Igoumesita screamed, “I’ll kill the bastard! I’ll wrap my hands around that Boche moron’s neck and throttle the life out of him! I’ll kill him!”
“He’s already dead,” Bleda Khan pointed out.
“Oh, yeah,” Igoumensita said, remembering.
They were referring to Lars Metzger, of course. It had just been revealed that in the process of drawing up treaties for entrance into The Coalition, Metzger had promised the same territories to both Spain and The Eastern Bloc. Neither of the European Coalition powers had been willing to settle for what Metzger could afford them, so he had fudged the documents. An anonymous holorecording of the Spanish fleet heading towards England had brought this to light. Bleda Khan had come all the way from Mongolia to mediate between the Spanish ambassador and Igoumensita, who would have almost certainly torn each other apart.
Igoumensita stood up.
“Bleda Khan,” he said, “You know how much I respect you?”
The Mongol nodded.
“Then I hope you won’t take this as a sign of disrepect. I can not fight when I will not receive what I was promised. I must, as of this moment, resign the Eastern Bloc from the Coalition.”
“I can understand,” said Bleda.
“The fight will go on. The Eastern Bloc will stand alone against the Alliance and the Coalition. I hope that though we will be enemies on the battlefield, we can be friends in the parlor.”
Bleda nodded again.
“I can understand perfectly why you must do this. You have been deceived. I will not hold it against you.”
Igoumensita bowed slightly to Bleda. He left. The Spanish ambassador stood up.
“I do not think we will quit the Coalition as easily as he did,” the ambassador said, “But we will see you with different eyes from now on.”
Bleda nodded to him again
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