Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

Three weeks after the election, Feric called a meeting in his private sitting room to firm up final plans for dealing with the Dominator-controlled Council. This was a somewhat grandiose chamber, all blue paint, rich tapestries, and ornate giltwork, which Feric favored solely for the large balcony from which the night view of Heldhime was a carpet of the light resplendent under the dark grandeur of the heavens. Feric, Bogel, Waffing, and Best sat in plush chairs around a round rosewood table over tankards of ale, awaiting the uncharacteristically tardy Remler.

“As I see it,” Bogel said, “our problem is to seize power behind a facade of legalism so that there will be no question of whose orders the army will carry out. Would not the Star Command instantly accept Feric as absolute ruler of Heldon if there were sufficient legal pretext?”

This had been addressed to Lar Waffing, who took a long drink of ale while pondering his response. Laying his wooden tankard down on the table and refilling it from the small keg thereon, he delivered his considered opinion.

“No doubt at all that the Star Command wants a Heldon under the Swastika, for we’re the only ones that promise the action that all good soldiers crave,” Waffing said. “However, the generals are pledged to defend the lawful government of Heldon and pride will not permit them to betray their honor. Forceful action at this time might very well precipitate civil war.”

Feric was sorely vexed by the situation. Gelbart had formulated an ordinance calling for the disarming of the SS and the disbanding of the Knights; once his slaveys had passed it, the fat would really be in the fire. Clearly, it would be best to strike before events placed the Star Command in a position where their only choices were open capitulation to Party force or the initiation of civil war. Still, an out-and-out coup would confront the army with the same situation!

“Further,” Waning said, “the Star Command is growing quite uneasy about the Knights and Stag Stopa. They see that Stopa retains a certain personal following since his lieutenants are all ex-Avengers with loyalty—”

Suddenly, Bors Remler burst into the room, his thin face flushed, and almost feverish, his blue eyes burning.

“What’s taken you so long to—”

“My Commander,” Remler said excitedly, as he threw himself into the chair at Feric’s left hand, “I must report the existence of a plot against your person and the Party by Stag Stopa in collusion with the Council of State!”

“What?”

The words fairly poured out of the SS Commandant. “I had taken the precaution of secreting SS agents in the hierarchy of the Knights as a matter of course,” he said.

“Tonight I received a report of the utmost urgency. Stopa has met with agents of Gelbart and possibly of Zind as well. A squad of uniformed Knights will slay the Star Command the night the resolution banning the Party storm troops is passed. This will goad the army into civil war against the Party. Apparently; Stopa has been promised supreme military command by Gelbart after the hostilities have been concluded; possibly Zind has offered him the position of overlord of Heldon, for surely the result of such a civil war will be the destruction of the bulk of the fighting forces of Heldon, leaving us open to easy conquest by the hordes of Zind. No doubt Stopa will be slain by Zind agents during the confusion; he is too na?ve to realize this.”

A great collective gasp was clearly audible when Remler had finished. For his part, Feric was deeply hurt and shocked. “I’ve never doubted Stopa’s loyalty to the cause and to my person!” he declared.

“I have ample proof, my Commander!” Remler insisted.

“I don’t for a moment doubt it,” Feric assured him.

“But I’m surprised and troubled by this development.

Obviously, Stopa must be dealt with, but I take no pleasure in the necessity.”

Although there was no denying that it would pain him deeply to be forced to deal with Stopa as a traitor, there was no denying that his first and only loyalty had to be to the Swastika and the cause of genetic purity. Stopa was a traitor who stood in the way of victory; duty could not always coincide with personal pleasure. Further, this whole unfortunate business might be put to pragmatic use.

Feric spoke to Lar Waning. “Assuming that the Star Command’s qualms about the Knights could be settled once and for all, would they accept me as absolute ruler of Heldon without demur, providing that such powers were granted to me by a legally constituted Council of State?”

“Under those circumstances, there would be no doubt about it, my Commander!”

“How do you propose to accomplish such a great feat of legerdemain, Feric?” Bogel asked. “Those wretches would as soon vote themselves out of office and onto a dung heap!”

“My dear Bogel,” Feric rejoined, “that will be precisely their destination before the week is out. Within five days, the Swastika will reign supreme over all Heldon!”

“I’ll drink to that!” Waning declared.

“You’ll drink to anything, Waffing!” Bogel japed. At this, all present, including the portly Waning himself, burst into hearty laughter.

As the sun went down behind the towers of Heldhime spreading deep shadows over the streets and painting the high stone wall of the Party headquarters compound a fiery orange, squads of SS men wearing their black leather uniforms, but riding in plain unmarked cars, left through the main gate at five-minute intervals. Each squad consisted of six troopers armed with submachine guns and truncheons; eight squads in all left the compound and melted into the dusk of the capital.

Two hours later, when night was fully upon the city, a final unmarked car left the compound, followed five minutes later by forty sleek black SS motorcycles.

The grounds of. the Palace of State lay in semi-darkness; only a skeleton honor guard of some dozen soldiers patrolled the environs of the empty Palace at this late hour. Two of these men were stationed at the Heldon Boulevard gate, four more at the entrance to the Palace itself; the other six walked solitary watches along the perimeter of the fence surrounding the grounds. No one dreamed of an attempt to seize the Palace at such a time, since there was nothing and no one within worth seizing; the soldiers who drew this duty were for the most part careerists nearing retirement rather than alert and vigorous young lads.

Thus it was no trick at all for the SS to seize control of the Palace of State from this handful of time servers. An unmarked car holding four SS men in civilian tunics drove up to the gate and demanded admittance, claiming to have authorization from Councilor Krull to remove some books and papers he desired for study. When one of the guards stuck his head inside the car, he found himself staring down the oiled iron barrel of a submachine gun. It was therefore easy enough to persuade the fellow to draw over his companion on the pretext that confirmation of the authenticity of the certificate of authorization was needed.

The two were trussed up nicely and tossed in the back of the car while one of the SS men opened the gate.

Once this had been accomplished, the need for stealth was removed; a signal was given and in the darkness of a nearby side street, two-score motorcycle engines were kicked into life. Before the remaining soldiers could respond to this sudden hubbub with anything more forceful than confusion and alarm, forty black SS motorcycles came roaring up the drive at eighty miles an hour. They reached the Palace entrance with such blinding speed and such a spectacle of forceful vigor that the four hapless wretches at the foot of the stairs did not so much as get off a shot before they were felled by SS truncheons. After that, it was an easy matter to round up the six isolated sentries, who had been thrown into a state of terror, and confine (hem under guard in the basement of the building with the other prisoners.