Mühlenkampf stood and took a thin sheaf of papers, copies actually, from his desktop. These he began to pass out while still speaking. “We are rapidly coming to the end of our most intense training period. From now on we might relax, if only a little. I think, even, that some of the men might benefit from a period of leave. I want you to start granting leaves to deserving men, up to fifteen percent of the force at any given time.
“Those papers contain the names of those I most strongly suspect of being our foes. You might let the men see those names before they sign out of the camp,” finished the commander, returning to his seat.
Berlin, Germany, 15 September 2005
Though the Darhel lord did not require it, Günter stood stiffly erect before the massive desk behind which the lord sat. Günter was, after all, a German.
The lord’s face was impassive. His eyes wandered, looking everywhere but at the bureaucrat’s own face. Words, heavily tinged with the sussurant lisp caused by the alien’s sharklike teeth, were spoken as if to a party not present.
“This heavy fighting vehicle project has not been stopped,” observed the Darhel. “The rejuvenation of the German people’s fiercest warriors has been allowed. Sabotage of their fighting body has not been completed to standard. My superiors will require explanations of me. I have no sufficient explanation of this failure on the part of my underlings.”
Though the office was cool almost to the point of unpleasantness, still Günter’s face bore the sheen of a cold sweat.
An annoyed and frustrated tone crept past the Darhel’s lisp. “Explanations will be required.”
“My lord,” stammered Günter, “these SS simply will not listen or obey. We order them to do or not do certain things and they ignore us. Political leaders who see things in the proper way, as I do, are run out of their camps barely ahead of gangs of uniformed thugs.”
“Pay might be withheld,” conjectured the Darhel, distantly, eyes closing and a slight shudder wracking his small body. “Food rations withdrawn. Punishment inflicted. Bribes made.”
“All have been tried, my lord. Nothing has worked. And no less than eleven of our supporters in the Bundestag have disappeared under suspicious circumstances, two or three after each effort. Few right-minded politicians seem to have the courage to act in the face of this threat.”
“But, in any case, my lord, can’t your superiors understand the great good that has been achieved? Of thirteen panzer Korps, fully a dozen have had their training sabotaged through propaganda, insistence on the rights of junior soldiers, withholding of vital supplies and equipment, and rigorous application of environmental regulations. Moreover, this grand tank project has had its armor limited. Nuclear propulsion and armament have been refused. Surely these things weigh heavily against such minor failures.”
“Perhaps,” agreed the Darhel, reluctantly. “And yet we have seen and must remember how often your people have managed to avoid their inevitable position within Galactic civilization by slipping through even smaller cracks.”
Interlude
Bin’ar’rastemon the Rememberer’s voice rang through the assembly hall. “In the beginning — as the Scroll of Tenusaniar tells us — the People were few, and weak, and powerless… and easily impressed. So it came to be that when the Aldenat’ came upon them, the people worshiped them nearly as gods.
“And godlike were the powers of the Aldenat’. They healed the sick. They brought new ways to farm, to feed ourselves. They brought a message of peace and love and the People heard their words and became as their children. The Aldenat’ brought wonders beyond imagining.”
“Beyond imagining,” intoned the crowd in response.
“And the people flourished,” continued Bin’ar’rastemon. “Their numbers grew and grew and they were content in the service of their gods, the Aldenat’.
“Yet, in time, some of the people questioned. They questioned everything. And always the answer of the Aldenat’ was the same: ‘We know, and you know not.’
“The people who asked, the Knowers, complained, ‘The planets you have given to us cannot support our growing population.’ The Aldenat’ answered, ‘We know, and you know not.’
“The Knowers asked, ‘Is there not a better way to move from star to star?’ The Aldenat’ answered, ‘We know, and you know not.’
“The Knowers observed, ‘All of life is a struggle. And yet you have forbidden us to join in that struggle. Are we then, even alive?’ The Aldenat’ answered, ‘We know, and you know not.’ ”
Again the assembly recited, “They said they knew, and they knew not.”
Bin’ar’rastemon rejoined, “They knew not.”
“And those of the People called the ‘Knowers’ rebelled in time. And there was war between and among the People. And the Aldenat’ knew it not. And there was slaughter. And the Aldenat’ admitted it not. And there was fire and death. And the Aldenat’ turned their faces from it, seeing it not…”
Part II
Chapter 5
They came into normal space spitting fire and death. They were met in the cold, hard vacuum by Task Fleet 4.2, Supermonitor Lexington and her American crew in the van. The Lexington hurled back death with defiance. Likewise with nuclear weapons, antimatter, kinetic energy projectiles, and high-energy plasma.
It was all for naught. Though Posleen died by the millions, the Lexington — the “Lady Lex” — and her escorts held the line for scant days before succumbing to the masses of fanatically driven Posleen.
Soon space around Titan Base became a battlefield, the battle lending yet more scrap metal and scorched and frozen flesh to space. That battle, too, was lost. The seemingly endless fleet of Posleen pressed on to ravage and raze an Earth that trembled at their approach.
Wäller Kaserne, Westerburg, Germany, 26 March 2007
An unshaven, yet unshaken, Mühlenkampf growled darkly at the images presented on his screen, “They’re coming right through. The Amis couldn’t stop them; could hardly even slow them. Neither could the base.”
And aide standing nearby answered, brightly, “We will stop them, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“Of course we will, Rolf,” he told the aide, with more confidence than he truly felt. The projected numbers were daunting. “Sound the recall. Code ‘Gericht.’[30] All troops to assemble at their battle positions and assembly areas.”
Giessen, Germany, 26 March 2007
Her name meant “battler” or “battle maiden.” Yet if ever a girl was misnamed, thought Dieter, that girl was Gudrun. Tall and slender, from golden hair to ivory skin to long and shapely legs, Gudrun evoked no image of battle. Gracefully she walked, as a woman, though Dieter suspected she was rather young, sixteen at most.
Schultz had seen her, once before, here at the soldiers’ recreation center that served the troops in and around the city of Giessen. He had seen her, the once, and he had come back every chance he had from then to now in the hopes of seeing her again.
And now — had God above smiled upon him? — the girl actually sat at the table nearest to his. Close up Dieter found her even lovelier than he had at a distance; this despite a fairly obvious attempt at portraying a sophistication the girl probably lacked. She pulled a cigarette out, and held it, nonchalantly, awaiting someone to light it.