The Iron Dream (28 page)

And now he beheld the irrefutable evidence of the vigor and speed with which the Helder people, led by the SS, could purify conquered land and make it fit for incorporation into the Domain of Heldon.

As the convoy moved on out into the open countryside, Remler turned to Feric with perhaps a slight hint of trepidation on his face. "My Commander," he said, "I've taken the liberty of ordering the driver to take us to a nearby Classification Camp. We have a minor problem that I believe requires your personal decision, and I feel you should see a Borgravian Camp before you act."

Feric nodded agreement somewhat absently, for he was absorbed in the Helder ingenuity and industriousness which were clearly in evidence here in the country as well.

The surface of the road was now hard gray concrete instead of Borgravian dust and mire. Here and there sturdy wooden Helder farmhouses dotted the landscape and homesteaders were in evidence putting the newly reclaimed human soil to the plow. Feric's convoy toured on for more than twenty miles along the spanking new road through a countryside that was even now more Helder than Borgravian.

Indeed, of the former mongrelized denizens of Borgra-182

via, nothing was in evidence until the convoy approached one of the great Classification Camps that had been set up throughout South Ulmland, carefully segregated from centers of human habitation.

This Camp, typical of those constructed in the conquered territories, was of far greater extent than those within old Heldon though built along the same basic lines, for the task here was proportionately greater. In this Camp alone, nearly a hundred thousand Borgravians were confined in a huge rectangle of electrified barbed wire and housed in a vast warren of barracks within this perimeter; moreover, such a Camp population was by no means atypical of the conditions that obtained in the new provinces.

As the command-car driver brought the vehicle to a halt outside the high fence, Feric was presented with a spectacle as revolting as any he had ever been forced to witness. Crammed together behind the barbed wire was a seemingly endless throng of grotesque creatures of every nauseating description. Thousands of Parrotfaces clicked their beaks at each other. Humpbacked dwarfs of every variety scuttled about like herds of monster crabs. Creatures with arms longer than their bodies shambled about aimlessly like jungle apes. Skins were of every cancerous hue: green, blue, red, brown, purple. Pinheads rubbed shoulders with loathsome Toadmen. Moreover, dung, offal, and filth were everywhere in evidence, and the stench that arose from the Camp was nothing short of terrific.

"I wanted you to experience the reality of the problem firsthand, my Commander," Remler said. "We've rounded up every last Borgravian, and the SS is more than equal to the task of confining them to the Camps, and even a blind man would have no trouble separating the true human stock from the genetic rubbish provided he still had use of his nose. But what are we to do with all these sordid creatures? We hold millions in the Borgravian Camps, and the situation in the other conquered provinces is no bet-

ter."

Beyond the barbed wire, Parrotfaces, Blueskins, Toadmen, and all varieties of other monstrosities picked through dung and filth with their fingers for morsels of edible material which they transferred directly to their mouths. Feric's gorge began to rise.

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"It's obvious that they must all be sterilized and then exiled into the wildlands," he said.

"But my Commander, what is to prevent millions of the wretches from simply wandering back to their former habitations? You've seen the wonders we've worked here; in a few months, this land will be indistinguishable from the rest of Heldon. But how can this be accomplished with hordes of pauperized mutants shambling about the countryside?"

There was no denying that Render had raised a cogent point. What a contrast between the civilized air of Bridgehead and the surrounding countryside and the fetid sty the same environs had been when rabble such as was confined behind the wire infested the area! How would it be possible to encourage Helder to colonize the new provinces if they were presented with the foul spectacle of degenerate vermin at every turn?

"Perhaps it would be better to confine the creatures to the Camps for the duration of their lifespans," Feric said, as a dull-eyed Toadman not ten yards from the car dropped his pants and proceeded to defecate.

"Such is my feeling, my Commander," Remler replied.

"But the expense of feeding and housing millions of such useless wretches for decades staggers the imagination, and to what useful end?"

"I see your point," Feric said. "From my own experience among the Borgravians, I know that they lead uniformly sordid lives of great misery; they are genetically incapable of anything better. No doubt euthanasia would be a humane service to the wretches as well as our most pragmatic course. But I absolutely insist that the task be carried out with a minimum of pain and as efficiently and cheaply as possible."

"Of course, my Commander!" Remler said. "SS scientists have developed a gas which saps the subject of consciousness and then of vitality without so much as a trace of discomfort. Moreover, it is effective in very small doses, and not unduely expensive to manufacture. We could process the inmates of every Camp within the new territories in this manner for the cost of maintaining the Camps as they are for six weeks."

The stench of the massed Borgravians lay heavily in Feric's nostrils like the miasma of some unimaginably vast manure pile. Clearly the program that Remler bad suggested was the most practical way of dealing with the 184

former denizens of the new territories; the Helder people could hardly be expected to expend vast sums for decades on the upkeep of these wretched monstrosities, and to let such creatures run wild on true human soil was equally unthinkable. Moreover, these poor creatures certainly had the right to expect that their true human superiors would put them out of their misery as quickly and as painlessly as possible, rather than leave them to rot in their own offal. On this question, the dictates of pragmatism and absolute morality coincided. The humanitarian duty of the Helder people was identical with the economic necessity.

"Very well, Remler," Feric said. "You will procure the necessary materials and complete the processing of the Classification Camp inmates within two months."

"Within six weeks, my Commander!" Remler promised fervently.

"You're a credit to the Swastika, Remler!" Feric exclaimed.

Although he knew full well that the struggle for the preservation of the true human genotype was hardly over as long as the Doms and their minions brooded in the vastness of Zind, Feric felt that the Helder people had more than earned a celebration. He therefore declared a day of national rejoicing one week after the fall of Kolchak completed the final victory of the Swastika over the last remaining mongrel state in the west.

All over the Domain of Heldon, Party rallies were scheduled; in Heldhime itself, Feric determined to put on the largest and most inspiring spectacle of all time, which would be televised to the far corners of the expanded nation as a treat and an inspiration for all.

In an open field not far from the city, an enormous reviewing stand had been erected. As the sun began to sink toward the western horizon, this construct by itself presented a sight of considerable grandeur to the hundreds of thousands of Helder who crowded the field around it as far as the eye could see. The reviewing stand was erected as a series of cylinders of ever-decreasing diameters, one atop another. The base of the tower was a circular grandstand of steps fifty feet high upon which stood a thousand SS purebreds, the absolute cream of the elite: none under six and a half feet tall, all with flaxen hair and piercing blue eyes, and decked out in spotless tight black leather uniforms, the chrome fittings of which had been polished 185

to the point where the setting sun flashed orange fire off thousands of diamondlike facets. Each of these superhuman specimens held a flaming torch, the crimson brilliance of which matched the hue of their flowing swastika capes.

Atop this giant pedestal of flame was a smaller cylinder draped with scarlet swastika bunting upon which stood the high Party officials—Waning, Best, Bogel, and Remler—magnificent in their black Party uniforms. Finally, the central spire of the reviewing stand was a long narrow shaft of bright scarlet a full fifty feet tall at the summit of which stood Feric in heroic black leather and scarlet cape, the Great Truncheon of Held, newly polished and dangling from his wide leather belt. He was lit from below by a hidden electric globe with a subtle reddish tint that gave him the appearance of a living heroic bronze as he stood there looking down upon the endless sea of his followers from a height of more than a hundred feet.

Across the wide expanse of open parade ground outlined with torches which cut an arrow-straight path through the watching multitude, Feric faced an enormous wooden swastika a hundred and sixty feet tall.

At the precise moment that the bottom edge of the solar disc touched the western horizon line, casting a rich red dusk over the countryside, twenty sleek black aerial dreadnaughts roared over the parade ground not five hundred feet in the air; the echoing thunder of their swift passage merged with the mighty cheer of the crowd. At this spectacular signal, the giant swastika burst into flame with an explosive roar that set the soul humming.

Across the wide expanse of parade ground, Feric could still feel the warmth of this ensign of glory setting his blood afire as the great parade began with five thousand gleaming black SS motorcycles dashing past the reviewing stand at sixty miles an hour in rank after precision rank, each cyclist bearing a scarlet swastika flag that stood stiff in the breeze of passage like a frozen flame. As each rank of motorcycles shrieked by far below him in black-and-red glory, the SS men delivered massed salutes and shouted

"Hail Jaggar!" so that the effect from Feric's viewpoint was that of a continuous standing wave of saluting arms and a rolling thunder of salutations that merged with the roar of the engines to shake the hills and valleys and echo grandly for miles around.

Feric responded to this mighty, uplifting greeting with a long series of sharp, crisp Party salutes, so that each rank 186

of motorcycle SS was treated to its own personal acknowledgment from the Supreme Commander as it sped by.

Hot on the heels of the motorcycle SS came a formation of two hundred black-and-scariet tanks, moving at speed in ranks of ten. As each rank of tanks passed the reviewing stand, the cannon saluted with blank shells, filling the air with continuous reverberating thunder and the heady aroma of gunpowder. Feric responded by drawing the Steel Commander and holding the mighty weapon rigidly aloft until the last tank had passed, its gleaming shaft catching a thousand sparkles and highlights from the great flaming swastika across the parade ground.

Far, far below him, Peric could see an ocean of Helder spreading to the far horizons, shouting, leaping, and saluting in a frenzy, completely swept up in the glory of the moment. Barrels of beer were broken open, and here and there spontaneous folk dancing took place. Thousands of impromptu torches were lit and waved wildly in the air.

Fireworks were touched off, adding to the gay spirit of carnival.

Huge formations of regular infantry marched by in their field-gray uniforms, kicking their booted feet clear up to eye level at every step, and delivering massed salutes of bone-snapping vigor and hearty salutations. The sound of the celebrating multitude became a palpable force that Feric could feel with every atom of his being; a soul-soaring amalgam of cheering, fireworks, music, dancing, marching boots, roaring engines, cannon firing into the air. Squadron after squadron of trim black fighters soared overhead trailing streamers of blue, green, red, and yellow smoke.

Motorized infantry sped by in powerful half-trucks, firing their machine guns in the air, a sound like the drumfire of the gods. More tanks followed, saluting with their cannon.

For his part, Peric was as swept away in the glory of the moment as the simplest Helder. Again and again, he saluted his passing troops, his arm snapping up and down in tireless precision, its very flesh locked into the mystic racial power that filled the air, a power compounded of the fervor of the huge crowd, the might of the marching legions, the triumph of the moment, the glowing flame that seemed to be everywhere and in every Helder soul.

Each time Feric raised his arm in salute, the preternatural din reached a new crescendo, a new height of en-187

thralling sound which coursed through Feric's being bearing him to ever-greater transports of ecstasy, which in turn made his next salute an even more fervent gesture.

Now Waffing's pride and joy passed the reviewing stand: long, sleek, smooth, silvery missiles on trailers drawn by trucks, the ultimate expression of Helder potency, capable of screaming down on targets at supersonic speeds from hundreds of miles off. These were followed by a massed formation of regular army motorcyclists who did then- best to surpass the motorcycle SS in dash and in the fervor of their saluting. More dreadnaughts flew by, dropping flares that lit up the sky with rainbow colors.

SS foot troops marched by in skin-tight black leather, kicking their boots high over their heads then slamming them down with incredible force at every step, saluting with utter precision and shouting "Hail Jaggar!" with a fierce vigor that seemed almost supernatural.

On and on the great parade went, far into the night, as the might of Heldon paraded by the great tower of the reviewing stand. The crowd seemed to grow ever larger and ever more fervent, as if in some mystic manner all Heldon were flocking to this glorious occasion.

Atop his scarlet pedestal, Feric stood erect and tireless, saluting each formation as it passed with a rigor and exhilaration that was undiminished even as the first rays of dawn began to creep up the eastern horizon. His entire being was engorged with the racial glory that filled the air, that merged all Helder hearts into one.