And then one day a break was announced — a break and a day of thanksgiving, by no lesser personage than the Bundeskanzler himself. Germany was on the way to being saved, so he said, along with significant parts of France, Poland and the Sudetenland. That this was so, noted the chancellor, was due to the diligence of German workers, the intelligence of German scientists… and — first and foremost — the courage of German soldiers.
Of these, the Kanzler singled out two groups. The first of these was the research and development team now laboring on the Tiger III, Ausfürung B project. The second was the group which had, at one time or another, fought on every front. This group had been the rock against which Posleen assault had dashed in vain. This was the group that had shown fortitude amidst every defeat, courage despite every loss, determination over the worst odds.
This group was the Forty Seventh Panzer Korps. And to them, the Kanzler both gave and promised some signal honors.
The chancellor also had some interesting words to say concerning treason.
Berlin, Germany, 7 May 2007
I suppose it is for the best, thought the Tir. And I have never liked this cold, gray, ugly city, anyway. Less still their nasty language — an excuse for them to spit at each other under the guise of polite conversation.
But, he mentally sighed, I was so looking forward to the rewards of the job.
The message had come by special courier directly from the Ghin. The Berlin operation was to be shut down and all Darhel personnel withdrawn before the humans drew all the logical conclusions and came for them with implements of pain.
A week the Tir had, a mere seven cycles of this planet about its axis, to shut down his operations. Being a good businessman, in Darhel mode — which is to say honest in all that could be seen, dishonest in all else, the Tir had to evacuate his underlings and a select list of those that were important to them. That, as much as anything, would ensure the ruin of his plans for this miserable “Deutschland” place.
He was so sure that downloading the humans’ plans and dispositions to the Net would make the difference, would see these humans thrashed and… well… threshed. But it was all for naught. The plans had changed too quickly, even as he was having the information downloaded it had been becoming obsolete. Damn these quick-thinking omnivores. Damn especially those vile SS humans whom even their own side could not control or predict.
Why, WHY, WHY hadn’t these damned Germans been like the French? A logical people, in so many ways, the French. And their politicians were so vain and easy to manipulate through flattery and feeding their paranoia. Damn the Germans to the Hell of their superstitions.
Demotion, disgrace, reduction in salary, loss of bonuses and options… the Tir would have wept like a human if only he could have. He would be lucky not to be reduced to an entry level position.
Absently, his mind seething dangerously, the Tir used his inappropriate carnivore’s teeth to rend sticks of vegetable matter placed on a tray before him. The food never really satisfied, but he, like all Darhel, was forbidden the animal protein he, and they, craved. Lintatai was the result of eating the forbidden foods.
Boredom and disgust was the result of feeding on the permissible.
Interlude
It was time for a feast, for an honoring of the fallen and celebration of the victories won. A people of somewhat primitive instincts, amidst great roaring bonfires the Posleen God Kings gathered on an island in the middle of a river flowing through what once had been the capitol of the former inhabitants of this realm. The fires cast an eerie, shifting glow upon God Kings and waters both.
Around the celebrants, where once had stood a mighty city, it was as though the hand of some rampaging giant on a scale beyond imagining had scraped the Earth raw. Thresh architecture had, generally speaking, no value except as a source of raw materials. All buildings must be erased to make room for Posleen settlers, Posleen civilization.
One major exception existed. By and large, elements of a thresh transportation net were left intact wherever Posleen conquered. A road was a road, after all.
Especially noteworthy was the Posleen penchant for leaving bridges extant. Generally speaking, the Posleen didn’t handle water well and were glad to make use of such bridges as could be taken intact.
Upon the cobblestones of one such bridge clattered the claws of Athenalras and such of his staff as he wished to personally honor, including Ro’moloristen. Torches glowing to either side cast their light on Posleen… and on a herd of thresh meant to serve as the evening’s provender.
For this celebration, nothing but the best would do. The thresh for the feast had been selected for youth and tenderness. The replicators aboard the ships of the People had poured forth the mild intoxicants that only God Kings partook of, and they — as a rule — but sparingly.
Glistening with the sweat of fear in the torchlight, the young thresh wept and bewailed their impending fate. The flickering torches shone on the tears of terror.
Part III
Chapter 10
Berlin, Germany, 6 June 2007
“Herr Bundeskanzler,” Mühlenkampf bowed his head slightly while clicking his heels. “You wished to see me?”
“I have another mission for you, Herr General.”
“How can that be,” Mühlenkampf asked duplicitously, “beyond preparing my Korps for the next onslaught?” The general was very sure indeed as to what mission the leader of Germany had in mind.
The Kanzler rarely enjoyed games. Especially did he not now, now that his people’s future hung in the balance. He said as much, adding, “Germany has enemies, enemies she has nurtured at her own breast. They cannot be allowed to sabotage us any longer.
“No, damn them!” fumed the Kanzler. “Nor will they until about five percent of them are removed from office!”
“Well, Herr Kanzler, surely your precious democratic constitution has provisions…”
“Not for this, General. Not for what must be done now.”
“Ohhh, I see. You want my Korps to break the law, do you?”
The chancellor glared. “Desperate times, General…”
Mühlenkampf smiled broadly and happily. “There will be a price for this, Herr Kanzler.”
The chancellor had been prepared for this. He opened a drawer, causing the general to stiffen momentarily. From the drawer he withdrew a small rectangle of black cloth, embroidered with silver thread. “I have had two hundred thousand of these made. The Treasury will pay for as many more as you need. Is this a fair enough price?”
Mühlenkampf’s smile disappeared for a moment, his face growing as serious as the snows of Russian, as the falling naval gun shells of Normandy. “To give my people back their pride and their dignity, Herr Kanzler? To let them be publicly proud of what they once were, soldiers, and among the best? Yes, sir. The price is fair.”
Berlin, Germany, 12 July 2007