There Ain't Gonna Be No World War Three, Chapter 13

13. Sibling Rivalry

"WAS im NAMEN des TEUFELS -"

The old man stopped, turned, and looked back up the steps into the dark. He was standing, now, in an empty vaulted concrete space, big as the hangar deck of an aircraft carrier.

"I knew there was someone up there. Come down. Show yourself."

A figure was dimly visible, struggling with a mobile phone, trying to make the Darth Vader ringtone stop whilst not quite knowing what button to press.

"It is the girl from the café, is it not? Jochen's friend, the pretty black girl."

The music stopped. Bright eyes flashed down out of the dark.

"You find blacks attractive now, Hermann? Hardly surprising, I suppose. Though you snapped up my Ilse quickly enough."

The old man's eyes acquired even more wrinkles than normal. He peered into the blackness.

"Kurt", he said. "I don't know how that can be you, Kurt, but it is you. Ilse was never yours. That was all in your mind."

"Yes, of course", said the girl's voice out of the dark. A smile opened in the blackness beneath the eyes. "You named your tank after her. How romantic. What girl could refuse such a gesture?"

"She married me, Kurt. She did not marry you."

A fist smashed into a wall. "BECAUSE I WAS NOT HERE! Because I was forced to leave my homeland, my birthright! A birthright you stole!"

"I stole nothing. You forfeited the right to it by being a criminal and a coward. If you smash that girl's hand into the wall like that, you'll hurt her. I don't suppose you care. You never have cared about that sort of thing, have you? How do you have control of her?"

"We met with friends out there in the dark, Hermann. Friends who allowed us to share the power they have. What I feel, my brothers feel. What I think, they think. We move as one, we act as one. This girl is now one of us, and so I can see through her eyes, and so can all my brothers. I know where you are, Hermann. The best thing for you to do would be to sit still and wait for us to come and get you. If you're very, very good, little brother, I might allow you to share in our good fortune."

The old man grunted contemptuously. "Little brother? I have lived, Kurt. I lived through the lean times after the war, when we had nothing, when we had to rebuild. And we made this country strong again, Kurt. We made it the powerhouse of the West. Having to walk past armed Americans every day, having to wallpaper our houses with newspaper, never having enough to eat, powdered egg, Eichelkaffee! From that, we got to a point where the presidents of all the world's nations drove Mercedes. And then when the Bolsheviks were finally defeated - when their own people threw them out in Moscow - and Prussia was finally given back to us, we were so glad that we gave away all our riches, everything we had built, to our poor relations. Our prodigal sons from the East. And we were glad to do it. I have seen my son grow up, Kurt, and my grandson. What have you done, big brother?"

The girl moved off the steps into the light. She was moving differently, carrying herself more stiffly, head high.

"You still walk like a Hitlerjugend popinjay, Kurt."

The girl's foot fell on something that yielded and scraped on the concrete. She looked down.

"Why, brother. How thoughtful. Just like old times."

"It's yours, brother. Your old Korbschläger. The one you used to lay open Willi Krauß's face in the Mensur. Pick it up."

"Willi was a good man. He stood and took his punishment. That is the point of the Mensur. It is not a duel. You stand so close you can smell each other's breath, then hack at each other's faces, and are not allowed to flinch. The object of the exercise is to face danger with courage."

"The object of the exercise is to get scars! Fashionable scars, that make you look handsome and dashing. But do you know what, Kurt? Girls don't like them. You're inside a girl right now, Kurt. Look inside her mind; you'll see it's true. So who were you looking handsome and dashing for?" The old man cackled. "Surely it wasn't all to impress your men friends in the SS?"

"You have scars, brother."

"Mine are all on the inside. Or concealed under my clothing."

"Poor baby. I'll give you some on the outside", said the girl, stooping to pick up the sword. It was a heavy weapon with a basket hilt. She whipped it from side to side with some difficulty. "Christ in heaven, I can scarcely lift it. This nege is weak."

"I am also weak. I am an old, old man."

"Then we are even."

"Hardly. If you kill me, I die. If I kill you, I only kill this poor young girl, and you will still be alive and loathsome somewhere."

"What are you going to use?"

The old man reached into the dark behind him, and produced a long, curved blade. "Grandfather's cavalry sabre."

"That old thing? It must be rusted to hell by now."

"Blood does not rust swords, brother, nor do tears." The old man whipped the blade up in front of his face. "Moriturus te salutat."

The girl's sword whipped up in front of her own face. "Prête. Allons"

The old man's sword flickered viciously at the side of the girl's head; it was deflected effortlessly downwards, sprang back up to hack upwards, was swept down again, sprang back like a blade of grass in the wind, was beaten down again; the girl took a half step forwards and swiped suddenly at the old man's face; he was forced to retreat.

"You weren't ready for a determined attack, brother", gasped the girl.

"And you weren't ready to press your attack. You put yourself off balance - jumping forwards", puffed the old man. "You were always - too eager, Kurt."

The two circled one another, short of breath.

"This girl is terrible. The most awful material I've had to work with for a long time."

"I", grinned the old man, "am the most awful material I've had to work with for years."

"Am I stressing your old heart, little brother?"

"You wish." The old man lunged again; the girl dashed the blade aside, hacked at it as if beating it flat against an anvil, and when it was no longer between them, leapt desperately forward and swiped at where the old man had just been. The old man had stepped aside, frantically jerking his weapon up to protect himself; he pushed himself off the girl's blade to stumble several steps backwards across the chamber, falling heavily onto one hand. Across the chamber, the girl had also fallen.

The old man raised himself to his feet with difficulty, dusting himself off.

"If you keep striking this girl's hands against the stone", said the girl, smiling evilly, "you'll hurt her. I don't suppose you care."

"You're all strength and desperation, Kurt", said the old man. "Always were. I imagine I could even stand to face you in the body God gave you. Why don't you stop sending little girls against me, find some courage and come at me in a form I can kill?"

"I might even do that", said the girl. "I am on my way to you right now, in fact."

Then the chamber rang to a desperate shout:

"GRANDFATHER!"

The old man turned. Jochen was standing in the entrance, his face panic-stricken.

"Go back upstairs, boy. You are not needed here." The old man coughed, then bent double as the coughing took hold of him completely for several seconds. "I have everything under control."

"Are you sure?" said the girl mockingly.

"Cleopatra", said Jochen, "what are you doing? My grandfather is a good man. He will not hurt you."

"Your grandfather", said the old man contemptuously, "will stab this girl clean through the heart if he can, boy. Because this girl is not Cleopatra. If indeed she ever was. May I introduce you to your great uncle Kurt."

"We've met", said the girl. "It took you some time to get down here, great-nephew, but as you can see, I was here before you. Are you out of condition? Remember, all of us can see through the eyes of any other. We are a perfect military unit. A perfect fighting machine."

Jochen stared at the girl, unable to form any expression but horror.

Baron von und zu Spitzenburg looked Jochen directly in the eye.

"They are looking for the Shield", said the Baron. "They must not have it, but they will kill for it, of that you may be certain. It would be good if they do not kill you." He pointed away into the dark. "There is another exit in that direction. It leads up to the surface outside the castle. Go find your mother and our faithful guard dog and get out of here."

"Would that be your faithful guard dog?" said the girl, looking across the chamber at the massive white hound being held back by Alastair Drague and his two assistants, Jennings and Wise, who were emerging from the stairs down into the chamber. Jennings and Wise were only preventing the dog from springing at her by holding it hard by the collar.

The old man looked at the dog for several seconds.

"Yes", he said. To Jochen, he said:

"Go. That is an order, soldier. Befehl ist Befehl."

Drague's two soldiers, both armed, hesitated, struggling with Hasselhoff as he growled and strained at the leash.

"Go, gentlemen", said Drague to his men in English. "Take the dog and the boy with you."

"We can't leave you and the old guy alone with her. She'll kill you", protested Wise.

"If she's under control of the blue organism", said Drague, "almost certainly. I would point out, though, that your guns will have very little effect on her either. There is very little we can do."

Jochen, tears streaming down his face, shook his head. "We must go. He has given us an order." He looked one last time into the Baron's eyes.

And the Baron winked.

Jochen nodded.

"And I am also giving you an order, gentlemen. Go", said Drague. "If you want to live." This last point seemed to convince the two soldiers, and they saluted and followed Jochen, dragging the dog along with them.

Baron von und zu Spitzenburg, the girl, and Drague were left standing alone in the chamber.

"It is good to see you again", said the old man to Drague.

Drague bowed curtly. His heels clicked together as he did so. "Freiherr von und zu Spitzenburg. I only wish it had been under better circumstances."

"This creature", said the girl, "is the son of the little Englishman I wanted to shoot, little brother. See how he has grown. He looks almost as old as you do."

"I have met Mr. Drague many times", said the old man. "In short trousers, to begin with, when his father visited us as the official emissary of Her Majesty's Government. And then in rather longer trousers, when he took his father's place."

"Official emissary. I see. And his job would be to make sure Her Majesty's Government was the only one that benefited from the research that took place here at Spitzenburg, I imagine."

"Quite the reverse", said Drague. "My job was to attempt to get Her Majesty's government some benefit from your research after the American government had already taken everything from the castle including the wallpaper."

"It's true", said the old man sadly. "They did remove a great deal of wallpaper. They said we might have hidden microdots on it."

The girl's fists tightened around the hilt of her sword. "And these are the people you handed the keys to the castle to?"

"I handed nothing to anyone! They marched out of here with enough to build starships, it is true. But the greatest secret - the one that would most allow nation to make war against nation - I hid from them. I had seen too much war in a life that, at that time, was still very short. I was determined that they would not have it."

"What secret was that exactly, my lord?" said Drague.

The old man cackled. "Alastair, Alastair, you never change. I came down here not just to defend the secret. I came to destroy it. Nobody shall have it. Not even you." He pointed at the girl with trembling fingers. "And certainly not him."

The girl's mouth split open like a ripe pea pod in a massive toothy grin. "Oh, brother, brother, brother. We already have it. We have had it for quite some time. All I came here to do was to make sure nobody else had it but us."

The old man's eyes froze, no longer taking in his surroundings.

"That, I suspect", said Drague, "puts a rather different perspective on matters. We appear to be delaying the important business of trying to kill each other, gentlemen. Shall we get to it? I'm sure Herr von und zu Spitzenburg senior is eager for his reinforcements to arrive, but right now he is outnumbered. The advantage is ours."

"You sound rather more confident", gloated the girl, "than you did a few seconds ago."

"As it happens, I am", said Drague. " He removed a small electrical device from an inside pocket and flipped a cover off a button on top of it. "Some while ago, I found myself trapped, with a handful of friends, on a world where the blue organism had taken root. I believe the Soviet navy has since subjected that world to an intensive nuclear bombardment, but in the short term, I found that an effective means of defence was to subject the organism to a powerful electric shock."

"As you did Horst?" said the girl. "Yes, that was effective. I felt that part of us die. But as there would not appear to be a readily available source of electric current down here, I do not think -"

Drague sighted up on the girl with the device and fired. There was a crackling sound like frying bacon. The girl collapsed like a rag doll, jerking slightly as if under someone else's control; then she drooped into total immobility.

Drague stepped forward and poked her with a shoe.

"Hmm. You know, I really wasn't sure that would work. Hence my eagerness to get your grandson out of the way." He held the device up to the light. "I didn't choose the colour. It came in vibrant pink - selling to the female market, I imagine. It's called a taser. The American police swear by them." He looked up at the baron. "I was telling the truth, by the way; Kurt and his minions are on their way here, I'm afraid. It will take them a little longer than they think. They are too arrogant not to have taken the most direct route down here, and we left a little surprise for them, but that might only slow them down." He held up the taser. "This is only a single shot weapon. I can reset it, but it'll only take down one of them at a time, unless it's pressed right up against them."

"They cannot hear us now?" said the baron.

"I don't believe so", said Drague. "But who can tell?"

"Then listen. This is very important." The old man looked around him at the concrete floor of the chamber, as if still seeing prisoners laid out on it, sleeping curled up and shivering without pillows or bedclothes. "What I told Kurt is not true. Wolfram's Shield is not here. My grandson knows where it is. I just told him. He is on his way to get it now."

"I know. That much was obvious. There was no reason for you to have been so careful to mention your - 'faithful guard dog', was it? Luckily Kurt seems not to have realized."

The baron nodded. "Kurt never was that bright. But if the things that are controlling him already have the Shield, then you must have it too. Everyone must have it. You hear me, Alastair? Everyone. That includes the Americans", he said, breathing heavily as he added, "and the Russians."

"You don't feel as if you're betraying your country in any way?"

The baron shook his head emphatically. "My country is mankind. And Kurt is, by his own admission, no longer mankind. And Kurt and the likes of Kurt do not represent Germany, Alastair. Not my Germany. They never have. And they never will. Besides", he said, thumping his chest. "I am not a German first and foremost. I am a Bavarian."

Drague nodded. "I should really have known that without asking." He knelt down by the side of the girl. "I wonder whether I've killed it, or merely slowed it down." Picking up the girl's hand and looking at it from all angles, he assured himself it was safe and put his finger to the inside of her wrist. "She's still alive."

"Whatever is inside her might still be alive too."

"I will take that chance", said Drague. He gathered the girl into his arms, and struggled to his feet. "They are not having Cleopatra Shakespeare." He nodded at the Taser now lying discarded on the concrete. "The weapon will only work once. Freiherr von und zu Spitzenburg - it has been an honour. For me, and for my father."

The baron bowed. "And for me. Viel Glück!"

Drague nodded once again, and walked slowly, each step faltering and difficult, out of the chamber.

"Good lord. What has she been eating."