The Steam Age: Gears and Bones

Chapter 12 Francis

Perficott looked up at Chernzov: "Lieutenant General, I have one last question."

"Please speak."

"The expedition's destination is the Predelshinsk district. I need to know if there are still survivor settlements near the hospital ruins, and whether the Rus' army still controls the main road into St. Petersburg."

Cherzov did not answer immediately.

He stood up, walked to a worn-out canvas backpack in the corner of the cabin, squatted down, and took something out of it.

It was a folded Russian Empire military flag, worn beyond recognition, but the golden double-headed eagle emblem was still clearly visible.

He spread the flag out on the cot and smoothed out the wrinkles at the corners with his palm.

"I don't know if we can find any survivors. But north of the Predelshinsk district, there's a place called the Old Town Outpost. It's an NKVD outpost that's been there for centuries, and no one has ever marked it on a map."

If there are any living people in Ross who can give you directions, they should be there.

Perfit wrote down the name, then closed the file folder and stood up.

"Thank you, Lieutenant General. This information is very important to us."

Cherzov looked up at her. His gaze lingered on the unfurled military flag for a few seconds, then he suddenly spoke.

How many people did you bring?

"The core team consists of twenty members. They also serve as the escort for a squad of Sword and Rose Knights."

Cherzov slowly stood up and wiped his calloused hands on his uniform.

"I brought ten men with me. They were all veterans of the Guards, the youngest of whom had served under me for six years. After they escaped with me to Victoria, they could have applied for asylum and stayed in Langdon to live a peaceful life, instead of going back to that godforsaken place."

But yesterday, after I told them that you were going to lead the team to Ross, not one of the ten people backed out.

They said that if even a noblewoman from Victoria dared to go, then they, the Rus' soldiers, had even less reason to hide.

He looked at Perfit, his eyes bloodshot, but his back ramrod straight.

"We'll go with you."

-----------------

The cruiser sailed at sea for six days and finally entered the territorial waters of the Franco Republic on the morning of the seventh day.

Perfitt stood on the bridge, observing the gradually clearer outline of the port through his binoculars.

This is the largest naval port in northern France. Just a few months ago, the entire North Fleet of the Republic was docked here. Now, half of the cranes on the dock have stopped operating, and a few merchant ships are scattered in the berths, looking as if they have been stuck in the port for some time.

The port's quarantine station had been set up—Popick saw through his binoculars a perimeter of sandbags erected on the dock, with several quarantine officers in white protective suits standing at the entrance.

However, their protective suits only covered their mouths, noses, and torsos, leaving their wrists and ankles exposed.

One of them even took off his mask and lit a cigarette next to the isolation zone.

"That's not enough at all," Perfit said to Shabel, who was standing beside him, as he put down his binoculars. "The isolation zone they've built is to keep people out, not to prevent infection."

After the cruiser docked, a Frans port official boarded the ship for a routine inspection.

He was dressed in a crisp Republican Army uniform and seemed more curious than wary of the fact that the Victorian Empire had sent a warship.

"Are you heading to Ross?" He raised an eyebrow as he flipped through the travel documents Perfit had handed him. "You Victoria people are really bold."

"The entire north is in complete chaos right now. Of the two reconnaissance ships we sent out last month, only one returned—the other drifted at sea for two whole weeks, and when it finally docked, there were no survivors on board."

"So you know about the existence of wilt disease," Perfit said.

"Of course I know. We call it 'Ross fever.' There was a notice issued domestically last month requiring all ports to strengthen quarantine measures." The port official handed the document back to Perfit, shrugging. "But to be honest, our quarantine station here is already the strictest of all the ports in the north."

Some ports in the south haven't even put up any barriers.

The council is still debating whether or not to allocate funds. The local council says it's a matter for the central government, the central government says it's a matter for the military, and the military says they have no law enforcement authority.

You know—the civil war, no, it should be called a revolution, just ended, and nobody wants to spend another penny.

Perfit didn't say anything.

She glanced at the quarantine officer smoking on the dock, then pulled out her notebook and scribbled down a line of shorthand symbols.

The current state of epidemic prevention at the Port of Frans: There is a quarantine station, but no standardized protective procedures; protective clothing is incomplete; personnel have not received professional training; and political infighting continues to delay the response.

"We need to replenish our fresh water and coal supplies. Also, if possible, I'd like to speak with your port quarantine officer." Perfit closed his notebook and looked at the port official. "It won't take too much time."

The port official shrugged and pointed her in the direction of the quarantine station.

That afternoon, Perfit met a middle-aged man who looked quite tired in a temporary office at the dock quarantine station.

He was the port’s chief quarantine officer, wearing a faded Republican uniform, his desk piled high with documents, and an ashtray with at least seven or eight cigarette butts stuck in it.

Perfit sat down opposite him and quickly went through the existing COVID-19 protocols in Langdon Harbor in less than fifteen minutes—double gloves, respirators, separate steam boilers, hydrogen peroxide atomization disinfection, and mandatory quarantine for at least five days for all ships arriving from the Old Continent.

After listening, the chief quarantine officer remained silent for nearly half a minute, then smiled wryly, took off his glasses, and wiped the fog off the lenses with his sleeve.

"Miss, I understand what you're saying. I wrote three letters to Paris last month, each detailing similar suggestions. Parliament replied that it approved the establishment of a quarantine station at the port entrance, but did not approve any additional funding for supplies."

These sandbags and protective suits were bought with my own salary.

Perfit did not continue the topic.

She stood up, shook hands with the other person, said "take care," and then turned and walked out of the quarantine station.

When she returned to the cruiser, Chertsov was standing on the deck gazing at the Franz coastline.

He heard Perfit's footsteps, but without turning around, he simply whispered a sentence.

"They have no idea what this thing is."

“Yes,” Perfit stood next to him, “they don’t know yet.”

The next morning, the cruiser weighed anchor again and continued sailing eastward.