Brag
04-06-07, 10:52 AM
After that nasty fall, which made it painful to type, I'm back in business. The latest episode has a few surprises and is posted on the webbie.
http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/ (http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/)
For those new to Vortex here are the opening scenes:
Vortex
By Alex Braguine
September 1939. Santiago, Chile.
Going back to see the principal after ten years had the same feel of humiliation and surrender to the system, which kept everyone in line. For millennia slaves either accepted or rebelled against their masters. In the modern world only children rebelled. As an adult, Victor Goss marched toward surrender.
The sky had cleared. Only a few puddles remained from last night's rain. Goss stepped out of his parents' house and observed the cumulous clouds piled up against the towering Andes. Like a prisoner who had been cooped up in a cell, he took a deep breath and almost smiled at the pleasure of clean air in his lungs.
After closing the wrought iron garden gate, he marched off at a brisk pace. With bitterness, he retraced the route he had taken to school almost every day until he was accepted into the Naval Academy in Valparaiso. He had never imagined he would be doing it again. Goss wondered what Herr Bauer, the principal, looked like now and whether the old man remembered Goss' childhood transgressions.
It took him 27 minutes to reach the Deutsche Schule versus his 35 minutes when a student.
With wings spread, the huge stuffed condor still stood watch in the main entrance lobby on a shelf above a large painting of the late 19th. Century Chilean battle fleet steaming in a choppy sea.
Goss had to fight back the tears that clouded his vision. That damn painting had fueled his early dreams of becoming a naval officer and escaping from Santiago's stifling society. Swallowing and drying his eyes, he turned and went into the school offices.
"Herr Goss, you have grown tall," Frau Lange, the administrative secretary, greeted him. "But I can still recognize you. Herr Schiller will receive you now. Go right in."
Nothing had changed, but everything looked a little smaller.
Thin as ever, wearing the same black horn-rimmed glasses and the same gray suit, the principal hadn't changed at all. If anything he looked younger. This time Schiller stood when Goss walked into his office. "Gutten morgen, Herr Goss setzen sie bitte." You haven't forgotten your German?
"Nein, Herr Direktor, and my English has become quite passable."
Schiller picked up the letter Goss had written and tapped it with his fingers. "You didn't like the Navy?"
It was useless to dissemble. In Chile nothing stayed secret very long. "I was a cashiered."
Schiller made a sucking sound and shifted uncomfortably. "I see. With a blot like that, you expect to become part of this school's faculty?"
"I'm good at mathematics. I can also teach geography."
"We'll see. We'll see." Schiller leaned back in his chair. "The school year is almost over. Come and see me on the first of March."
#
To work off his frustration and delay the uncomfortable return to his parents' home, Goss wandered along the embankment of the swollen Mapocho River. The water, though muddy, reminded him of the ocean. The turbulent stream flowed at a good 18 knots. He distanced himself from the river by crossing the street and entering Forestal Park, full of university students ambling back and forth, cramming from books in front of their faces. These kids had a future ahead of them. What could a cashiered naval officer do?
Teatime was when Santiago woke up. Shops opened after siesta, people returned to their offices. The tearooms did a brisk business. Cabarets opened for the teatime shows. Goss imagined how news of his getting booted from the Navy traveled from one table full of ladies to the next. Do you know what happened to the Goss boy? They won't give him a job even in a private school.
A barefoot newspaper vendor screamed headlines on a corner of the Plaza de Armas. "Poland capitulates, Poland capitulates."
About time, Goss thought. He had trouble understanding Polish intractability. It had been such a simple thing to let Germany have its corridor to Danzig. Now they got clobbered. Fortunately it had been a short war. With Poland out of the way, Germany and Britain could hammer out their differences before things got out of control.
Goss headed for the Bar Central near the Stock Exchange, a place where he could sit down, have a beer and a sandwich. Chances of meeting someone he knew where slim here.
Warm air and the smell of roast beef greeted Goss. The bar was half full and he headed for an empty stool at the counter. The glint of gold over blue made him stop. A naval officer sat at a table to the rear of the room.
Goss turned sharply.
"Goss!" the voice was that of Jaime Lynch.
Trapped, Goss turned to face the first lieutenant of the submarine O'Brien and reluctantly walked up to the table.
Lynch stood, smiling. "What a pleasant surprise." He took two steps forward and gave Goss a bear hug. "How are you doing, old man?"
"Great, just great."
Lynch gestured for Goss to sit down, snapped his fingers at a waiter. "Garçon,"
Goss sat and ordered a pisco sour. "What's the navy doing in Santiago?"
"I just came out of an interview in the foreign ministry. They have me short listed for assistant naval attaché in Washington." Lynch's facial expression changed from happy grin to that of concern. "What are you doing now?"
Goss shifted in his chair. "I'll be teaching mathematics--next year."
"You were always good, faster than a torpedo fruit machine computer."
Goss forced a smile. "Yeah." He had been considered the best torpedo officer in the submarine service.
The waiter brought a round of drinks.
"Old shipmates are never forgotten. Here's to you." Lynch raised his glass.
"Salùd," Goss said, a little more at ease. This was the first encounter he'd had with any of his former brother officers. "Washington, eh?"
Lynch shrugged. "Maybe. My uncle promised to talk to the minister. You know how difficult it is to get a plum job."
"You should be up for command. I can't imagine you doing the cocktail circuit."
"Sotomayor, Ovalle and Peebles are next in line. Two years in Washington then six months of training with the Royal Navy and I get my own sub."
"Got it all planned out?"
"Not I. Being from a naval family it's all predestined."
How true, Goss thought. Like his grandfather, Lynch would become an admiral. Maybe even commander in chief of the Navy. Outsiders had to excel in everything to get promoted. Money didn't hurt either. Goss realized he was heading into the bitter area of self-pity. Getting booted from the navy was his fault. Behavior unbecoming a gentleman and naval officer was simply not tolerated. He had to accept that.
http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/ (http://www.freewebs.com/kielman/)
For those new to Vortex here are the opening scenes:
Vortex
By Alex Braguine
September 1939. Santiago, Chile.
Going back to see the principal after ten years had the same feel of humiliation and surrender to the system, which kept everyone in line. For millennia slaves either accepted or rebelled against their masters. In the modern world only children rebelled. As an adult, Victor Goss marched toward surrender.
The sky had cleared. Only a few puddles remained from last night's rain. Goss stepped out of his parents' house and observed the cumulous clouds piled up against the towering Andes. Like a prisoner who had been cooped up in a cell, he took a deep breath and almost smiled at the pleasure of clean air in his lungs.
After closing the wrought iron garden gate, he marched off at a brisk pace. With bitterness, he retraced the route he had taken to school almost every day until he was accepted into the Naval Academy in Valparaiso. He had never imagined he would be doing it again. Goss wondered what Herr Bauer, the principal, looked like now and whether the old man remembered Goss' childhood transgressions.
It took him 27 minutes to reach the Deutsche Schule versus his 35 minutes when a student.
With wings spread, the huge stuffed condor still stood watch in the main entrance lobby on a shelf above a large painting of the late 19th. Century Chilean battle fleet steaming in a choppy sea.
Goss had to fight back the tears that clouded his vision. That damn painting had fueled his early dreams of becoming a naval officer and escaping from Santiago's stifling society. Swallowing and drying his eyes, he turned and went into the school offices.
"Herr Goss, you have grown tall," Frau Lange, the administrative secretary, greeted him. "But I can still recognize you. Herr Schiller will receive you now. Go right in."
Nothing had changed, but everything looked a little smaller.
Thin as ever, wearing the same black horn-rimmed glasses and the same gray suit, the principal hadn't changed at all. If anything he looked younger. This time Schiller stood when Goss walked into his office. "Gutten morgen, Herr Goss setzen sie bitte." You haven't forgotten your German?
"Nein, Herr Direktor, and my English has become quite passable."
Schiller picked up the letter Goss had written and tapped it with his fingers. "You didn't like the Navy?"
It was useless to dissemble. In Chile nothing stayed secret very long. "I was a cashiered."
Schiller made a sucking sound and shifted uncomfortably. "I see. With a blot like that, you expect to become part of this school's faculty?"
"I'm good at mathematics. I can also teach geography."
"We'll see. We'll see." Schiller leaned back in his chair. "The school year is almost over. Come and see me on the first of March."
#
To work off his frustration and delay the uncomfortable return to his parents' home, Goss wandered along the embankment of the swollen Mapocho River. The water, though muddy, reminded him of the ocean. The turbulent stream flowed at a good 18 knots. He distanced himself from the river by crossing the street and entering Forestal Park, full of university students ambling back and forth, cramming from books in front of their faces. These kids had a future ahead of them. What could a cashiered naval officer do?
Teatime was when Santiago woke up. Shops opened after siesta, people returned to their offices. The tearooms did a brisk business. Cabarets opened for the teatime shows. Goss imagined how news of his getting booted from the Navy traveled from one table full of ladies to the next. Do you know what happened to the Goss boy? They won't give him a job even in a private school.
A barefoot newspaper vendor screamed headlines on a corner of the Plaza de Armas. "Poland capitulates, Poland capitulates."
About time, Goss thought. He had trouble understanding Polish intractability. It had been such a simple thing to let Germany have its corridor to Danzig. Now they got clobbered. Fortunately it had been a short war. With Poland out of the way, Germany and Britain could hammer out their differences before things got out of control.
Goss headed for the Bar Central near the Stock Exchange, a place where he could sit down, have a beer and a sandwich. Chances of meeting someone he knew where slim here.
Warm air and the smell of roast beef greeted Goss. The bar was half full and he headed for an empty stool at the counter. The glint of gold over blue made him stop. A naval officer sat at a table to the rear of the room.
Goss turned sharply.
"Goss!" the voice was that of Jaime Lynch.
Trapped, Goss turned to face the first lieutenant of the submarine O'Brien and reluctantly walked up to the table.
Lynch stood, smiling. "What a pleasant surprise." He took two steps forward and gave Goss a bear hug. "How are you doing, old man?"
"Great, just great."
Lynch gestured for Goss to sit down, snapped his fingers at a waiter. "Garçon,"
Goss sat and ordered a pisco sour. "What's the navy doing in Santiago?"
"I just came out of an interview in the foreign ministry. They have me short listed for assistant naval attaché in Washington." Lynch's facial expression changed from happy grin to that of concern. "What are you doing now?"
Goss shifted in his chair. "I'll be teaching mathematics--next year."
"You were always good, faster than a torpedo fruit machine computer."
Goss forced a smile. "Yeah." He had been considered the best torpedo officer in the submarine service.
The waiter brought a round of drinks.
"Old shipmates are never forgotten. Here's to you." Lynch raised his glass.
"Salùd," Goss said, a little more at ease. This was the first encounter he'd had with any of his former brother officers. "Washington, eh?"
Lynch shrugged. "Maybe. My uncle promised to talk to the minister. You know how difficult it is to get a plum job."
"You should be up for command. I can't imagine you doing the cocktail circuit."
"Sotomayor, Ovalle and Peebles are next in line. Two years in Washington then six months of training with the Royal Navy and I get my own sub."
"Got it all planned out?"
"Not I. Being from a naval family it's all predestined."
How true, Goss thought. Like his grandfather, Lynch would become an admiral. Maybe even commander in chief of the Navy. Outsiders had to excel in everything to get promoted. Money didn't hurt either. Goss realized he was heading into the bitter area of self-pity. Getting booted from the navy was his fault. Behavior unbecoming a gentleman and naval officer was simply not tolerated. He had to accept that.