This is not to say that the massacre was entirely one-sided. Five Tigers, three of them lifeless smoking hulks glowing cherry red in places, also dotted the path behind the brigade. Hans had hope that the other two might be recovered and recrewed.
“Emanations. C-Dec. One o’clock. Eight thousand meters,” announced the 1c.
“Brigade halt,” Brasche ordered. “Engage her as she shows.”
East of Magdeberg, Germany, 26 December 2007
Chaleeniskeeren knew it was the end, as it had been the end for each of his followers. He knew that he could run no further, certainly not in his weakened condition.
The God King rested against the metallic side of a C-Dec, a Posleen Command Dodecahedron. The C-Dec was unmanned, and Chaleeniskeeren strongly suspected he knew why. The waves of heavy gamma radiation cutting through his body like knives told him this ship had fallen to one of the threshkreen’s radiation weapons.
“No matter,” he snarled. “I am dead anyway.”
Arising, he walked unsteadily on his four legs until he reached the main hatch.
“Halt and announce yourself,” the ship commanded.
The God King knew the drill. All Posleen Kessentai knew the drill for taking over abandoned property without incurring edas, the often crushing debt that was the common lot of all but the most senior and richest of the People.
“I am Oolt’ondai Chaleeniskeeren, son of Ni’imiturna, of the line of Faltrinskera, of the clan Turnisteran. Is there anyone aboard?”
“My internal sensors show no life aboard this vessel, Chaleeniskeeren of the Turnisteran. I am called ‘Feast-deliverer.’ ”
“What is your radiation count, Feast-deliverer?” he asked.
“In the range of certain death in less than one twenty-fifth of this planet’s revolution about its axis,” the ship answered.
“I claim this ship for myself and my clan, in the name of the Net and of the Knowers; in the name of the People, and of survival.”
“This is the way of the Path,” the ship answered, as it lowered the ramp.
Chaleeniskeeren’s olfactory organs were immediately assaulted by the smell of feces and vomit. Clearly, those of the People who had died within were many, to raise such a stench. Steeling himself, he entered the ship.
Near the ramp, just inside of the hatchway, Posleen lay everywhere in every manner of undignified death. Here a cosslain had ripped open his own torso to get at the source of his pain. There another lay in a pool of mixed vomit and feces. Some few had, apparently, gone feral, lashing out at each other in their death agonies.
Stepping over bodies with every third lurch forward, Chaleeniskeeren made his own tortured way to the control chamber. There he found God Kings slumped in death, their faces twisted with the horror of their passing. Staggering, the sole living being aboard, Chaleeniskeeren reached the command panel. He had to tear away the God King who clutched it fast in full rigor mortis.
Standing in the command position, Chaleeniskeeren heard the ship intone, “Oolt’ondai Chaleeniskeeren, son of Ni’imiturna, of the line of Faltrinskera, of the clan Turnisteran, I recognize you under the Law of the Net, and the Ways of the Path and of the Knowers, as rightful lord of this vessel. What is your command?”
“Lift off,” answered the new commander, unsteadily. Already the edges of his vision were darkening. “Lift off and head generally for the human forces. Control to me.”
Tiger Anna, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany, 26 December 2007
“I can’t get a lock, sir,” shouted a frantic Dieter Schultz. “That ship is behaving like I have never seen an alien ship act before.”
Hans saw that this was true. Weaving, bobbing, even skating along the ground, the ship was an impossible target. A few rounds from other Tigers of the brigade passed nearby the target; passed, and missed. Suddenly, the alien ship shot straight up, moving faster than Anna’s elevating mechanism could follow, moving eventually further than it could follow.
“That ship shrieks gamma radiation,” announced the 1c.
“It’s gotten away,” exclaimed Schultz, in frustration.
Hans shook his head in short, violent jerks. “No. The Posleen never act that way. That ship had a dying alien at the helm. Anna, send the message to the brigade. All hands, brace for impact and a major antimatter explosion.”
Aboard Feast-deliverer, 12 miles above Saxony-Anhalt,
Germany, 26 December 2007
“Take control… Take control, Feast-deliverer, for I no longer can hold the helm.”
“Your orders, Oolt’ondai? Shall I head for some safe planet?”
“No, ship. There can be none, not in the long run. Can you identify the huge threshkreen war machines below?”
“There are more than twenty, Oolt’ondai.”
“Pick one, ship; one that is near others.”
“I have done so.”
“Good,” said Chaleeniskeeren, crest gone flaccid and head hanging in pain and shame. “Crash us into it.”
Tiger Anna, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany, 26 December 2007
Hans dreamt of happier times…
The wedding was informal, as was to be expected in the austere Israeli compound. The girls had pooled their resources, come up with a makeshift dress and veil, some high heels. The only building suitable for the gathering was the mess. There was, of course, no organ to play the wedding march. Even so, a young Israeli trooper was managing a fair rendition on a violin.
Looking back over his shoulder, to where his bride appeared, Hans noted with interest that his Anna wore no mak up anyway. Well, it wasn’t as if she needed it.
After that first night there had been no others. He had asked her to marry him as the sun arose the next morning and brought a filtered light for the hut. Lying there, the faint sun illuminating her hair spread across his one thin pillow, she had taken his breath away.
Glimpsing her standing nervously at the entrance to the mess, she took his breath away now, too.
The ceremony was conducted in Yiddish. If there was a living rabbi who spoke pure German he must have been far away. Curiously, though he still had to stumble through the ritual, he found he understood the rabbi better than Anna did. It must have been the Russian he had picked up on the eastern front.
Another woman, a widow — Hans desperately didn’t want to enquire as to the mechanism of her widowhood — had donated to the cause a simple gold ring. At the rabbi’s command, he placed the ring on Anna’s finger, then kissed her.
In the ensuing party, deliriously happy, Hans still found time to talk to the rabbi in private.
Harz was the first of Anna’s crew to regain consciousness. He was pleased to sense that the tank was still upright.
First things first, Harz thought, groggily. On hands and knees he crawled to Schultz, checked him briefly for damage, and confirmed he was alive and, as near as cursory and inexpert examination could determine, unbroken.