head slowly, impressed by such
magnitude.
"Big. I was nine when my father first told me about the Battle of the Volga. I thought he was a liar when he said
it lasted a year and eight million men were killed—there
just couldn't've been that many people in the world."
"It's still hard to believe, Kurt. But I guess the bombs could do it. How many people in Germany then? A
hundred million?"
"Uhm. About. And now there's a hundred thousand.
73
Eight million men in one battle. That's more than there
are in all Europe now, I guess. Maybe more'n the whole
world."
"Efficient killers, eh?" Turning, suddenly intent, Hippke asked, "Kurt, why's it still going on? What're we fighting for?"
Kurt shrugged invisibly in the sudden darkness left
when the carrier shut down her lights. "I could give you the Political Office line. It's the only one I know. Hell, I don't know why. Maybe nobody ever thought to stop. I
don't think anybody knows any more, unless it's High
Command. Maybe it goes along on its own inertia, and
won't stop-until there's nobody left."
Kurt suddenly shuddered. His talk was approaching
treason. He glanced around quickly, but no one was near.
"Maybe Otto was right. Maybe staying home's the only
way to stop it," said Hippke, speaking cautiously. "Lot of men been talking about what Otto said, Kurt. Lot of men
think he was right. Lot of men beginning to think of doing
something about it."
Kurt got the impression he was being felt out. He
remembered his earlier suspicions about Hippke. He did
not want to be maneuvered by any underground, no
matter his sympathy for its aim. "Erich, if you hear a man talking, remind him of that wreck. Men got to thinking on
that ship. None of them'll ever go home. And you be
careful who you try to enlist. Remember Otto. He went
overboard the same night he spoke out."
"What's the connection?"
"Otto was stabbed and pushed, maybe by someone who
believes in the War. I don't know that for sure. Maybe
someone had a grudge. You might find out which the hard
way."
"You don't know who?"
"No. And don't spread that around. I don't want a
witch-hunt. I'm telling you so I don't have to fish you out of the pond some night."
"All right, I'll shut up. About everything."
"Good." But he was sure he detected insincerity in Erich's voice. If the man was the undergrounder Kurt
suspected, he would simply be more cautious. "Think I'll go crap out."
Kurt went down ladders and walked aft slowly, second-
guessing himself about telling Hippke of Otto's murder.
He might not keep quiet. If the murderer discovered he
was being sought ...
74
That night Jager passed through the straits and turned
north. Gibraltar itself became visible at sunrise, rearing
above the horizon like some tremendous, crouched prehis-
oric monster. Slowly, creepingly slow, it drew nearer.
Gibraltar, Kurt thought, the place of Gathering, head-
quarters of the High Command. Inside that mass of rock
was the War Room, fabled, whence all orders came.
Within that stone were the men and women who directed
the War Effort—and the operations of the Political Office.
Kurt, in his mind's eye, saw it as the heart of a vast,
invisible web. There the black-and-silver spiders dwelt,
weaving their complex, mysterious plots, catching "traitors" with their complex, savage snares.
"Good lord!" Hans muttered a while later. "Look at all the ships! Kurt, will you look at the ships?"
Kurt looked. Hans had a right to be excited. Even from
several kilometers, a forest of masts could be seen to one
side of the Rock, Dozens of ships.
Later, when they were closer, Kurt saw that the nearest
were destroyers. Behind them, better protected, were
larger vessels. Cruisers, he realized. And another carrier—
no, two—behind the cruisers. And beyond those, aux-
iliaries: ammunition ships, stores ships, colliers, ancient merchantmen converted for War use. And still farther on,
more destroyers.
"Oh,
magnitude.
"Big. I was nine when my father first told me about the Battle of the Volga. I thought he was a liar when he said
it lasted a year and eight million men were killed—there
just couldn't've been that many people in the world."
"It's still hard to believe, Kurt. But I guess the bombs could do it. How many people in Germany then? A
hundred million?"
"Uhm. About. And now there's a hundred thousand.
73
Eight million men in one battle. That's more than there
are in all Europe now, I guess. Maybe more'n the whole
world."
"Efficient killers, eh?" Turning, suddenly intent, Hippke asked, "Kurt, why's it still going on? What're we fighting for?"
Kurt shrugged invisibly in the sudden darkness left
when the carrier shut down her lights. "I could give you the Political Office line. It's the only one I know. Hell, I don't know why. Maybe nobody ever thought to stop. I
don't think anybody knows any more, unless it's High
Command. Maybe it goes along on its own inertia, and
won't stop-until there's nobody left."
Kurt suddenly shuddered. His talk was approaching
treason. He glanced around quickly, but no one was near.
"Maybe Otto was right. Maybe staying home's the only
way to stop it," said Hippke, speaking cautiously. "Lot of men been talking about what Otto said, Kurt. Lot of men
think he was right. Lot of men beginning to think of doing
something about it."
Kurt got the impression he was being felt out. He
remembered his earlier suspicions about Hippke. He did
not want to be maneuvered by any underground, no
matter his sympathy for its aim. "Erich, if you hear a man talking, remind him of that wreck. Men got to thinking on
that ship. None of them'll ever go home. And you be
careful who you try to enlist. Remember Otto. He went
overboard the same night he spoke out."
"What's the connection?"
"Otto was stabbed and pushed, maybe by someone who
believes in the War. I don't know that for sure. Maybe
someone had a grudge. You might find out which the hard
way."
"You don't know who?"
"No. And don't spread that around. I don't want a
witch-hunt. I'm telling you so I don't have to fish you out of the pond some night."
"All right, I'll shut up. About everything."
"Good." But he was sure he detected insincerity in Erich's voice. If the man was the undergrounder Kurt
suspected, he would simply be more cautious. "Think I'll go crap out."
Kurt went down ladders and walked aft slowly, second-
guessing himself about telling Hippke of Otto's murder.
He might not keep quiet. If the murderer discovered he
was being sought ...
74
That night Jager passed through the straits and turned
north. Gibraltar itself became visible at sunrise, rearing
above the horizon like some tremendous, crouched prehis-
oric monster. Slowly, creepingly slow, it drew nearer.
Gibraltar, Kurt thought, the place of Gathering, head-
quarters of the High Command. Inside that mass of rock
was the War Room, fabled, whence all orders came.
Within that stone were the men and women who directed
the War Effort—and the operations of the Political Office.
Kurt, in his mind's eye, saw it as the heart of a vast,
invisible web. There the black-and-silver spiders dwelt,
weaving their complex, mysterious plots, catching "traitors" with their complex, savage snares.
"Good lord!" Hans muttered a while later. "Look at all the ships! Kurt, will you look at the ships?"
Kurt looked. Hans had a right to be excited. Even from
several kilometers, a forest of masts could be seen to one
side of the Rock, Dozens of ships.
Later, when they were closer, Kurt saw that the nearest
were destroyers. Behind them, better protected, were
larger vessels. Cruisers, he realized. And another carrier—
no, two—behind the cruisers. And beyond those, aux-
iliaries: ammunition ships, stores ships, colliers, ancient merchantmen converted for War use. And still farther on,
more destroyers.
"Oh,
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