty-four officers, 227 soldiers and sailors, seven civilians from my ministry, three Vlatoskan observers, and nine Imperial personnel. Two hundred and seventy lives lost. Two hundred and seventy people killed by your government. To say nothing of the loss of an airship valued at 240 million croners."
"Excellency, these are serious charges you are levelling against my government," Don Pascal said. "It is outrageous."
Don Pascal did not sound outraged, though. He sounded nervous and was not doing a very good job of hiding it. It was entirely possible that he knew nothing about this, but if the high-value members of the mission were being held hostage, surely he would have been told so that he could use them as a bargaining chip.
Lord Bartlebert flipped through the pages of the folder until he found the report on the chemical analysis of the bomb residue.
"Our salvage team found traces of PE-3, a plastic explosive produced in Verness."
"Would that not mean Verness or one of her allies in the League of Seven was the culprit?" Don Pascal suggested.
Lord Bartlebert took a page from the chemical analysis and showed it to Don Pascal, pointing to a highlighted segment.
"Do you know what this is, Don Pascal?"
Don Pascal took out a pair of reading glasses from the inner pocket of his jacket and leaned in, squinting as he tried to read the page.
"What am I looking at, Excellency?" he asked.
"I do not blame you for not knowing," Lord Bartlebert said. "You are no chemist and neither am I. This is a tagging agent found in batches of PE-3 produced in Verness, far more difficult to synthesize than the PE-3 itself. As you can see here, the tagging agent found in the bomb residue at the crash site does not match. It is a poor imitation that may have escaped a less thorough analysis but not our people's work."
"This proves nothing, Excellency," Don Pascal said. "This could be a ploy by the League to set our nations at odds with each other."
"Are you telling me the League has agents who can smuggle tonnes of plastic explosive into an airbase in your very capital?"
Don Pascal's jaw tightened as the realization seemed to dawn on him that he had passed the point of plausible deniability. All he could do now as a diplomat was not dig the hole any deeper.
"I can say no more on the matter, Excellency," he said. "I will have to consult my superiors."
And with that, the discussion was over. Lord Bartlebert still had something to say, however.
"While you are consulting with them, you can inform them that the Kingdom of Byrandia has declared war on the People's Republic of the Malvinas. There will be a public announcement later today along with a formal submission from our embassy in Arturo. You can expect declarations from our allies to follow shortly thereafter."
Don Pascal rose from his seat with a start.
"Excellency! This is far too sudden! You would declare war without the slightest attempt at diplomacy?"
"We did attempt diplomacy, Don Pascal," Lord Bartlebert countered, "and you killed our diplomats."
"You have no proof!"
Lord Bartlebert slammed his hand down on the folder on his desk.
"This was proof enough for His Majesty, Parliament and the General Staff. If your government can produce evidence to the contrary, I suggest they be quick about it."
"I... I cannot believe this," Don Pascal said. "I have been stationed here six years. I thought the Byrandian people were more reasonable than this. I thought you were more reasonable than this, Excellency."
"If being reasonable means meekly accepting the murder of our countrymen, then I am proud to be unreasonable. Good day, sir."
Don Pascal saw that his words had the opposite of their intended effect, so he said nothing more and sullenly exited the room. Once he was gone, Lord Bartlebert slumped into his chair.
Although he recognized the necessity of his government's actions, expanding the war effort was nothing to rejoice about. For a diplomat, war represented a failure, no matter the reason. The world was now divided almost evenly in two. This war would end either in submission to the Empire or destruction by it. What a choice for the people of the world: shackles or the grave. Perhaps the only winners in this game were those who died before they had to witness what came next.