Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

The contempt for all things human characteristic of the monstrosities blazed in the alien reptilian eyes like a dying ember. The creature spotted Feric and snarled defiance.

“May you die choking in your manure, worthless meat!” it rasped. “May your genes be scattered to the winds!” It coughed up a large bubble of blood and expired.

“You noticed the accent, my Commander?” Remler asked.

Feric nodded. “From Zind itself!”

Feric surveyed the roomful of dead traitors, though perhaps many of them were as much victims as villians, dominated by an actual agent from Zind. A good thing that the blow had been struck when it had! Zind must indeed be girding for an early war if the swine dared this much. The danger was more immanent than anyone had dreamed.

“My Commander!” an SS man shouted. “The building is surrounded by Knights!”

“Come on, Waffingi” Feric said, and the two of them dashed outside to face a veritable sea of confused Knights, some in uniform, some half-dressed, some armed with rifles or submachine guns or truncheons, others standing around like half-wits, empty-handed.

At least when they saw Feric, the ragged horde fell into some semblance of attention. A goodly number gave the Party salute and shouted “Hail Jaggar!” but for the most part there was naught but confusion.

Feric minced no words. “Commandant Stopa and his officers were traitors plotting with Zind and have been executed. High Commander Waffing is now in direct command of both the Knights of the Swastika and the regular army in his new capacity as Field Marshall High Commander of the Security Forces of Heldon.”

He paused for a moment, letting that sink in before giving them the good news; this would make it easier to pull them together.

“The Sons of the Swastika have seized complete control of Heldon,” Feric went on. “I have assumed the title of Supreme Commander of Heldon and I now rule by decree.”

At this, the Knights broke into ragged, but loud and enthusiastic cheering. Feric let it go on for several minutes.

When he judged that the men’s exuberance had had sufficient opportunity for expression, he signaled to Waffing with a nod of his head.

“Attention!” Waffing bellowed like a bull. Almost at once, the cheering troop fell silent, formed into somewhat makeshift ranks, clicked heels, and stood rigidly at attention.

“We have work to do and lots of it!” Waffing told them. “I want this mess cleaned up and the entire camp fit and ready to pass the most rigorous inspection within half an hour. Hail Heldon! Hail Victory! Hail Jaggar!”

Now the response was a mass salute of true military precision, and a chant of “Hail Jaggar!” that left nothing to be desired in the way of spirit or force. The New Age had been bom; the Swastika ruled all Heldon. The threat from within had been crushed, once and for all, and the nation was united behind the Party.

But as he returned the salute, Feric knew full well that his sacred mission was only beginning. Like a vast gangrenous monstrosity, the Empire of Zind loomed on the eastern horizon, ready to burst like a gigantic pustule and engulf humanity in its reeking poison. Tonight, the tentacles of this cancerous mutant mass within the body of Heldon had been lopped off with ruthless force, but there would be no rest for Feric Jaggar and no peace for true humanity until the last foul mutant and monstrous Dom had been expunged from the face of the earth. The entire globe must be purified of all contaminating elements as Heldon had been purified tonight.

Today Heldon, tomorrow the world!

Up on the high reviewing stand in front of the Palace of State, Feric Jaggar stood resplendent in bis black leather uniform, with its scarlet cloak flowing in the breeze, waiting for the grand parade to begin. To his right stood Lar Waffing in the new army uniform—light field-gray with a red swastika cape—and Seph Bogel in his Party uniform; to his left, Ludolf Best, also in trim black leather, and Bors Remler in black leather embellished with the twin red lightning strokes of the SS.

The sun was high in the clear blue sky, and the boulevard had been decorated all along its length with red, white, and black Swastika bunting. The walkways on either side of the street were crammed with robust Helder waving a red sea of Party flags. Television cameras would make the spectacle visible throughout the world, and Feric earnestly hoped its meaning would be loud and clear to the Dominators of Zind.

There was no doubt that Heldon had taken heroic strides during Feric’s first two months as Supreme Commander, and all his High Commanders had a right to feel proud of what they had accomplished.

Bogel had ferreted scores of Universalist sympathizers and even some Doms out of the Ministry of Public Will •and had transformed that nest of pallid pen-pushers into a true weapon of the racial consciousness.

Waffing had seized control of the army with an iron hand, purged the command structure of weaklings and troublemakers, and thoroughly integrated the old Knights into the ranks, where they inspired confidence, spirit, and a sense of patriotic fervor in the ordinary Helder soldier.

Under Feric’s supervision. Best had written a new constitution which vested all power and responsibility in the Supreme Commander, who retained his office at the pleasure of the people of Heldon, who could recall him by plebiscite at any time. Thus would the will of the Supreme Commander and the racial will of Heldon never fail to coincide.

Remler’s task had only begun. Classification Camps were under construction in every region of Heldon and several were already in operation, but the job of reexamining every certificate holder in Heldon was a staggering one and would require a prolonged heroic effort.

The benefits, however, would be worth any sacrifice. When the task was completed, the last Dominator within the boundaries of Heldon would be slain, every inhabitant tainted by a mutated gene would be sterilized or exiled, and the very cream of the gene pool would be concentrated in the SS, which would become the purebred breeding stock of the next stage of true human evolution.

Although Feric could find no fault with the progress made under his leadership, there was little cause for rejoicing at this stage. This parade was not a true celebration, but a display of force primarily for the benefit of the Dominators of Zind. The rumblings from the east grew more ominous every day. SS intelligence had reported the massing of a great horde in the western reaches of Zind, not far from the Wolack border. Whether this mobilization had been meant to coincide with the failed Council plot was not clear, but the Dominators were obviously preparing to march west.

And Heldon was not properly prepared to greet them.

The size of the army had been doubled, but with the exception of the ex-Knights, most of the new soldiers were green recruits. The SS had been expanded to ten thousand men, and these prime specimens were of course more than ready for any task that might be set for them, but there were potentially ten thousand more SS purebreds to be gleaned from the general population through the Classification Camps, and this process would take another four months. A new armaments program had been set into motion, but only half the troops had as yet received the new submachine guns, no more than a score of aerial dreadnaughts had been tamed out, and as for the new light land dreadnaughts, volume production was only just beginning.

Moreover, ammunition for all the new weapons was still in somewhat short supply.

Heldon needed at least four more months before it would be ready to hurl its full force against the barbarian vastness of Zind. It was Peric’s fervent hope that today’s display of armed might would generate enough fear and dismay among the Dominators to delay any westward march for several months; courage was hardly a Dominator strong point.