The War That Came Early: Coup d'Etat by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page A

thoughtto ask himself, and not one he was likely to ask himself, either.
    His biggest complaint was one he hadn’t expected to have in sunny Spain: the trenches northwest of Madrid got as cold as a German tax collector’s heart. Sunny Spain was, even in wintertime. But the central plateau lay some distance above sea level, and the winds seemed to blow straight through him. He’d been warmer up near theFranco-Belgian border.
    As long as he didn’t shiver while he pulled the trigger, though, he could do his job. If anything, it was easier here than it had been in France. However much he despised the Germans, he couldn’t deny that they made sensible soldiers. Officers didn’t look much different from their men. Sometimes they’d even turn their shoulder straps upside down to make it harder for asniper to spy their rank badges.
    Marshal Sanjurjo’s soldiers weren’t like that. A man in those ranks who was somebody wanted to show that he was somebody. He prominently displayed the gold stars that set him off from the common, vulgar mob. And he often wore a uniform of newer, finer cloth and better cut than the ragged, faded yellowish khaki the ordinary Fascist soldiers had to put up with.
    All of which made it much easier for Vaclav to spot enemy officers. An aristocrat in a neatly pressed uniform, his stars of rank glittering under the bright Spanish sun, sometimes had a moment to look absurdly amazed when he made the acquaintance of one of the antitank rifle’s fat slugs.
    More often, the Fascist bastard just fell over. Vaclav wasn’t fussy; nobody gave out style points.

Chapter 3
    S ergeant Luc Harcourt shivered as he led his squad into the Russian village. That wasn’t fear; the village lay several hundred kilometers behind the line, and was unlikely to have holdouts in it. No, Luc was just cold. French greatcoats and other winter gear weren’t made for weather like this.
    If not forthe felt boots he wore over his own clodhoppers, he would have been colder yet. He’d stripped them off a dead Russian, and they were lifesavers. The Ivans had to deal with this crap every year, poor bastards, and they knew how.
    He’d noticed that German soldiers wore
valenki
whenever they could get hold of them, too. That left him obscurely amused. So the Master Race didn’t know everything therewas to know about winter warfare, either? Well, good!
    Daladier might declare that France and Germany were allies against the Bolsheviks now. Luc might have taken a train trip through the
Reich
so he could get at the Red Army. But before that he’d spent two years shooting at the Nazis and trying like hell to hide when they shot back. Some
Boche
had shot his father during the last war. No matterwhatfucking Daladier declared, Luc didn’t love the Germans. No, sir, not even close.
    A lot of Russian villages the Germans and their allies had overrun were empty. The locals had cleared out instead of sticking around to see what occupation would be like. Luc sympathized. Plenty of Frenchmen and -women had fled when the Germans invaded, too. And there were lots of Jews in these parts. If hewere a Jew, he wouldn’t have stayed under German rule for anything.
    Not everyone had run away from this place, though. A few men and women came out of their battered shacks to eye the soldiers trudging down the main street—an unpaved track with some of the dirty snow trampled into the frozen ground. All the Russians, regardless of sex, had
valenki
. Luc thought they were foolish to put the overbootson display. Some of his men were liable to steal them right off their feet.
    A fellow with a graying, stubbly beard wore a wool scarf, a sheepskin cap and jacket, and baggy wool pants stuffed into the tops of his
valenki
. He surprised Luc by asking, “You’re Frenchmen, aren’t you?” in fluent French.
    “That’s right,” the sergeant answered. “Where did you learn our language?”
    The Ivan smiled a sweet,sad smile. “Once upon a time, I studied