2300 Hours

Seventh Draka Army Field Headquarters

The situation room was quiet when they walked in, all the senior commanders staring at him- less Vorhees, but he somehow doubted Vorhees would be making any more staff meetings. Eric swept his eyes over the room.

"So."

Thunorssen was the only one to break the silence. "Sir…we are preparing flareships and a photo recon flight to look the Genoa port over as soon as possible. But realistically…"

"We have to assume a total loss, yes." Eric seated himself carefully at the head of the table. "Any more wonderful news I should know about?"

"Easthaven." In the nightmare world they'd entered, Thunorssen just had to say the name of the city. "From the other carrier. They'd evacuated some, but not enough- 'nother few thousand Citizens gone. The other cities in Abyssinia Province are pretty far north, so the Yanks might still have bombers en route. Or they might be plannin' to hit them tomorrow night. Not much we can do either way. Full-scale uprisings in some of the Combine areas, those that are left, and not enough troops to put them down." Eric put his hands on the table, willing himself to calm.

"Suggestions?" Vashon, the Security man, cleared his throat.

"Suh…we continue our retreat. In another day, two at most, we'll be inside Italy. We can link up with the Draka there, get a critical mass together and put the serfs down in at least part of the peninsula. Get as many as we can out of the Police Zone, either prop up Syria and Araby or evacuate as best we can, and hunker down. Preserve the State, Suh."

"Is that yo' recommendation, Strategos?"

"It is, Suh."

"And a good one, too." Eric kept his voice quiet, but didn't bother to hide the venom. "Except fo' the part where's it's fuckin' idiotic! Strategos Vashon, yo' were in the room when I talked to Roosevelt, at your own insistence. You heard what he said. Do we go to Italy, do we go to Syria, do we go to fuckin' Siberia, it don't matter. The Yankees will be back just as soon as they can reload their carriers with mo' bombs, and they'll finish us. Hell's bells, as it is we'll be lucky to keep the locals around here and our own Janissaries from slittin' our throats! They hit us with another round of nukes, and we are fuckin' gone!"

"Suh." Vashon stared into the distance. "Regarding the Janissaries, we do have nerve agent-"

"And they have no protective suits. Which is grand, but we are in close quarters with them, and they outnumber us four to one. Even if we have enough agent to kill them all- and please, yo' and I both know that those numbers about needing a drop or two to kill are under perfect lab conditions only- it would take time to disperse it. Time during which the ones not getting' gassed could still do too much damage. It would cost them, probably wipe them out, but we'd be just as dead."

"Only one thing left, then." Vashon paused. "Fenris."

Eric laughed humorlessly. "Grand idea. Laager up, kill as many human beins' as we can out of pure spite, save the last bullet for ourselves. Security's perfect little plan, ends with everyone dead so nobody can tell anyone anythin'. No thank yo', I believe I'll pass."

Vashon's eyes darkened. He took a step towards Eric, Thunorssen and some of the other staff types falling in behind him. The rest of the Draka in the room kept their seats, either staring at Vashon's group with the fixed look of a combat veteran about to take on an enemy or nervously flicking their eyes back and forth between the two.

"May I ask what yo' plan is then, Arch-Strategos?" Eric nodded, reaching into his battledress tunic with elaborate casualness. Drawing out a pack of cigarettes, he selected one and let it, taking a puff before answering in the same tone of wary formality.

"Yo' may, Strategos. I plan to take the only option open to us. I will contact President Roosevelt, and arrange to surrender the Seventh Draka Army on his stated terms."

"Yo what?" Vashon took a step forward, his confederates behind him. "May I remind yo', von Shrakenberg, that you are speaking treason against the State and Race. The Race does not surrender. It dies, but it does not surrender." Eric pushed himself to his feet and glared at the older man, taking a step forward. He saw Vashon tense, and kept his hands carefully at his sides.

"That's been our way, hasn't it, Vashon?" His words were quiet, barely above a whisper. "It's how the Draka have always been. Nothing matters but ourselves, our will, and to Hell with the rest of the world, hey? We use the past as a weapon and the future, pfft-" he snapped his fingers. "We say we do what we do fo' the future, the destiny of the Race, but it's all horseshit. We do it because we want to see the world truckle under and play pony for us, and to hell what it does to them. Or us. Or our children. Well, that's goin' to have to stop. The rest of the world's just served notice that it's goin' to have to stop, one way or the other, and they givin' us a chance to stop it ourselves before they wipe us out. Which is a hell of a lot more than we'd do, were we in their position." He paused. "Do you know I have a daughter, Vashon?"

"It's in your krypteia file, von Shrakenberg." The Security man was purple-faced now, and snarling. "Not that it matters. Yo've said enough in the last thirty seconds to put a whole magazine worth of bullets in yo' head."

"Ah, good. Then I can save myself the tedious task of tellin' the tale again. What matters, Vashon, is that when I had to choose between what was good for her and what was good for me- I chose her. I always will choose her, and the children I haven't had yet. I choose life, Vashon. Choose it over my own pride, my own honor, and who I am. I choose that rather than death, the last dishonor from which there is no recovery." He locked eyes with the Headhunter. "Do enough join me, and do we somehow keep the world from killin' us all off…well, then we'll have to see what futures we can make."

"Yo' not makin' anything, von Shrakenberg." Vashon's hand was at his sidearm, ready to snap it up and fire in one motion. "Yo' can't outdraw me."

"No." Eric took a drag on his cigarette, then carefully blew smoke into the other man's face. "Then again, I don't have to."

There was a muffled thumping from behind Vashon, and the Security man's eyes bulged with surprise and hydrostatic shock as his chest jerked with the impact of low-velocity bullets. Behind him, Thunorssen and the other conspirators stumbled, and fell. Eric took another drag on his cigarette when all the bodies had hit the floor, then looked over at Sophie, who had shifted to cover the rest of the room with her Tolgren machine pistol. He looked over at her, and was rewarded with a small smile. Eric cleared his throat.

"Anyone else?" A pause. "Good. Somebody get a long-range radio and start callin' on Roosevelt's frequency. I want to see all the Master Sergeants of the Janissary regiments in here soonest, and a complete report of what supplies we got out of Genoa before it went. Inform anyone who's still answerin' the radio of what we doin', and offer to let them join us. Then we-"

The room broke into activity around the corpses of the Draka on the floor. The only ones to take notice of them were the flies, which had already landed and begun to lay their eggs in the dead flesh