Chapter 1

The light from the cooking fires lit the fine boned, Sibersk/Arab crossbred horses as they shook and shuddered with the onslaught of the night air. Many sported blankets tied loosely around their girths, but most coped with the cold as best they could. The herdsmen clustered in groups around the fire - Kiyevan women and children with their menfolk, which upset the Russians a little. Russian sexes ate separately.

The two peoples spoke slowly, as the Kiyevans spoke a dialect of Ukrainian sprinkled with loan words from all the languages of Europe. The Russian 'Hetman', Borisov, consulted with he who he considered his opposite number, Suetonius of the Kiyevan. The Kiyevans, themselves, recognized no leaders but 'acclaimed' a trusted, prominent person to speak on their behalf.

"A few days ago," Borisov told him gravely. "A Greek band, the Thessaloniki, had set up a temporary camp near the town, 'Newbury' by the Northern Fens."

"Yes, I know this place," Suetonius nodded. "They do that every season and trade pigs and chickens for fresh vegetables."

"Precisely," Borisov replied. "Is long standing practice. Sometimes the Thessaloniki come into 'Newbury' town and fix their water supply. Some are good plumbers, you know, and the town's water system is very old and does not work well."

"I heard," Suetonius grinned.

"Last week, one morning, soldiers came and demanded the Thessaloniki go away far from them. The soldiers were not from Newbury town but from the Government."

"Huh, the Newbury people would not want this!"

"They had no say. There was some push and shove, so they say. Some things of the Thessaloniki were stolen by the soldiers. A shot was fired from someone, we don't know who. There was a fight and 5 of the Greeks were killed, including a small child. I heard a dozen or more were taken away by the soldiers and others fled into the desert. They went to their friends the Spanish, so I heard."

"And now soldiers have taken over our pastures," Suetonius scratched his long beard. "They can't be isolated incidents but part of some new move. I feel they are linked to this secession going on between the city people."

"This 'secession' is none of our business. Why make it so?"

"We are in the way, Borisov, nothing more. The two factions are looking for bargaining chips for when they fix their mutual borders. We, the Greeks, and, I think, you will too - we are all caught up in their game."

"We cannot stand for it!" Borisov declared so loudly those around the fire looked up in surprise. "You, us, we will drive these people off your pastures and back to their city."

"Borisov, they are too strong for us."

"Have you people gone soft?" Borisov spat. "Where is the cossack tradition? Once we ruled our domains with the sword and lance. We were feared, respected!"

"Romanticism!" Suetonius scoffed. "In any case, very few of us have any cossack blood. We raise horses and travel between our Summer and Winter pastures. We style ourselves the new cossacks of this steppe, but no more than a dozen of us have any military training and even less have seen any sort of fighting except in a bar. Before we defend anything, we must first learn how to make war and acquire the weapons to do so."

"What of these gypsies, Suetonius, and the scattered bands of Anarchists, thieves and freebooters? If, somehow, we can pull everyone together for a united purpose we yet may have the numbers to make a difference against these soldiers."

"An army must have leaders and a command structure or it will not function. How do you propose pulling all these people together? Anarchists, who will not accept leaders; foragers and gypsies, who care for nothing accept what they can find in the old cities..."

"Aye, Suetonius, let them do what they will," Nestor, on the other side of the fire interrupted. "You were a trained special forces commandant in the army of the Federation. Show us how to fight and let's all of us drive these vermin off our land."

"Now wait a minute!" a big Russian spoke up. "Show us what you will, Suetonius, but I doubt few Russians will follow an 'igornorante' (lit 'beardless'. Someone who is not Russian. From the dialect of the Kuban)

"See, Borisov?" Suetonius grinned wryly. "Tell me?" he rubbed his chin. "Have you heard the story of my name? Do you know who the first Suetonius was?"

"No. Why should I care?"

"Let me explain."

Those around the fire leaned in as Suetonius began the tale.

Chief Specialist, now 'Captain', for the duration of the Travelers' stay, Hap Arnold, had still been drawing full rations for his squad of a dozen base maintenance men. He knew how to play the system and every month he'd drive up to New Glasgow Field and load up. With the integration of the North American Armed Forces, it no longer mattered New Glasgow was run by the Air Force. The fly boys were now all part of the same service, Army, Navy, Air Force and Coast Guard. New Glasgow was now the main logistics base for the whole sector and had stocks of everything, food, fuel and spare parts.

But West Floral was old and much of the utility infrastructure needed constant repair. Hap was a trained builder, but some of the maintenance was beyond his expertise. That's often where these Travelers came in. Some had been plumbers, carpenters and electricians and they'd got their hands on tons of stuff from the old cities that were useful. Hap's freezers were crammed full of sides of beef, pork, chicken and the base's coolers maintained vegetables of every description as fresh as when he'd hauled them down from New Glasgow. Food supplies for replacement wiring, pipes and electronics - it was a fruitful arrangement.

Many of the visitors didn't like being inside buildings, so Hap had the tables brought out from the mess into the cool night air. West Floral's cookers were soon at work and the aroma of roast suckling pigs was wafting from the galley kitchens. First, though, a number of pipes circulated stuffed full of the finest Spanish marijuana. The dope, together with the cooking smells, sharpened everyone's appetite.

Much of the talk around the table was of the incident with the Greek Travelers and the Provincial Militia. Many vowed to keep well away from the North, but, Hap pointed out, 'what if the North came to them?'

"Hap?" Moira Lys blinked at him. Hap thought she reserved a 'special look' just for him. "The Americans abandoned those lands because they considered them unable to sustain their communities. People who remained behind accepted they were on their own and learned to fend for themselves. The North Americans were happy to let them live outside of their control until now. Suddenly, they think it's okay to stake out those lands again for themselves and for why? Merely to gain some advantage when they decide who gets what."

"I agree it's all bullshit," Hap nodded. "But, I guess, the problem is the Association never really abandoned jurisdiction, at least in name. The Rebels are afraid Capitol will pull some shrewd move and cut them out of any territory with which to expand. The Floral river seems certain to form a future border. The whole sector, itself, is a potential flashpoint and both sides are trying to establish territorial claims in an atmosphere where neither side is sure of the legal position."

"At least the North Americans have a legal position," Finn added, ruefully. "Even if they're uncertain of it."

"True," Moira Lys agreed. "We have no status at all, nor legal claims, citizenship..."

"We didn't want or need it at the time," Finn explained. "We came here to get away from such things. Europe had become overcrowded and stifling. We couldn't live the way we wanted to."

"There were so many rules about traveling," Moira Lys added. "We couldn't grow our own food, no access to health and education..."

"Where are all you folks from? Hap asked. "I know some of you are from the British Isles."

"And Ireland," Moira Lys explained. "France, Germany and the Low Countries, mostly. Some Americans have joined our communities as well - fed up with what's happening up there. Most of the Greeks and Spanish are Anarchists trying to set up their kind of community over here. Then you have the Russians and Poles," she chuckled. "They just like riding around on horses, arrogant as hell, pissing everyone else off."

"Aye, sounds like the Russians," Hap laughed.

"Not that we give a shit where anyone comes from," Finn added. "We accept anyone, regardless of where they're from or what they did in the past, so long as they accept the few simple rules we have."

"And what would they be?" Hap asked.

"Just respect for each other," Moira Lys told him. "And non violence. We are all born free and must remain so while respecting everyone else's right to be free also."

"Doesn't sound much different from the Anarchist way of thinking," Hap replied. "At least about the 'freedom' thing. The non violence? Well, those Spanish are as armed as I've seen any private citizen."

"I know," Moira Lys agreed. "That's why we like to keep well away from them. The guns frighten the children."

"But is that practical when you have no common law nor police to enforce it? You people have no collective culture nor sense of unity, let alone any government you can all agree on. It seems to me the people without guns are at the mercy of those who have."

"We hope that's not true - that human nature is essentially good," Moira Lys told him. "If trouble arrives, we think we have the non violent strategies to..."

"Non violent, what?" chuckled Hap. "Bombard them with flowers? What the fuck is a 'non violent strategy'?"

"Don't mock us, Hap," Moira Lys's eyes flashed angrily. Hap knew, non violent or not, she wasn't someone you wanted to piss off. "We choose to live this way and make no apology. How many people can honestly say they're living the kind of life they want to?"

"You've got me there, Moira Lys," Hap conceded.

"They give their power away to some fuckhead," Finn added. "Who says he knows best? Who ever had all the answers? I listen to any advice from those with more experience, but, I make my own decisions and if they turn out to be wrong, well, I only have one person to blame. See, in the past, individuals never wanted the responsibility of thinking for themselves and making their own decisions. If some bad dudes come and start shooting us up, I'll do my best to stop it, but, I'm not going to be whining that someone else should be defending me."

"Your kids, Finn. It seems to me you're putting their lives at risk. Who else is going to defend them?"

"Don't fucking lecture us about responsibility!" Moira Lys exploded. "Where the fuck are your kids that you're suddenly an expert on parenting? Our kids learn to run fast from an early age. Does that satisfy you?"

"Absolutely," Hap put up his hands. "Just checking you have a 'non violent strategy' in place."

Moira Lys rocked back in her chair, laughing her head off. "You're a smartarse," she told him. "Maybe that's why I like you."

"Suetonius was Roman Governor of Britain at the time of Boudicca's revolt," Suetonius told them. Those around the fire within earshot craned forward. They loved to hear a story and many thought it was going to be a good one. "See, Boudicca was the wife of the chief of the Iceni tribe, based around modern Norfolk. Her husband died and, according to the traditional code of the Britons, his wealth and title should be passed to her."

"That's fair," agreed Nestor.

"Don't make the mistake of judging history with modern morality," Suetonius told the man. "Yes, the Britons had that law, but the Romans had no such notion. Under Roman law women had no right of inheritance and the Iceni had affiliated themselves to Roman authority in exchange for wealth and protection. The Roman Procurator therefore considered the wealth of the Iceni should be his, as there were no male heirs."

"So it was a money grab by this official?" Borisov asked.

"Pretty much. This Procurator was as cruel and corrupt as they come. When Boudicca protested he had her flogged and her daughters raped."

"Arsehole!" Borisov spat.

"Boudicca and the Iceni went on the rampage and soon other tribes joined in. They say she had upwards of 100,000 with her at the peak of the revolt. The Roman military were totally, totally outnumbered, yet they won, why?"

"Weapons? Discipline?" Nestor suggested.

"British weapon smiths were among the best in the known world. Many Roman weapons were derived from the Celts. The Romans hadn't cavalry worth a damn and nothing like the British fighting chariot. As for discipline? Suetonius had only one legion, the seventh. What matters discipline when you have such numbers against you? Strategically, he was badly caught out when the Britons burnt London to the ground. His reinforcements were in the north and he, himself, was subduing the druids of Anglesey. Therefore, he had to haul his army south, directly following a major campaign, and fight a battle where he was outnumbered 10 to 1. You like those odds?"

"So, how did he achieve victory?" Borisov asked.

"Tactics, training, organization, leadership," Suetonius explained. "These are the four cornerstones of a successful army."

"Damn, I thought this was going to be a good story," someone grumbled. "Instead, we get a lecture on warfare."

"So how did Suetonius beat the Britons?" Nestor asked.

"First Suetonius chose the ground - a closed valley that narrowed at its head. He invited the enemy to come to him allowing his soldiers to remain on the defensive - sound when you are so greatly outnumbered. The Roman legion was trained to act as one body with a strict chain of command. The Britons, on the other hand, were gathered in tribal groups around individual leaders. There was little in the way of planning and not much co-operation between units. You might say, there was poor organization and scant attention to tactics. Now as for leadership? Boudicca has been lionized in romantic history, but there is little evidence she was anything but a figurehead when it came to battle. Once the Britons advanced, she had absolutely no tactical control whatever. Again, you might say there was poor leadership."

"So what happened?" Borisov asked.

"The chariots were pressed together by the terrain as they advanced. They fouled each other and got in the way of the following infantry. Soon, the Britons became and uncontrolled mass of individual fighting men. All the Romans needed to do was to keep their heads and remain in their formations. The Britons defeated themselves by not properly thinking through the situation beforehand."

"This is all very interesting, Suetonius," Borisov said. "And I know what you are trying to do. You are saying we need to be like that Roman legion and carefully think through the situation. You're saying that if we are to stand our ground we need tactics, leadership, and, and, all that other stuff. This makes good sense, but, how do you propose to do all this with people who, frankly, are not used to working together nor, for that matter, talking to each other much? In any case, where are all these weapons going to come from?"

Suetonius turned and pulled something from his pack. It was a collapsible, folding stock, assault rifle. He snapped the shoulder rest into place and tossed it to Borisov. "See how light it is?" he said. "Power drive, laser sighted and dual chambered for 2 different calibres. You can see a grenade round can be fitted underneath, there."

"Where did you get it?" Borisov asked, stroking across the weapon with his hand in wonder.

"A soldier," he told him. "Now it seems to me with all the skills and crafts that came over from Europe these past ten years, there must be someone who can reverse engineer that thing. These forager people have found tons of high tech equipment and materials in the old cities. How hard can it be to start manufacturing these weapons ourselves?"

"No-one here could..."

"I know, but what of these craftspeople who've set up in that place called Iberica? I've seen some of the stuff they've made and, well, as good, if not better, than you can get up North."

"What of the ammunition?" Borisov asked, squinting along the weapon.

"You mean these?" He tossed him a magazine. "There's several more where they came from - some magnum rounds and explosive bullets."

"Shit, you've been busy!" Borisov chuckled. "Where the hell did you get all this stuff?"

"Suetonius is ex special forces," Nestor told them, with admiration. "He can do all kinds of shit."

"Can he now?" Borisov looked at the Kiyevan. "Special forces? You thinking of promoting yourself General?"

"Of what army?" Suetonius asked.

"Ours."

Hap stumbled towards his quarters in a state the Brits described as 'being hammered.' He was 'hammered' all right, and if it hadn't been for the arm firmly clutching him around the waist he'd be flat on his face. The Irish homebrew had packed a punch, sure enough, but then the Travelers had brought out some evil concoction they called 'poiteen.' This 'poiteen' was rocket fuel and it had finished him off, right and proper. His companion was not in much better shape, but at least she still appeared to be able to stand unaided.

Moira Lys was not exactly your classic beauty, but she had fire and spunk for all her forty years. Her ginger hair fell in long braids - neither female, nor male travelers for that matter, seemed inclined to cut their hair. Her and her partner Finn, also like many of the Travelers, had a somewhat loose conjugal arrangement. Hap knew she'd had numerous affairs with other Traveler folk, both male and female, and Finn, too, slept with others when the mood took him. Moira Lys explained the difference between 'borrowers' and 'keepers' but the subtleties of the various arrangements were mostly lost on Hap. Nevertheless, his choice of sexual companionship was of necessity limited and Moira Lys interested him in ways both personal and carnal.

"Down here," he told her.

"You think I don't know the way?" Moira Lys replied.

"I guess it's been a while, now." Hap said, leaning a little more closer to her.

"Y'mean I've probably fucked you more than I have Finn?" she told him. "On the road he hangs with Coral - Dutch kid with a tight arse. Daft as a brush, but Finn always liked them stupid."

"So where do you fit in?" Hap asked.

"Rarely," she shrugged. "I'd rather hang with you, but I don't think I could hack living here for long. Clonagh would go nuts, too."