MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 12 (part 1)

Bonn, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Central Europe
November 10, 0087

I love being the Man! exulted recently-reinstated Captain Camael Balke as his grin swept across the room. He was back in his universe now, and his list of conditions had been more than met. Edgrove had not liked it one bit, but that was his problem. He wanted a fix to his sucking chest wound, and Balke was the staplegun to do the job. Even the fatigue, from the drive to Bonn and the lateness of the hour, had been washed away by the fact that he could wear the uniform again, once he had acquired a new one. It hadn't taken a lot of negotiation, not when Balke was looking down on Edgrove from a great height.

His reinstatement had complications, of course. Even in his position, Edgrove lacked the power to completely clear his name and get him back on the payroll at his full rank, but being deputized and granted "temporary authority as though invested with a captaincy" was good enough to work with. He'd even managed to secure certain regulatory immunities and conditions that any ordinary Federation Captain would have shot his own mother for. For certain, the protests had been loud and adamant about most of his "requests", and even Cramer, who flaunted regulations whenever it suited him and he thought he could get away with it, had looked as though he were going to pop like a balloon on a bed of nails.

F*** 'em. If they're desperate enough to beg me for help, then they can handle a few bad words, a bowl of insubordination, and a extra large glass of 'I Told You Sos' with their Happy Meal, by God!

"Captain, the floor is yours," spoke Edgrove, managing to choke out Balke's reestablished rank without spitting, and the assembled sat down and went silent. Balke had chased most of the lower staff out, and with the exception of Dorff, who was standing off in a corner, the lowest-ranking person in the room was the historian. The audience was down to about a dozen people, total. The ex-Ranger was eminently amused that he, a former Corporal, was being treated like Balke's aide. It also helped that he was the largest man in the room.

"Okay, people," Balke said, the audience unable to affect his nerves, "background info, so get your pens and pencils and pay attention. Your enemy is on the screen, and has those two faces, so keep them in mind. What I'm going to tell you comes from sources outside the loop, but it's all clean. Some of it's even classified by Federal mandate, but I think we can all be discreet, can't we? Your historian's got a lot of facts, but can't tell you anything about the nature of the enemy. I can. Make sure Captain Assclown stays awake for this, or he'll just keep right on thinking that this is just another episode of 'Krauts From Space' and probably get killed, and that would be a damn shame and a total sin at his bright and early age."

Balke's back was turned, but he could feel Sajer's eyes on him, and sense the uplifted middle finger as well. F*** him, too. He'll thank me later when he lives to savage humanity with his horrible gene pool.

"I think the Professor there left off doing background data. Fine. I'd start there, but that's not going back far enough. Everything centers around the past with these guys. Get one thing through your gray matter, folks: these two are NOT your typical Zeon. They're Zeeks, but not like the other Zeeks. They don't even share a common background with most of Side 3's other denizens, so don't assume anything or take **** for granted, because they'll know you are and skullf*** you with your own stupidity. That's not an insult, it's just a simple fact of what they will do. I got skullf***ed by them so bad during the War that I've got two glass eyes and well-lubed sinuses. That was a joke, feel free to laugh.

"By and large, the residents of New Koenigsberg Bunch are Germans. Reason being is that it was a bunch, no pun intended, of Germans that got together about a hundred years ago or so and leased-to-own a cylinder from Colony Corporation on Side 3. Reason for that is because they needed a place to go, because they'd just been politically exiled from Earth. Reason for that is because they tried to establish a form of government that was counter to what those under a republic would desire. I'm talking about a combination of imperialism, oligarchism, and feudalism, the same setup that the old Holy Roman Empire was run under. Differences were, there was nothing holy or Roman about this one.

"Imagine for a moment, the idea of an elected Emperor. Sounds nice, yeah? No committees, no partisan backbiting, no shady campaigns and cheap promises for votes, no political dominance through purely military or economic means. A common man's dream government, where one guy calls the shots, but that guy gets picked by the people, and what the people want, they get, right? F***ing wrong. What these guys tried to build was a feudal electorate patterned off of the Pfalzgraf, the Elector-Princes of the old German tradition. The Emperor, while not a true hereditary power, gets put into position by the Elector-Princes, and rules the whole show for life. When he croaks, the Elector-Princes get together and vote in another one of their number, usually after some form of trial. The Elector-Princedoms are hereditary positions, whose powers are granted to them by the Emperor, so the only way to get rid of them is by killing off the current family and replacing it, or having the Emperor get pissed off, strip them of their land and title, and give it to another House.

"These dirtbags liked the idea so much that they decided to resurrect the whole concept and force-feed it down Germany's throat, but they actually tried it legally. This was back when the first space colonies started to spin, and the undesirables were being forcibly relocated. Fifteen families, one for each German state after the 1990 Old Calendar reunification, each rose to some sort of social dominance over their respective territories and decided to elect an Emperor under the old tradition of Taiding. This would legitimize what they'd done in the eyes of the people, who would then be obliged to swear fealty to the Princes and thus, subsequently, to the Emperor. Germans get off on traditions, and this one has never been far from the surface, even today."

He paused and glanced around. The faces around him bore looks of confusion. I adore a captive audience. "Germans are funny people. You ask one to define what a German is and they can't do it, but they all share one trait in common and that is a desire to be ruled. Germans without strong leadership get funny ideas, and then start looking to kill Frenchies, Slavs, and Poles to better their own gains. These fifteen families of throwbacks managed to convince a sizeable portion of the population of Central Europe that as leadership went, the Federation wasn't cutting it. So they rose up and tried to vote out the politicians who were also Federation supporters, so that they could take power, call for a Germany-wide election on whether or not to accept Federation control anymore, kick the Charter out, and then rule with an iron fist for the next five hundred years or so.

"Their plan was opposed by the elected Federation-phile politicians, and also by the Roman Catholic Church. The conspirators had tried to get the nod from the Church to make their future Emperor's rule legit, the way it used to be done. I don't think the Cardinals and the Holy See had ever moved that fast to block a succession in a thousand years. But they couldn't act on their own volition, not with a separation of church and state in effect. So they reestablished an old chivalric order based on the Teutonic Knights of the Templar tradition. These agents then took up the sword of reason and began shutting doors in the faces of the Fifteen. They, and the Church, saw the Taiding for what it really was, and rallied their people against a tyranny that wore the face of a comrade. The Fifteen appealed to the German in their supporters; the Church appealed to the soul of the people, using their Knights as their field agents, capable of actions that their priests and laity were forbidden to use. The Church won, and the Fifteen failed. Halle-f***ing-luia.

"They were due to be tried for treason, but they were more farsighted than the Federation was at the time. Each of these fifteen families, and their supporters, were economically powerful, and held a lot of stock in the infrastructure of Europe. When it was apparent they weren't going to wheedle their way into anywhere but a stockade, they tried to kill off the opposition party. When that plan went balls-up, they up and liquidated all their holdings, and managed to lease a colony in space. They then packed up and left Earth for Side 3, the furthest place from Earth they could get to and still be in the Sphere, set up shop in their brand new cylinder, and got back into business. They named their Bunch 'New Koenigsberg', and the Fifteen, as the Elector-Princes, became the administrators for the colony.

"Now, even though their basic pattern was taken from the Holy Roman Empire, there was a dark side to this system. The Fifteen are strict eugenic Nietzscheans, and the Church saw that and put a stop to it while they still could. What I mean is that these assholes were out to raise an Emperor who was a superhuman, one that was born to a power that was tangible, physical, and spiritual, the way no previous tyrant had ever been. Where others had divine mandate, they would have genetic supremacy, which was a lot easier to prove and act with than the idea that your throne was given to you by God. But in order to make certain that their Emperor was who he needed to be, they ALL had to be superhuman, so that whomever was elected by the Princes would be one of them, and therefore perfect for the job. Using selective breeding and highly illegal genetic experimentation, they began their quest to build the better monkey. That got them in trouble here on Earth, but my gut tells me they didn't give up their ways, and the fruits of their labors are ripe."

Balke pointed at the screen, eyes on the audience, who sat silent and stunned. "After three generations of doing who knows what with DNA strands, I give you their latest models for the New World Order: Dietrich von Mellenthin and Reinhardt von Seydlitz. Each from one of the Fifteen Houses of the Electors, each superior than their forebears. Raised into a social system that abhors decency and equality, and exists on a level of oppression the likes of which no society has ever before seen, one where there is a very real and very defined caste system based on eugenics. If the shady kind of reports I got to sift through are all true, their chromosome fiddling, plus being in the hardy environment of space, have produced some rather unique . . .mutations in the way they look at life, the universe, and everything."

Cramer perked up. "What kinda 'mutations'? They got two peckers or something?"

"No, but that would be pretty cool though, wouldn't it?" Balke's tone was almost wistful. "I'm not sure what they can do that's any different than what you or I. . .well, at least I can do. All I know is that if the rumors are true, these assholes have more tweaks and additions to their DNA than a Volkswagen Beetle in a ricer meet. Expect anything and everything from them, just in case.

"Now, the present. Side 3, of course, home of Zeon Zum Daikun's NewType theory. That's not a coincidence, by the way. Played right along with the scheme, at least to the observer, even after the Zavis took power and Giren proclaimed his own NewType theory. It was obvious that there was going to be a war between Earth and Space, it was only a matter of when. In that light, as the historian probably mentioned, they drastically altered their education system and began preliminary military training at a very early age. This system is still in place under the Republic of Zeon, by the way."

"Excuse me,"interjected Edgrove, who had managed to still the voice in his own head that prompted him to dwell on the ramifications of what Balke was saying, "but something doesn't make sense in all of this, not that much of this really does make sense, mind you. You say that they're after conquest, rulership, a system of-of domination, but neither of them have exhibited any signs other than sociopathy. Why commit themselves to mass-murder and genocide when they're supposed to be enslaving Earthenoids?"

Balke wagged a finger at Edgrove, but smiled. "Good question, Lu---Colonel, sir," he caught the slip before he could finish it. "Remember, Giren Zavi was the genocidal one. The New Koenigsbergers aren't like that, and that's one of the reasons I think Nemesis is a smoke job. The blotter acid in the punch bowl, I guess you could say. But the desire to not mass-execute all of Earth doesn't mean they don't have the will to do it. This is bigger than that. To them, it's not just a body count that matters, but who's running the show when the curtain lifts. Von Mellenthin's a power nut, and he did everything he could during the War to make it so that as few people as possible were higher than he was on the chain of command. Von Seydlitz's demand that the Federation get the hell out of Germany runs along a similar line."

He punched a button on the keypad, and put up a highlighted section of the transscript of von Mellenthin's war crimes trial in 0080 on the screen. "Here, this is what von Mellenthin said when one of the tribunal judges accused him of being a traitor. He said, 'I and my species fight to free ourselves from a regime that cannot understand our motives or accept our goals. That makes me a patriot, not a traitor. You all serve that regime with a devotion as blind as any who labor under a system they cannot control or understand, and you enforce its will on all humanity, on Earth and in Space. What does that make you all?'"

Sajer's lips curled into a sneer. "'Patriot'? I can't believe he'd sing that old tune! What a fool!"

Balke nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's what the tribunal said, too. They told him to justify every atrocity committed before and after the Antarctic Treaty by the Zeon, if he really thought that way. Know what he said? He said, 'I don't have to justify myself to inferiors, any more than you justify yourselves to your pets. Space is the home of the ultimate expression of Humanity, and that responsibility is far greater than enduring the hue and cry over the removal of hordes of those who are lessers, especially ones who were sent into space because they were scum that even you rid yourselves of because they took up too much living room on your planet of the perfect.' Getting the picture now, Assclown? They're not just in it to bring down the Federation: they're here to conquer, subjugate, break the rest of humanity to their yoke, and prove that only they are capable of ruling us they way every ruler has meant to. The kids are going to do what their Dads couldn't, and that's be the masters of the destiny of the species."

Balke's eyes bore into Sajer's. "And the worst part about all of this is, we're giving them all the reason in the universe to hate us more than we hate them. Every action the Federation has taken in space has threatened their ideals, their philosophy, and their way of thinking, and for that they want to see us crawl like bugs under their jackboots. They think we've put them in a corner and will destroy them for what they believe, because thanks to the Titans, that's exactly what we do!

"But I digress, sorry." He turned to the historian, who had been furiously scribbling with the speed of the practiced dictation user. "You said they've known each other since they were six. You're wrong. They've known each other since infancy. Von Seydlitz commanded a battalion in the 10th, and he conquered Prague with that battalion. Peas in a pod, these two are."

He clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing, but did not stop talking. "I didn't find out until after the War that they put their fifteen into positions of power in the Zeon military. But the War was far worse than they had expected, mostly because the Zavis f***ed up, and their little perfect soldiers mostly forgot that they'd be commanded by dickheads that were less capable than they themselves were, and twelve of them died. I think the thirteenth one turned up on the KIA list after Stardust. Von Seydlitz was supposedly the fourteenth. Even so, they cost us dearly, especially here in Europe, where the supposedly autonomous 10th Panzerkaempfer was put under orders time and time again by the Zavis to do things no right-minded general would do, and then had to pay the price for it. It's what happens when politicians run wars, and I thank God for the Zavis every day for that. But we didn't finish them off."

"So what's the problem?" asked the historian, speaking up for the first time since Balke took the floor. "History shows that tyrannical reigns rarely last more than two or three generations before collapsing, especially those patterned on military power or supremacist ideals."

"Yeah, it does, so let me scare the piss out of you a little bit more, just in case some of your trousers are as dry as Captain Assclown's." Balke's voice quieted to a conspiratorial whisper. "They most likely already know that. If there's one thing the Fifteen have always paid attention to, it's history. They know why military societies fall apart, and have inoculated themselves against it. Sociological lesson time: military civilizations hasten their demise without a constant state of warfare because they have no culture beyond conquests to maintain themselves with. This occurs because everyone's too busy practicing the martial arts as opposed to painting, or imagining, or writing good literature, or studying the way the world works, or any other number of the arts and sciences that provide for a thriving culture. Their leaders tend to be no different, just successful generals or guys with the most coups counted or the biggest and most magical sword they swiped from some skank in a lake. How can a society thrive if their lord is nothing more than a two-bit thug with a body count?

"Lemme tell you a little something about Herr von Mellenthin: he is a soldier, but he's also more than that. He tells stories. He plays the piano, and has even composed a few concertos in his day. He can draw decently, and likes critiquing art because he knows the nuances. He reads, insatiably. He's a philosopher, too, capable of understanding all forms and fashions of other philosophies, and all their weaknesses. He is a learned man, and probably possesses more raw knowledge than half the people in this room, combined. He knows the value of martial prowess, and also of social consciousness. What does that tell you about their motives?"

He glared at Edgrove as he paused in his tirade, breathing heavily. "It was never cowardice that made me and my people run during the War, Colonel. I knew what was commanding the 10th Panzerkaempfer the moment they took Minsk, and that we weren't ready for them. Knowing my opponent was part of my job, and the 10th had TWO of these wanna-be gods in its ranks, among other terrible things, like the eight or so aces that came out of their muster. I watched my brigade walk into a trap on their own turf, and we barely got out as it was. Even after it all, whoever took a stand against them died, and we survived only because of the timing of the amphibious landings before Operation Odessa. Had you and the rest of the Federal Forces been a week later in coming, I'd be dead.

"But we've got them by the nutsack now. As long as we have von Mellenthin in jail, we know what they're after. All we have to do is make them come and get him, and they're owned. They won't move without their tin god." Satisfied, Balke sat down and clasped his hands behind his head. He wondered why the room was so silent, though, and his eyes narrowed as he swept them across the faces arrayed before him. "What?" he asked, hesitantly.

"We don't have him, Captain," said Edgrove gravely.

Balke did not know how he made it to his feet again. "Eh? Don't **** me! He's dead?"

"Not. . .exactly. They broke him out already. The Titans lost four suits, along with their pilots. We lost everybody, including most of the other prisoners and FNN reporter Irina Fields."

"This can't be happening," moaned Balke, rubbing a hand across his astonished face. "This isn't f***ing fair!"

"God forbid that," muttered Sajer from his seat.

Balke's eyes found Sajer's in the room. "You're a funny guy, Assclown. I'm willing to bet you think the Titans can beat these Zeeks at their own game."

"Titans don't play games, Captain."

"Guess what? I agree with you." Balke looked at Edgrove. "I know it's like lancing one of your own hemorrhoids, but I agree with Captain Assclown there. Send the Titans after them and smash them with sheer numbers. No offense, Cramer, but your people will get raped if they go after these guys."

"Nah, no offense," Cramer did not look amused. "I love when REMFs tell me that me and mine're gonna get assf***ed before the wedding starts. Gets me all hot 'n bothered."

"It's not about you, buttercup, it's about them. When we had von Mellenthin, we had a card to play. Now we don't, and dollars to donuts says they've got a plan."

"It's too late, Balke," said Edgrove. "The 103rd is already deploying at Magdeburg."

Balke's eyes narrowed again. "Why the f*** are they going to Magdeburg?"

"Because the 10th is going to Berlin. We're going to cut them off at the Elbe River. Von Seydlitz said so."

"When the hell did he say that? And what does it have to do with Magdeburg?"

"When he called us directly, before you arrived. Composite analysis of the 10th's pattern of operations during the War suggests they'll stick to mountains and forests. The only mountain range en route to Berlin before they hit the open field is the Harz range. The nearest crossing for the Elbe is Magdeburg, since we're going to blow the bridge at Dessau. If they don't take the Magdeburg crossing, the next one rated for the weight of mobile suits is over a hundred kilometers away, on open terrain. With the Elbe swollen from the snows, they can't risk jumping it with their suits unless they all have Gelgoogs, so they have to find a crossing capable of handling the weight. Zakus and Doms can't make the distance on thrusters in gravity."

Balke found a chair and sat down, shaking his head. "No! This is bullshit! I'm sorry, no, I don't mean the plan, Colonel; that makes a lot of sense. But why Berlin? That makes no goddamn sense whatsoever! Play that call over for me, if there's a copy."


The transmissions were replayed for the sake of those who had not been there to see it the first time. It was Cramer's first time seeing that conversation as well, and when it was over he was nodding to himself. "Yep, that there's a plus-perfect, Grade-A son of a bitch. Me and my people'll enjoy horsekicking his ass back to the Moon."

Balke was lost in thought. Nemesis made no sense, any more than a move to Berlin. Von Seydlitz would never enter Berlin as a conqueror, because it would be hateful to himself, and von Mellenthin would never force him to do so. Something was missing, and he was hellbound to find out what.

He lit a cigarette, then sat back, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. "This is f***ing nuts. It's stupid."

"Seems pretty straightforward to me, Captain," murmured Edgrove, waving a hand to clear the smoke away.

"Okay, we think they're going to Berlin, we think they've got this germ or whatever the fiddlesticks it is. We know they won't use it until they get to Berlin if we don't vacate all of Germany and turn over control to them, and we know they have mobile suits, armed and operational. We also," he stood now, punching a wall with each word, "f***ing well know that they broke von Mellenthin out of Mannheim. That's bad, by the way."

"We got that," said Cramer.

"Why is that bad, exactly?" asked Sajer. "He's just a man."

Balke shot him a withering glare. "You haven't listened to a thing I've said, have you? Zeon Daikun was 'just a man'. Char Aznable was 'just a man'. Anavel Gato was 'just a man'. Aiguille Delaz was 'just a man'. The leaders of the AEUG are 'just men'. Dietrich von Mellenthin is not 'just a man'!! He'll wipe his ass with your face like toilet paper, then shoot you in the liver for the kicks of watching you die, just because you're an Earthenoid, and a Titan! And he'll do it with the same scruples he uses when faced with choosing bacon or sausage at a f***ing breakfast buffet, because you're an inferior and are only worth about that much hassle! I've talked to von Mellenthin, and I've looked him in his eyes, and whatever lives behind them looked at me like I was a f***ing bug, something he'd step on and not even notice!

"It also means that von Seydlitz isn't running the operation anymore. His monstrous master is. Which brings me to how they managed to get our skirts up around our asses and our panties pulled down without us even noticing."

Balke rifled through the file folder he'd carried in until he found what he was looking for. "This is mostly guesswork, since all the proof in the world is buried under a mountain, but bear with me. April 30, this year, the Granada-registered bulk freighter Non Sequitur collides with a hunk of post-War orbiting debris and takes a header into a mountain in the Alps. This is true. Reports indicate that the pilot, who was in contact with London Control, and the cargo of Lunarian ore it was carrying went splat on said mountain with no survivors. I don't think that was the case at all. I think that maybe the pilot and definitely the real cargo survived the crash, and we're seeing it in the form of von Seydlitz's mobile suits. Evidence here," he waved a glossy photo of a patch of concaved earth,"practically screams that something big and heavy landed while that freighter vaporized on the mountain. Search and Rescue failed to confirm when they checked the area. Boo-boo, big time."

"We got that already. Move along," said Edgrove, his head beginning to hurt. This was more like something out of a demented science fiction writer's dream than reality.

"Mobile suits, and probably this Nemesis critter, were the cargo. Now, two weeks ago there was an explosion in a salt mine less than twenty kilometers away from the crash site. It was that explosion that led me to Berchtesgaden, by the way. Rewind to the War, where the 10th had plenty of time to scope out the Berchtesgaden area when they were cruising the Alps making idiots out of all of us by simply going around everything. Bear in mind that this was the same op that netted them Zurich, which I'll get back to in a minute.

"Somehow, just before the final push into Metz proper and the call to 'Mistwraith' Gyar to surrender, von Seydlitz and an unknown amount of his people managed to get out before the Big Bang. Considering that no one bothered to confirm their destruction, they probably used forests and mountains, which means they used the Alps again. This time, they stayed there, set up shop in Berchtesgaden, and infiltrated. I've got testimony from half the population of Berchtesgaden saying that just before the War's end, a group of strangers moved into town and got jobs working in the salt mine. They had papers and IDs that said they were from various places on Earth, not space, and people said they knew in advance that a group of people would be showing up to help keep the local economy going. Here's the cute part: one of them played the violin, very well."

Leaning over, he slapped another button and popped up a picture of von Seydlitz. "Our man 'Black Eagle' here used to be a violin player. Second chair in a full orchestra kind of violin player. The physical description matches this dick to a tee."

Balke stood to his full height. "With a lot of digging, I found an oblique reference from a field report given by a fighter pilot for the 9th Army during the Metz operation, several days before the reactor kamikaze trick, and just a few before the capture of von Mellenthin. This report stated that he, and two of his fellow flight, attempted to pursue a heavily-damaged Gau bomber/carrier that managed to slip past their aerial screen and elude destruction. Permission was denied to continue pursuit on the order of senior Aerospace Forces commander, one Colonel Daniel Brown. That Gau was later discovered near Freiberg, but there was no sign of cargo or crew. This means, at least to this old detective, that someone got out of Metz earlier, before von Mellenthin was even caught, and went to Freiberg to get something. Then, they kept going. What the Freiberg pickup was probably came out of Zurich,and it was probably hard currency of some type that was universally acceptable, like gold or diamonds or something they could barter with. Once they got to Berchtesgaden, they started setting up the picnic and waited for the rest of them to arrive. Von Seydlitz and his escapees show up a month later or so, and that's that.

"So they're alive, on Earth, well-hidden, and all nice and secure working in a salt mine under a mountain, while von Mellenthin makes a spectacle out of his trial and keeps everyone in the dark about whether or not anyone got out of Metz. All the while, the survivors plan out this whole thing. I'd call it diabolical if it wasn't so personally embarrassing."

Cramer's eyebrow rose a fraction. "What makes it your personal bitch, Balke? Think you're God's gift to the Federation or something? You some kinda psychic on top of being a f***up?"

"Because I knew better than to trust the 'Ghosts' to stay dead, and instead of snooping around and doing anything about it, I've been fulfilling my karmic destiny by selling cheap porn to people just like you, Cramer. That's why it's my f***ing personal bitch, also just like you, Cramer."

Edgrove rapped his knuckles on the desktop. "Enough with the hostility, gentlemen. That goes for all of you. Us fighting with each other only helps them. Balke, continue."

"Yes, sir. Now, I was going to start chomping on where they got the mobile suits, not to mention raiding New Koenigsberg for what I suspect are nasty things, but I'm not a Titan, and that means I can't tap anyone in space to funnel info to my desk. I tried to get people into New Koenigsberg after the War, before Stardust, but couldn't manage to get someone on the inside who got deep enough to find out what the hell they're up to. The people I did get there sent me nothing more than a lot of hoodoo reports about them raising their kids in a warlike environment, but nothing about their research or what they've been doing politically. That means that everything we see is what we know, and that's not good enough to figure out what they're really after. I was wondering if you could help me with that. . .Captain Sajer."

Sajer, who had been wrapped in his own thoughts, blinked when he realized he was being spoken to. "Hmm?"

"You, Titan. Me, Clueless. Can you get some people to do some snooping in space for me, or can't you?"

"F*** you."

"Mmm, contempt. Makes me feel all lovey and gooey. But I've got a better idea than a grudgef***. Colonel, sir," smiled Balke like a cherub, "could you say the magic words to charm Our Lil'est Fascist into doing me a favor?"

Edgrove actually grinned at Sajer, wearing the same smile Balke did. "That's an order, Captain." He could still do that, since this was a terrestrial problem and not a supraorbital one.

Sajer groaned, glaring at Balke with almost tangible loathing. "Fine, goddammit!"

"Thank you, sugarplum. It's easy, even for you Cro-Mag thinktanks. I'll get you a list, check it twice, and then you'll find out who's naughty or nice and tell me. In the Intel biz, we call that 'Application of Foreign Usable Resources'. It's like bribing a crooked cop for services, only not."

"When this is over, Balke . . ." Sajer's voice spoke volumes of murder.

"Yes, dear, I'll fix what ails you after the big game. Colonel, have you already got people checking for the delivery devices for this Nemesis ****?"

"Yes." Edgrove looked like he could use a stiff drink.

Balke was inclined to agree with him. "Okay, good. I doubt they'll find anything, though. I think we're being played, but I can't prove that, and it's best we don't take chances anyway. That gives us time, which only works for us. Why they'd be going to Berlin, I don't know, but if that's where they're going, then . . . where are they now?"

"They disappeared from Heidelberg just after the last transmission. Last report had them moving northbound on the Autobahn."

"Yeah, I almost forgot. We also know that they've got eight NewType candidates hostage, ages six to eight. F*** you for that, by the way, Colonel."

Edgrove rolled his eyes skyward.

Balke's face took on a look of concern, then he tapped on the keypad in front of the historian, playing back the copy of the last von Seydlitz transmission. He paused it at the last moment, looking at the other face that had been on the screen. "Who is that, I wonder. Do me a favor and find out before daylight, Twitchy. He's got Commander's rank, so he was probably a battalion C-in-C. I want to know how many we're dealing with, and who."

"Why's that important? Expecting one of them to pop von Mellenthin in the back before you can?" Despite the snideness in the comment, Sajer's point was taken.

"No, I just want to know how many nightmares got out of Metz. We can't rely on someone on the inside getting rid of our problems. People love a winner, and von Mellenthin delivers, so they'll stay loyal as long as it works, and to hell with what the future brings. Right now, they'll follow him to the end of the world and jump right off if he does. They may not be New Koenigsbergers, but they are Zeon, and they're banking on von Mellenthin being the next Giren Zavi, only without the hole in his brainpan. Don't forget that they're all in this together."

Balke lit a cigarette, drew in a lungful of smoke, then exhaled heavily. "Right. I'm going to get some shut-eye. This whole Nemesis thing is completely dumb, and I can't make sense of it while conscious and sober. I'll assume intelligence on Heidelberg and Lammersdorf will be here sometime between now and sunrise, and I'll take it up then. I'd suggest you all get some 'Z's, too, because when they do what they're really going to do, we may not get the chance again."

"I don't think I'm sleeping tonight," said Cramer, who was seriously contemplating catching a chopper to Magdeburg to join his company. "Think I'm gonna get my folks loaded and wired to make their bag limit. We got room on the roof for some Zeek skins to salt and stretch."

Balke smirked. "Make sure your people can hit like men and not mice, Cramer. I'd hate to think of your hotshots having to break a nail doing their jobs."

"You know," Cramer looked Balke in the eyes, "I hope that sad sack of **** wants a fight. I'm gonna enjoy handing his head to you just so you know that there ain't a monster under your bed for your Mommy to save your paper-pushing ass from!"

"I'll take that bet, hayseed." That was Sajer, who hadn't moved from his seat. After his proclamation, he looked at Edgrove, whose eyes smouldered with distaste. "Better put your money down, Colonel. Your boy's going to get his ass passed to him with both hands, and then you'll see why the Titans are necessary."

Balke was not smiling, but he did not look away from Cramer. "That's about the same odds as von Seydlitz smacking von Mellenthin in the face . F***ing insane to even think it. Never in a million, billion years."