The Iron Dream (29 page)

A moment before the dawn, Feric drew the Great Truncheon of Held and pointed the great gleaming metal fist that was its headpiece straight at the eastern horizon.

As the sun peered up over the hills, a titanic, climactic, ecstatic cheer went up from the multitide. For at this moment it seemed only appropriate mat the sun itself should end the parade by passing in review and thereby displaying its own undying loyalty to the sacred cause of the Swastika.

188

12

It was with a sense of deep satisfaction and keen anticipation that Feric called his High Commanders together for a private strategy session in his quarters one month after the fall of Kolchak, for the fanatic determination and heroic self-sacrifice of the Helder people had not slackened for an instant during what every true human recognized as the temporary peace.

There was not the slightest doubt that Remler, Waning, and Bogel were fully entitled to the sense of pride that they radiated as they sat sipping beer in Feric's chambers waiting to give their situation reports. As for the loyal Best, he had made himself indispensable in a thousand small ways.

"Well, Remler," Peric said, laying aside his mug of beer, and getting down to business, "suppose we start with you. What is the situation in the Classification Camps of the new territories?"

"The inmates will all be completely processed within the next two weeks, my Commander," Remler said crisply.

"After that we can close down the Camps and concentrate our resources on more positive eugenic projects."

"I hope you aren't wasting sound genetic material in your haste to speed the processing, Remler," Feric said.

"Every true human gleaned from the dung heaps of the former mongrel states is a potential soldier of Heldon."

Remler's thin features showed a certain hurt, almost indignation. "My Commander," he said rather primly, "it's my honor to report that we've sifted nearly a hundred thousand true humans from the genetic rubbish heaps! In fact, we've actually unearthed a few dozen SS candidates, as unlikely as that may seem!"

"Well done!" Feric exclaimed, impressed by the figures and wanting to make amends for his earlier skepticism.

"You've certainly worked wonders with this processing, Remler."

189

"My Commander, the processing is a minor detail compared to what SS genetic scientists have recently accom-

plished. We've drawn up a complete set of genetic criteria for the SS supermen of the future. These marvelous specimens will be a full seven feet tall, with fair skin, golden hair, and the physiques of gods, and an average intelligence surpassing that of present-day geniuses. By regulating the breeding of the present generation of SS

with the utmost rigor, such a master race may be produced in as few as three generations."

At this, the jaws of the High Commanders all but fell open. "Fantastic!" Feric exclaimed. "Why once we have a sufficient stock of such genetic purebreds, we'll be able to upgrade the entire Helder people to their godlike level in a single generation simply by making the SS the sole sires of the next crop of Helder offspring."

Remler could hardly contain himself. "Exactly, my Commander!" he cried. "But our more visionary scientists believe they are well on the way to developing something even better: the technique of cloning. A tissue sample from SS of the highest pedigree is taken. In nutrient vats, a new SS man is grown from this somatic tissue, genetically identical to the donor. Thus, the vagaries of sexual reproduction are entirely bypassed. Further, one donor can produce hundreds, even thousands, of genetically identical clones. Thus the master race may be achieved within a single generation! The research, however, is presently in an early stage."

Throughout this exchange, Waffing had been fidgeting in his chair, drinking deeply of his beer, obviously anxious to match Remler's tale of achievement with one of his own.

"I can see that you're bursting with more than beer, Waffing," Feric said with a grin. "Give us your report before you explode."

"The army hasn't exactly been sitting on its hands while the SS worked wonders," Waffing said. "We're getting production out of the workers that even I find hard to believe, and our scientists are rediscovering the martial arts of the ancients by leaps and bounds. Our latest tanks are equipped with devices capable of throwing great tongues of flame against the enemy as well as the usual cannon and machine guns. Soon our new jet fighter-bombers will be operational; these dreadnaughts will be capable of speeds greater than that of sound! As for 190

production, we've now got over a thousand tanks and as many aerial dreadnaughts, modern weapons enough for a million-man army, as well as mountains of ammunition.

Once we get our hands on the oil fields of southwestern Zind, our logistical problems will be solved for all time."

Waffing paused to fortify himself with a great swallow of beer and perhaps for dramatic effect as well. "But I've saved the best for last, my Commander," he said with a triumphant grin. "Our rocket scientists have developed missiles capable of dropping a three-ton payload on the enemy over a distance of four thousand miles. All Zind now lies within our range."

"Well done, Waffing!" Feric exclaimed.

Once more Waffing brought his beer mug to his lips, this time clearly for dramatic emphasis, for when he laid it down, he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"That's only the half of it, my Commander!" he said.

"One of our research groups has discovered techniques for obtaining the legendary ingredients of the Fire of the Ancients: enriched uranium, plutonium, and heavy water.

Give us a few months, and we'll be able to burn all Zind from the face of the earth with the ultimate weapon of the Ancients—nuclear missiles!"

It seemed to Feric that in the utter silence that followed he could all but hear the fall of dust particles through the air.

Nuclear weapons! The Fire of the Ancients that had devastated the earth, created the radioactive wildlands, thoroughly polluted the gene pool, caused the Dominator mutation! The Fire was directly responsible for the state of affairs that it was the sacred duty of all true humans to remedy. What madness to think of once more unleashing this force! One experiment gone wrong, and the purification of the gene pool might be set back generations. As for waging nuclear war, the prospect was unthinkable!

How could one purify the earth with the very Fire that had polluted it in the first place?

Best and Bogel were properly aghast, but Remler had some grim, unreadable expression on his face.

Feric finally broke the awful silence. "Waffing, I absolutely forbid this line of research. Bringing back the Fire is unthinkable."

Waffing opened his mouth to protest, but it was Remler who got the words out first: 'To us, my Commander, but not to the Doms."

"I find it difficult to believe that even Dominators would stoop to such abysmal evil," Feric muttered.

"It's common knowledge that the creatures expose the germ plasm of their slaves to radiation for the purpose of breeding new and ever more ghastly perversions of protoplasm," Render pointed out.

The point was well taken. Feric had little hope that monsters capable of this ultimate obscenity would be restrained by moral scruples when it came to employing nuclear weapons. "You're right, of course," he said softly.

"But surely the matter is academic. The technological level of Zind is rudimentary by our standards."

"Perhaps," Remler said uneasily. "But on the other hand, there are certainly some unsettling reports coming out of Zind. We know that the Doms have sent an expedition of slaves deeper into the eastern wildlands than their minions have ever penetrated before; these wildlands are so contaminated that these creatures will perish horribly in a matter of months. There must be something there of great importance to the Doms for them to expend so much protoplasm. And it is common knowledge that many powerful nuclear weapons were stored in those environs in the day of the Ancients."

"Surely the nuclear weapons of the Ancients will not still be operational at this late date, even if Zind should uncover them," Feric said.

"Quite so, my Commander," Remler said. "Perhaps this is merely an act of desperation on the part of the Doms, for they must know that their hour of destruction is close at hand."

"But on the other hand," Waning said, "my scientists inform me that the nuclear materials do not deteriorate for thousands of years, and manufacturing these arcane substances is the most difficult aspect of building nuclear weapons. Even the dolts of Zind could eventually renovate Ancient nuclear weapons if such were discovered."

Feric's heart sank, for Waffing's logic was irrefutable. If Zind discovered the weapons of the Ancients, they could bring back the Fire; if the Doms had the Fire, they would use it. Yet he retained his absolute moral determination that Heldon would never risk the final irreparable contamination of the gene pool by toying with the Fire. There must be some way out! A sudden thought struck him.

"Assuming the worst, Waffing," he asked, "how long 192

would it take Zind to actually come up with an arsenal of usable nuclear weapons?"

Waning sipped at his beer for long moments. "Who knows?" he finally said. 'They must find the weapons of the Ancients, discover their principles, then renovate them. If our luck is foul, and theirs is good, they might be in possession of such working weapons within six months."

"But not within two weeks?"

"Utterly inconceivable!"

Feric suddenly bolted to his feet, drawing the Great Truncheon of Held. "Very well!" he declared. "It's decided! Ready or not, we will throw our full force against Zind within the next ten days and expunge the filth from the face of the earth before the Fire can even enter the question!"

Instantly, Best, Bogel, Remler, and even the portly Waning were on their feet with their beer mugs in their hands and fire in their eyes.

"Death to the Dominators!" Best shouted.

"Long live final victory!"

"Hail Heldon!" cried Bogel.

"A toast to our glorious leader, Feric Jaggar!" Waffing roared, raising his mug high in the air. The other High Commanders clinked their mugs with his; all shouted

"Hail Jaggar!" and poured the beer down their throats.

For his part, Feric felt a wild joy wash away all doubt; there was nothing like a life-and-death struggle to raise a man or a people to superhuman heights of glory. He elevated his own beer mug and proclaimed a further toast: "To the force of evolution! To blood and iron and the total victory of the fittest!"

Following Waffing's lead, the High Commanders gave a great spontaneous cheer and smashed their beer mugs against the wall.

There was not the slightest doubt in Feric's mind that the key to victory over Zind was the lightning seizure of the great oil fields to the southeast. With this vast reser-

voir of petrol in the hands of Zind, the mighty mechanized army of Heldon would expire within a month of all-out combat from thirst, whereas the early capture of the oil fields would enable Heldon to grind the forces of Zind to gruel with massive armor and air power.

Unfortunately, this situation must be as obvious to the Doms as anyone else. Therefore, the only course open to 193

Feric was to feign an all-out dash across nortTiem Zind for the capital of Bora; if the Dominators were convinced that the Helder strategy was to win the war quickly by rolling across the northern Zind heartland and sacking the capital, the bulk of their forces could be tied down in an effort to protect Bora in the north. A task force of tanks and motorcycle troops backed up by the first squadrons of the new jets could then sweep south and east out of Borgravia and seize and secure the oil fields before Zind could properly react.

The key to this strategy was the credibility of the Helder march on Bora in the eyes of the Doms; this would have to be an all-out attack by the major part of the army upon the very stronghold of the enemy. Heavy casualties, fighting of incredible ferocity, and massive resistance were certain. A spectacular display of fanaticism and heroism on the part of the Helder forces would surely be called for.

For this reason alone, Peric knew that he would have to lead this attack and leave the seizure of the oil fields to Waning. Further, his conspicuous presence in the forefront of the march on Bora would lend the final touch of credibility to the operation in the eyes of the masters of Zind.

Thus, as the first rays of dawn began to light up the sky over the rolling hills of east central Heldon, Feric sat anxiously beside Best in his tank at the head of the greatest armed host Heldon had ever fielded, awaiting the penultimate moment. A hundred and fifty miles to the north, two Helder armored divisions were even now crossing the Roul on pontoon bridges in the vicinity of Lumb.

This small force had been augmented by hundreds of empty motorized troop carriers, giving the appearance of a much larger army; by now the Doms would be convinced that the main Helder assault would be through Wolack and would be marching west to meet the attack.

Thus when the real attack came from a hundred and fifty miles to the south through the rump state of Malax, the Helder army would be able to fall on the exposed southern flank of the horde a hundred miles or more inside Zind itself. Feric hoped that this feint-within-a-feint would lend even more credibility to his strategem, while at the same time allowing the war to begin with a fine flourish and a stunning defeat for Zind.

"Two minutes' to zero hour, my Commander!" Best called out. Feric nodded, and peered up through the open 194

hatch of the command tank, behind which was an army that surely would have made even the Ancients cringe.

Seven hundred swift black-and-red tanks—most of them equipped with the-new flamethrowers—formed the forward phalanx, a front fifty tanks wide. Behind this wall of steel, and flanking it on both sides, were two full divisions of motorcycle SS, and then three divisions of regular army motorcycle troops surrounding hundreds of fast armored troop carriers and supply trucks. Completing the totally motorized vanguard force were two score of the old heavy dreadnaughts. A vast aerial armada operating from safe fields inside Heldon would fill the skies at the first sign of serious resistance. In the van of the motorized troops, a quarter of a million .infantrymen would march into Zind, ready to add their weight to any fixed battle, and mean-while carrying out Feric's order to leave no artificial structure standing and nothing left alive. Quite literally, all that was Zind would be scoured from the face of the earth!