"Eighty-five percent of the rejects choose sterilization over exile," Render whispered quietly in Feric's ear.
Tears of mingled joy and sadness came to Feric's eyes, for as reject after reject marched stoically through the right-hand door to be shorn of their generative powers, he knew that before his eyes was the ultimate proof of the justice of his cause and the triumph of the Swastika.
Field Marshall High Commander Lar Waffing arose somewhat ponderously to his feet, glanced at the great map behind Feric's elevated chair, nodded at the generals assembled in the War Room of the Star Keep, smiled directly at Feric himself, then made his formal report.
"My Commander, it is both my honor and my pleasure to report that the renovation of the army may now be considered complete. Our forces now boast over three hundred tanks and the new factories continue to pour out scores more every week. We now have over two hundred fighters and dive-bombers and scores more rolling off the assembly lines. Half a million fine new men have been added to the ranks, and I'm proud to say that every Helder soldier is now equipped with a spanking new submachine gun as well as a formidable truncheon. Ammunition is in copious supply, and we've stockpiled enough 172
petrol for a month of all-out war. Army scientists are in the process of reconstructing guided missiles and many other weapons of the ancients.
"In short, my Commander, you now have at your disposal a force awaiting only your orders to spring into action!"
"Well done, Waffing!" Feric said with considerable enthusiasm as the High Commander reseated himself. The army and the SS needed only quick action in order to hone their fighting edge. The only question now was where and how.
"Do you think we're ready to annihilate Zind, Waffing?" he asked.
Waffing lost himself in thought for a few moments. "I have no doubt we could defeat Zind if we attacked now,"
he said. "But the war would be a long and arduous one.
Give us six months and our army will have doubled its size, well have thousands of tanks and planes, and the speed of our advance across Zind will be limited chiefly by the velocity of which our tanks are capable. We'd pulverize the swine in a lightning war."
Feric pondered this assessment of the situation. It would certainly be better to wait a few months until the hosts of Heldon were up to projected full force before launching the final attack on Zind. On the other hand, the army could use some immediate action.
"Waffing, would it be possible for Zind to attack us within the next six weeks?" he inquired.
"Hardly," the High Commander replied. "Their logistical system is quite sluggish. We would know of such an assault far in advance. No such preparations are now under way."
Feric rose to his feet, his mind made up. He tamed to face the huge war map on the wall behind him, and addressed his commanders.
"Within two weeks, Heldon will march. One great column will sweep through Borgravia, take Gormond, and proceed westward into Vetonia. At the same time, the northern arm of our forces will march into Vetonia through Feder, linking up with the southern army at the capital. The combined force will then storm across Husak along a wide front, smash all opposition, and drive the remnants of the Husak forces into the western wildlands to perish. As our troops secure Borgravia, every mud hut in Cressia, Arbona, and Karmath will be leveled by the air 173
force and the vermin driven into the southern wildlands.
Thus we will secure our rear for the final showdown with Zind. Should this entire operation take more than a month, I will be sorely disappointed."
The jaws of the old generals fell open at the audacity of this plan; Waning, however, pounded his fist on the table, grinning with pleasure. "If the operation takes more than a month, my Commander," he declared, "I will personally shoot every officer in the army, then demote myself to the rank of a common foot soldier, put the muzzle of my submachine gun in my mouth, and execute myself for high treason!"
Feric chuckled with good-natured appreciation of Waffing's drollery. Waning himself could not contain his own high spirits and burst into guffaws. In a moment even the dour generals joined in the merriment.
Still, Feric realized that the very spirit that moved Waffing to make such an extreme vow would move him to carry it out in the inconceivable event that such expiation should prove necessary. What a fine troop of heroes it was his honor to command!
