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Why don't they rebel?" "Well, I can think of three good reasons," Douvrin said. "Three square meals a day." "And no responsibilities; no need to make decisions," Degbrend added. "They've been slaves for seven and a half centuries. They don't even know the meaning of freedom, and it would frighten them if they did." "Chain of command," Shatrak said.
"Well thought of, Colonel. I suppose the Citadel teems with bureaucrats and such low life-forms?" "Bulging with them. Literally thousands. Lanze Degbrend and Commander Douvrin and a few others are trying to get some sensible answers out of some of them." "This delegation; how had you thought of sending them up?" "Landing-craft to Isobel; Isobel will bring them the rest of the way."
Beside Shatrak, Erskyll and himself, there were Lanze Degbrend, and Count Erskyll's charge-d'affaires, Sharll Ernanday, and Patrique Morvill and Pyairr Ravney and the naval intelligence officer, Commander Andrey Douvrin. Ordinarily, he deplored serious discussion at meals, but under the circumstances it was unavoidable; nobody could think or talk of anything else.
I'll bet every slave in the Citadel knows everything that happens in there while it's happening." Shatrak wanted to know if he had done anything about them. Ravney shook his head. "If that's how they want to run a government, that's how they have a right to run it. Commander Douvrin put in a few of our own, a little better camouflaged than theirs." There were more troops on the third stage down.
The next day it marched to Hermies, and there entrained for Bethune, where it arrived next day and marched to Douvrin. It was now almost three years since the Battalion had been in the vicinity of Bethune, but there were still some present who could remember how the Battalion in the spring of 1915 had marched for the first time to the trenches in front of this town.
To our front the ground stretched smooth and level for two hundred yards, then fell gently away, leaving a clearly denned skyline. Beyond the skyline rose houses, of which we could descry only the roofs and upper windows. "That must be either Haisnes or Douvrin," said Major Kemp. "We are much farther to the left than we were yesterday. By the way, was it yesterday?"
They were all crowded into one of the executive conference-rooms at the Proconsular Palace, the batteries of communication and recording equipment incongruously functional among the gold-encrusted luxury of the original Masterly furnishings. Shatrak swore. "Andrey, I thought your people had planted those pickups where they couldn't be found," he said to Commander Douvrin.
There we extend, as arranged, into lines of half-companies, and go at 'em, making Douvrin our objective, and keeping the Hohenzollern and Fosse Eight upon our left." Fosse Eight is a mighty waste-heap, such as you may behold anywhere along the railway in the colliery districts between Glasgow and Edinburgh. From this distance, two miles away, the Fosse looks as big as North Berwick Law.
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