The next two days he spent in a hospital on Rembrandt, then moved with
his wife and baby son, to temporary quarters aboard the largely
undamaged Kythera. With the vessels of his former destroyer group
either crippled, destroyed outright, or reassigned to new contingents,
his next command remained uncertain.
He was offered, if he wanted it, a two month leave of absence. But in
his present state, and with the uncertainty of war all around him---his
own sense of duty, and the desire to find the safest haven for his
young family---he simply could not decide. Also, with the issue still
very much in doubt, and the slow realization that he was good at what
he did, he did not know if he wished to trust the future to strangers:
if his place was not, after all, on the bridge of a Coalition
destroyer.
He could not decide, and only asked for more time.
That night aboard the cruiser, the first they had spent together after
the long separation, it was understood between them without any word or
sign, that they should not yet try to make love. Instead they lay
quietly in the bed, with the newborn in the crib beside them, talking,
kissing, and gently touching in the subdued light and near darkness of
the room. They spoke in the way that couples do, who have not yet
taken their troth for granted, understanding with fewer words what the
other meant, but still trying to read the deeper meaning of what was
said, and to reaffirm their own commitment by expressions of special
tenderness and love.
"But tell me the truth," he continued. "That he never touched you I
can believe. It shows in his eyes. But why does a conquering General
in the midst of an war, a widower, take a beautiful young woman from a
detention center? Only to protect her, and to be a governess for his
children? Forgive me, Ara, but no one is that noble."
"Yes. I think deep down he always hoped that I would fall in love with
him, with his children, and become his wife or mistress." Her fingers
gently reassured his throbbing chest. Then, as if embarrassed and
needing to change the subject, she added. "But really, I'm not as
attractive as all that. It is only in your eyes that I'm beautiful."
"Then the rest of the world is blind..... But how could he think to
keep you forever, or that you would abandon your own home, your own
family?" From these words she understood that he had accepted her
faithfulness, and as far as this was possible, dismissed jealousy,
which would only wound them both.
"You have to remember how it must have seemed to them at the time. Our
colonies had been taken, along with the Dutch. And shortly afterward,
Schiller was destroyed. . .and the Coalition thrown into confusion.
The blindness of the conqueror, I suppose. They had known nothing but
victory, didn't seem to realize the men that they had killed, and the
lives they had torn apart---"
"I'm glad I hit him. BASTARDS. I wish they could have seen their
handiwork at Dracus."
She rose on her elbow and looked down at him, trying to understand the
change. He would never have said (or done) such a thing a year ago.
He turned toward her, with the changed eyes and soul of all innocent
young, thrust into war and forced to grow up too quickly. Then all at
once her eyes clouded with pain, as she seemed to realize that she too
had been unaware of the suffering caused by such men. And her own
anguish and grief, that she had had to discipline for so long, for her
unborn child's sake, spilled over. She hid herself against him.
"He was always telling me that the Coalition was finished, that you
were probably dead....."
And he felt too what she must have endured, and the veil was lifted
between them. They had both suffered, both changed, though their love
for each other had not. Or if it had, had only deepened and grown
stronger. But with the almost masculine resolve that he knew so
well in her, she still her tears and pushed forward, determined to
finish the thought---to face the hard truth.
"But I never lost hope. I knew you would find me. Somehow I knew."
But she could not maintain this control any longer. Nor did she wish
to. She set her face to his chest and wept silently as he comforted
her.
"My beautiful Ara. Forgive me. I was so wrapped up in my own loss, I
had forgotten how it must have been for you."
She became quieter, shook her head against him "I was all right. And
with the baby inside me. . .I wasn't alone somehow. But I was so
terribly worried for all of us. I knew how hard you would take our
separation, not knowing."
He released a breath, felt once more his own dependence. "How can you
love me?" he said mournfully. "I am such a weak and timid fool."
She put a finger to his lips.
"Do you know what Colonel Liebenstein told me on Rembrandt?" He
shook his head, eyes closed.
"He told me that he was recommending you for a Medal of Valor---that
you held together a destroyer group consisting of twelve ships, in
which nine were knocked out or severely damaged. . .and held your
position against an attacking forced nearly twice your strength, for
thirty-six hours without relief or reinforcement. Do you know what
else he told me?" He could only release a troubled breath, that seemed
to have been caged inside him for years. "He said that you defended
Dracus with equal tenacity, and landing, kept your head when more
experienced men couldn't. He said that you've been sick and hurting
throughout, but all the while have been an exemplary officer." He felt
hot tears flow down both sides of his face. "It's true, isn't it?"
"Yes..... But I wish I didn't cry so much. It makes me feel weak, and
I think that in your eyes----" Again the finger touched his lips.
"Stop, Olaf." She kissed him, then snuggled close. "It takes so much
more courage to admit your feelings than to deny them. Why do you
think I fell in love with you?"
He turned toward her as he had longed to do from the first night of
their separation, and buried his face in the soft hair about her neck.
"Dear God, I love you." And in that moment he could not bear to hear
his son cry, because he knew that he was nothing more, and never would
be, than the helpless creature beside them.
As his wife rose to nurse the child he recovered himself, and like Ara,
continued the thought.
SUCH IS THE LOT OF HUMANITY. And who nourished and protected them, the
children who had grown? Was there a God, or was Man truly alone in his
walk through the world of flesh? In all that he had lived through
these past months, he could not begin to answer that question. There
had to be something---he had only his own experience to go
by---because..... As close as he had come to death and despair, they
had never been able to completely overwhelm him. But had he, and Ara,
survived because of something outside, or inside? And was that
something God? Was God internal, some invisible undercurrent of Life
and Nature, or external, some being or beings who watched it all from
without? And where to find the answers? If there was an answer.
He remembered the words to Johann Schiller's 'Ode to Joy,' set to
angelic chorus by Beethoven. "For surely, beyond the stars there
dwells a loving father. Seek Him there, beyond the stars." And this
seemed particularly relevant and true, until he remembered that
Schiller had been unmade by the hands of men.
And he remembered the horror of Dracus, which had made him see, and
feel, all others.
And these continual barriers to faith and serenity were just what was
so maddening. How could one believe in anything after knowing the rape
of war? Or disbelieve after finding his wife (and himself) still alive
against such odds? No matter how much of life one experienced, no
matter how much knowledge he acquired or how 'wise' he became---he
wondered seriously if such a word held any real meaning---there was
always one more piece of information to take in, one more tragedy to
rationalize, and try to find some reason for. And until this new,
confounded fact was taken in and digested, it upset and unraveled all
the others, and would not let a man with half a conscience rest.
Through this long chain of reasoning, and especially this last thought,
he finally unearthed what was bothering him, and poisoning the
recuperative peace that he should have been experiencing. He started
to rebel against what he found there, but knew he would be unable.
What was troubling him was simply this. In the earlier days of his
acquaintance with Col. Joyce, and for reasons known only to himself,
the Russian had confided probably more than he should have about Soviet
intentions during the war. Perhaps it was the need to express and
justify his thoughts to a younger man not yet so cynical, so certain
and so weary of life. In any event he had told him, and Brunner now
knew why they had insisted that the Coalition strike Dutch Larkspur
first, and why they were now being instructed to withdraw.
The new orders had arrived that very day. They were to return to the
fringes of Cerberus, there to re-form with heavy Russian
reinforcements, for the inevitable assault on the Athena colonies---the
campaign to liberate and reclaim his home.
That was all fine, and how it should be. Incredibly tempting, except
that in the meantime they were to leave Rembrandt and Van Gogh in the
hands of the Soviets. And he could no longer pretend ignorance as to
what would happen next: one more SSR possession, one less home for the
Dutch. And one more subjugated people, for those who would not, or
could not leave. It was 1946 all over again.