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"Yet if we did lose! If when I had given you all you ask your plans went wrong! If our army were broken to pieces on the frontier and then the nation, kept in ignorance of events, learned the truth" the premier enunciated slowly and pointedly while he locked glances with Westerling "that is the end for us both. You would hardly want to return to the capital to face public wrath!"
I feel it through the columns of the press, though they are censored. "Then, soon I'll give the public something to think about, myself!" Westerling broke in. "The dead will be forgotten. The wounded will be proud of their wounds and their fathers and mothers triumphant when our army descends the other side of the range and starts on its march to the Browns' capital."
Also, that they can completely man every part of their frontier and that their ability to move their reserves rapidly, thanks to modern facilities, makes a powerful flanking attack in surprise out of the question." "Some half-truths in that," answered Westerling. "One axiom, that must hold good through all time, is that the aggressive which keeps at it always wins. We take the aggressive.
But" he was smiling in the way that he would when he brought a "good one" to the head in the barracks "but it will not be necessary to do it more than once, will it? To tell you the truth, I had not counted on being shot more than once." Westerling was like a man who had lunged a blow at an object and struck only air. "I said that he was not a coward," Marta remarked quietly.
Westerling announced. "I am going on my experience as a soldier, as a chief of staff. If I am wrong, I take the responsibility. If I am right, Bordir will be ours before morning. It is settled!" "If you are right, then," exclaimed Turcas "well, then it's genius or " He did not finish the sentence.
All that Westerling could tell was that she was thinking, and thinking hard. There was a space of silence broken only by the movement of the teaspoon. Hugo was the first to speak. "I believe in patriotism, sir. That means love of country. I love my country," he said slowly. A preachment of patriotism from this nonchalant private was a straw too much for Westerling's patience.
Galland responded with gentle resignation. Garden and veranda were as peaceful as on any other Sunday morning, but it was a different kind of peace a peace mocked by sounds beyond its boundaries which were to her like the rattling of the steel scales of a demon licking its jaws with its red tongue in voracious anticipation of a gorge and stretching out great steel claws in readiness to sink them into the flesh of its victims when Partow and Westerling gave the word.
"Yes, he could play chess with heaps of bodies! He is worse than Westerling!" "No, he would use his own premises, his brother's, his father's if it would help. Well, then he took a pen and filled in the blank space with the detail which is to make your house and garden the centre of an inferno." "How Christian!" breathed Marta.
"We have a new government, a new premier!" Turcas repeated, with firm, methodical politeness. Westerling looking from one face to another with filmy eyes, lowered them before Bouchard. "There's a room ready for Your Excellency up-stairs," Turcas continued. "The orderly will show you the way." Now Westerling grasped the fact that he was no longer chief of staff.
After weeks of secrecy, of reported successes, when nobody really knew what was happening, this sudden disillusioning announcement of the truth has sent the public mad." "It is your business to control the public!" complained Westerling. "With what, now? With a speech or a lullaby? As well could you stop the retreat with your naked hands.
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