"There can be no question of assuming a defensive position while Zind overruns Wolack," Feric declared firmly. "We must attack, we must attack at once, and we must attack with blinding speed and crushing force."
"But my Commander, we're not ready to fight Zind now; in four months—"
"My mind is made up. Waning!" Feric snapped. "We simply cannot allow Zind to march into Wolack unopposed. We will attack at once with whatever we have."
A scant thirty-six hours later, a great Helder army stood poised at the border, ready to storm into western Wolack. Feric had mobilized the cream of the army and.
the finest SS units and would lead them into battle him-143
self. Since the key to the situation was concentrated power and lightning speed, Feric had assembled a wholly motorized striking force, divided up into two main columns.
Lar Waffing led the army contingent which consisted of two divisions of motorized infantry packed into every gas truck that Heldon could muster, escorted by three thousand motorcycle troops and a score of the huge steam dreadnaughts. This force would roll straight across the western fens of Wolack, to meet the Zind horde head on somewhere in the vicinity of the capital, Lumb, on the western bank of the River Roul. Heavily outnumbered, Waffing's troops would have little chance of stopping the horde by themselves.
However, Feric himself, with the loyal Best at his side, would lead a division of the finest motorcycle SS shock troops backed up by a score of the new fast tanks in a wide flanking maneuver to the northeast. If all went as planned, Feric's force would dash up and around the set battle at Lumb, then sweep down to attack the rear of the Zind forces on the east bank of the Roul while the whole unwieldy horde was in the process of crossing the river via one comparatively narrow bridge. The plan required the SS troops to make quick mincemeat out of forces outnumbering them by as much as a hundred to one, but the shock and surprise would cut down the odds, and the innate superiority of the SS fired to a fanatic fervor by the inspiration of their Supreme Commander fighting at their head should do the rest.
The wan morning sun was obscured behind a leaden sky as Feric sat on his motorcycle at the head of his SS
division watching his timepiece tick off the last few moments to zero hour. Beside him. Best's face glowed with youthful excitement as he waited for the moment to start his motorcycle.
"Do you think the Wdacks will resist our advance?"
Best asked hopefully.
"Hardly, Best," Feric replied. "The Wolack army is nothing but a mutant rabble to begin with and I expect it's got more than its hands full in the east."
Nevertheless, since time and speed were of the essence, it would be best to stun Wolack into utter helplessness at the outset. Cannon set up in a hollow five miles from the border would pulverize the Wolack border fortifications before the army and the SS reached the border. The two 144
columns would then pour into Wolack side by side, smashing any resistance that might arise. Only when all Wolack had been thrown into utter panic would Feric lead the SS
off to the northeast.
Behind Feric and Best was the hundred-man SS elite guard, their black motorcycles and matching leather glistening, their submachine guns freshly oiled, their truncheons hanging near their hands and ready for action. Behind this elite force were a dozen tanks, then the rest of the motorcycle SS, the other light tanks, and behind this massed SS contingent, Waffing's regular army force, stretching out to the western horizon farther than the eye could see.
"What a grand spectacle!" Feric exclaimed.
Best nodded. "Before the week is out, the nominators will get a taste of the might of the Swastika, my Commander!" he replied enthusiastically.
As the last few seconds ran out, Feric unsheathed the Great Truncheon of Held, and thrust the gleaming shaft high into the air. At this signal, the air was filled with the ear-shattering sound of thousands of motorcycle engines as the steel stallions were fired into life. This roar was backed a moment later by a low gut-thrumming chord that seemed to shake the hills as the engines of all the massed trucks and tanks and steam dreadnaughts began to idle.
Feric felt the racial will of all Heldon pounding through his flesh in the vibrations that filled the very air with power. His will merged with the mass will of the men he was about to lead into battle; he was the army, they were his, and together they were Heldon.
Then, with a glance at Best, Feric swept the Steel Commander down through the air. From miles away, Feric heard the sudden thunder of cannon, as he gunned his engine, and the host of Heldon surged forward.
