Captain Olaf Brunner, newly promoted, was scarcely recognizable as the
same human being who had once been so unsure of his military role, and
stood in trepidation at the approach of the Alliance Fleet.
He had not relinquished command of the Czech destroyer upon coming to
again in its infirmary. Rather, against doctor's orders he had
remained there for one day only, then thrown himself into his duties
with such vehemence that all in the ship became afraid of him, and some
wondered if the blow to his humanity had not been fatal.
Realizing this, realizing also that the people around him were not to
blame if his life was ended, he became less harsh in his attitude
towards them, and turned the full weight of his broken malice instead
toward repairing the ship, notifying next of kin, and getting them all
back safely into Coalition space, where he intended to request (demand)
a German command of his own. Though his health had not improved, and
though the medicines he once shunned were now habitual, this no longer
seemed an
important point. His new-found callousness lent itself even to
physical insensitivity.
In the rare moments he allowed himself to meditate, he thought almost
exclusively of Dubcek and the tortured old man. How well he now
understood them both: Dubcek, upon the death of his wife, throwing
himself into his military career, trying to scrape some pitiful meaning
from the ruins of an empty life. And the librarian, clinging
desperately to one last purpose, one last reason to live.
Wasn't he doing the same? Only the thought, cruel as it was, that
somehow Ara still lived and still needed him, kept him from ending his
own life. Or maybe he was just a coward..... And one other impulse
drove him, foreign as it might have seemed to his nature not so very
long before. He wanted to kill as many of the enemy as possible---just
KILL them. The soul was dead inside him.
The Belgian and Swiss forces, true cowards, made no further appearance
at Dracus.
Escorted by the increased Soviet contingent, the Czech vessels made
their way slowly out of Cerberus, where they met at length with the
refurbished and reunited Coalition forces.
Here in neutral Space they held their parley, and deliberated upon a
new course of action. No longer was any thought given to hiding and
retreat. For now the Soviets backed them fully, if having their own
battles to fight as well. Now Hayes was an outcast, and the abashed
nations that had not come to the aid of Schiller (whether or not it
would have made a difference) emptied their outposts for a
counter-attack against the Alliance, and if necessary, against Hayes
himself. The murderous horse-crap had gone far enough.
Brunner's temporary promotion was made permanent, and he was given
command of a German destroyer group. This was partly due to his
tenacity in liberating Dracus, partly to Dubcek's, and therefore
Itjes', posthumous influence. And partly because they knew of his
desperate search for his wife, and did not undervalue such a motive.
But if any were concerned about his qualifications and competence, his
ability to handle his personal torment, they need not have worried.
For what he lacked in experience, he more than made up for in latent
determination, and at times, utter fearlessness. Death held literally
no meaning for him. And in aggressive, retaliatory war, this could be
a powerful weapon.
* * *
Hayes tapped the aluminum canister angrily against the counter-shelf of
his quarters, watching the enclosed microvideo play back in its
entirety the assassinated Stone's July address to Congress, concluded
by then Vice-President Plant. Next came footage, along with the New
York Press commentary, of the Presidential funeral, and the later trial
of Admiral Hesse. This was followed in turn by Plant's exigent
inauguration, and lastly, by Bacon being sworn in as the new Secretary
of State, vowing to check the spread of anarchy and military
adventurism, and bring the traitor Hayes to justice. Calder stood like
a rueful statue just inside the doorway.
"Idiot!" screamed Hayes when all was over. Calder closed his eyes,
crumpled in shame, but the exhortation had not been directed against
him alone. "Now he's left me no choice." He got up and waved a
threatening finger at the other. "No choice!"
It was not clear whom this 'he' might represent, since Stone was dead
and buried, and Plant and Bacon two separate beings. Perhaps it was
merely meant in the military sense---the pronoun replacing, both
verbally and psychologically, that mass of humanity opposed to one's
aims, who therefore must be killed. The enemy, which in Hayes' mind
continued to multiply all around him.
At length he became calmer. "You're sure there were only two of these
planted at Westmoreland? No mistakes this time." His lackey began to
answer, but he interrupted him. "Nevermind. We can't take that for
granted."