He had seen too much suffering and loss, been spared from final
annihilation too many times to feel no responsibility, or to take such
news easily. It was so unfair. What remained of the Dutch forces,
along with their Swedish allies, had been contacted and told of the
colonies' liberation. They were on their way, with deepest gratitude,
to re-occupy their homes, and rebuild their lives.
And what would they find upon arrival? The Soviets firmly entrenched,
regretfully explaining that for strategic purposes they must maintain,
for the time being, a provisional government and strong military
presence there. But not to worry, they would say, so soon as the
conflict was ended and peace assured, all would again be set right.
THE BLOOD LEECHES, FEEDING OF THE MISERY OF OTHERS TO EXPAND THEIR
DOMAIN. But what could he possibly do about it? He was only one man,
and had his own family to think of first..... No. Though the excuse
to turn his back was ready-made, he knew he could not yield. For this
was what his ancestors had done under Hitler: in the name of loving
and protecting their own, disregarding the lives and humanity of all
who opposed them. It was WRONG, the seed and heart of all betrayal.
He watched his wife with the baby at her breast, knew there were other
wives and children, other husbands like himself. All had lives, and
all deserved to live them freely.
He resolved then and there to request a larger command, to speak to
Liebenstein, and take it from there. He refused to allow the anguish
and death of the battle just three days prior. . .to amount to nothing
more than another senseless tragedy. His comrades had fought too long
and too hard, and too many died. . .for that. And the fire that burned
suddenly, inexorably inside him, consumed all doubt.
*
The next morning he asked for, and received, command of a light cruiser
whose Captain had been severely wounded, along with such escort as
could be assembled from the decimated ranks of other destroyer groups
such as his own. He then went to speak to Col. Liebenstein, who upon
the death of Gen. Tarkanean had become Fleet Commander. He found the
man seated at his desk.
The Colonel, a decent man but with many concerns, heard what he had to
say, listening darkly and looking up at him with an ever deeper frown
of discontent. But whether this frown was directed at the Soviets, the
result of his own feelings of regret, or anger at the willful young
Captain, it became harder and harder to discern. Brunner grew more
reluctant to lay out his full intentions before him, and finally
stopped altogether. Liebenstein looked hard at him for what seemed a
long time, then spoke.
"What, exactly, are you proposing we do?" The younger man's intent,
suffering eyes did have a way of making one feel uncomfortable.
"Resist them. Delay, object. For Christ's sake, the Dutch will be
here in ninety-six---"
"NO."
Brunner lowered his face, red with rage and shame. "But how can we
just....." He could not finish for the lump in his throat.
Liebenstein became angry.
"I said, NO. And if you disobey me in this, or follow up with any
scheme of your own, your next command will be of a cell-block. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, sir." Brunner saluted brusquely, and started to leave. The
Colonel called him back.
"You have something more you want to say to me? You are still one of
my officers; I won't have it festering inside."
"Yes, Colonel." His hesitated, his voice shaking with emotion. "I
have to write nearly two hundred letters to next of kin. When I
contact the families of the deceased. . .what the hell am I supposed to
say they died for?" Without waiting for an answer he stalked out of
the room, leaving a shadow behind him.
Liebenstein could not help feeling rueful, though he tried to justify
his position, musing darkly that the same qualities of stubborn
righteousness that inspired men to follow such a leader, often led to
the destruction of all. But still there was a shadow in the room.
*
The first thing that Brunner did upon assuming command of the Icarus
(he found the name somehow appropriate) was to transfer and surround
himself with as many of his former comrades as he could. A bond had
been formed between them in those thirty-six hours that could never be
broken, and he wanted them there if..... He also knew they would
remain loyal, and understand his purpose.
He asked his wife to remain about the Kythera until the issue was
resolved, but she refused. And it was no use trying to dissuade her
once she set her mind to something. Again the qualities he prized
about all others showed through in her---loyalty, and courage in time
of need.
For there comes a time in every man's life when he must put it all on
the line, and take a dangerous chance. Brunner had felt himself
fighting for so long, without knowing why, that even the reunion with
his wife, and the unexpected birth of his son, had not been enough to
pacify his need to KNOW. In fact, they had intensified it.
He had brought a new life into the world, and the responsibility he
felt both for that act, and for the fusing of his life with Ara's, set
against a background of war and death, all but overwhelmed him.
Without knowing if mortal life were ultimately just, or inherently
sinister and cruel, they crushed him utterly.
Upon coming to the morning after the Dracus landing, one thought only
would take shape in his mind, and hammered at him relentlessly. "What
kind of a world is this? What kind of a world?"
And now he had to answer that question not only for himself, but for
his son as well. And thoughts of death's separation from Ara, who was
years younger, and infinitely healthier than himself, unhinged him with
equal strength. Did he have the right..... WAS THERE ANYTHING BEYOND
THE CRADLE AND THE GRAVE?
For him, now, it was all reduced to the same ancient question, which
for the sake of his soul he could not put off any longer. WAS THERE
GOD? And of equal and inseparable importance, the manifestations of
which he saw clearly before him: COULD ONE MAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE?
Could he stand up for what he believed, resist what he knew to be evil,
and still survive?
To find these answers was to him worth risking all. He had not forced
the issue, nor was it due to some flaw in his character that he saw it
as it was. It had come to him of itself, inevitable, and now he would
find out. A part of him wished that he could somehow send away his
wife and son. But she would not hear of it, and that, too, was
probably as it should be. Better no life than half life. The child
remained on Kythera.
* * *
The withdrawal had begun. The Soviet ships remained at a distant
semi-circle beyond Rembrandt, broken into two groups with a wide
corridor between. Through this channel passed slowly, as if in solemn
changing of the guard, the scorched and battle-marked Coalition fleet.
This much Liebenstein had insisted upon, meaning for the Russians to
get a good hard look at those who had truly fought and won the battle.
The young Captain's words were not wholly without effect, though the
Colonel, as a proud man must when his mind is swayed by another and he
is forced to act, told himself that the sentiments behind the move were
his own. In fact, he had all but put Brunner from his mind. It was
only from oversight that he allowed his contingent to be the last to
pass through.
Only they did not pass through.
Seeing the tardy vessels in his rear viewscreen, the Colonel thought at
first there must be some mistake, or mechanical problem, and so was not
overly concerned. Until looking back in horror and sudden
understanding, he recognized the call letters of the light cruiser, and
remembered under whose command..... And saw the accompanying
destroyers fanning out to either side of it---BLOCKING THE SOVIETS'
PATH.
And there they stayed, facing down two battleships and escort, twenty
times their own strength.
"HUMBOLT," he ejaculated to his communications officer. "Get me the
bridge of the Icarus. . .quickly!" The com officer did as he was told,
hailing the vessel several times. "WELL?" After a moment.
"Sorry, sir. There's nothing wrong with the equipment..... She just
won't respond." The colonel was livid.
"Then get me number one. . .number TWO destroyer. ANY of them!"
"Still trying..... No response, sir."
The reason there was no response was that the destroyers had shut down
all but channeled communications between themselves and their immediate
Commander. And the voice and com-screen of the Icarus were otherwise
engaged. Its outgoing signal, however, was neither coded, nor directed
toward the Soviet battleship only. The whole of both fleets were free
to listen, and to judge.
Brunner stood in the sunken middle of the flying bridge---his wife
stood beside him---gazing with surprising composure into the angry
features on the screen before him: Colonel Joyce, the man with the
power to end his life.
"Colonel. Thank you for speaking with me. I don't believe you've met
my---" The voice that cut him off was cold and cruel.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Brunner?"
"I am experiencing difficulty with my ship's retreat mechanism: she
doesn't seem to be able to leave the colonies just yet."
"And how long do you think that will last?" A threat more than a
question. The two understood one another perfectly.
"I'd say, roughly of course, about forty-eight hours. Just about the
time the Dutch return to---"
"Now listen to me, you pathetic little worm. If you don't get out of
the way, and I mean RIGHT now, I'll blow you and your little band of
heroes to bloody shrapnel. Don't think I won't!"
Brunner's voice shook with subdued passion, but not fear.
"I don't think you won't. I know it. Because to do that you'd have to
brutally attack, and murder your own allies. And have to explain to
the Coalition, the Japanese, and everybody else, how you had no choice
but to desecrate our victory, and steal the home planets---" Joyce
tried to interrupt, but he would not let him. "And it's NOT going to
happen." Again the other tried--- "You want me? Then come and TAKE
me!"
"I'll give you thirty seconds." Joyce turned to his gunnery officer,
who nodded his understanding. "Starting now."
Brunner waited till the count was down to six. His voice was the ice
of Infinity.
"Get the fuck out of here."
"BRUNNER!" A single shot was fired, impacting upon, and with a round
and outward glow lighting up the forward shields of the Icarus. In the
ensuing concussion his wife was thrown down with a start, and small
fires broke out on the bridge.
This was too much for Liebenstein. He started to send a signal to
Joyce, but saw that the human miracle was taking place without him.
Where before there had been ten destroyers in the breach, now there
were fourteen, one so badly damaged that it could barely thread its way
through the staggered ranks of the Soviets.
The renegade ships were German.
Then, without any order being given, first one Coalition vessel and
then another began to break formation and move back to defend their
comrades. Brunner had his answer, though he was too strangled by tears
to take it in. Liebenstein's battleship at last joined the others, and
turned to face the Enemy.
No more shots were fired. The Dutch returned to their homes.
........................................................................
......................