Read Online Tunnels 04, Closer by Roderick Gordon, Brian Williams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roderick Gordon, Brian Williams
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into the adjoining bathroom, where he washed and shaved. He gulped down several glasses of water, catching himself in the mirror as he replaced the tumbler on he basin. He stared at his reflection for several seconds. "Enough is enough... time to get back into the saddle again," he said, then returned to the bedroom to find his boots. When he was ready, he went through the door and down a short stretch of corridor to a much larger room. From a massive skylight in the center of the ceiling sunlight filtered down onto what, at first glance, appeared to be a billiard table. But in place of the level surface of green baize Drake would have expected to find there, the entire tabletop was occupied by a scale model of a valley, peppered with armies of small soldiers arranged in intricate formation. The Limiter had been adjusting the position of some of the soldiers at one end, but now stood back from it.
Drakes eyes flicked rapidly around the scene as he surveyed the various armies, their brightly colored uniforms so vivid against the verdant green of the landscape. "Yes... so we've got the British and the Dutch over there on the
Mont St. Jean
escarpment," he said, taking sideways steps along the edge of the table, "and here we come to the Prussians." He moved further around the table, then stopped. "And on the slopes here... these foot soldiers in the blue coats must be the French forces. So this is the eve of the Battle of Waterloo, in March 1815, isn't it?"
If the Limiter was impressed at how quickly Drake had identified which campaign it was, he didn't show it. "That's correct," he replied.
Drake was still taking in the scene. "You really know your stuff, don't you? But why would a Styx have any interest in something that happened up here on the surface almost two hundred years ago?"
"Part of our training a the Citadel was to familiarize ourselves with Topsoil military tactics throughout the centuries," the Limiter replied. "And the Battle of Waterloo was always a personal favorite of mine."
Drake nodded. "Mine too, because the outcome was dependent on so many moving parts -- so many factors had to come together in order that Napoleon, the greatest military mind of his generation, finally met his match. It was as if the hand of fate was finally moving against him."
"The hand of fate?" the Limiter repeated, the shook his head. "I take issue with that. Wellington's masterstroke was in gaining the support of the Dutch and Prussian forces when he staged his attack -- that was what won the day. Luck -- or fate, as you call it -- had nothing to do with it. Wellington was a military genius -- he completely outmaneuvered Napoleon."
Drake stared back at him. "The was the Seventh Coalition's victory down to Wellington's skills as a general... or as a politician?"
"What's the difference?" the Limiter answered.
Drake frowned as something in the battle scene didn't make sense to him. "I can see Napoleon over three," he said, pointing at the figure flanked by his generals. "But where's Wellington?" Drake moves toward the British forces to examine them more closely. "Can't see him anywhere."
"That's because I'm taking another look at him," the Limiter said, going over to a rolltop desk by the wall where he picked up a single figure. "I'm not completely happy with him yet."
"May I?" Drake asked, holding out his hand.
"Certainly." The Limiter passed the figure to him.
"The Iron Duke," Drake said as he studied the figure, which appeared to be writing on a map. He lifted the figure up to the light, taking in its blue long coat and the red sash tied around its waist. "Yu say that you're not happy with him... but this detail is quite breathtaking," he complimented the Limiter, then glanced at the desk where the figure had been. On it were many small pots of paint, brushes in a mug, a large magnifying glass and a number of unfinished soldiers. "Don't tell me you paint the figures yourself? You've done all the figures in the scene?"
"It
Drakes eyes flicked rapidly around the scene as he surveyed the various armies, their brightly colored uniforms so vivid against the verdant green of the landscape. "Yes... so we've got the British and the Dutch over there on the
Mont St. Jean
escarpment," he said, taking sideways steps along the edge of the table, "and here we come to the Prussians." He moved further around the table, then stopped. "And on the slopes here... these foot soldiers in the blue coats must be the French forces. So this is the eve of the Battle of Waterloo, in March 1815, isn't it?"
If the Limiter was impressed at how quickly Drake had identified which campaign it was, he didn't show it. "That's correct," he replied.
Drake was still taking in the scene. "You really know your stuff, don't you? But why would a Styx have any interest in something that happened up here on the surface almost two hundred years ago?"
"Part of our training a the Citadel was to familiarize ourselves with Topsoil military tactics throughout the centuries," the Limiter replied. "And the Battle of Waterloo was always a personal favorite of mine."
Drake nodded. "Mine too, because the outcome was dependent on so many moving parts -- so many factors had to come together in order that Napoleon, the greatest military mind of his generation, finally met his match. It was as if the hand of fate was finally moving against him."
"The hand of fate?" the Limiter repeated, the shook his head. "I take issue with that. Wellington's masterstroke was in gaining the support of the Dutch and Prussian forces when he staged his attack -- that was what won the day. Luck -- or fate, as you call it -- had nothing to do with it. Wellington was a military genius -- he completely outmaneuvered Napoleon."
Drake stared back at him. "The was the Seventh Coalition's victory down to Wellington's skills as a general... or as a politician?"
"What's the difference?" the Limiter answered.
Drake frowned as something in the battle scene didn't make sense to him. "I can see Napoleon over three," he said, pointing at the figure flanked by his generals. "But where's Wellington?" Drake moves toward the British forces to examine them more closely. "Can't see him anywhere."
"That's because I'm taking another look at him," the Limiter said, going over to a rolltop desk by the wall where he picked up a single figure. "I'm not completely happy with him yet."
"May I?" Drake asked, holding out his hand.
"Certainly." The Limiter passed the figure to him.
"The Iron Duke," Drake said as he studied the figure, which appeared to be writing on a map. He lifted the figure up to the light, taking in its blue long coat and the red sash tied around its waist. "Yu say that you're not happy with him... but this detail is quite breathtaking," he complimented the Limiter, then glanced at the desk where the figure had been. On it were many small pots of paint, brushes in a mug, a large magnifying glass and a number of unfinished soldiers. "Don't tell me you paint the figures yourself? You've done all the figures in the scene?"
"It
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