Tor didn’t help him; he merely watched Dorn coldly until the young lieutenant ran down. When he did, Tor said evenly, “Oberleutnant Dorn, I expect two things from the chief aide of my General Staff. One is your undivided and unquestioned loyalty.
The other is that you speak plainly and truthfully to me always.”
“Ja wohl, Mein Commandant,” Dorn returned quickly. “Of course, you have, and will always possess, my complete loyalty. I was not questioning your judgment. I simply do not understand.
I was not aware that further military intervention in the Middle East was required.”
“It is not evident now,” Tor said confidently, “but it will be required in the near future.”
Rand von Drachstedt cleared his throat. “Sir, it is difficult for me, too, to comprehend why we should get embroiled in the garbage pit of the Mideast. With the downfall of the United States, the Germanic Union practically controls the economies of the entire world. You have brought the vast military resources of America, including the priceless Galaxy Guardian system, into the Joint Task Forces. Your military forces are invincible. It would seem that you already own the world.”
Tor said, “No, Rand. I will not own the world until I own Israel.”
“Israel?” von Drachstedt blurted in surprise. “But, sir . . . it is of some strategic importance regionally, of course, with its access to the Red Sea and maintaining the Jordan Neutral Zone. The Israelis have a certain military genius and determination, and I must admit that their intelligence operatives are some of the finest in the world.
But still, I cannot see their global importance. Um . . . sir.” He suddenly realized that he may have spoken too much against Tor’s international policy. Questioning Tor von Eisenhalt on anything was not a very healthy thing to do.
But Tor was unusually tolerant of Colonel von Drachstedt. With the exception of Alia Silverthorne, Minden Lauer, and Luca Therion, von Drachstedt was his most loyal follower. Almost with warmth he replied, “Relax, Herr Oberstleutnant. I will not explain Israel’s importance to me, for my reasoning is of a personal nature. However, I will tell you about the Arabic Confederation.
“In the coming months, some evidence will come to light that the terrorist group in America that caused the blackout has definite links to some fundamentalist Muslim subversive groups in Saudi Arabia, Libya, Ethiopia, and Persia. This will inflame the Americans—and it will give me an opportunity to increase the forces in the Middle East by at least two divisions—of Americans.”
Dorn was confused, though he dared not ask the question: Why in the world do we want the Americans in the Middle East?
But von Drachstedt nodded slowly. “Yes. That would provide both motive and opportunity for the Americans to take an active part in any large-scale war that should break out.”
“And it will break out, Rand,” Tor said with quiet satisfaction. “Even without inflammatory propaganda, the Arabic Confederation is desperate. This economic downturn of the Americans hurts them the worst.” He took one more sip of wine, then placed the goblet on the desk. “And I am not as weak-minded as the Americans. I have no intention of giving the Arabic Confederation charity, as the Americans have for so long. All of their economies are going to suffer even more.”
“Yes,” von Drachstedt said thoughtfully. “And then, of course, there is Syria. The Syrians have been making loud noises about that little campaign against them.”
Tor shrugged carelessly. “For these reasons, and more that are known to me but that are not pertinent here, I want our team to retask some of the Galaxy Guardian satellites, both photo-recon and ICBM platforms.”
“It will be done, sir,” von Drachstedt assured him.
“Let’s watch them, Rand. You’ll see that they have likely already begun their mobilization against us.”
“If they fight us, they will die,” von Drachstedt said with some heat.
A small smile played at Tor’s lips. “There is that distinct possibility.” His light joviality was short-lived as he turned his searing gaze on Dorn. “Now, Oberleutnant Dorn, I have some thoughts about America. I will dictate more detailed instructions to one of the secretaries later, and I will expect to receive detailed reports. But for now, I want to instruct you to see that all German military personnel in the United States have access to Cyclops. I also want it made available to all Commissaries. I know that we do not have enough treated units, so I want you to form a Projekt Schlußenheit field team for America, take them over there, and requisition all the Cyclops units you can find.
Instruct the team to kill the microorganism, reseal the units, and reset the electronics. We should be able to retrofit enough for all of our people to have their own personal Cyclops and at least one for each Commissary post.”
Jager Dorn started squirming uncomfortably as soon as Tor said “Projekt Schlußenheit.” Tor noticed this but deliberately kept on with his instructions—possibly to note, and maybe relish, the young soldier’s fear. Now Dorn swallowed and began, “Sir, I—”
He cleared his throat again and said in a stronger voice (though he averted his gaze), “Sir, our Projekt Schlußenheit Team One has just alerted me this morning that some anomalies have appeared in the long-term laboratory models—”
Tor’s rising fury was so evident that Dorn, no matter how hard he tried, could not force himself to continue. The two men watched as Tor leaped out of his chair and began pacing like a tiger, his steps harsh and unbelievably loud on the thick carpet. His handsome features were coarsened with anger. He clenched and unclenched his hands, knuckles cracking like firecrackers in the large room. Then he muttered an unspeakable oath through gritted teeth.
The two men exchanged nervous looks. It seemed that the room temperature was dropping. The two men, who had been chilly since they’d walked into the room, now felt very cold. Unable to help himself, von Drachstedt stared at the big fire in the fireplace, wondering how it had grown so cold, almost freezing, so quickly, in the room. Perhaps a freezing draft, winding its way in insidiously from outside? Dorn touched his lips and found that they were numb. He suddenly wanted more than anything to be anywhere but in this place, at this time.
With a movement so rapid that it defied the eye, Tor drew his small dress dagger out of the scabbard at his waist and threw it at the wall behind Dorn and von Drachstedt. Both men flinched, then whirled. The dagger was buried to the hilt in the polished wood of the wall.
Dorn actually began to fear for his life at that moment. He twisted back around, horrified, and saw Tor throw himself down into his chair, his face still flushed with rage. Restlessly Tor shifted, his lips set in a razor-thin line, and the only sounds in the room were the creak of leather and the screech of the chair’s wooden support.
Von Drachstedt, as if from a distance, noted two things. One was that the room temperature was suddenly back to normal, and the other was that the two-hundred-year-old grandfather clock behind Tor had stopped. He sincerely wanted to think it was pure coincidence. But he was a practical man, and self-deception was not in him. There was no doubt—Tor’s rage had been so electric and complete that it had thrown the very air, the very essence, of the room out of balance for a few moments.
Rand had been under Tor von Eisenhalt’s command for twelve years. He had seen these flashes of Tor’s murderous temper before, though none had been quite so full of fury as this. Von Drachstedt knew he wasn’t as terrified as Dorn was. I’ve faced death too many times, he reflected with a sudden bone-crushing weariness. The thought jarred him; now, here, in this very room, he was facing . . .
Death. He shuddered, not bothering to hide it.
No one spoke. Dorn didn’t think he could. A long time passed, or it might have been only moments. Neither Dorn nor von Drachstedt looked at the commandant. Finally, in a voice that sounded strained with holding back his anger, Tor said, “I want to see the Projekt Schlußenheit Team One leader. Today.”
In a half-whisper Dorn said, “Yes, sir.”
; Tor gave Dorn a withering look. “I’m very disappointed that I’m only just now receiving this bad news, Dorn. Very disappointed.” This time Dorn really couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that came out was a pitiful squeak.
“Anything else?” Tor asked. With each word his voice settled down into its normal timbre.
Rand judged the moment and decided, once again, to defy Death. “Sir, there is one thing that has just occurred to me. Regarding the Arabic Confederation.”
“Go on.”
“I have had some reports from a member of the Wolfsrudel, an economics adviser working in Moscow. He says that the Russians sold some components to Egypt about six months ago. They were parts that could be used in manufacturing some high-tech weapons managers, such as the Javelin Field Array. But the adviser also heard rumors that the Egyptians were having secret talks with some Chinese weapons manufacturers . . .”
“Get to the point, Rand!”
“To put it simply, sir, there is some indication that the Saudis are trying to develop the LINC-4 system.” Rand tensed himself for another onslaught of anger.
As if none of the rage that had consumed him only moments before had ever existed, Tor’s eyes lit up with interest. Rand was ashamed at how relieved he felt. Tor murmured, “So . . . they’re gearing up that cowardly thing, hmm? Get confirmation, Rand, but I’m certain you’re right. You do know what this means, don’t you?”
“The tactical implications, sir? No, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
Tor smiled, and there was a dark fearful glee in it. “It means, Mein Oberstleutnant, that we send in the Americans first.”
THIRTEEN
SHE LOOKS . . . different,” Commissar Xanthe St. Dymion murmured. .
No one replied, except with outraged hisses of “Shh!”
The giant Cyclops screens, four of them, each six feet wide and four feet tall, had been set up in Fountain Square at the intersection of Grand and Central. Xanthe estimated that about four thousand people were gathered to watch Minden Lauer’s first live-comm broadcast since the blackout. The entire platoon of thirty-two commissars surrounded the civilian population in a thin picket, but Xanthe reflected dryly that the dirty, hungry people needed no riot police. After more than two months of being without heat and light and fresh food, the population had been weakened— and decimated—by hunger, exposure, and disease. Violent assaults such as murders and beatings had gone sharply down with the arrival of supplies and a high commissar to organize the Commissary’s police duties. Also, the people had grown too weak and listless to fight much anymore.
But on this cold night, they stood silent, transfixed, as the “Children of Light Overture” blared out on Cyclops’s great speakers. On the screen Minden Lauer stood, unmoving, her head thrown back, her hands raised high. She did look different; if possible, she looked even more perfect. But Xanthe thought that somehow, the Lady of Light didn’t look quite so ethereal, so angelic. Now she looked more earthy or something. More fiery perhaps.
For one thing, Minden had always worn white dresses for her live-comms and left her arms and neck bare, though she did not indulge in low-cut necklines. She didn’t have to. But tonight she wore a midnight blue dress of a flowing translucent material; it covered her from her chin to her toes, but it was very thin. Her stunning figure was clearly outlined by subtle backlighting, and the material was shot through with silver gems that flashed coldly. Minden’s lips seemed fuller and were a dark crimson color, and her long oval nails were painted red. Usually Minden wore airy pastel colors for accessories and makeup.
And then there’s the background, Xanthe brooded. Usually it’s pastoral scenes, like watercolor paintings. Where in the world is she? It looks so . . . Gothic . . . that ancient sharp-toothed battlement looming like a monolith behind her . . .
Oberstleutnant Reinhart Angriff stared around at his comrades-in-arms with narrowed eyes. In an instant, they had changed.
In one of the luxurious meeting rooms of the Villa del Sol Hotel, all of the officers of the 77th Luftwaffe had come together to see Minden Lauer’s first live-comm broadcast, and then United States President Luca Therion was going to make a world address. After that, Commandant Tor von Eisenhalt was going to address the Joint Task Forces of the Global Union of Nation-States on a closed circuit Cy-II channel.
Reinhart cared little for Minden Lauer’s speech (or service, as the followers of the Children of Light called it), since he was not a member of Earth’s Light. Many of his comrades were, however, for they seemed to believe that the organization’s teachings of vast resources of individual inner strength gave them power. For all
Reinhart knew, they might be right; they were certainly powerful men. He had sometimes felt that he needed something, that he had a lack, or a weakness, within himself that he was at a loss to overcome. But Reinhart had never had any faith in Minden Lauer or Earth’s Light. He had faith only in his beloved Germany and in his commandant, Tor von Eisenhalt, the greatest leader of men that the world had ever seen.
Reinhart had seen Minden’s live communications broadcasts before, but other than thinking that she was a lovely woman, they’d made little impression on him. He thought it curious that she seemed to have such an impact on so many people, from small children to hardened warriors. He also thought it odd that she was to address the world—before the president of the United States, even before Commandant von Eisenhalt. He’d decided to watch, and listen, to her more closely, to see if he could discern exactly what this woman had to do with the catastrophic global events that had taken place in the last few months.
“Is that her?” he muttered. She didn’t look like the same woman.
In his recollection, Minden Lauer was soft, pretty, ephemeral. This woman looked like a vampire.
“Seid ruhig, Oberstleutnant Angriff !”
“Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Mein Oberleutnant,” Reinhart murmured quietly. Though First Lieutenant Jager Dorn did not outrank him, it was wiser to defer to Commandant Tor von Eisenhalt’s chief of staff.
Minden Lauer was about to speak.
My beloved Children of Light . . .
We have walked, and breathed, and lived, and loved in the light for so long . . . that we stopped looking into the darkness. We did not see the evil forces hiding there, waiting for their time and chance . . .
And so the evil hour has come. Even now, my beloved country is still under a shadow. But because we are strong, and we have powerful allies throughout the world, we will grow strong again. Soon! In just a matter of a few days, all of our beloved children in America will be walking in the light once again. We have powerful protectors, men and women all over the world, who are unceasingly, untiringly watching over you, and even now are rooting out and banishing your enemies.
Make no mistake, we have been attacked by enemies, people who hate us, who cannot tolerate our beliefs. They teach that we are blind, that we are doomed, that only they are righteous and good. Yet they have brutally and wantonly attacked America with this scourge . . . because they believe that they do God’s will.
But you and I, children, know that we walk in God’s will. We understand that this earth and all the forces and powers of it belong to us, for our dedication to it and our inner strength! And now, you must call upon those powers, those strengths, that are our greatest defense— and weapons! All of the powers of our beloved Father Earth are yours, from the beginning of time . . . the might of the four forces . . . air, water, earth, and fire . . . Seek them! Use them to fight and conquer!
“I thought it was our Mother Earth,” Xanthe commented dryly to her fellow commissar, Bryce Atherton. The expression on his face was as confused as Xanthe’s. He started to answer, but a young woman behind them snarled, “Be quiet, can’t you?”
But what do you have, you alone of all the creatures and forces on earth? It is not of the earth . . . This power is beyond, above the very power of fire, of the air . . .
“What’s she doing?”
Reinhart Angriff whispered. No one answered. It seemed that all of the men in the room were enthralled.
Drawing a glittering, slender knife from an unseen sheath at her waist, Minden drew the blade across her middle finger. Then she held up her hand, the blood crimson and thin, flowing freely down her hand and dripping off her wrist. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, erotic. But Angriff felt disquieted; this woman was bizarre.
Why do we shudder, feel primitive dread, at the sight of blood?
Because we rarely think of, or see, blood . . . only bloodshed. We see pain. We see suffering. We see death.
But I tell you now that blood is life.
Blood is power!
With it you will have the world!
Minden held her hand over a golden goblet, and the blood flowed freely into it. With a seductive smile, she picked up the goblet and drank.
The silent thousands of people in the square in Hot Springs, Arkansas, started clamoring; it could not be called cheering or shouting. It was a primitive roar, a howl of thirst and hunger.
Xanthe St. Dymion shuddered, trembled. For the first time since the blackout, she was truly frightened.
FOURTEEN
NORTH AMERICAN AEROSPACE DEFENSE COMMAND
CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, COLORADO
**********Z PRIORITY EYES ONLY**********
DIRECTIVE 09096633ZSEP
**********Z PRIORITY EYES ONLY**********
Z REF PROTOCOL X
APPLICATION
1) THREAT OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN
2) INDETERMINATE EFFECTS ON POPULATION
3) INDEFINITE DURATION
DIRECTIVES
1) ALL MARINE AND ACTIVE NAVY ON DEFCON-3 ALERT. FULLY MAN ALL SHIPS IN BOTH CARRIER GROUPS USING ANY TRANSPORT (MILITARY OR CIVILIAN) AVAILABLE. CARRIER GROUPS BOTH ATLANTIC AND PACIFIC TO PROCEED TO LASER ARRAY INSTALLATIONS AT DIEGO GARCIA AND MIDWAY IMMEDIATELY TO AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS.
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 19