Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

Moreover, as the fleeing ruffians poured onto Ophal Street, Stopa’s motorcyclists suddenly poured forth from every side street and alley, and behind them came Knights on foot with chains and truncheons. The rabble was caught between the hammer and the anvil.

Small groups of the enemy fled disjointedly in all directions, only to be run down by motorcycle squads and then knocked senseless by foot troopers. Those who managed to escape the immediate environs of Oak’ Park into the flaming ruins of Borburg were not pursued. But all the Universalist scum still within the confines of the four streets bordering the park were broken down into smaller and smaller groups and smashed to pieces.

Since a few minutes of public television time remained after the last of the Universalists had been either slain, knocked senseless, or driven from the vicinity of Oak Park, Feric had the command car driven to the park’s geometric center. Around him, the motorized SS, their engines idling, their black leather soiled with the honorable blood and dust of battle, formed a circle of honor. Facing their mounted comrades stood a rank of five hundred SS foot soldiers at rigid attention. Behind this elite guard were first the ranks of Knight motorcyclists, and then the massed might of thousands of Knights of the Swastika, all heroic figures swaggering grandly in their uniforms of brown leather, most of which were liberally spattered with the blood of the enemy.’

All around this victorious army lay the evidence of its prowess, ruthless fanaticism, and glorious victory. The bodies of Universalists and Dominators were strewn all over the park, singly and in great bloody heaps. Beyond the park, great billowing flames burned the last traces of pestilence out of the Borburg warrens.

Feric was handed a microphone as he stood on the seat of his command car to address his victorious troops. When he spoke, his voice reverberated throughout the High Republic as well as in the echoing streets of captured Borburg.

“Fellow Helder, I salute you! This great and glorious victory we have won today will live forever in the hearts of true humans everywhere. Hail Heldon! Hail the pure human genotype! Hail the total victory of the Swastika!”

The answering roar of “Hail Jaggar” shook all Heldon to its very foundations, and the men could not be restrained from repeating it a dozen times, each time with the jaunty clicking of the heels of thousands of boots, and a forest of Party salutes that challenged the heavens.

When the fervent cheering finally subsided, the final election rally drew to a solemn close with the massed singing of the new Party anthem, “The Swastika is Forever,” which Feric had written for the occasion. The noble strains of this grand martial tune, coming as they did strictly from the throats of victorious heroes, were a note of sufficient dignity with which to close the day’s proceedings.

After the crashing success of the Oak Park election rally, the remaining three days of the election campaign became nothing more than a victorious promenade for the Sons of the Swastika; the election of Feric Jaggar to the Council of State by the greatest margin in history was never again in serious doubt.

As the gas cars of the Council members began pulling up to the formal entrance to the Palace of State, the scene was set for a truly historic moment. The first meeting of a newly elected Council of State was always an event of prime importance, but this particular first meeting would be the first direct confrontation of the degenerate old order with the hero of the dawning New Age, Feric Jaggar.

It would hardly be an exaggeration to state that the people of Heldon were holding their racial breath.

The Palace itself was a fit setting for such a drama, being an impressive edifice of black marble, set off with four heroic bronze bas-reliefs of great battles in Helder history, one on each face of the building. The formal entrance faced Heldon Boulevard across a broad expanse of immaculate lawn. A long driveway curved gracefully up the gentle slope of the lawn to the entrance portico, and then returned in a curve of similar grace to the public boulevard, where a large crowd had gathered on the walkway. A line of army troops in field-gray uniforms and burnished steel helmets kept this throng from spilling over onto the Palace grounds.

The rather plain cars of the Councillors arrived one by one and were escorted up the drive by an honor guard of army motorcyclists. The equally plain-looking politicos disembarked and disappeared into the building, until all had arrived save Feric. The dramatic tension among the people in the crowd on the boulevard, as well as the vast audience watching on television in public squares all over Heldon, built to a crescendo as all awaited the climactic appearance of Feric Jaggar.

Finally, the roar of massed motorcycle engines was heard proceeding at speed up the boulevard toward the Palace of State, and, a moment later, Feric’s gleaming black command car appeared behind a squad of ten SS motorcyclists, resplendent in their black leather and red swastika capes, and bearing two huge Party flags at their head. Feric himself, a grand figure in his black-and-scarlet uniform with the dazzling brightwork catching flashes of afternoon sunlight, stood at attention in the rear of the open cabin, braced against the seat before bim with his left arm.

As the convoy turned off the boulevard and barreled up the drive, the good folk lining the walkway broke into spontaneous Party salutes and fervent shouts of “Hail Jaggar!” which continued until the command car had reached the entrance portico. For his part, Feric returned the greeting with an outstretched salute which he maintained until the command car had come to a halt, to the delight of all.

The SS escort dismounted as Feric stepped down from his car, and while six of them remained at rigid attention in front of the short flight of marble stairs, much to the discomfort of the army functionaries, the two flag bearers preceded Feric up the stairs, while the final two SS men formed an honor guard behind him. Just before entering the building, Feric paused, executed a heel-clicking turn, and favored the crowd with another Party salute. To the answering massed chant of “Hail Jaggar!” Feric and his SS escort then entered the Palace of State.

Feric marched down a long hallway with white marble walls, a red, white, and black tiled floor, and a lushly painted ceiling, toward a set of great arched wooden doors decorated with heavy brasswork, flanked on either side by a soldier of the regular army. The steel-soled boots of the SS honor guard beat a crisp martial rhythm on the gleaming tiled floor as the troop approached these ceremonial functionaries. The flag bearers came to a smart halt facing the soldiers with clicks of their heels, a pounding of the ends of their staffs against the tile. Party salutes, and a hearty “Hail Jaggar!” Behind these fine SS men, Feric halted for a moment as the two soldiers, torn between their natural inclination to return the salutation and their pusillanimous orders, hesitated in confusion. Finally, they contented themselves with opening the double doors, and Feric, preceded by his standard bearers and followed by his other two SS guards, marched into the Council chamber.

The chamber was a small rotunda in the center of which was a large round table of gleaming black wood inlaid with white-and-red tile. Nine chairs of a matching style were spaced evenly around the circumference of the table; all save one of them occupied by truely unsavory specimens. These creatures acted like bugs suddenly exposed to the light as Feric and his troops strode into the room, scuttling uneasily in their seats, and openly displaying unmanly consternation. Surrounded by his honor guard, Feric marched to the empty chair and seated himself as the four SS men came to rigid attention behind his seat, clicked their heels, saluted, and roared “Hail Jaggar!”