MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

by His Divine Shadow

The 10th PzK and the Titans nearly turn Hameln's Remembrance Day into its Armageddon, as Kaempfer battles Barzam on the bridge across the Weser, while the Church's plan to stop Mellenthin reaps a bitter harvest. Chapter 21 UP!

8. Chapter 7

MSG: In Vain Doth Valour Bleed

Chapter 7

Berchtesgaden, Bayern, Central Europe
October 31, 0087


The muffled voice inside the office clarified fully for Day Manager of the Salzbergewerk Ernst Felder as he opened the door to the salt mine's managerial office. He had thought that Night Manager Tomas von Seeckt would have long since left. It was 0730 hours, after all, and Tomas did not need to clock in until after 1530 hours for the afternoon/evening shift. That he was still here working implied to Felder that something was amiss. Another thing out of place was an empty suitcase on the desk, next to the ubiquitous violin case that lived in the office when not being played. The suitcase, if it could be called such, looked more like a military armored map case than a piece of civilian luggage.

He would have been more surprised if he had bothered to realize that there were no sounds of rock being crushed in the caverns themselves, or of any other machinery operating, but his conscious mind did not clue in to the lack of noise at all.

He took two steps into the office and found the desk chair's high back facing him. The raven-black hair of von Seeckt was visible over the top of the chair, groomed to its usual military precision.

"Tomas?" asked Felder tentatively. A gold-cuffed hand appeared from the far side of the chair, holding up a slender index finger; a request for a moment of silence. Intrigued, Felder complied, but something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He could not place it, but his instincts were telling him to leave now and not return.

Preposterous, he thought, squelching the feeling of menace that was settling over him. This is my office, after all.

". . .Yes, things will be ready here tonight. We will be there on schedule. . . Find yourselves something to do and meet us at the ships at 1100 hours. Herr Schwartzeidechse informs me that you have all done very well, and I shall see to it that you get what you deserve for your troubles. . . Yes, thank you, too. Keep your receipts; you will be compensated for your patience while in Regensburg. Auf Wiedersehen, crewman."

Felder heard the distinctive beep as von Seeckt hung up on whoever it was on the other end of the phone. "Regensburg? Planning a trip without my authorization, Tomas?"

The chair did not swivel around. "Not a trip, exactly. More of a late delivery to make. Nothing that needs concern you."

Felder laughed aloud. "An unscheduled delivery to Regensburg, in the middle of the night, and you think it needn't concern me? Last I checked, Tomas, truck transit deliveries required TWO signatures on the manifest."

Still the chair did not move. "The manifest is on the desk below the violin case. Your signature is already on it. You may peruse it if you desire, in the event I did not cross a T properly."

The feeling of menace suddenly strengthened by tenfold, and Felder began to sweat. "T-Tomas, this is all very—"

"—Unorthodox? Perhaps, but I can assure you it is all necessary for the common good. Take a glance at the manifest please, Herr Day Manager."

Felder took three steps forward, then reached out and took hold of the sheet of paper underneath it. For some reason, he did not feel like actually touching the violin case, or its larger counterpart beside it. Eyes riveted on the paper, he read the large black letters scrawled across its surface.

BANG-----DEAD FED WALKING!!

"Tomas, is this supposed to be some sort of joke?" he asked quietly, shifting his eyes away from the paper towards the chair.

As he had read, the chair had finally turned to face the door. The piece of paper dropped out of Felder's hand as he gasped aloud.

Tomas von Seeckt was indeed in the chair, but his attire was not that of a salt miner, nor of a simple bureaucrat. He was wearing a Zeon officer's uniform, smoke gray with gold. A Zeon Cross dangled from the left breast of the officer's jacket, and the piping and tabs of a Colonel were precisely placed on the shoulders and collars. A pistol was in its oiled black leather holster on his hip, and the unit patch on the upper arm was that of Mobile Infantry, the 358th Battalion. There was a smell about him as well, tangible even over the odor of pure salt deposits that inundated the entirety of the cavern. It was the smell of carnage, cordite, mechanics, and combat; a heady scent, where the coppery sharpness of human adrenalin, sweat, and blood merged with the metallic dull fumes of engines, smoke, and heat to make an aroma that could only be called "War".

"A joke, Herr Felder?" replied von Seeckt, light gray eyes not wavering from Felder's incredulous face. "Of course, it is a joke."

"Ex—explain this, please," the stunned man managed to stammer out after what seemed like five minutes of staring.

Von Seeckt raised a black eyebrow. "It is Halloween, is it not? I wanted you to see my costume before the festivities of the occasion really begin."

Felder's open jaw clicked closed. "It's. . .it's incredible, Tomas!"

"I thought you would approve. Note the fine attention to detail. This was a costume I have been waiting eight years to wear. It took that long to be able to do it justice." Von Seeckt stood to his towering height, allowing Felder to see the entirety of the uniform. The contrast was apparent, with the plumper Felder being dwarfed by the rangier von Seeckt.

"You must have had to go through Hell to have that made, Tomas. What a thing to cavort about in tonight, eh? You'll be scarier than any phantom or ghoul out there. What a thing to frighten the children with!" The manager was visibly relaxing as his mind wrapped around the only plausible explanation for this shocking display before him.

There was another explanation, but it was just too impossible to be believed.

"Hell? Yes, Herr Felder, there was a Hell to have to wade through to get to this point, but it was the wait for this day, not the means of fashioning the uniform and its accompaniments."

"It is amazing, Tomas. Absolutely amazing. A marvel of creativity and imagination. The monsters always seem to hit closer to home when they're real, don't they?" He wiped some sweat from his florid brow with a shirtsleeve, tension bleeding away in the form of a rather stupid expression on his face.

Von Seeckt smiled, just a twisting upward of the lips, like he was eyeing a rabbit caught in a trap. It was the unmistakable grin of something vicious that had found something weak and hurt to feast upon. Felder did not catch it, and it had disappeared before his eyes returned to von Seeckt's face.

"I am glad you approve, Herr Felder. If things work out the way I have planned them, there will be many more of these moving about. Oh, let me get away from your chair. I will, of course, be taking my leave of you now, but I thought it necessary that you should know this truth before I departed."

The heftier man snorted and waited for von Seeckt to move out of the way. "You scared me to death, Tomas. Was that the 'truth' you were talking about?"

"No, it was not." Felder's eyes were drawn to the gray of von Seeckt's. "The truth is that dead men do not walk."

So intent had been the conversation that Felder had never heard or sensed the arrival of Vladimir Margul behind him. It also meant that when the trigger of Margul's C-357 was pulled, punching a bullet through the rear of Felder's cranium and exiting out the socket of the right eye, the last thing passing through the conscious memory of Ernst Felder was the same as the first thing that had greeted his arrival in the office: surprise.

Margul leaned over the body and gave it a kick. "Zeon 1, Feds nil," he sneered in his brutish way. He, too, was in his uniform, as were the rest of the 10th Panzerkaempfer. "The boys are waiting for you below, Colonel. The suits are loaded and ready for transit."

Von Seydlitz was looking at the splatter pattern of Felder's blood, brains, and skull fragments on the wall behind the desk, as though he were an art critic judging a piece. "Excellent, Kommandant. The ships are confirmed as well. Place our esteemed Day Manager in his chair and go downstairs. I shall be there shortly."

Expectedly, Margul had a question. "What're you going to be doing, Colonel?"

"Killing Tomas von Seeckt," replied von Seydlitz glibly, "at last.". That seemed to satisfy his subordinate, who hefted Felder's corpse and tossed it across the desk into the chair. He then left, making brushing motions with his hands.

Alone in the room with the corpse of a man he had known for eight years and cared absolutely nothing for, Reinhardt von Seydlitz glanced at the ruined face as he shrugged on the gray-and-gold greatcoat that made his uniform complete. "While I am not one to speak ill of the dead, Ernst, I do think you have never looked better to me than you do right now. If you search closely, you will find your entire day shift right there with you on the Other Side. My people were quite thorough, so none of them should be missing from this quaint abattoir. In fact, we will be adding nine others to God's waiting room later this afternoon. Try to be nice to them, they have no more clue than you did about what is going to happen to them."

He reached over and took a second piece of paper from underneath the violin case. It was the true manifest for the shipping, complete with two signatures. Von Seydlitz tore it apart in front of Felder's unseeing eye. "No more of your paperwork from this point on. But fear not, you and yours are but the first. With Nemesis, we will give the coroners and gravediggers a Golden Age, so you will soon have more than enough company in Hell. In fact, when you get there, tell them the 10th Panzerkaempfer sent you, and that you want the group discount. If they refuse, inform them that the entire Federation will be along shortly, and you are with them."

Grabbing the violin case as he left, he surreptitiously closed the door behind him and made his way down towards the loading bay, where the rest of his people were gathered. They were all here, all seventeen of them, the last best hope for Zeon now. He had not been pleased when he had discovered that the newly arrived Axis, being led by the nose by some twisted twenty year-old girl, had signed an alliance with the Titans, and his rage had been something to behold. He had actually spoken to Haman Kahn via shortwave just before the tactical center and its Minovsky power generator had been taken offline.

"How can you betray space like this, child? How can you possibly side with the Titans after what they have done to our people?"

"I do what is best for Axis, and of course Lady Mineva, Colonel von Seydlitz. Anything else is the true treason."

"You will regret the decision when the Titans turn on you, Fraulein Kahn. See that Mineva Zavi is unharmed when they do, or your damnation will be that much more devastating."

"You sound very smug for someone who's spent eight years hiding in a hole, Colonel. I think you forget just who is really in charge up here. From my vantage point, you and yours are mere specks in the dust. See that you aren't ground under the feet of Axis by mistake."

I know that little bitch killed her father, he thought angrily, knowing that Maharaja Kahn should not have died of old age yet. If she is lucky, someone will smear contact poison on her Barbie dolls before Dietrich gets ahold of her and deposes her regency. What in hell were they thinking, naming a child to be regent FOR a child?

When he reached the loading area, a sight that nearly took his breath away met him. He had known that the men would be in full uniform for this moment, ever since the call had come in late last night about the ships having arrived in Regensburg, but after eight years of civilian clothes and workman's gear, seeing the gray and gold on his soldiers was like the hot water bath after a marathon run in a snowstorm, a sensation so soothing to both the physical and the spiritual that it makes one's own soul want to cry out in both pain and joy that you were alive to experience that very feeling. Using every iota of willpower he could muster to keep a smile from his face, he simply looked at them.

Resplendent in his own gray and gold uniform, Sgt. Major Inaba Ogun, senior NCO for the 10th Panzerkaempfer Division, snapped to attention. "Ah-ten-SHUN, Bat-TAL-ion!!" he called out, voice echoing through the caverns.

As a singular entity, the soles of their boots making a resounding thump that also sent its tremors through the mines, every soul present came to full military attention, as though it had not been eight years since, salutes identical in form, placement as per squad, with commander in front, their subordinates in flank half a step behind them. It was perfection given form. Von Seydlitz's salute in return was no less perfect. He owed that to them.

After a moment of this, Ogun's hand came down as he stepped back from the fore of the group. "Colonel, all members present and accounted for. The Battalion is yours."

"Thank you, Stabsfeldwebel. At ease, men." The old ritual, dating back to the formation of standing armies, complete at last. With one last sweep at the faces of the troops, as though inspecting them, he leapt upon the back of one of the heavy-lift cargo vehicles, elevating him to the point where they were all obliged to look up. He also caught Antares de la Somme with a childish smirk on his face, and he scowled in response, before running his gray eyes over them. Then, he opened his mouth, and his heart began to pour forth from it.

"Men of the 10th Panzerkaempfer Division! For eight years we have awaited this moment, biding our time, enduring under the eye of the Federation we have been sworn to destroy, patiently secreting ourselves here under this mountain for Operation Nemesis to come to fruition! That day has finally come, and the shackles of prudence have been cast from us! We are become the most deadly poison that our enemies will ever face, and we have done our work well! We stand here today, poised to sink our knives into the Beast that is the Federation, and none can stop us now!

"I realize that some of you have doubts! Some of you doubt we can succeed with Nemesis without the backing of our fellow Zeon in Axis! Axis has betrayed Zeon by allying with the Titans, under the sway of a simpering jezebel who has played they and Mineva Zavi false from the day of her thrice-damned birth! I say this unto you now: Axis is irrelevant! Nemesis was founded as a plan without the necessity for Axis! The Operation proceeds accordingly! Some of you have doubts that a force our size could not succeed when Delaz and Operation Stardust failed to destroy the Federation with a thousand times the resources we possess! I say that the timing for Stardust was too soon! Ask yourselves what would have happened had Stardust occurred today! With a divided Federation, who then would have stopped Stardust from accomplishing its true, final goal? The AEUG? The Titans? I say, no one! And that same 'no one' will not stop Nemesis! Terra stands here helpless before our storm, and like the Whore of Babylon that the Federation is, the Red Dragon of Zeon, her enslaved steed that she has ridden since inception, her mount that has harbored hatred for her ever and always, shall burn her flesh and consume her for her iniquities, and her suffering shall be legend!

"I realize that going to war now will be hard for some of you! When we came here eight years ago, broken, shattered, grieving, in barely functional mobile suits, remembering the horror of Metz and the destruction of the rest of the Division, it was an easier thing to simply disappear into the social structure of this place than to cling to the shred of hope that I offered you when I asked you to maintain your training! It was an easier thing for you to simply settle down and live out your lives here on Terra with people you would come to care about and love than to listen to me when I said to form no ties to a dying world! It was an easier thing to go to Stardust with other brave remnants of mighty Zeon and die gloriously with Aiguille Delaz and Anavel Gato, striking one more time at the hated foe, than to listen to my words and wait for Nemesis, where you could live as conquerors instead of dying like martyrs! Despite this obviously simple path that you could have taken, instead you endured, and waited, and listened, and now you have seen what your patience, understanding, and obedience has granted you! Instead of the wreckages of mobile suits, we bring Nemesis in the form of the greatest advances in technology Zeon conceived of before the end of the War of Independence, a war in which we did not surrender, and a war that we shall now win!!

"Remember this moment, when you tell your progeny of Nemesis and the resurrection of a Zeon whose destiny is immortality, that it was because of your sacrifice that Nemesis was made possible! The strength and hope of Zeon and all space lies with us now, not Axis, not the AEUG, not the Titans, and not those traitors in the Republic of Zeon! We will show them all what the superior race can muster when its fury is roused, and then they will know that Zeon Zum Daikun's legacy exists with us and no force shall withstand the coming of the true NewTypes!!"

Von Seydlitz paused for a moment, opening the case and taking the violin out. He held it up by its neck into the air, letting all eyes view it.

"This place has been our haven, our sanctuary, and our place of rest and peace! But it is also one other kind of place, spoken of by the ancient opera composer Puccini in his masterpiece, Tosca: 'Questo e luogo di lacrime'! 'THIS IS A PLACE FOR TEARS!!!'"

With that, von Seydlitz drew back and hurled the violin into the caverns. The sounds of its shattering on the stone far below spoke a finality that not even words could convey properly. It also signaled that von Seydlitz had severed all ties to this place. The thing that had been a facet of their existences throughout these eight long years was gone now, destroyed by its master and player.

As the shocked attentions of his men returned to him, von Seydlitz spread his arms wide, as though he were embracing them all. "I have played the strings of the violin for all this time as a means of garnering some form of peace after the War, as I did before it! From this point on, however, I choose to play no music that grants anyone or anything on this wretched planet peace ever again! The violin was an instrument of peace! Now I choose to grind the organ of war, and the Federation monkey will dance to its tune and the music we spew forth from its box will be DEATH!!"

On that note, he leapt down from the back of the truck and motioned for them to close ranks around him. He stretched his right hand forth. Antares de la Somme covered it with his smaller one. Karl Weissdrake placed his atop de la Somme's. So it continued until sixteen hands lay atop von Seydlitz's. In unison, they began to intone:

"Who stands still, goes backward; who rests on laurels, which he has not harvested, lies only on a prettier bearskin; only he who wants to do more than what has been done already, will do what he can do. In the darkness without end, only those who are worthy will become more than what they are! We shall fear no Earthly demise, for to return to shadows and dust is to return to that from whence we come, to rule all things when the light shines upon us all! The True Light of Humanity is Zeon, and Her dead shall live FOREVER!!"

Taking their right hands away from the pile, they thrust them into the air, fists clenched, faces upturned, and with a final bonechilling howl at the tops of their lungs, they cried out as one being and one spirit:

"SIEG ZEON!! SIEG ZEON!! SIEG ZEON!!"

After the echoes had died down, von Seydlitz lowered his arm and spoke softly. "Get these trucks moving towards Regensburg. Put civilian jackets over your uniforms for the duration of the trip, to act as camouflage if discovered beforehand. Are the charges set, Hauptfeldwebel La Vesta?"

"Yes, sir, ready when ordered."

"Detonate once the last truck is clear. The ensuing confusion will make it so that none detect our departure until it is too late."

"As you command, Colonel." La Vesta joined the rest of everybody else running to and fro, climbing into the huge vehicles for their final destination.

De la Somme paused beside him, a concerned expression on his face. "With Axis outta the picture, it kinda doesn't leave us many places to go, does it?"

"You worry too much, Antares. Axis will tend to itself, until we arrive. Then it will have a choice to make."

The smaller man frowned. "And if they don't want to make that choice?"

Von Seydlitz fixed his eyes on de la Somme's. Then he smiled the same smile he had given Felder earlier. De la Somme visibly shuddered.

"They will make that choice, Kommandant," said the older of the two foster brothers, "or I will personally put a bullet into that hideous little whore and make up their minds for them."

De la Somme whistled in a low key. "With a tone like that, I'm not even going to ask if you're serious."

"Good plan, Kommandant. Run along now." He placed a hand on de la Somme's gold-emblazoned shoulder and gave it a squeeze as he left.

With a roar of exhaust, the first truck left the mine tunnel entryway. Von Seydlitz hopped aboard the fifth one out. He was far enough away by the time of the explosion that caved in the entirely of the Salzbergewerk, burying everything within it under thousands of tons of mountain, it was just a tiny rumble in the range of his hearing.

Compared to the cataclysm that would be Nemesis, it was just an opening spitball.

Mannheim, Hessen, Central Europe
October 31, 0087

"I dunno, he's been like that all day. Kinda creepy, if you ask me," said one of the guards to his shift superior. They, and a sizeable portion of the inmates of Mannheim Military Penitentiary, were staring at Dietrich von Mellenthin, who in turn was staring into a book. There was nothing particularly strange about that, as von Mellenthin was a voracious reader, it was the METHOD that was catching attention.

Von Mellenthin had stacked several floor mats, used in the weight room as padding for the floor, atop each other, until he had built himself an elevated tower nearly fifteen feet high. There he had perched, all day that he had been allowed to, and acted as if he refused to come down. Even his fellow Zeon had no idea why he was up there, or what he was reading for that matter.

When questioned, the only thing that kept coming up was that the former General had smashed the life out of everyone in cutthroat spades the previous day, then had started talking about ghosts. He had apparently not slept at all that evening, then in the morning, when mandatory wake-up and prisoner count was complete, he had rebuffed the advances of everybody and instead built his watchtower, a vantage point from which he could see the entirety of Gen-Pop, with the exception of the upper tiers of the cellblocks. The odd pattern of behavior could actually be traced up to the point where Warden Grissom had announced that the Zeon of Axis had formally signed an alliance with the Titans, and thusly, the Federation. That had been the day before yesterday, despite the treaty having been signed on the 15th of the month. As always, news came late to prisons, even if the rest of the world had known for weeks.

"Has anyone even tried to talk to him?" asked the senior guard, puzzled as well.

"Yeah, like fifty people, but he doesn't want company. He just waves people away when they approach."

"This is too fucked up for me. If he jumps off and dies, let me know, okay?"

"Got it."

On his own behalf, von Mellenthin had no intention of jumping off his tower of mats to die. Too much was left to be done for that. There was a tingle in his soldier's bones, one of imminent familiarity, one that had been a facet of his existence for as long as he could remember. He supposed it was only natural, as leadership was in his very genes themselves, but never before had it been so important, so elemental. He knew that until Mineva Zavi came of age, someone was going to have to rule Zeon in her stead.

That person would not be Haman Kahn, not unless she was far more resourceful than he was giving her credit for. A possibility, albeit a long one. Haman was not a veteran of the War, nor was she familiar with the way things worked in the Earth Sphere. That made her a detriment, at least until she got some combat under her belt. Considering that the 10th Panzerkaempfer had been an all-male unit, that was high praise to go right along with that high hope. Von Mellenthin was very familiar with high hopes; he had been young once, too.

The Titans and Axis allying notwithstanding, his interview was coming up in eight days' time. The Federation News Network had been announcing it for the last three weeks. Rumor had it is was the most anticipated event prior to the Super Bowl, and that football ratings were going to take a nose-dive during the live broadcast. Von Mellenthin was also eagerly anticipating it. The Federation expected a lot of things from him for this little morale booster, and having him sign off on the joint Axis-Titans alliance would give the Federation enough popular support to give them the means by which to rid the universe of the AEUG and the Kalaba resistance once and for all. The Titans supply the artificial NewTypes the Flanagan Agency produces for them to Axis, who builds the mobile suits using its massive weapons factories. Seemingly an unbeatable pair, one capable of overpowering even the combined efforts of the AEUG and the Kalaba. On the surface, it made sense, except for the fact that the Titans were involved. They would have to go, which was probably what Haman had in mind. That also made sense. And all that had to happen for all of this to come together was for the people to want it as much as their puppet masters did.

For all its power, the Federation and its group of doddering old despots had never understood the first law of monarchy: a ruler's interests are the interests of the people ruled. The Zavis had understood at least that much, even if they could not manage to take their fingers away from that which they did not understand, especially the War. It did not matter now, anyway, because the toy soldiers were dead. But the real soldiers still lived, and he knew that von Seydlitz and his men would show them all what the difference between a war run by politicians and a war run by soldiers really was.

In the meantime, he would smile on the camera and give the Feds exactly what they did not bargain for, and that was the Way Things Were Going To Be. They would probably stick him in the Hole for a hundred years afterwards, but on live vidvision, he would speak, and the Earth Sphere would be obliged to listen. What a delightful turn of events, quite unlike the little visit he had received from Camael Balke.

Dreadful little shit, he thought, remembering the tattoo of the Teutonic Order on the disgraced soldier's palm. There could not be more than a dozen of those scum left, not after almost a hundred years since the Volkerwanderung that had taken his family and so many others into space, exiling them from the surface of Terra forever. The Reise zum Raum, the great hunt for space, was originally banishment, brought upon the Elector Houses by a secret society that dated back to the long-defunct Teutonic Order of Chivalry. Their refusal to bow to the will of the Ordnung had caused a great division among the German peoples, and their lies had swayed the populace to their side. With no other recourse but to take the Ordnung into space, the loyalists had leased a colony cylinder from the Colony Corporation in Side 3, set up shop, and began anew. . .but did not forget. For New Koenigsberg, the War was also about revenge, and to prove that their rule was the destined Law of Heaven, not of Man.

Von Mellenthin had learned all of this at his father's side, as all the scions of the Elector Princes had learned of the treachery of the Teutonic Order. Camael Balke had come here to mock him, to remind him that for all their superiority, their divinity, and their mastery of genetics, he had still lost. The Chosen One of the Ordnung, made a fool in a cage, while Balke, who had lost everything on the battlefield against the superior race, walked free, even in disgrace. The entire thought was so vexing to von Mellenthin that it took effort to keep from walking around the prison snapping necks just to vent his terrible wrath.

This fool will laugh last, once my strings are cut from their frame, miserable peasant, he thought bitterly, hoping that somewhere Balke would choke on his bread and die from the force of it.

As for Nemesis, he and those who followed him were ready when it struck. Oh, they were sorely ready. It was unfortunate that no one else would be. He was entertaining these thoughts as the lights of the prison blinked twice, and a buzzer sounded, signaling that it was time to return to their cells. Von Mellenthin closed his book and jumped down, booted feet landing firmly on the concrete floor. Two Federation guards were waiting for him.

"Well, nice to see you dropping back down to our level, General," commented one of them.

Von Mellenthin straightened the green prison tunic and smiled. "Every master must needs visit those whom he holds under sway."

The other guard snorted. "'Master', eh? Well, 'Master', let's get you back to your royal chambers, shall we?"

"What're you reading, General? Some treatise on Napoleon today?" queried the other guard, trying to stem off what was going to be a long debate on the merits of master-servant relations.

"No, an opera libretto. I am finished with it, so if you would be so kind as to drop it off at the library for me. . ."

"Sure." The guard took the proffered book as they were reaching von Mellenthin's cell, then glanced at the title. "Tosca? What the hell was this about?"

"Only the best things in life, Gefreiter," said the Zeon General, "tragedy, treason, and death." He stepped into his cell, turning around to face them.

"Yeah, only you would get off on that one, 'Master'." commented the second guard, a hint of his ever-present scorn in his voice.

"Just remember, 'Certo a quest'ora i miei segugi le due prede azzannano'! Have a nice evening, gentlemen."

As the door slammed shut and the lights blinked out, the second guard shook his head. "I didn't know the bastard spoke Italian."

"I think he was quoting from this," answered his comrade, waving the book a bit.

Von Mellenthin stretched out on the bunk bed, folding his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. The quote echoed through his mind, and he smiled.

'By now, my bloodhounds should have sunk their teeth into their prey!'