Origins: The Reich (35 page)

Valnor looked on
with great amusement at the sight of General Secretary Joseph Stalin attempting to mount an imposing white stallion to lead the Victory Day parade.  The animal was stunning to look at, but stubborn and very powerful.  The horse would be a handful for even a seasoned cavalryman, let alone a retired foot soldier turned politician who now sat behind a desk.

Twice now, the horse had bolted when Stalin placed his foot in the stirrup.  With his level of anger obviously growing, Stalin cast aside the reins in favor of grabbing the stallion by its mane.  The animal reared back on its hind legs and sprung forward in a gallop.  The General Secretary tried to hold on and was dragged across the cobblestone square until Stalin lost his grip and fell face first on the stones.

Stalin sprung to his knees and then his feet to unleash a string of obscenities that accused the stallion of being sired by the devil himself.  The General Secretary snatched his hat from his aide, brushed off the front of his uniform and spat toward the animal, “Let Zhukov take the parade.  He’s an old cavalryman anyway.”

Realizing all eyes were now on him, Valnor tucked away his amused smile and stepped forward to lead the parade.  He had no difficulty mounting the white stallion and expertly reined it to the lead position while Stalin and his gaggle of military and political ass kissers made their way to a stage set up in front of Lenin’s Mausoleum in the center of Red Square.

Valnor understood the political necessity to stage a victory parade at the conclusion of the Great Patriotic War, but in reality, there was not much for anyone to celebrate.  The Nazis destroyed over seventy thousand Soviet cities, towns and villages.  As a result, nearly twenty million civilians along with another ten million soldiers had died.  The Soviet Union did not so much defeat the Germans as they did outlast them.

The Soviet public would never learn of the eleven billion dollar Lend-Lease agreement with America, which saved the communist state early in the war.  Nor would the American public be allowed to appreciate the monumental human sacrifice the Soviet Union bore during the war.  Uniting the world’s greatest capitalist state, communist state, and colonial power was always a strange alliance born out of necessity to defeat the Germans.  Now that the day had been won, each side jostled for position to take full credit.

Every action the political apparatus undertook was to glorify Stalin and his divine leadership during the struggle.  That being the case, Valnor was shocked to be given the place of honor during the Victory Day parade.

He had received widespread accolades as the ‘Savior of Moscow’ during the Great Patriotic War.  His successes outshined those of Stalin by a wide margin and now placed Valnor as a political liability.  It did not make any sense for Stalin to feature Valnor in the parade.  Even if he could not control the stallion, he could have walked, ridden in a jeep or even on top of a tank.  There were any number of solutions that would have let Stalin hoard all the glory of final victory for himself.

That thought stuck in the back of his mind as he kneed his mount forward with a procession of infantry, tanks, and mobile rocket launchers trailing behind him.  Overhead the sky came alive with regular overflights of fighter and heavy bomber formations.  As he approached the stage erected in front of Lenin’s Mausoleum, he saw General Secretary Stalin standing on high, tall and proud. 

The distinguished leader of the Soviet Union saluted the mass of military might marching past him and Valnor felt his level of anxiety abate; the symbolism was unmistakable.  Stalin did not need to be the Savior of Moscow.  The generals worked for him and did his bidding with his army.

Valnor played his part in the show.  He led his mount over to a waiting soldier and grabbed a Nazi banner from the man.  The red banner featuring a white disk and black swastika was captured from a defeated German army division.  Valnor carried the standard over to an open space in front of Lenin’s tomb, tossed it to the ground, and had his actions rewarded with a roar of applause from the crowd.  After him, hundreds more red banners were thrown into the pile, and Stalin oversaw it all.  

The games these men play
, Valnor thought to himself.  None of it mattered much to him anymore.  The world war did exactly what Captain Hastelloy had intended.  The capability to destroy the Alpha threat on Mars was developed and used.  An added bonus was that Tomal and his dangerous Nazi friends were defeated.  Valnor concluded his task was now complete; he was content to retire into a tiny country cabin and enjoy a few years of peace and quiet before returning to the Nexus for his next assignment.

The next day Valnor was summoned to a meeting with Stalin inside his Kremlin office and felt his anxiety level return with a vengeance when he entered the room.

During the Great Patriotic War, Valnor fancied himself as one of the only people who truly understood Stalin's personality. As the Chief of Staff and later Deputy Supreme Commander, he had hundreds of meetings with Stalin, both private and during planning conferences. As a Consequence of the many encounters, Valnor understood Stalin's personality and methods.

He understood the man well enough to gauge his mood simply by looking at the ever present tobacco pipe in his hand. When Stalin drew deeply on his pipe, it meant he was in a cheery mood. Conversely, if Stalin failed to relight his pipe, it meant an imminent outburst was coming. 

On this occasion, the pipe was not lit and there were four armed guards present behind Stalin who was sitting at his desk.  In front of the window overlooking the Red Square stood fifteen members of the Politburo staring at Valnor with pity in their eyes.

“Marshal Zhukov, you are under arrest for conspiracy to overthrow General Secretary Stalin’s government,” one of the politicians read aloud without a hint of emotion behind his words.

“That’s ridiculous,” Valnor declared.  “I served the Motherland proudly during the Great Patriotic War and at Comrade Stalin’s pleasure I serve her still.”

“You are the hero of the war and carry great favor with the army.  You even led the Victory Day parade in place of General Secretary Stalin,” the round-faced politician went on.

“At Comrade Stalin’s request so that he might preside over the parade from the platform,” Valnor countered looking at Stalin with pleading eyes.  “Tell him, Joseph.”

“You stole my victory parade to enhance your stature with the men,” Stalin accused without managing to meet Valnor’s fiery stare.  “You sealed your own fate by trying to usurp my place.”

“Joseph, I am just an exhausted old general who wants to retire in anonymity and enjoy a few years of solitude before my time is up in this life,” Valnor offered as a last ditch effort.

Stalin finally met Valnor’s eyes to say, “At this moment, your time is up, old friend.”

Further words on the matter were not necessary.  Stalin needed Valnor to be gone and it would be so.  In a few moments, the four guards would usher Valnor out of the room and into a back alley.  There they would shoot him in the head to eliminate Stalin’s only potential rival for power. Before that happened, Valnor wanted just one thing.

Valnor straightened his posture to deliver his final request.  “If my death serves a greater good for the Motherland, I am honored to make that sacrifice.  Before I do, I would make one last request; I think I’ve earned it.”

In response, Stalin leaned back in his chair, relit his pipe, and drew a deep breath.  Valnor was going away without a fight and that made him happy.  “Then make it.”

“I need you to acknowledge what I’ve done in my lifetime for the Motherland.  I need to know that my life made a difference for others.”

Stalin leaned forward again in his chair and his eyes flashed with surprise and admiration.  He rose to his feet and offered a salute as he granted Valnor’s final request.  “The Motherland and the Party will never forget the actions of the finest Soviet commander in the Great Patriotic War. Your name will forever be engraved in the honorary steles placed at the battlefields; particularly the great one here at Moscow.  The name of Comrade Zhukov, as a symbol of victory, will never be apart from this battlefield or this place.”

“Thank you,” Valnor said with a bow, and let those be his last words.  He followed his guarded escort into the back alley and received his sentence for performing his duties well enough to threaten Stalin’s possession of power.

Hastelloy was the
first to help Valnor climb out of the Nexus regeneration chamber.  “Up you go now.  This is no time to be lying down on the job.”

After Valnor’s feet touched the cold metal floor, he brushed aside Hastelloy’s touch.  “I hate these first few minutes while all the nerve endings make their connections again.  The air in here feels like an arctic wind, and your hands feel like you set them on fire before touching me.”

“These should help,” Gallono said tossing a folded pair of pants and a shirt at Valnor’s chest.  “Besides, you look ridiculous standing there performing your Statue of David impression.”

Valnor let loose a heavy sigh and shook his head in disappointment, “That ruthless little bastard.  After I pried his foundering nation away from the jaws of death, he gives the order to have me shot in a back alley like some common street criminal. That is how he repaid my service and loyalty.  He didn’t even flinch.  It was as if he were ordering dinner off a menu.”

“People always remain true to their nature,” Gallono replied while Valnor pulled the soft cotton shirt over his head and began working on his pants.  “Just ask Tomal over there,” he said pointing to the far side of the room.  “Try as he may, nature always calls him back to be the attention starved, greedy little maggot that he truly is deep down inside.”

Valnor’s eyes followed the pointing hand to find Tomal seated in a chair behind a row of prison bars spanning the entire ten foot width of the thirty-foot long chamber.  “The captivity bars are new.  Is he going to remain imprisoned the rest of our time on this planet so he can’t cause any more unnecessary death and destruction?”

“That is for the four of us to decide,” Tonwen grunted as he shoved the room’s only table up against the set of bars and placed four chairs around it.  Hastelloy, Gallono, Tonwen, and Valnor all took their places at the table with Tomal seated at the end with the set of bars separating him from the others.

“We all know what transpired over the last few years,” Hastelloy began, but had his words cut off.

“Yes, we are all well aware that my leadership in Germany led to the development of rockets capable of reaching Mars to destroy the Alpha’s colony.  I saved all your lives, along with those twenty million souls trapped inside the Nexus, as well as an entire planet of people.  I saved the day and every one of you knows it,” Tomal insisted and proceeded to beat his right palm against the bars in front of him.  “Now let me out of here so I can work on finally getting a message sent back to Novus.”

“Tonwen’s bomb designs and my securing fissile materials to build them played a role in our final victory as well,” Hastelloy pointed out.  “That makes you only half right in your claim of being our savior.”

“That fact, along with all the good you’ve done for our mission on this planet, makes this a particularly tortured decision for me,” Hastelloy said in a quiet voice struggling to maintain emotional control.

Tomal jumped on his opening.  “That’s right.  I destroyed the original Alpha ship when it tried to space fold back to Alpha territory.”

“And remember, I was the one who managed to find Goron’s relic,” Tomal added.  “I put that rabid dog down; me.  I’ve done more on this planet than the four of you put together.”

“I’ll say.  You devised the plan and ultimately gave the order to exterminate millions of innocent people,” Valnor fired back with a deep sense of betrayal and hatred behind his words.  “Your work camps starved nearly twenty million Polish, Ukrainian, and Russian civilians: old men, women, and young children.  You even killed handicapped or mentally retarded German citizens because they got in your way.”

“That doesn’t even include the seven million innocents you sent to the gas chambers and furnace rooms because they committed the unforgiveable crime of being Jews!” Hastelloy shouted.

“Not to mention you murdered your six children, your wife, and then committed suicide by your own hand,” Valnor accused.

“So have you and you,” Tomal countered pointing first to Hastelloy and then to Gallono.  “You can’t hold that over my head.  Whatever you do to me you must also do to yourselves for that crime.”

Gallono sprung to his feet and lunged across the table reaching with his right hand through the bars.  He succeeded in wrapping his fingers around Tomal’s throat, and began to squeeze with all the enmity he bore the man.  “You left me no choice but to disgrace myself, you grubby little parasite.  You threatened my wife and son.  You left me no choice and now I am going to put an end to you for forcing that upon me.”

It took all the combined strength Hastelloy, Tonwen and Valnor could muster to pry Gallono away.  The commander cried out in anguished anger as Tomal’s throat slipped out of his grasp.

Once free, Tomal gasped for air in between violent coughs.  Tomal’s struggle to breathe must have given Gallono some measure of satisfaction, because he took his seat once more without much of a fuss.

“Your crimes against your own body, our mission, your fellow crewmen, and the sanctity of life in general are well known to all of us,” Hastelloy declared.

“As are yours,” Tomal countered.  “You killed yourself to alter form, remember.  And how many of these innocent humans have died because of your schemes?  Unleashing the floods in China alone accounts for more deaths than the work and extermination camps.  You are every bit the war criminal that you accuse me of being.”

“My admittedly distasteful actions were always done to safeguard our mission and the greater good of this planet,” Hastelloy fired back.  “Tell me, how did murdering millions of people inside concentration camps benefit our mission, or anybody’s greater good?”

For once Tomal appeared to be at a complete loss for words to justify himself.  He struggled for several moments to form the right phrase, but then as if a switch had been thrown, he deflated into his chair and admitted in a meek voice, “In my mind I thought the Jews were all working for you.  I convinced myself you were trying to take over this planet and that I needed to eliminate your soldiers being used in that effort.”

Tomal writhed around in his chair as if fire ants were eating him as he clasped the sides of his head with his hands.  “This…thing…this darkness inside my mind.  Sometimes I can do nothing about it except obey its instructions.  I can’t control it.  All the thoughts and impulses I detest most about myself come out without censorship or restraint.  It’s…don’t you see?  It’s not my fault.  It’s the darkness of this disease.”

“Darkness doesn’t even begin to describe the evil you perpetrated.  When a dog, even a loyal and useful one turns rabid, there is no choice but to put it down,” Valnor concluded.

“I agree,” Hastelloy added.  “Gallono?”

“Oh yes.  A thousand times yes; I agree.”

“Tonwen?” Hastelloy asked.  “It needs to be unanimous.”

The stoic man of science, who carried with him a deep spiritual faith ever since witnessing the crucifixion of his friend Jesus, closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh filled with regret.  Slowly his eyes opened to focus on Tomal to say, “Your crimes are too grave to forgive, even for me.  I agree.”

“No!” Tomal shouted in disbelief.  “No, you can’t do this.  It’s not my fault.”

“Turn off the Nexus collection chamber,” Hastelloy ordered Gallono.  The commander walked over to the Nexus, pressed a few buttons on the control panel and gave a subtle nod.

“No, no!” Tomal repeated over and over, each repetition growing more desperate as Hastelloy paced over to a storage locker and retrieved a wave pistol.

Tomal’s panic attack reached a lucid interval that allowed him to address Hastelloy with a relatively calm voice.  “You, of all people, have no right to pass judgment over me.  You are as amoral of a man as I’ve ever encountered.  Someday this decision will come back to haunt you.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Hastelloy answered pulling the trigger and reducing Tomal’s body to a thin layer of ash resting on the chair he had occupied. Tomal was no more; the rabid dog was put down, and Hastelloy wept bitterly as a result.