John Shirley - A Song Called Youth

Smoke felt a thrill of fear and thought, I’m scared of dying. How long has it been since I felt that way? What’s happening to me?

The sound of the jumpjet, the rumble, the drone… died away.

Steinfeld looked at his hands. He took a deep breath, and went on. “The third world recruits were obtained mostly from right-wing dictators in Central and South America. And then certain factions of Indians, anti-Semitic Pakistanis, Eastern Europeans—there are a good many Nazi Serbs around… But the real core of the SA, its initiate administration, were American right-wing extremists—including sympathizers in the CIA—British, Dutch, and a great many Afrikaners. There are thousands of them… They’re a separate division of the Alliance, elite troops. The division has a German name which translates as ‘Men Chosen to Die First.’ The SA’s administration is uniformly white. Bravado, you see. Fanaticism. White South Africans from the elite are in charge of the lesser divisions. And the lesser divisions are made up of Spaniards, Italians, Guatemalans, anti-Communist Cuban nationalists…”

“Perhaps this is the wedge,” Yukio said. Said it succinctly and at just the right moment, a fine and definitive brushstroke. So like him, Smoke thought.

Voortoven nodded and said, “We have men within the—”

Steinfeld cut him off with a glare—Hard-Eyes and Jenkins weren’t yet trusted.

Hard-Eyes and Jenkins glanced at one another.

Suddenly everyone in the room knew that if Steinfeld decided he could not trust Hard-Eyes and Jenkins, he would have them killed. And this would not have been the case before Voortoven had said, in that particular context, We have men within …

Men in place, moles in the Second Alliance, who hope to drive a wedge between the “colored” divisions and their white administrators. It wasn’t necessary to say it aloud now.

Steinfeld looked at Hard-Eyes a touch apologetically.

Smoke could see Hard-Eyes’ knuckles whitening on the big rifle.

Jenkins had picked up on the tension. He watched Hard-Eyes for a cue.

Voortoven and Willow and Yukio looked to Steinfeld.

Smoke prepared to throw himself aside. His preparation showed only in his reaching, almost languidly, to lay a hand on the crow, so it wouldn’t fly away if he had to throw himself down when the shooting started.

Steinfeld opted to go on as if nothing had happened. Continuing the lecture was a way to reassure them. A way to say, Wait and see.

“Predinger is said to have died recently, though there are conflicting rumors about that. At any rate, Crandall and his sister have been elevated to supreme command of the SA—”

“ His sister? ” Hard-Eyes’ surprise drew tension out of the air. There was soft laughter from Voortoven and Willow.

“His sister,” Smoke confirmed. “Ellen Mae Crandall. Apparently she’s been a driving organizational force. She did all the dickering when he was first syndicated.”

Steinfeld nodded. “They come from a strict Southern Baptist family. Crandall’s the spiritual leader of the SA, but for the most part he no longer makes public appearances as a minister—outside the SA. Crandall is the SA’s Commander in Chief, though his main military strategist is a man named Watson. A former colonel who worked for the neo-racist underground trying to undermine post-Mandela South Africa… The SAISC had its first field-military testing in rural parts of South Africa. They didn’t prove out, there, but they learned from it. They’ve proven themselves militarily putting down insurrections in Pakistan, Ethiopia, Guatemala…”

Hard-Eyes showed a touch of impatience, interrupting, “And NATO plans to turn most of Western Europe over to these people? This… this cover organization for neo-Nazis? Just like that?”

“They’re calling the SA a ‘non-Allied security force.’ They’re maintaining that—and some of them believe it—they’re simply hiring a large international security corporation to keep the peace until full political order is restored. They’re desperate for order… which is roughly why the National Socialists were able to come to power in Germany in the 1930s. People were desperate for stability. Hitler promised everyone economic growth. He promised an end to the political chaos of the Weimar Republic. He promised to reunite Germany.”

“Oh, you can’t really believe it’s… like that.”

“Not entirely. It’s a little cleverer than that. The men in European and American government—especially the Americans and the British—who support ‘the SA arrangement,’ are part of the new crop of anti-Semites and racists. It’s been a growing resurgence for decades. Apologists for fascism like the French New Right, the British National Front. In America, the Council of Conservative Citizens and the US Labor Party… the Unification Church… others. The SA has been using its media contacts—bought with Predinger’s money—for eight years to create an impression of a Jewish conspiracy on which to blame the world’s misfortunes… And they blame domestic crime on immigrants…”

Hard-Eyes nodded slowly. “I saw some of that on American TV… None of it real obvious stuff, but… almost subliminal sometimes.”

Willow said, “Bloody SA’s ‘police force’ is in Italy, Germany, Britain, Belgium, Spain. France soon enough. And ’ere, mate. ’Ere.”

“And you think,” Hard-Eyes said, looking at Steinfeld closely, “that they and the NATO people who put them in place are setting up some kind of coup?”

Steinfeld nodded. “A military coup for the whole of Western Europe.”

There was silence, except for the creak of bodies shifting on chairs. Then, Jenkins asked, “Just how closely in Hitler’s footsteps you think these people are gonna follow?”

Steinfeld took a deep breath. “Where they are in place, they have already isolated Jews and blacks and Muslims into barricaded sections of the towns. Crandall is said to hate Muslims even more than Jews…”

Hard-Eyes snorted and shook his head. “If it’s true… what do you think you’re going to do about it?”

Steinfeld shrugged. “You know already. A guerrilla war. You want to know more about our strategy?”

Hard-Eyes nodded.

Steinfeld shook his head. “No.”

And once again, the men in the room looked to their respective masters for their cues.

That’s when a man Smoke didn’t know came in. He was a slender black man who wore horn-rim glasses on his nose and field glasses around his neck. There was a submachine gun on a strap over his shoulder. He turned to Steinfeld and then realized that what he had to announce should be said to everyone. He looked around at them and then said carefully, “Jorge got it on the radio. The Russians have blockaded the Colony. The space Colony. Orbital battle stations have gone on full alert.”

And once more, every man thought the same thing, so that no one actually said it: Maybe it’s finally coming.

There was always a feeling that any plans you made, any hopes you drummed up, were empty. Hollow. Like plucking fruit and cutting it open to find it dried out inside. Because it was assumed that, sooner or later, the conventional war would heat up into a nuclear war. And maybe that wouldn’t be the end of the world. But it would be close enough.

Steinfeld was the first to shake off the paralysis of despair. “Another escalation.” He shrugged. “But it’s just taking the conventional war to a new battlefield.”

Jenkins shook his head. “What’s the point? What’s the point of fighting for what’s going to be radioactive ashes in a few months?”

Hard-Eyes said, “Maybe it’s—”

He broke off, staring at the window. They all heard it. A jumpjet. Close this time. Close. The Armies.