At first the more experienced German/Czech pilots seemed to be holding the enemy off, keeping his forces from linking up into an effective attacking thrust. But the sheer numbers of the ships pouring out at them (which they had no way of anticipating), and the equally surprising effectiveness of the carrier's supporting fire, began slowly but inexorably to turn the tide against them. Lasers and explosive torpedoes flashed. Ships burst silently into flame, or broke apart, or were disintegrated. The tortured voices that came to Brunner through his ear-piece were soon more than he could bear. Almost he wished that the gray goliath would turn its guns on them, that they might respond. But it was a wasted hope. Though tantalizingly close, the aggressor and all his forces were just out of range, and they knew it.
Brunner next became aware, to his dismay, that none of this seemed to alarm either Dubcek or his executive officer. The commander watched, but gave no order; and Masaryk continued to speak only to the captain of the corresponding battleship.
He suddenly realized what this meant, but a part of his mind refused to accept it. They were sacrificing their own carrier to set up and then destroy the other. Strategically it was sound—-weakening the enemy's thrust, buying time for the reinforcements.
But what of the lives and humanity, the hundreds of men and women whomDubcek had just spoken to about courage and judgment? What about theirFAMILIES? Didn't he care? Didn't anyone care? And where was the Godthat he had reluctantly begun to believe in?
At that moment all he knew was hatred and grief. For perhaps a minute he ignored his instruments, glaring instead at Dubcek's back, silently daring him to turn around.
Suddenly a ship burst apart directly in front of them, not more than ten kilometers off. Out of the wreckage a tiny white projectile moved toward them, and others of similar shape were sent flying in all directions. To his horror Brunner recognized them as men. Too light an object to trigger their shields, the writhing body came straight at them, seeming to gather speed, and with a final orgasm of misery, crashed against the glass.
With a dull thud it bounced off and back into the emptiness of Space, leaving a wide splotch of blood on the glass at their commander's feet. If Brunner hated him then, the emotion changed when the man finally did turn around. There were no tears, but something in his face spoke of a much deeper wound. His voice boomed across the room.
"If there is anyone here who does not yet know what war is, look with your eyes!" His arm jerked toward the stain. "It is blood! Blood and men dying."
As if cued by these words a blinding flash, followed in rapid succession by several others, lit the room. The enemy carrier, finally scoring a direct and unshielded hit, had sent its blackened counterpart to infinity.
Q x Q
As if regretting his outburst Dubcek stood very still, then descended the high step and strode quickly to the command station. He took off the headset, and gave his orders.
"Battle cruiser B: I want a full spread of anti-matter torpedoes, then move in and finish him off. All remaining fighters back to Scypion Base; those that can't make it, to Mongoose emergency docks. Destroyer group A, prepare to clean up enemy stragglers."
"And the torpedo ships, Colonel?"
"Keep firing at the carrier until there is no carrier to fire AT."
"But without escort—-"
Dubcek's eyes flashed. Masaryk relayed the orders.
R x Q
The battle between the two vessels must have ensued—-after several minutes the enemy carrier disappeared from the projection globe—-but Brunner saw and heard none of it. He remained silent with his head down, palms leaning heavily on the console. Crying. The next thing he was aware of was Dubcek's steadied voice, once more amplified, once more, he assumed, on an open channel to all ships. He looked out of the portal, but there was no afterglow. Nothing. Dubcek's voice.
"All ships' personnel not engaged or on standby readiness, this is your commanding officer. The carrier J.S. Bach and all its crew have been lost." Pause. "There is nothing that can bring them back, or justify their death. They will be sorely missed.
"But know this: that they died not in any act of aggression, but defending their homes, and the ones they loved. It may be small consolation, but we have hurt our enemy badly. They no longer have the position or the firepower to seriously threaten us. I won't lie to you. More men and women will die before our reinforcements arrive. And there is no more fairness to who dies in battle than there is to who is struck down by fatal illness, and who is left to die of age….. We can only continue, and hope that our acts will one day be remembered, and our sorrows vindicated.
"My strategy from this point forward will be to engage the enemy as little as possible, which is only now a viable option. Take heart in the fact that this is now a fight he cannot win, unless he holds some card that is hidden from me. The colonies, the people you guard, are safe. And if we keep our courage and our wits about us, we will see him beaten before the day is passed."
Dubcek signaled the communications officer to shut him off, said to Masaryk, "I'll be in my quarters. I don't think he'll try to attack again soon, but call me if he does." And left the battle room.
Brunner gathered himself, sat down before the console and tried to think.
*
After perhaps fifteen minutes he got up and asked Commander Masaryk to be relieved, saying that he felt ill. The executive officer, who knew a thing or two, looked hard at him and said, "If you've got any sense, you'll be careful what you say to him."
Brunner nodded, and walked slowly out into the main corridor, then through several passages before reaching the short hallway that ran before his Commanding Officer's chamber.
Remaining a short distance from the doorway, he hesitated. He gathered his courage, turned the corner and entered the room.
"Sir, may I speak—-" He stopped, seeing the older man sitting quietly at a wooden table, a bottle and glass in front of him. "I'm sorry, sir….. Excuse me." So far as he (or anyone) knew, the Colonel never drank.
"No, no. Come in. You have not discovered a terrible secret. I have an artificial liver; didn't you know? I can turn it higher whenever I wish—-the first sign of combat—-and be sober in two minutes time. A waste of good liquor, really. Please. Sit down." Brunner approached hesitantly, sat in the wooden chair opposite.
"Besides," the man continued. "Didn't you know that all good field commanders were drunks? Take the famous Ulysses S. Grant. They say that on the day of a battle he was rarely sober by mid afternoon. Probably why he was so successful: he could send his men off to the slaughter without a second thought. Some even go so far as to say he tried to end all his battles in a single day, so that the next morning, when he was apt to be sick, he could sleep and give no orders. But you look surprised. Is all of this new to you?"
"I was never much on the American Civil War," said the young man evasively, not liking (or understanding) the tone of sarcasm in the older man's voice.
"Oh, really? That's too bad. It is filled with such irony. For example, the saying, 'War is hell.' Very true, but do you know who said it? The equally famous General Sherman. And he should know, since he did everything in his power to make it so—-burned and pillaged like a regular barbarian. A nation of 'heroes'." He cleared his throat, continued.
"And these same, gentlemen soldiers—-Grant (then President, no less), Sherman, Sheridan and Custer, next turned their expertise upon the pesky Native Americans, who had the gall to defend their land, their women and their children. Wasn't it Sheridan who said, 'The only good Indian is a dead Indian?' Massacred and starved an entire population into submission, innocents slaughtered without a second thought."
"Colonel….."
"But here, I'm boring you. What did you want to discuss—-literature, fine art?" He took another drink from the glass, hurting his throat with too large a gulp, showing that he really was not a drinker, or not a practiced one.
"Two things," said Brunner stiffly. "First as an officer of the bridge. Then as a man."
"It sounds serious. Well. What is your report as my analysis officer?"
"Yes. I only wanted to reinforce what I said earlier: that the enemy's strategy, ever since the main engagement began, makes no sense. He had attained a strong attacking position; his weaponry is at least the equal of our own; and yet he attacks without design, and trades forces with no apparent gain. I know, from my studies (this last he added almost as an apology), that battles are often chaotic. Commanders become confused, lines of communication break down, soldiers and officers panic. But none of this, so far as I can see, has been the case here. For example, why accept the sacrifice of our carrier?" He reddened, forced himself to continue. "Just because we brought it forward, hardly forced him to attack. I wish I could believe that the enemy is really that foolish. But I can't. They have spent years of preparation, and nearly all their resources. . .for what? Only to let some impatient general throw it all away? The only explanation I can find is that they are trying to lull our sense of caution and weaken our defense, for another fleet that is yet to come. I know that by all current technology this is impossible. Yet I feel that it could happen."
At the words 'current technology' Dubcek stirred uncomfortably. The young man had sensed his darkest fear. He remained quiet for a moment, mulling this over.
"You have done what I asked," he said finally, "and done it well. Now.What do you have to say to me as a man?"
Now it was Brunner who could find no comfort in his chair.
"I wish to resign my commission," he said with an effort. "I do not think I was made to give orders."
"Do you hate me so much?"
Brunner winced. "No, Colonel. It is true, I hated you at first—-"He looked up, horrified at his own words.
"Come on. Out with it. It won't matter much if you resign." Dubcek's manner was unruffled, but the lieutenant thought he caught a gleam of pain, or something, in his dark eyes.
"There was a moment when I hated you—-when I first realized you had sacrificed our carrier for theirs. But I don't feel that way now."
"Then why?"
"I just can't do it. I tried to put myself in your place. . .and I can't. This way of life, of thinking….. I can't."
"You think I send men to their death without feeling." It was not a question.
"No." But Brunner would say no more.
"No, but that was cruel of me. Young men are so much more, SENSITIVE. You think you could never send men to theirs, that you are not the right kind of man—-cold, calculating. You think too much, feel too much, is that it?"
"No….. I don't know."
"Save war for lonely old men?"
Brunner looked hard at him, defiant. This time he was sure. There was something quietly desperate in his commander's eyes. It was fear. Not the fear of age or death, but that of a far greater hurt: the pain of life's final reckoning, of uselessness and barren seed. "Can I tell you something, 'as a man?'" Dubcek turned his eyes away, poured the bottle into the glass.
"Yes." Brunner too looked away.
"I wasn't always old, or alone, with no other calling." He breathed heavily through his nose. "But my wife died some years back, and we had no children. Some men can go on from such a thing: find another wife, start again. But I am not one of them. I had never loved before….. But that is beside the point." He drank the glass again.
"I found myself alone, in the military, with no real skill other than being a soldier, a good officer. My father had been a working man….. So I put all my energies into advancing my career, trying to fill the emptiness. Telling myself." He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Telling myself that if I could only rise high enough through the ranks, that I could SAVE lives. I was going to make certain the old war-mongers who ran the armies of the world did not subject innocent people to the kind of loss I'd known. I was going to see to it that no task force was ever advanced needlessly, no ship ever mindlessly sacrificed to gain a tactical advantage." He stopped, as some other emotion rose up in him.
"You say you hated me when you learned I had sacrificed a thousand men and women. What would you feel if we had lost, and left the colonies unprotected?" He rose in a rage, as Brunner stood and backed away. "How would you judge me while some Belgian officer was raping your pretty little wife?"
Brunner's eyes flashed murder at him, but he said nothing.
"Yes. And how would you have liked me when the political executions and imprisonments began? Forget your romantic notions! When it comes to occupying armies, there are no morals left to judge." He steadied himself, took a breath.
"Behind us lie the three planets of our people, our home. One hundred million inhabitants. Nothing else stands between them and us. And maybe our enemies don't even want them. Perhaps they would be just as happy to destroy the entire system, or even use radiation bombs: empty the inhabited planets of life without destroying the cities, the beautiful landscape. Do you think this is a fucking game?"
"You misunderstand. I am not judging you."
"And you misunderstand," said Dubcek bluntly. "Why do you think I take an interest in you? Why do you think you are here?"
"I don't KNOW!"
Dubcek waited. "Shall I tell you?"
Brunner turned his head painfully, faced the older man.
"You are here because this battle will not end the war. This war will not be the last our people know. Because if someone has to command and send young people into battle, I want it to be someone who still has some feeling left…. Because I respect you….. I have no son."
Brunner squeezed his temples with his hands, unable to stop the tears."But I CAN'T."
"You can, and you must….. I am not releasing you." Dubcek stalked out of the room.
The young lieutenant did not return to his post for several hours. The battle went on without him.
17) P x P N x P
Brunner reentered the battle room with his head down, walking stiffly to the place where a subordinate stood manning his station. The man looked up, handed him the lightboard—-showing how they had arrived at the present disposition—-and with a quick bow started to leave.
"Wait," said Brunner quietly. The man turned. After an awkward silence. "How are we doing?" The man looked at him with mild curiosity.
"As you see."
"That's not what I mean." Their eyes met. "Have we truly engaged the enemy only when necessary."
"Yes, Lieutenant. But he does have a battle to fight. If I may say it, the old man has done very well. But here." He pointed again. "We'll know soon enough." Brunner turned his gaze back to the globe, and the man was gone.
Lieutenant Olaf Brunner would remember the rest of the battle as bits and pieces of a vague, impossible dream. Unable to bring himself to look out the portal at his fighting comrades, he watched the moving shapes as if entranced, as they swam amid the invisible sea of the globe. Masaryk's voice.
"Enemy first destroyer group to corridor two, column six."
Dubcek. "Engage."
21) N-N3 N x N
"Battle cruiser coming forward to intercept."
"Robot battery 5, attack enemy battery opposite."
22) R x N P x P
"He took the bait. Second destroyer group moving forward."
"Mongoose forward to column two. Starboard guns to standby alert."
23) N x P K-N2
"Still coming right at us, corridor one."
"Let him come. Light cruiser, heading C-four."
An unfamiliar voice. "Colonel. My instruments show a strange energy field materializing before the enemy battle station, bearing 00 to 04, F-six. Apparently a highly charged, extremely dense mass of negative ions."
Hearing this, Brunner's senses came suddenly, vividly to life. Some half remembered, theoretical principal of matter….. As the fear materialized in thought, he was filled with a dread such as he had seldom experienced.
Looking up, he saw that Dubcek too was unnerved. He turned toward the speaker as calmly as he could and said, "Link up with the main ship's computer. Keep me posted."
25) P-R6(ch)
Masaryk. "Robot battery still coming forward, moving into range."
"What?" replied Dubcek absently.
"The enemy battery, moving into range and preparing to fire. We've got to move back."
"Yes. Of course. Mongoose to corridor one, column one."
For some reason these coordinates seemed to Brunner the final manifestation of an impending doom. Riveting the globe with his eyes, he understood the reason why. The enemy was perfectly positioned…..
"Colonel," he said. Dubcek glared at him, angry and agitated."Colonel, please." The commander left his post and came toward him.
"What is it?"
"Sir, if that's some kind of star gate—-"
"It CAN'T be….. That is only a theory."
"But the American scientists are said to be coming close."
Dubcek did not wait to hear him out. He started toward the chief scientist.
At that moment a blinding silver halo split the sky, and through its inner darkness passed a ship far greater than any yet seen in battle. To his final, unyielding horror, Brunner saw the outline of an enormous carrier take shape inside the globe, in perfect position for the kill.
26) New queen appears, QB3. Check.
At their posts, Masaryk and Wessenberg were struck dumb. Dubcek stood still in the middle of the room. The chief scientist had taken out his ear-piece and thrown it to the floor. All seemed incapable of movement. Finally Masaryk stirred, shook his head and cleared his throat.
"Colonel. A second enemy carrier has appeared. Bearing 01 to 02,F-six. He's staring right down our throat."
Dubcek, shaken to the bone, somehow managed a short laugh. He turned, walked toward his executive officer.
"Configuration?"
"Commonwealth Super-carrier. It's the Americans, Ivan."
Dubcek breathed out his final despair.
At that moment the communications officer turned toward him. "Sir.It's the Commonwealth commander with. . .terms for our surrender."
"Bastard," he muttered beneath his breath. Then. "Put him on the screen. And get me General Itjes with the Coalition reinforcements." He quickly checked the time. They were due to arrive in another hour.
The large main screen of the battle room came to life. And there in the midst of it, his face animated with tension, confidence and self-satisfaction, stood, in military uniform, General Charles William Hayes, Secretary of State for the United Commonwealth.
His fear submerged beneath a desperate, fey indifference, Dubcek turned to Masaryk with a rueful expression. "This just keeps getting better….. Yes, Mr. Hayes. What are your terms?"
"I want the immediate surrender of all your forces, and a complete shut-down of planetary defense systems. In return I'll see that your people, both military and civilian, are treated fairly and with respect."
"Oh, I have no doubt of that. Unfortunately, I do not have the authority to negotiate such a complete capitulation. I have contacted both our President and the Assembly (a necessary lie), and also the Coalition military representative. You will have an answer soon enough. One question, though, if I may ask it."
"What is it?"
"How do you plan to run the occupational government?" He looked at Brunner as he said these words, turned back to Hayes. "Who will be in charge?"
"The Belgians and Swiss."
"While you carry the crusade elsewhere?"
Hayes' voice was blunt, brutal. "You have five minutes."
"That should be sufficient. Thank you, Mr. Secretary." His face left the screen, and Dubcek immediately went to work.
"Brunner, Wessenberg, Kinsky and Schmidt, get to the evacuation ships. Gunnery and engineering high-officers to remain at their posts; everyone else off. First battleship and remaining cruiser to provide cover for their retreat, then get out themselves—-link up with the reinforcements as soon as possible and put themselves under the command of General Itjes. Go on. Move!"
Masaryk relayed the orders with grim satisfaction. His commander was going to fight.
As the others filed past him with blank, scared faces, Brunner remained at his station. Dubcek looked over at him.
"Get out, fool!" But still he did not move. The aging commander strode quickly over to him.
"There is no time for this. If you want to be brave then hold on to your commission and fight them again."
"I don't want to leave—-"
The voice of the communications officer broke him off. "General Itjes, sir. I've also contacted the colonies: all data being relayed."
"Good," said Dubcek. "Put him on and get below." He held out his hand to Brunner.
"Goodbye, Olaf. Go. Now!" His lieutenant turned and left the room.
Four officers remained in the chamber. "Anyone else who wishes to go, it must be now." None stirred. "Very well." He nodded, turned to Masaryk, then remembered General Itjes.
The chief scientist had moved to the communications board. He put him on the screen. The lined and wizened face of the German General stood before him.
"Yes, Ivan. I understand you're in trouble. Can you hold him off long enough for us to get around his flank?"
"Don't bother trying, General. He's got the ships and firepower to cut us both to pieces. The best thing you can do is guard the civilian retreat from Premislyde and Goethe. I'm afraid Athena must surrender."
Itjes sighed painfully. "All right, then. Agree to capitulate your forces along with it, and stall on the rest for as long as you can."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."
"Why not?"
"He is not about to be detained, and I am not about to let him win this battle without the shedding of American blood."
"Ivan, this is no time—-"
"This is bigger than both of us, General. They must know at the very beginning that they will be resisted every step of the way."
"Colonel, it is pointless to die like this."
"Sorry, Helmut. I have much work to do. Save as many as you can." He gestured to the chief scientist, and the screen went blank. He turned to Masaryk. "Is Hayes unloading yet?"
"Just starting now, sir." They both watched as perhaps a dozen of the monolithic carrier's twenty chutes were lowered and the first wave of fighters, mingled with other, larger ships, came streaming off. "If that's the Dreadnought….."
"It is."
"They say she holds over three hundred vessels—-cruisers and battleships among them. Twice the size of our entire fleet."
"Are the evac ships off yet?"
"Checking. The last one is just clearing now."
"Give them thirty seconds to be off, then put the third robot battery in his face. I'm tired of looking at it."
Masaryk waited, gave the order.
"Colonel, it's the Commonwealth commander." Dubcek shook his head.
27) N x P
"Bel-Swiss destroyer group engaging."
"Big surprise. Knock them out with battle cruiser two."
R x N
"Cat's out of the bag now," said Dubcek. "Hayes is making short work of our battleship. Poor bastards."
28) Q x R(ch)
"He'll be coming after us, next."
"I hope we didn't make him mad."
Masaryk smiled. Even as they spoke, the great ship, anticipated by a swarm of torpedo ships and fighter-bombers, began to come forward, gathering speed as if to ram them from the sky.
"Oh, Lord. Here they come."
"Bring us forward! All guns open fire!"
……………………………………………………………… ……………………………………………….
"Morgan? Do you love me?"
He rolled away from her and onto his back, stared at the ceiling. The blanket was keeping him warm.
"I don't know." He was not sure, only that he had never felt this way before. Maybe once, long ago, as a child.
"Because I love you."
"How can you?" Now that the rush of sexual elation was over he felt wounded, and as hollow and empty as a man can feel.
"I don't know. But I do."
He took her hand and held it, against his leg. The motion was mechanical, without feeling.
"You sure it isn't something Freudian?"
"Don't be stupid, Morgan."
"I'm sorry. He looked straight at the nothing. But something stirred inside him. "I care for you very much."
She studied him in the half-light.
"Are those your own words?"
"No. I think Lawrence said them." Nothing. "You see what a waste I am."
"No. I don't think so. But I wish you would kiss me."
He rolled back toward her, felt her long and beautiful beside him. He began to kiss her, felt something warm at the corner of his eye.
"Why do you have to go? Haven't you done enough already?"
"Apparently not."
"Oh, of course. The Belgians and Swiss, and now the Commonwealth.That was your fault, too."
"You don't understand, Elonna."
"What am I supposed to understand? That your father was a racist bastard who didn't love you, or any one or anything else? That you don't know how to deal with your guilt? God damn it! Are you going to sacrifice everything we've found, just to satisfy your pride?"
He tried to glare at her, turned away and faced the window. "I'm so glad I could trust you."
"Don't you say that to me! Don't you dare pretend that you don't care about me. You didn't bring Johnny and I here just to satisfy your conscience and have an exotic fuck." He was silent.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop KILLING yourself." The emotions of a lifetime seemed to be trying to push their way through her throat, the back of her eyes. "DAMN you. Aren't there enough things out there to destroy us….. I want you to find another WAY to fight them." As he weakened she started to go to him, checked herself.
"Listen to me, Morgan. One more raid isn't going to make a difference in this war, one way or another. It's too big for that now. But if you're killed it will mean everything to you….. And to me."
They stood in silence.
*
Again they stood within their chambers beneath the transparent dome on the planet Alba: early night. Morgan was preparing to leave.
"Please don't go." The tears flowed freely down her face. "I could never forgive you." The boy, standing by her side, looked at him with an angry, puzzled expression.
He started for the doorway. Reaching it he stopped, and stood perfectly still. As the battle raged inside him.
"Morgan, please." He turned to face her. She was love and loss personified.
His shoulders went limp, and the rifle slid halfway down his arm. He had never felt so empty. Twenty seconds.
He lifted the strap of the rifle, leaned the weapon against the corner by the door. He walked past them and into the bedroom.
Un-shouldering his pack as they followed him in, he unfastened the flaps at the top and took something out of it. Steel hoops on a black chain shone silver. The man placed one cuff around his wrist, hooked the other to the metal bedpost. He took a set of keys from his pocket. . .and threw them across the room.
He slid to the floor, covered his face with his arm.
"Morgan," she said quietly. "What are you doing?"
"I love you." His sobs were audible.
……………………………………………………………… ……………………..
THERE'S NO WAY YOU COULD POSSIBLY DESCRIBE THIS. One foot after the other. Rock walls rising black on either side, a chasm of stars. The road like a gray snake winding through cold air. Night.
WHEN YOU'RE READING A BOOK….. YOU'RE ALWAYS SAFE INSIDE YOUR MIND. THERE ARE WALLS AND WARMTH AROUND YOU. THERE'S NO WAY YOU CAN FEEL EXPOSED, LIKE THIS. The sound of shoes on pavement. A chill sweat. THIS WEAKNESS. IT PUTS YOU IN A DIFFERENT WORLD, MAKES YOUR MIND FEEL…..STRETCHED. This weakness. It puts you in a different world, makes your mind feel. . . stretched. Convulsed stride and a kind of shudder. DAMN.
WHY AM I ALWAYS EXPOSED LIKE THIS? ALL THOSE YEARS, DON'T THEY MEANANYTHING? Hunger and cold. MAYBE I COULD WRITE A STORY….. WOULDTHAT MAKE IT ANY BETTER? A sound to my right. The same fear again.
YOU CAN'T KNOW UNTIL YOU'VE FELT THESE THINGS. I ALWAYS THOUGHT I WAS GOING SOMEWHERE. NOWHERE BUT THIS ROAD. Another shudder from the cold. Chills again. DAMN IT. DAMN IT!
"Save your strength."
……………………………………………………………… ……………….
Images sifted through his subconscious as he slept, and his mind put a story to them.
*
A villa just outside Berlin, in the narrow strip of West Germany surrounded by the communist East. A beautiful dark-eyed Russian woman, a defector, lived here beneath the shelter of trees.
She was not alone here. Other defectors. . .no, patriots. Bulgarians, Poles and others, who loathed their totalitarian masters and the brutality, without freedom, under which their peoples were forced to live, and work away their lives, like ants. Former high-ranking members of the government, military, and intelligence branches of the Eastern bloc and the Soviet Union. KGB. Here they lived in close communion, despite the danger, working sometimes with the West, sometimes without it, according to their skills, to undermine the iron grip of the communist leadership, to encourage and protect dissidents, and to publish their work both home and abroad. As well as other goals that were more immediately humane.
It was not a place loved by the Kremlin or the East German puppets, the loyal KGB. Many times assassins, head hunters had been sent, either to infiltrate or destroy the traitorous band. But so far as could be told, under the watchful and knowing eyes of Sonya Semenov, herself a former agent, none had yet succeeded their aim. And those who had tried, the captured, sure of death, had not been executed, or even turned over to the west. Instead they were sent back unharmed, with no greater injury than the knowledge that a hated sect had shown them mercy, and (to some) disquieting questions about their own loyalty and courage.
For mistress Semenov, the former operative, used methods of testing that were quite unique. Those who arrived at the Villa under pretense of defection, always suspect, were kept alone in a basement cell, of drab cement, for two days and nights without food or water. Their only contact with the world outside was a tiny, barred window that looked out on a beautiful garden, filled with birds. This window was kept shuttered, blocking out all light and sound, but for five minute periods twice daily. At all other times the cell was dark, cool and silent. There was no bed, nor any comfort to be found.
On the third day a single cup of water was brought, and the steel shutters remained closed. At intervals, moving pictures were projected from a square opening onto the opposing wall of gray: scenes from the Holocaust, the American bombing of Hiroshima, the torture and later execution of a 'dissident' during the Stalin era. Grim portraits with no clear political message or theme, except that of human suffering. Always suffering.
After two more days of this an evening meal was brought, along with water and wine, by one of the women (or men) of the allegiance. A comfortable bed was made of a mattress against the hard floor. The window was opened and she (or he), the deliverer, remained for the night: kissing, massaging aching limbs, making love. The entire ritual was then repeated. Afterwards, the pledge was sent to a small cabin in the woods, given food, drink and writing materials, and told to return in three weeks time.
The final test, after the writing had been studied by. . .was making love to Sonya Semenov. . .the group….. Making love. . .and love. . . kissing, massaging….. Sonya Semenov…..
"Sonya."
The man stirred, but did not wake, in his sleep. The sensations, physical, of his love seemed to fade. They faded. And as he sank back the dream began again, at the beginning. But this time he was Sonya Semenov, a man, and a dark-haired Hungarian woman had come to them, escaped from the life of concubine to a ranking member of the Presidium, as she explained to the others. Wearing a deep melancholy, whose depth was still greater for the pain in her large eyes, which could hide nothing of what she felt, whom he trusted instantly, or would have, except that he was Sonya Semenov, and life had taught him not to trust.
She was put to the test, and every minute he hovered like an angel above her, seeing her pain, in the merciless concrete room, her great and caring heart that had been so maimed, and always wanting her, wanting to disband, destroy the test, because she was so beautiful and incapable of anything but truth. Wanting her, and loving her more and more. And when she went into the woods his spirit followed her, and the poetry she wrote, which spoke of suffering, the suffering of others, he felt because of her. And he loved her still more and she was everything that he had never found after an eternity. And after an eternity she returned from those woods, made magic by her presence, whose green leaves lifted for her in the wind and turned their light undersides like Spring, the dark green returning like deepest summer as she came back to them. The Villa. And those who questioned her he wanted to kill but mostly only wanted her and needed to be with her. Wanting her, and the time of their joining drew near and he knew she would make love to her, Sonya, and he prayed in his sleep that the dream would not fade.
And at the last she came to him. In the beautiful dying light of the day, she lifted away her garment and stood shimmering by the open door of the balcony, as the wind kissed her hair and rustled the leaves in the high branches and she trembled slightly. And he was a woman once more, in love and then a man, and they kissed as their breasts touched through long hair and they stood in glorious nakedness and nothing held back. And he led her to the bed and laid her down and made the sweetest, purest love, giving her everything so gently as she quietly groaned and still the pain was in her face but now a different kind of pain, and he loved her as he had never loved and would never love again, touch-kissing her breasts and pouring out his soul. And as the love consumed and soon would be incarnate he closed his eyes. He was Sonya, and his lover lifted something that gleamed a little and seemed so unnatural, and stabbed her throat.
And Sonya Semenov was dead, killed by a Russian assassin, in the year 1989.
*
Salnikov woke in a cold sweat, as his memory raced to put back the pieces of history and dream. KGB. He shuddered, because he knew it was true.
……………………………………………………………… ……………………….
Andromeda, Balthazar, Cerberus, Gorky and Larkspur SectorsMonths VI through XIIInternational Year: 2211
On June 6, 2211 (by Euro-American dating) an open letter was sent to the President and Congress of the United Commonwealth by Gen. Charles William Hayes, then acting as its Secretary of State. On June 12 it was read to a specially convened Joint Session by Defense Secretary Aaron Brown, himself a distinguished veteran. Copies of the transcript were then made available to the press. The President did not attend the reading.
My Fellow Americans:
We have embarked upon a Great Crusade. On May the 30th, under my direction and leadership, The Third Fleet, in conjunction with the forces of the Democratic Alliance of Belgium and Switzerland, engaged and defeated the combined fleets of the Communist Coalition before the star system commonly known as Tarkus Minor, thus achieving the liberation of its peoples, who have labored so long under the oppressive yoke of Marxism.
In the wake of its dictatorial regime we have established democracy: a provisional government under the auspices of the Belgians and Swiss. Though this outside hand in the political affairs of another nation is regrettable, it must be remembered the that inhabitants of these colonies, though proud and courageous, have been kept in the darkness of atheistic communist doctrines for many years, and that some will not at first be willing, over even able, to accept the blessings of true freedom. The freedom of thought, speech and worship which we enjoy, will at first seem strange and painful to them, just as dazzling sunlight is painful to the eyes of one long imprisoned beneath the ground. But just as the doctor's slap which startles the new-born child to life, though sudden and unexpected, is wholly necessary and the catalyst to a new life, so these first steps toward democracy, however painful, must be taken boldly and resolutely.
And this victory is but the beginning. For the first time in nearly three centuries, we are given the power to rid the cosmos forever of the spreading and malignant cancer of communism. Not since 1946 at Malta, when our predecessors, out of blindness and misguided compassion, declined to use the birth of nuclear weapons to rid Eastern Europe of the Soviets—-Slavic hordes which would dominate her peoples to this day—-have we been given the necessary tactical advantage to realize this great dream. Once again we have the capability to strike and overwhelm in the same motion.
It has been said that those who do not learn from the mistakes of history are doomed to repeat them. Never has there been a clearer or more urgent example. We must not let faltering spirit and moral weakness send us down that same cowardly and shameful road. We must not let this second opportunity pass! For God has delivered into our hands, and at the precise moment, a weapon which makes the defenses of our enemies useless, and his attempts to thwart our offensive thrusts, utterly futile.
I speak of the Clarke-Medvekian 'Star Gate' potential, perfected only recently by our gallant scientists at the Top Secret laboratories of Mobius VI. I speak of it openly now, since to our enemies it is no longer a fearful rumor, but deadly reality. With it we are able to move our omnipotent SuperCarriers (along with escort, if necessary) virtually anywhere in the galaxy, completely undetected, in less time than it takes to lace a boot. Distance is no longer a deterrent, and fuel consumption need only be calculated for the duration of the battle itself. The strongest defense shield is easily breached, since the Carrier does not pass 'through' it, but rather, emerges on the other side.
But do not misunderstand my words. Military secrets are the most fleeting of all, and we are far from invincible. . .if we delay. An effective defense or tracking system will inevitably be devised, and our ability to strike without warning taken from us. For this reason, as well as others, there is need of haste. If we do not utilize this weapon now, it may well be used against us in the future.
And so, my fellow patriots, I ask you for the official power to execute this bold plan, this glorious, God given crusade, proved under Executive Order, and on the field of battle. Give to me your consensus—-a formal Declaration of War on the remaining colonies of the Communist Coalition—-and we will begin this first campaign in earnest.
I will not deceive you. Despite the advantages of superior weaponry, especially the stealth and mobility afforded us by Star Gate potential, men's lives will be lost in the cause of lasting peace. It will not be an easy road. But if we can again find in ourselves that which is courageous and noble—-the fighting spirit that won our Independence and established the world's first true democracy, and later carried us through nearly two hundred years of patriotic wars without a defeat—-ours will be hailed as the greatest era known by man, the Golden Age of Liberty. It will be remembered as a time when freedom loving peoples everywhere, their hearts aflame with the glory of the task, rose up to expel forever the totalitarian Marxists, and tear free from all the galaxy the shackles of dictatorial communism.
Lastly, let me apologize if my words are not fair, my manner of speech unsubtle. I am neither orator nor philosopher, but a plain thinking Christian general of Southern stock, born on the Earth, proud of my roots and my heritage.
But let none doubt my integrity and insight on this matter, which I have studied closely, and made my life's work. For God does not always choose the sophisticated or genteel to do His holy bidding. Like George Washington before me, I do not pretend to know all the subtleties of diplomacy and constitution which lie before us, only the true and unalterable road which our armies must follow to secure the liberty and prosperity of future generations.
With your blessing I will carry our proud banner to heights our forefathers could not have dreamed, and the God-given torch which they passed down to us shall not diminish, but shine from every corner of the galaxy, eternal beacon of peace and freedom.
I know in my heart that you will hear my entreaty, and grant me the moment for which I am destined.
God bless America!
Yours in Liberty,
Gen. Charles William HayesSecretary of State
Among the inaccuracies and half-truths contained in the Secretary's call to arms were the following, pointed out by some, but not generally regarded as important.
1) General Hayes referred to the 'Communist Coalition' as if it were a single nation. Its actual name was The Coalition of Independent Socialist States, and it was not a nation at all, but rather a military alliance, similar to NATO.
2) He spoke of having 'engaged and defeated the combined fleets' of the Coalition, when in fact he had only beaten the Tri-Colony Defense Force under Col. Ivan Dubcek, already weakened by the frontal assaults of the Belgians and Swiss. The Coalition First Command Fleet, under the command of Gen. Helmut Itjes, had engaged the enemy in defensive skirmishes only, holding its own while evacuating roughly one-third of the inhabitants of the planets Premislyde and Goethe. Athena II, because of its proximity to the American thrust, was wholly lost.
3) The Athena Star System had not been referred to as Tarkus Minor for nearly eighty years, since an earlier error in mapping had been corrected. Perhaps the reference to Athens was uncomfortable for Hayes—-the fact that a 'dictatorial regime' had chosen not to alter the name—-or perhaps it threatened his claim that the United States had been the first true democracy. The argument that Greek Athens was not wholly democratic because it relied on the use of slave labor made little difference, since 18th Century America also kept slaves.
4) Whether or not the Commonwealth Supercarriers were omnipotent remained to be seen, since not all functions had been tested under full combat conditions. The Soviets were also said to possess four very large and formidable carriers.
5) The metaphor comparing the use of star-gate potential to the lacing of a boot was a good one—-the time required for the final passage was relatively slight—-but it neglected one very important step. First one had to construct the boot. Star-gate potential was not some magician's trick. The commander of a fleet could not simply press a button and 'poof', make his ships appear in another part of the galaxy. The creation of the star-gate was a very real, and therefore complicated process. Reduced to layman's terms, it utilized principals of anti-matter similar to those found in the implosion of a star (thus forming a black hole), to forge a corridor between two given points in Space, thus cheating the normal laws of space and time. Preparing such a corridor could take days, away from any kind of supporting base, possibly weeks.
For this reason one had to be certain he could defeat his enemy upon arrival, and control the designated area (or be prepared to retreat by conventional means) before any attack could be considered. In short, as an offensive weapon it was virtually unstoppable; but it offered absolutely nothing in the way of defense.
6) The Secretary referred to the Soviets of the 1940's as 'Slavic hordes which would dominate Eastern Europe…..' In fact the Slavs had dominated it for some time, having settled there centuries before, and forming a large segment of the population. Coincidentally, the expression 'Slavic hordes' had first been popularized by Nazi German propagandists, just prior to the outbreak of World War II.
7) Hayes' reference to the Yalta Conference of 1945 was confused at best. While this historic meeting of Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin may have anticipated (in Stalin's mind only) the Soviet occupation of eastern Europe at the end of World War II, work on the atomic bomb had not yet been completed, and the Western powers were in no position either to divine Stalin's ultimate goal, or to prevent it through the use of nuclear weapons.
8) According to protocol, only the President could ask Congress for a Declaration of War. Also, by attacking the colonies without a 'formal declaration', General Hayes had violated International Law.
*
That these distortions were not looked upon with gravity by the American public, can perhaps be attributed to the social conditions prevalent at the time. Largely a cultural island, despite its vast trade and high international standing, the United Commonwealth had developed national characteristics not wholly conducive to truth and perspective.
For example, if the average American saw a historical character (say Abraham Lincoln) portrayed in a popular movie or book, it became set in his or her mind that he/she now possessed a complete understanding of both the man himself, and the tempestuous events in which he took part. Thus, any subsequent input of contradictory facts or unclear morals was discounted. Because as a general rule what appeared visually or in print, larger (and often better) than life, seemed infinitely more real and comprehensible than the confusing puzzle of actual events. The fact that Hayes presented his version of the truth in a frank, straightforward manner (why would he lie?) also tended to work in his favor, lulling to sleep—-they were barely awake to begin with—-the deeper sensibilities of his countrymen.
And in truth very little was known about the Battle of Athena. The Commonwealth forces who had taken part in the mission were sworn to secrecy, denied direct communication, and there was no way to obtain more complete, unbiased information. Also, since it happened far away and no casualties were announced, it all seemed less a prelude to actual war than some vaguely exciting patriotic adventure and (to the press) the possibility of some first-rate news footage.
This is not to say that all Americans were this bland or naive. Very vocal opposition arose at once, along with equally vocal support. But here again, the popular opinion of the middle class was the real power in the Commonwealth, and for the most part this bulk society had not yet made up its mind. Most were still, at the core, opposed to bloodshed. But the economy WAS in difficult straits, which tended to make them angrier and more aggressive, and there WERE nasty rumors circulating about Soviet preparations for a military push in the quadrant. That military preparedness was standard Soviet policy, and that the grimmest predictions often came from Pentagon propagandists, was to many either unknown, or considered beside the point.
The puzzle, however, was why the President had not attended the reading, and for the time being refused all comment. A press conference had been scheduled for June 18, but beyond this Administration officials were maintaining an uncanny, and therefore disquieting silence. Some of the more astute political observers and high-ranking members of the government may have guessed what this mean, but if so they did not give voice to their conclusions.
Because if what they suspected was true, it pointed to a serious rift within the government, and a potential problem far more dangerous than the stealing of a few planets, give or take. (Almost no one believed that Hayes actually intended to take on the whole of socialism, especially Soviet Space —-quiet of late, but still quite capable of fireworks of their own). In this, unfortunately, they underestimated the depths of the man's obsession, and gave him credit for a sense of moderation which he did not possess.
And so the issue was roundly debated by the public and the press, and everyone waited impatiently for the President to address the issue, if only to have a focal point for their anger or support.
*
The President, however, had received on June 5 a very different communication from his Secretary of State, and was in a quandary as to how to respond. Because the one outright lie of General Hayes' letter to Congress and the press, had been that he attacked the Czech/East German joint colonies under Executive Order. In fact, he had done it entirely on his own.
Still retaining his rank (an oddity in high political service) as a five-star general, and thus the most powerful man within the military establishment, Hayes was trying to use his popularity as a war hero, and his considerable influence among the Armed Forces, to blackmail the President into a military venture on which he had long vacillated. The doubly coded message read as follows.
*
Dear Mr. President:
The time for indecision has passed. The battle is won; star-gate potential is a reality; and the spirits of the men are high. Such times as these are rare, when patriotic fervor at home is matched by clear superiority in the field.
But I won't try to sway you with words. You know the pressing realities as well as I do. I ask you now to put aside our past differences, and give me your full support. We can annihilate the remaining communist holdings in Balthazar and Cerberus and proceed from there. But IT MUST BE NOW.
I am sorry to have to force the issue, attacking on my own. But as a man who loves my country and sees the future clearly, you left me no choice. With Bacon and Weiss (Presidential advisors) still squabbling, and your own will paralyzed, precious and irrecoverable time was slipping by. And as for securing appropriations from the liberal-controlled House without bringing tremendous political pressure to bear…..
But I won't banter. Nothing cuts through barriers or rouses the people like a successful military engagement. And as I have said before, our tactical advantage will not last. You may have backed the Russians down of late with tough talk, but they haven't been idle the past three years either. And unlike our attempts at rearmament, they aren't hindered by the need for Congressional approval, or any other such bleeding heart nonsense. The Star Gate is our edge, and it won't be long before the enemy either finds a defense, or masters the principle himself. I've ordered everyone directly involved with the project sent to Mobius and quarantined for a year, under the pretense of a possible epidemic. But that doesn't keep information from being smuggled out.
And please don't deceive yourself, Edgar. Once the Russians get this technology they'll use it. This is going to be a volatile and turbulent era, whether we choose to make the first move or not. Either we put this weapon to use, or it will be used against us.
But we've been through all this before. I will send my appeal to Congress and the people, then the choice will be yours. You can give me your full support, and be remembered for all times as a courageous and decisive leader, or you can disown me and face the consequences. There is no middle ground.
Give me your blessing! You are a great and proud American; your principles are high and your intentions unimpeachable. The only fault I have ever found with you is a continuing desire to be advised, and a deep hesitation to go against the grain of your advisers, even when they themselves are undecided. History does not wait for the whims of such men! One either takes the reins of Destiny, or they are taken from him.
You say you did not ascend to the presidency alone—-that many men with many causes helped elect you. That is true, and your magnanimity is admirable. But you are still the President, and the most powerful man in the free world. I urge you now: use that power! Stand on your own and be counted. Put your faith in me, and you shall never regret it.
Forgive me for speaking so plainly. These are convictions that run very deep in me. I ask only this: that you listen to your heart. You will see that I am right, and that God has chosen me to do His holy work.
Your Servant,
Charles William HayesSecretary of State
P.S.- I have spoken with the Joints Chiefs of Staff. They stand behind me.
*
And so the President, who was not fond of making difficult decisions —-Hayes had been quite right in this assertion—-was faced with the most difficult choice of his political career, if not his life. Though far from a genius, he clearly saw (and this in itself was unusual) that a true, life and death dilemma lay before him, and that his decision would directly affect the lives of millions of people. Did he give in to political blackmail, and condone self-righteous slaughter—-a genuine war? Or did he call Hayes' bluff, and find out just how powerful the man had become? Either path presented equally grim scenarios. And for the first time in his illustrious presidency, Edgar J. Stone found himself in a position where advice was useless, and compromise impossible.
His political forte' to this point had been to make no rash decisions or statements to the press, and to defer to his advisers on the more serious matters of state. And through a combination of conservative dogma and hard-nosed pragmatism, he had heretofore been extraordinarily successful, getting most of his programs through Congress, avoiding embarrassment, and heading off political difficulty before it gained impetus. No matter what the circumstance, he always managed to appear calm and well informed, with just enough below-the-surface anger to let everyone know, especially the Soviets, that the Commonwealth was not to be made sport of or taken lightly (which of course appealed to the current patriotic mood of his countrymen).
He was neither smarter, shrewder, nor more capable than his recent predecessors. If anything, he was less qualified than most. But he did have one skill they lacked. He knew how to play the game, and he lied (to no one more than to himself) with great conviction.
Because in the Commonwealth politicians were judged not so much by what they did, as by the way they appeared to be doing it. Lincoln, Kennedy and Reagan were remembered as the greatest of men, though they seriously mishandled important matters of state, largely because, as the poetic put it, "They captured the spirit of their countrymen." More cynically, they gave good speeches. Edgar Stone, though considerably less moral than any but the third, understood this (or something like it), and with the aid of the power groups he represented, had modeled his administration accordingly.
He did this by surrounding himself with strong and intelligent men who understood the inner workings of government, economy and diplomacy, concentrating his own energies—-with the help of various acting coaches and speech writers—-on the subtleties of image and appearances. His was the mask worn by those who had elected him, and those who held real power. Not only did he fail to question the morality of the policies they had him put forward, but in truth, was not particularly interested. He had for nearly twenty years made his living as a front-man for conservative causes, knew his job and stuck to it. And having for so long been immersed in right wing-propaganda (it also appealed to his ego and warped sense of patriotism), he really did, or certainly appeared, to believe it himself. Thus the last and most important element of the facade fell into place: 'sincerity'.
Any seasoned political observer (who cared to look with his eyes) could see this, and yet few with any authority chose to attack the graven image. Why? Because he SEEMED to be doing a good job, and was (in the persona that had so been carefully been constructed) a pleasant, hard-working and respectable family man. The fact that he had changed professions (a former salesman), parties (a former Democrat), and wives (a divorcee), was routinely shouted down as liberal mud-slinging. The press was cowed by his popularity, the opposition by the power it gave him. The middle class LIKED Edgar Stone, and big business stood behind him. It was a formidable combination. No chink had yet been found in his armor, and the political sharks that arise within any system, democratic or otherwise, could not yet smell blood in the water.
But all that careful work and planning was now being swept away by a single, unforeseeable mistake. Over the years Stone had accumulated numerous political debts, especially to those who had kept him going during the lean years of 'progressive humanism', one of which he had repaid by appointing a pompous, self-indulging and wholly unqualified 'hero' of the Nibian Wars (like Ulysses S. Grant, he had sent tens of thousands to their graves without blinking), and a man he personally disliked, as his Secretary of State. Charles William Hayes.
Like Douglas Macarthur before him, Hayes had given innumerable signs of the obsession he now sought to enact. But like so many other men of history who are not taken at their word (Adolph Hitler being perhaps the clearest, and most horrific example), people had always assumed that he took such a hard line against socialism (as Hitler had done against the Jews) simply to encourage those who could elevate him to power, and to tap into the volatile anger and frustration of his countrymen.
But the truly frightening thing about such men, Hayes included, was that THEY MEANT EVERY WORD THEY SAID. "Better dead than Red," an expression borrowed from the Cold War days of the mid twentieth century, was not just a slogan to him, but unwritten Holy Scripture, handed down to him by the righteous God who ruled the Universe and called men of courage and action to his service, in the unending war against this modern day Satan. Etc. In his mind, too simple or too stubborn to possess any clear sense of perspective, this same God directed his every footstep, living within him and guiding his thoughts. And anyone who stood in his way, or questioned his narrow vision, was either weak, blind, or the enemy. As he had intimated in his letter to Stone, so far as he was concerned, there was no 'middle ground' in anything.
And in classic Shakespearean form, the inevitably tragic events of his life had only served to bear out his convictions, and reinforce his Messianic image of himself. Indeed, given the power of his obsession and the unyielding pursuit of an aggressive, self-chosen destiny, they could hardly have done otherwise.
So Edgar Stone brooded, and listened to his advisers argue, and tried to think. While the winds of war swirled around him.