Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

Since Party headquarters was quite literally a giant red flag in the face of the Universalist scum, suitable security precautions had been taken. A squad of uniformed Knights armed with pistols and truncheons stood along the walkway, screening the entrance from the street at every hour of the night and day. Four more guards stood by the door itself at all times. On the roof of the building were four machine-gun positions, constantly manned, and covering every approach. Patrols of six Knights each marched regularly around the building in short intervals, day and night. Inside, every floor was constantly patrolled by armed Knights, and the fourth floor itself could only be entered by two staircases, both of which were protected by machine gunners.

Across a side street from the headquarters, a vacant lot had been surrounded by a high wire fence through which coursed a powerful electric current generated by a steam engine within the perimeter. The headquarters garrison of Knights lived inside this compound in a series of low wooden barracks. Two hundred motorcyclists and their steeds were included in this complement. In the event of an attack on Party headquarters, the scum would be caught between the men in the building and these motorized storm troops and crushed utterly. It might even be possible to fend off an attack by elements of the regular army for an extended period.

The fourth floor itself had been divided up into a series of offices, meeting rooms, and bedrooms. While Stag Stopa bunked with the Knights in the compound, and the other Party officials dwelled in then” own private homes, Feric himself slept in a bedroom adjacent to his office, and Bogel too occupied similar accommodations. In addition, Ludolf Best, a keen young fellow whose intelligence and devotion both to the cause and to Feric’s own person made him the ideal personal assistant, also slept within the headquarters, where he could be instantly at his master’s service at any hour.

Feric’s office, though of course the largest in the Party headquarters, was kept deliberately austere. The walls were of rough-hewn wood like those of a military barracks; ceiling and floor were of plaster and tile respectively, both painted red, with the black swastika in the white circle at their geometric centers. There were three rows of wooden benches facing Feric’s plain oaken desk so that he could easily brief fair-sized groups here when necessary.

On the desk itself, the Great Truncheon of Held lay on a tray covered in black velvet. This, the black drapery around the two windows, the large Party flag hung as a tapestry behind Feric’s desk, and a huge oil painting of the Battle of Roost were the office’s only decorations.

At considerable expense a private television set had been purchased at Bogel’s insistence. This was a plain steel box with a glass face that sat inconspicuously in one comer of the room. Now Feric and Bogel sat on one of the benches utilizing this expensive device for the first time.

“You see, Feric, the expense is well worth it,” Bogel insisted for the tenth time. “With this receiver, we can see every public television broadcast; valuable information can be gained in this manner.”

Feric somewhat dubiously watched the Finance Minister delivering a tedious economic report on the official noon news broadcast. The point of all this still eluded him; the public television broadcasts were controlled entirely by the present decadent regime. There was no doubt that television broadcasts were a propaganda tool of immense potential, reaching as they did public television receivers in every public square in Heldon. But since the government had absolute control of this means of communication, it seemed impossible that the Party would ever be able to use this latest wonder of Helder science for its own patriotic ends.

Suddenly Feric’s eyes widened in amazement as he perceived his own image, framed against a burning swastika, on the television screen. Over the speaker came not Feric’s voice, but that of the official commentator: “... this third mass rally of the Sons of the Swastika in as many weeks was to end in the tragedy of violence....”

The screen now showed the Emerald Promenade choked from walkway to walkway with citizens, all wearing swastika armbands, many waving torches aloft. Scores of red swastika flags were visible, borne triumphantly aloft over the mass procession.

“The stupidity of the Libertarian regime astounds me, Bogel!” Peric exclaimed. “It appears that we have only to hand these cretins shovels and they will gladly dig their own mass grave.”

“From their point of view, they’re educating the people against a menace to the state,” Bogel said wryly. “Certainly, they’re doing their best to make all Heldon aware of our existence!”

Now the screen showed a tight formation of Knights leading the people through the streets on their colorful motorcycles, clad in their trim brown uniforms and flaming scarlet capes.

“ ... proceeded peacefully until the demonstrators reached Graytown, where they were met by flying squads of Universalist hooligans....”

The sordid environs of Graytown were visible now as the Sons of the Swastika surged through the filthy streets.

Suddenly, a squad of men, all poorly dressed and thoroughly begrimed and armed with an assortment of clubs and knives, erupted from a side street and tore into the press of unarmed citizens. Instantly, a dozen or more Knights whirled their machines around and set after these cowardly wretches with their long steel truncheons. Those few Universalist thugs who were not felled in a minute or so of smart action fled howling from the scene with gashed heads bleeding.

Although the government commentator went prattling on about Swastika gangs and Universalist hooligans settling their differences in the streets to the detriment of the body politic, Feric knew full well that the good Helder watching the spectacle in public squares throughout all Heldon would pay more heed to their own eyes than to the ravings of some government jackanapes, and what they saw was the Swastika triumphant. So far had putrescence set in in the brainpans of the racial traitors that they were broadcasting Swastika propaganda without even knowing it, since the sight of massed men behind the ensign of the Swastika, and these gloriously triumphant, spoke to the heart, while the best that the stale condemnation of the prim announcer could arouse was a certain biliousness in the viewers’ stomachs.

“There must be some way to dupe these morons into granting the Party some access to the public airwaves,” Feric said. “If we could broadcast our own propaganda to every square in Heldon, we could sweep the degenerates out of power and into the sewage heap where they belong in a month or two.”

“As it is, we still have ways of at least getting our spectacles shown,” Bogel pointed out.

Feric grinned and nodded. “A few dead Universalists in the gutter after a rally, and television coverage is virtually assured!”

As Bogel turned off the television receiver, Ludolf Best, a slim, intense, blond young specimen of true humanity,” quite dashing in his trim black Party leathers and scarlet cloak, entered the office, walked smartly up to Feric, clicked his heels, gave the salutation, saluted, and stood at rigid attention.

“What is it. Best?”

“My Commander, Brigadier Lar Waffing is here and requests an immediate audience.”

“What do you know of this Waffing, Bogel?” Feric inquired.

“An important figure,” Bogel replied. “A commander of aerial dreadnaughts during the war, quite a young hero.

Although his family has considerable wealth, he successfully pursued a military career after the war, before finally resigning his brigadier’s position as a protest against the weak-kneed policies of the present regime.”