Armageddon - Leon Uris

For Sean O’Sullivan the moment of sadness came with the betrayal of Andrew Jackson Hansen. At one time Sean believed that Hansen would strike back at the stars and the moon. But now he was merely a weak man bowing quietly to an unjust decision.

Could Sean believe in Hansen’s reason, that ultimate American goals justified and knowingly permitted mistakes like this?

Now the doors of doubt were thrown wide open. Perhaps Hansen was merely a clever politician. Did Hansen in reality make all of his famous fights knowing and calculating in advance just how much the traffic would bear? How many other times in his career had he knuckled under like this? Had he carefully and deliberately built himself into a “colorful character,” merely paying lip service to his imagined strength?

In the end Sean would be completely alone with Frau Stoll’s dog and grandmother. He would be thrown into a pit of journalistic wolves to be devoured live. No, not even Emma would understand why Sean felt her life was worth fighting for. Perhaps Big Nellie would try to defend Sean or at least try to give his reasons. But to do that might mean Big Nellie would go down with him, by a world calling for blood.

In the end, there would be but a single friend, his father. Sean longed desperately to see him and he prayed that when the news reached his father, from strangers, it would not harm his heart. But no matter what ... his father would go on believing in him ... in the face of it all ... his father would be there ...and understand.

Chapter Thirty-one

ELEVEN O’CLOCK. IT WAS time for the daily meeting with Ulrich Falkenstein and the German Council. The big conference room resembled the dining room of a medieval castle; a long wooden table; high, straight-back, rough-hewn chairs partly covered with polished, worn leather; an enormous tapestry depicting a battle of the Legend of Rombaden. Those councilmen who owned pinstripes dressed in them. There were twenty Germans, with Ulrich Falkenstein at one end of the table.

As the Marienkirche bell bonged the hour, Sean entered the room and the Germans arose crisply, bowed slightly. Today Sean was without his usual contingent of American officers. “Be seated,” he said. “I have excused the other officers from today’s session for other business. You will examine your files and agenda to see if there is any business that cannot be held over for two or three days. I wish to consider only matters needing an immediate answer.”

It was a chilling pronouncement to them. The Germans began to fish through their files nervously. They all knew what it was about, they had spoken of it in whispers. Things had gone well with O’Sullivan in Rombaden. He gave his commands with sureness and took responsibility for every decision; he was stern, but fair. They knew that other cities in the Schwaben and Württemberg and Bavaria were in chaos. With him gone ... God knows. What if they had to deal with the Frenchman?

One by one each uttered that he had nothing urgent.

“There is one matter,” Ulrich Falkenstein said. “The day after tomorrow is the twenty-second of June. For a century and a half it has traditionally been Hinterseer Day, in honor of the Rombaden poet. In the old days there was much ado and pageantry ... in lean years the people have merely gathered in the square to hear the reading of his most famous work, the Legend of Rombaden. Although it must be necessarily austere this year I have been asked by all facets of the citizenry to petition you to allow the reading to take place. It would be a matter of a half dozen or so actors, a platform behind Hinterseer’s statue, and some loudspeaking equipment.”

On the surface of it, Sean saw no harm. So far he had forbidden large gatherings, but it could easily be controlled by the forces he had at hand. Blessing’s authority was respected by them all. A reunion with traditional life would be good for morale ... but ... one thing annoyed Sean. The Legend of Rombaden was read and the pageantry had continued during the Nazi era.

“I’ll read the poem tonight and give you an answer tomorrow,” he said.

That was what the German Council liked—a quick final answer. “There being no further business ...” he said, standing. They came to their feet and waited until he left the room.

Sean left his office assured that everything was as ready as possible for the new commander. A quick briefing could be made and that would be that. The command could be turned over even quicker if Duquesne were selected.

He ordered a light dinner to be brought to his study and asked that no one disturb him. He opened the book of poetry by Hinterseer and began to read with great care the German text of some forty pages. Of course, Sean knew something of the Legend of Rombaden. He had studied it as a segment of German mythology in college and in summations in military government texts.

To Sean, German poetry was truly one of the most magnificent forms of man’s self-expression. Furthermore, he had flirted with German literature and poked about for the answers to the German riddle since he left high school.

The Legend of Rombaden was from the mythology of the Black Forest Trilogy. Sean was soon drawn in by verse of Goethe-like perfection.

Wolfram, King of the Gods, reigned over a mythical kingdom deep within the Black Forest. Although Wolfram had a powerful human body, most of his other attributes were those of animals: the rage of a boar; the speed and beauty of the buck; the strength of the bear; the whiteness of the swan; the instincts and cunning of the fox. He was all that was great and beautiful of each animal in the body of a man.

His only son, Berwin, was a warrior of incredible bravery, as befitted the Son of the King of the Gods. Wolfram ordered his son to find the purest people upon earth, with which he would populate his kingdom. Berwin wandered from land to land until he came upon the Aryans of Rombaden; and they became the chosen ones.

In Rombaden dwelled Helga, Goddess of Fertility, with whom Berwin fell in love. Before Berwin and Helga could consummate their love, the God of Snow and Mountains, Ernald, swept down from his mythical kingdom in the Alps and kidnaped Helga.

Berwin realized that the pure race would be contaminated if Helga was violated by Ernald. He gathered about him the warriors of Rombaden. In a fiery speech he exhorted them to die in battle, for only by giving their lives in the fray would they know a moment of ecstasy beyond earthly dimensions. Those who die in battle, promised Berwin, would go to Wolfram’s Kingdom in the Black Forest, and live as the purest of all people.

In the final battle, Wolfram transmits to his son all of his own animal strength and cunning to help him destroy his adversary. But, in the victory, Berwin is slain.

He and all the fallen warriors of Rombaden are placed aboard flaming rafts to be drifted upstream on the Landau and into the Black Forest and the promised kingdom.

Helga, watching them float away from the shore, plunges Berwin’s dagger into her breast and is then carried to Berwin’s raft by a great bridge of lightning. She lies beside her dead hero on the flaming pyre and as the fire and wound end her life she extols this moment of exaltation that only death can bring. She cries out that she is being transformed into a superior form of being through death. And, in death, she consummates the relationship with Berwin, denied them in life.

And so, the daughters and sons of Rombaden who came from that union of Berwin and Helga became the purest on earth.

Sean O’Sullivan closed the book. For so many years he had probed and prodded for answers ...and now ...strangely ... on the eve of his departure from Germany some of these answers were coming to him.