Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

“I trust that High Commander Waffing has already briefed you on the basic situation,” Feric began.

Forman regarded him somewhat coldly. “I’ve been given to understand that your men have occupied the Palace of State for the purpose of thwarting a Universalist plot in which the Council itself was implicated,” the Field Marshall said cautiously.

“Events have progressed swiftly,” Feric said. “The filthy cabal has already been dealt with. Gelbart was a Dom; all the Councillors save myself were enmeshed in his pattern.

Gelbart’s plan was to vote a ban on the SS and the Knights of the Swastika. I’m mortified to have to say that the Knight Commandant Stag Stopa was implicated in the plot. His men were to have then slain the Star Command, thus precipitating a ruinous civil war between the Sons of the Swastika and the army. The patriotic forces of Heldon would then be so decimated that the hordes of Zind could then march upon us and annihilate the true human genotype.

Naturally, when the SS uncovered this plot, I ordered my men into action at once. Gelbart was slain, and the wretched Councillors confessed.”

Feric reached into a tunic pocket and withdrew a series of documents which he passed over to Forman, who accepted them without comment. “Their signed confessions may be inspected at leisure by the Star Command,” he said. “Before’ resigning, the Councillors unanimously passed a resolution suspending the constitution and granting me the power to rule by decree. I have assumed the title of Supreme Commander of the Domain of Heldon and have appointed sturdy patriots of unquestioned loyalty to Heldon and total devotion to racial purity to the vacant Council seats. The emergency is now past.”

“What of the traitors?” Forman inquired evenly.

“Stopa has yet to be dealt with,” Feric said, “but my very first act as Supreme Commander of Heldon was to have the whole foul lot of Council swine shot.”

For the first time, there was a modest display of emotion on the Field Marshal’s face: a certain soldierly approval for a task well and smartly done. “I’m not quite sure why I’m here. Commander Jaggar,” he said. “You obviously have the situation well in hand. Provided all is as you say it is, the Star Command is ready to accept you as rightful ruler of Heldon; I say this as a representative with full plenipotentiary powers.”

Feric gave Waning an approving side-glance, which Waning acknowledged with a nod; the High Commander had done his job well. Forman had the power to make a binding bargain and understood the situation precisely, so that neither party would have to resort to crudities.

“There is only one aspect of this matter that vexes the Star Command,” Forman went on. “You yourself are unquestionably a man of superior quality, and we expect that as Supreme Commander of Heldon you will be far more sympathetic to the aims of the military than the late Libertarian rabble ever was. However, Tm afraid I must inform you that the Star Command considers the continued existence of a full-scale private army like the Knights totally unacceptable, and all the more so in light of the fact that its commander was engaged in a plot against Heldon. There can be only one Holder army; over this point, we are ready to fight to the death.”

“Fairly spoken!” Feric replied approvingly. “Obviously, recent events have convinced me of the wisdom of such a position. The matter of Stopa and the traitors within the Knights must be dealt with in any case, and you’ve just suggested the proper course of action.”

“Do continue,” Forman said with unabashed interest.

“The Knights will be dissolved. The bulk of the men, that is to say those innocent of all wrongdoing, shall be offered enlistment in the regular army. Would you agree?”

“We can always use sturdy, well-trained lads,” Forman said. “I see no reason why the bulk of the Knights should be barred from military service by the perfidy of the few.”

“The SS will continue to exist as an elite force,” Feric said. “As you know, the genetic, intellectual, physical, and ideological standards of the SS are the highest possible.

Thus, the strength of the SS will never approach that of the army. On this, you have my sacred word.”

“Accepted,” Forman said simply.

“Finally, I shall appoint High Commander Waning Minister of Security Forces. Although this has traditionally been a civilian post, Waffing will become a Field Marshall to make it clear that the relationship between the army and the Supreme Commander will be warm and intimate.”

At this, Forman finally cracked a smile. He rose to his feet. “In the name of the Star Command, I pledge our loyalty to the new Supreme Commander of Heldon.” The Field Marshall clicked his heels smartly and gave the Party salute. “Hail Jaggar!” he declared.

Feric arose and returned the salute, choked with emotion. What a fine moment this was for Heldon—the Swastika and the army united at last! Together, they would sweep across the earth!

“If you wish the army to deal with Stopa and his clique, you have only to give the order,” Forman said.

A certain heaviness crowded aside the elation that filled Peric’s heart; the perfidy of Stopa and the ex-Avengers weighed down his soul with sorrow. It would be less personally painful for him to turn the matter over to the army; certainly, the temptation was there. But the Party must discipline its own.

“I must decline the offer,” Feric said sadly. “These men have betrayed the Swastika. We owe it to ourselves and to Heldon to purge our own ranks of any contaminating elements.”

“I understand the courage it takes to make such a decision,” Forman said. “Yes, a man must maintain his own iron discipline within his command.”

In the cold bleak hours before dawn, Feric himself led an SS convoy through the silent empty streets of Heldhime and out into the slumbering countryside toward the Knights’ barracks. Honor demanded no less than this, for Stopa had sworn loyalty to Heldon and to Feric’s own person. Feric felt the same social obligation as the owner of a dog gone rabid: it was his duty to put the creature out of its torment by his own hand.

For this mission, Feric had armed a mere three hundred SS men with submachine guns and truncheons and loaded them into trucks. Three hundred crack elite SS troops operating in quiet and stealth could perform a surgical excision, whereas a massed attack would precipitate a bloody battle in which many salvageable Knights would be lost.

Therefore, when the truck convoy was yet two miles from the Knight encampment, Feric ordered a halt, had the men disembark, and led them across the dewy fields on foot, with Waning and Remler close by his side. There was not a murmur of complaint from even a single one of these fine young heroes; only Waning left his seat for his feet with something less than total enthusiasm. It lifted some of the weight from Feric’s soul to see the proud but decidedly out-of-shape High Commander puffing and blowing to keep pace with his own powerful strides, clearly discomforted by the strenuous pace, but never dreaming of mentioning it.

Feric had located the Knights’ compound atop a small knoll overlooking the road to Heldhime so that it would be as difficult to attack by surprise as possible. Now be himself was suffering the keen edge of his own military acumen. He formed his men up into attack squads in a deeply shadowed hollow at the base of the knoll and pondered the situation. Atop the knoll, the wooden barracks were surrounded by an electrified fence; there was a high tower at each comer of the compound mounting a searchlight and a machine gun, and guards patrolled the perimeter at very short intervals. The gate was also electrified and guarded by machine gunners. Feric knew all too well how impregnable such a fortification was, since he had designed it himself. There was nothing to do but take the place through sheer force of will.