Oberheim (Voices) Part 17

The United Commonwealth, under its present leadership, could best be compared to a wealthy adolescent, raised with the notion that the world owed it something, angry and sulking because the expected happiness had not yet been delivered.

It seemed that every time the Commonwealth's economy threatened to bring its standard of living closer to the rest of humanity, angry, illusioned people came forward, organized, made aggressive, patriotic noises, and persuaded the middle cla.s.s (the real power in the electorate) to abandon the floundering liberals and elect a conservative, Republican President. Then, before hard-line conservative dogmas could be re-exposed for what they were---a pleasant excuse for big business to run wild---the ax was put to social programs, health and environmental concerns were put on the shelf, and 'survival of the fittest' became the unspoken ethic. Large stores of weapons were ama.s.sed (with the money saved by being less sensitive), some kept, others shipped throughout the galaxy to areas of instability where "freedom and self-determination" were threatened, meaning that the governments there already were, or showed signs of becoming, socialist. And all such militaristic actions taken with the expressed purpose of preventing bloodshed, and similar aggression on the part of Soviet s.p.a.ce (which required little prodding to respond in kind), resulted in quite the opposite result: endless carnage and civil war.

That this same pattern of mutual confrontation had brought the Earth to the brink of nuclear holocaust many times in the past, was apparently all but forgotten by a bulk society with a historical attention span of roughly five years. And every time, this cycle was repeated as if it were something new, unique, and wholly necessary, by a people who professed to be, and probably should have been, the most enlightened in the galaxy.

N-B3

Not that anyone really expected the Americans to fight. They were for the most part (deep down) morally opposed to violence, had not the stomach for it. And blind, self-serving sheep that they were, the middle cla.s.s could only be deceived for so long.

Because this same, slow-thinking blob of humanity which elected and gave the presidents their power, also set the limits for its use. In a nation literally ruled by public opinion, they were like an anchor unsoundly planted. The ship was free to drift a certain distance to either side, but could never move too far in any one direction before the anchor finally caught on some solid objection, and the movement was brought to a halt. True, the angry seemed angrier this time, the aggressive less easily pacified, and the Christian right-wing (a contradiction of terms, for anyone the least familiar with Jesus'

teachings) more implacable. But it had been nearly a hundred years since the Commonwealth had been directly involved in any kind of offensive (military) war. Most observers had come to think of this naive superpower as a big dog that liked to bark and throw its weight around, but wasn't really looking for a fight. The damage it did was more subtle and indirect---like stepping on flowers not yet open, and crushing creatures too small for it to see.

But as the saying went, "When you sleep in the same bed with a giant, you had better sleep lightly." The United Commonwealth was the most powerful nation-state in the history of mankind, the more so because it did not know its own strength.

9) P-B3

These are, of course, the bare facts, and like all generalization, subject to flaw. There were West Germans who loathed and rebelled against every hint of the n.a.z.i mentality, j.a.panese who had never been violent, Belgians and Swiss who opposed the coming war, members of the Soviet leadership who cared, and Americans who saw the world clearly.

Unfortunately, as all too many times in the past, there did not seem enough who broke the mold, nor did they play an active enough role, to keep the wheels of ignorance and violence from churning. Because the study of war is the study of people in power and the ma.s.ses they are able to persuade---of strife, twisted dreams and ambitions, and of human nature set in its darkest surroundings. For this reason the small and destructive characteristics of a people (of the aggressors, at the least) tend to surface, often riding on the back of what is truest and n.o.blest in them, and individuals silently opposed to the politics of carnage don't seem to count for much.

The sad and simple truth remains that, to be prevented, nationalistic aggression must be resisted from within, either by large numbers of the population, or by those in positions of power who are willing and able to stop it. And so far throughout history, with very few exceptions and during wars uncounted, it had not been.

0-0

The battle room aboard the armed s.p.a.ce station Mongoose was quietly tense and alert. The Czech and East German officers attended their various stations with well-drilled efficiency and outer calm, intermittently reading off coordinates and running hands across pulsating fingerboards, making adjustments and speaking by headset to the various squadron commanders of the close-hovering fleet. The defense grids---interlocking walls of energy which prevented the free and rapid movement of attacking ships---were in place and activated.

In the center of the room, behind a spherical plexigla.s.s screen, a three-dimensional monitor projected tiny wavering shapes among the static lines of the grid, marking the approach of the Belgian-Swiss forces. A young lieutenant of average height and wiry build, with intelligent eyes and features, studied the projection and corresponding console before him with fascination and growing apprehension. He felt foolish and out of place: his first battle.

A taller man in his late fifties, stern and brown-eyed, a cla.s.sic Czech soldier to the last detail, came up behind and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Courage, Brunner," he said in low harsh tones. "I need your judgment today." It was the closet thing to a compliment he had ever paid his young protege.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. It's beginning to look very real."

Dubcek's dark features bored in on him in the familiar expression---down-thrust head and knitted brows, eyes looking up through them like a boxer's. It was a hard and intimidating face, though with a gleam of sharp and illusionless intelligence. Only Brunner seemed to suspect a deeper humanity beneath the facade, and he was far from certain.

"It is real, but not something to be feared. Real men will die this day, as all men must. It is the only way to stop them." At that moment the voice of the executive officer broke in on them.

10) B x N

"Colonel, enemy light cruiser 'red' engaging destroyer group B."

Dubcek nodded in acknowledgment. Brunner quickly adjusted and replaced his ear-piece, and the sounds of actual combat came to him for the first time. He heard: ships signaling one another, attacking, being attacked, some voices calm, others tense and on the verge of panic---explosions and bursts of pain within bridge compartments, engineers crying damage reports, men dying and signals going blank.

The older man heard them too, studied the projection without haste, made several marks on the gla.s.s. Again the voice of the exec:

"Destroyer group B has succ.u.mbed---no surviving ships."

Brunner watched his commander's face, half expecting to see no change.

But a change did come, if only for an instant: a cloud of pain and uncertainty flashed across it. The dark countenance grew darker still, and he muttered beneath his breath. "If he wants to trade, we'll trade."

P x B

"Advance robot battery 7," he said out loud. "Knock him out of the sky." The order was pa.s.sed on, and several seconds later the blip that had been the enemy cruiser also vanished from the globe.

A yeoman entered, bringing news of the Coalition reinforcements.

Dubcek acknowledged the message, gave one of his own, then turned to his young lieutenant as if in answer to his unspoken question. His eyes, like those of a bird of prey, had returned to their normal l.u.s.ter.

"We don't have to beat him, just hold him off till help arrives. That is why we are aligned defensively, ready to counter-punch, and take advantage of his mistakes." Both turned back to the projection, and to their own thoughts.

11) 0-0-0

Masaryk began to speak again, but Dubcek waved him off. "Here," he pointed. "He's moved his battle station behind the carrier, and brought the corresponding battleship to corridor five, trying to strengthen his position for a frontal a.s.sault."

Brunner hesitated, not wishing to overstep his bounds. "Does that surprise you?"

Dubcek almost smiled.

"No. He imagines he's being clever, showing me something I haven't seen. But I've played this game a few times before." To his exec: "Battleship A to corridor four." Masaryk nodded, and pa.s.sed the order on. The main battle computer silently acknowledged the move.

R-K1

Again Dubcek turned to his lieutenant. "In a battle of this scale, and fought under the controlled conditions imposed by the grids, preparation is paramount. But once the real fighting begins, the book goes out the window. You may see me do things you question. If so, do not a.s.sume that you are wrong. Decisions made in the heat of it are based mostly on instinct, and instincts can go astray. Don't override me, but if you see anything unusual in either my strategy or his, I want your comments as soon as there is time."

Brunner was having trouble adjusting to this new intimacy, however strained. "Colonel. Won't the computer do that?"

"To h.e.l.l with the computer. This is no d.a.m.ned field exercise. I'll ask for your comments, and those of my staff because I want input, not a.n.a.lysis. You'll be dead wrong most of the time." The expression changed slightly. "I need your inexperience, to remind me of things I might forget."

Dubcek moved back toward the place where his exec stood leaning over the main ship's console, one hand on the back of the First Technician's chair, the other pointing to the vision screen before her. Both looked up as their commander approached.

"Major," he said to the woman. "Would you excuse us for a moment?"

Wessenberg rose, gave a quick bow and left them.

"Well," he said to Masaryk, who had been his second many times in the past. "What do you think of the way he has positioned himself?"

"He's done very well. If he does as well the rest of the way, we could catch it hot."

"Yes, but he won't. Everything up to this point has been done by the book---his computer could have done the same. Once the main engagement starts, he'll find himself hard pressed to sweep us away. We have reinforcements coming in six hours. He does not."

"Do you take that for granted?"

"What do you think?" The commander glared and Masaryk, who knew him well, adopted a more deferential tone.

"No, sir."