Read Online Invasion: New York (Invasion America) by Vaughn Heppner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vaughn Heppner
Tags: Science-Fiction
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Kleist was a brutal man with the instincts of an alpha wolf. All his life, the Chancellor had struck first and struck hard.
Kleist wore a brown suit and expensive Italian shoes. His chin was strong, his hands thick but small and he wore a silver wedding ring with a large diamond that seemed strangely out of place among these military men.
The General Staff members sitting along the sides of the table were large men with stiff, military postures. Each was well fed and each wore a crisp uniform, with the red General Staff stripes running down the legs of their trousers. Mansfeld wanted to sneer at them. To him, they were like Great Danes secretly quivering in fear of their master. They were also afraid of what he—Mansfeld—might say and that Kleist would hold the words against them.
It’s clear that none of them can understand my calm. None of them realizes how valuable I am to Kleist. What is sad is that Kleist doesn’t realize it yet either. Otherwise, he would not have called me back from Quebec to initiate this farce .
Kleist stared across the conference table at him, and the gloating had reached the Chancellor’s eyes. Yes, Kleist believed himself in control of the situation.
How can he not see that I am his only hope ?
Finally, Mansfeld saw a hint of doubt cross the Chancellor’s face. It was a subtle thing. By now, Kleist had to be wondering why his general refused to let this spectacle cow him.
Because I know my worth , Mansfeld told himself. And I know that you will be wise enough to see it…as soon as I explain it to you .
“Are you tongue-tied?” Kleist asked.
“No, Excellency,” Mansfeld said in a ringing voice.
A few of the General Staff members looked at him with new eyes. It seemed their dull minds finally realized that none of this frightened him. A few frowned in puzzlement. It was clear they couldn’t fathom the source of his courage. Chancellor Kleist needed a scapegoat and the man had chosen the commanding officer of the German Expeditionary Force in Quebec, General Mansfeld.
“Well…?” Kleist asked. “What do you have to say for yourself? Come now, speak while you are able.”
“Excellency,” Mansfeld said, having waited for the moment to ripen. “My prediction concerning the Sino-American War proved incorrect in one particular only. Everything that went wrong afterward hinged upon that one fact.”
Kleist frowned, which meant the gloating had disappeared. When the man was winning at something, he became jovial. When he was losing, his bad temper was legendary. It must finally be dawning on the Chancellor that he had made a miscalculation, and he didn’t realize yet what that mistake was. It obviously troubled Kleist.
In an expert’s hands, the rapier always defeats the club . Despite his knowledge of that truth, Mansfeld did not smile. That would have been an error. I am not so stupid .
“You are free to speak, General,” Kleist said. “Please, enlighten us, if you would.”
The exquisite nature of the moment produced a churning feeling in Mansfeld’s gut. Some people referred it to as “the butterflies,” and they hated the sensation. It was otherwise with him. The churning told him he was alive, on the very knife-edge of existence.
I’m actually enjoying this . “The failure was political, Excellency,” Mansfeld said.
The statement electrified the chamber. The bovine faces of the General Staff members showed a mixture of fear and disbelief. Political mistakes weren’t the province of the military but of the Chancellor’s office, which was to say the Chancellor himself.
The words produced a reaction upon Kleist. Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks.
“Would you care to elaborate?” the Chancellor asked.
He chooses this route, does he? Very well, let it begin .
“If you will recall, Excellency,” Mansfeld said, “your political analysts made a clear prediction some months ago. A few of us questioned their findings, me in particular. Then you
Kleist wore a brown suit and expensive Italian shoes. His chin was strong, his hands thick but small and he wore a silver wedding ring with a large diamond that seemed strangely out of place among these military men.
The General Staff members sitting along the sides of the table were large men with stiff, military postures. Each was well fed and each wore a crisp uniform, with the red General Staff stripes running down the legs of their trousers. Mansfeld wanted to sneer at them. To him, they were like Great Danes secretly quivering in fear of their master. They were also afraid of what he—Mansfeld—might say and that Kleist would hold the words against them.
It’s clear that none of them can understand my calm. None of them realizes how valuable I am to Kleist. What is sad is that Kleist doesn’t realize it yet either. Otherwise, he would not have called me back from Quebec to initiate this farce .
Kleist stared across the conference table at him, and the gloating had reached the Chancellor’s eyes. Yes, Kleist believed himself in control of the situation.
How can he not see that I am his only hope ?
Finally, Mansfeld saw a hint of doubt cross the Chancellor’s face. It was a subtle thing. By now, Kleist had to be wondering why his general refused to let this spectacle cow him.
Because I know my worth , Mansfeld told himself. And I know that you will be wise enough to see it…as soon as I explain it to you .
“Are you tongue-tied?” Kleist asked.
“No, Excellency,” Mansfeld said in a ringing voice.
A few of the General Staff members looked at him with new eyes. It seemed their dull minds finally realized that none of this frightened him. A few frowned in puzzlement. It was clear they couldn’t fathom the source of his courage. Chancellor Kleist needed a scapegoat and the man had chosen the commanding officer of the German Expeditionary Force in Quebec, General Mansfeld.
“Well…?” Kleist asked. “What do you have to say for yourself? Come now, speak while you are able.”
“Excellency,” Mansfeld said, having waited for the moment to ripen. “My prediction concerning the Sino-American War proved incorrect in one particular only. Everything that went wrong afterward hinged upon that one fact.”
Kleist frowned, which meant the gloating had disappeared. When the man was winning at something, he became jovial. When he was losing, his bad temper was legendary. It must finally be dawning on the Chancellor that he had made a miscalculation, and he didn’t realize yet what that mistake was. It obviously troubled Kleist.
In an expert’s hands, the rapier always defeats the club . Despite his knowledge of that truth, Mansfeld did not smile. That would have been an error. I am not so stupid .
“You are free to speak, General,” Kleist said. “Please, enlighten us, if you would.”
The exquisite nature of the moment produced a churning feeling in Mansfeld’s gut. Some people referred it to as “the butterflies,” and they hated the sensation. It was otherwise with him. The churning told him he was alive, on the very knife-edge of existence.
I’m actually enjoying this . “The failure was political, Excellency,” Mansfeld said.
The statement electrified the chamber. The bovine faces of the General Staff members showed a mixture of fear and disbelief. Political mistakes weren’t the province of the military but of the Chancellor’s office, which was to say the Chancellor himself.
The words produced a reaction upon Kleist. Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks.
“Would you care to elaborate?” the Chancellor asked.
He chooses this route, does he? Very well, let it begin .
“If you will recall, Excellency,” Mansfeld said, “your political analysts made a clear prediction some months ago. A few of us questioned their findings, me in particular. Then you
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