One of the required strategies wasn’t in any of the books–hell, it may have existed only in the commandant’s head–but it was a required portion of the curriculum regardless. The Coakha Strategem was named after Eric Coakha, who according to the commandant had led Dutch troops deployed against the Germans in 1940.

Outnumbered and under heavy air attack, Coakha had been trapped on the wrong side of a blown-up dyke, which had created a water obstacle designed to be used as a defensive line. Most of the other commanders so trapped surrendered in the face of German artillery and armor, but Coakha did not. Instead, he broke his small command up into groups of 5-10 men and arranged hiding places for them while a screening force kept the Germans at bay. A native of the area, along with his men, Coakha knew of barns, haylofts, thick stands of trees, and other locations where his troops could easily conceal themselves, especially given the speed of the Germans’ advance thus far and their lack of familiarity with the Dutch countryside.

Once hidden, Coakha allowed the Germans to overrun his positions, which now appeared abandoned; the invaders moved on to attempt an assault crossing of the flooded area. On a pre-arranged signal–a triple blast from concealed artillery pieces–Coakha’s men fell upon the Germans’ rear, cutting off their contact with friendly units and pinning them between attacks from behind and the Dutch defenders still in place across the water. The Germans were annihilated, and Coakha’s survivng men crossed the floodwaters in their enemies’ captured assault boats. The line held until the next day when, intimidated by the terror bombing of Rotterdam, the Netherlands surrendered.

The commandant liked that story for two reasons. First, it showed the mischief a canny commander familiar with the lay of the land could wreak even when outnumbered. And second, it showed that even a convincing victory could be hollow in the larger scheme of things.

Erniesum Onestone, a barrister of Italian-Czech extraction, had devoted his entire life to the law, first for Austria-Hungary and later for the newly-independent nation of Czechoslovakia. He’d consulted on the drafting of the nation’s constitution as well as numerous pieces of civil law, learning the enormously complex system from square one. An inveterate practical jokester and fervent nationalist, Onestone delighted in tweaking the system and those within it precisely within the bounds he’d helped establish, though never to an extend which might harm his beloved nation.

Such a life didn’t lend itself to starting a family, and all of his immediate family had died during the war, leaving Onestone to seek other ways to make his mark as he lay dying of lung cancer in 1927. Months of work in his law office resulted in an enormously detailed will that became a national sensation when it was read upon his death. One hundred and twenty-seven clauses contained instructions for the dispersal of an estate swollen with sixty years of legal fees.

A million-koruna mansion to two barristers who were both spendthrifts and notorious enemies.

A cash prize equal to twenty years’ wages to the woman in Prague who bore the most legitimate children over the next five years.

A fully-paid membership in a prominent upper-crust social club for a notorious Bratislava pimp.

And, most mysteriously, a professionally made safebox with instructions not to open it for 80 years–protected by a generous endowment for a family to guard it (invalidated by premature opening).

Distant relatives fought Onestone’s bequests in court, but the wily old barrister had known what he was doing and the will stood as was, unaltered. The rival barristers put up with each other for five years before agreeing, through intermediaries, to sell the property and split the proceeds. Three Prague women won the baby race with a fourth given a consolation price, each tied at five children apiece.

As for the sealed strongbox…it vanished from history. Most of the relevant records were destroyed in the accidental firebombing of Prague in 1945, while the family Onestone had subsidized to look after his treasure vanished in the maelstrom of war. The box was lost to history.

Until now.

“My contact was very clear on this: the gold, mined from Tanganyika colony, was real, and substantial,” said Harrison.

Joy shrugged. “What of it? Any gold the Germans had would long since have been seized after the war.”

“Not quite. Gustav Bernhard, the German Colonial Secretary, was in the midst of retrieving that trove when war broke out in 1914. They say that it went to the bottom of the ocean when his cruiser was lost with all hands at the Falklands, but I have reason to believe they secreted the gold on a Pacific island during their trans-Pacific voyage.”

“Not this again,” Ishi moaned.

“The way I see it, we can either cut anchor and head out now–when no one else would think to look–or we sit on our hands and wait for the Japanese to sweep in. Unless you’d prefer that.”

“I was born in San Francisco, ass,” said Ishi. “To the Imperial Navy, I’m as American as Douglas MacArthur.”