Crush Depth

But ter Horst waved his hand dismissively. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. We naval officers aren’t paid to be poets or philosophers. But I sense there’s more of the philosopher in you than in me. I sense you’re sometimes troubled about the rightness of our cause, I mean the need for the brutality, the mass destruction, the execution of traitors and spies.”

“Captain, I—”

“No, no. Please let me finish. This is not a criticism session. I’m not accusing you of any weakness, or — or of backsliding, God forbid.” Backsliding — a euphemism, Van Gelder knew, for cowardice and ideological doubt — was punishable by the noose. “I’m just trying to be a realist, about you and about me and about this war.”

Van Gelder was surprised now, and concerned. He’d never seen ter Horst this open and confiding, even at times in the past — at parties or dinners ashore — when he’d had plenty to drink. Could this be because ter Horst himself was worried about the difficulty of Voortrekker’s next task? Did he feel the need to talk, to have an audience, so as to reassure himself, because he now faced something overwhelming?

Ter Horst hiccupped, then said, “Excuse me.

“I’m not a man to know fear easily,” ter Horst went on. “I sometimes think I have some kind of character disorder. A fear deficit, you know?”

“Sir, the crew admire your bravery.”

“Well, some men come alive in battle and forget there’s such a thing as fear. I suppose I’m one of them. Others feel the naked vulnerability in combat all too vividly. Yet they carry on, they do their duty. I think these latter men are the ones with the true courage…. I believe you’re one of these latter type of men, Gunther. A man who feels his fear as a personal enemy from deep inside, and yet who slays that enemy time and again so he can go on and slay the true enemy, the external foe.”

“Er, thank you, Captain.” How many times have I thanked him now? What’s he trying to get me to do?

“I try to know myself, Gunther. A captain must. But I think of you as the more self-aware, the more sensitive of the two of us.”

“I think you’re probably right, sir.”

“I’ve never lied to you, have I?”

How am I supposed to answer that? “Not that I know of, Captain.”

“I pride myself that I’ve never lied to anyone. Oh, I withhold information, for security, but that’s a captain’s privilege.”

“I understand.”

“I seek to dupe the enemy, of course, but that’s valid strategy.”

“Of course.”

“Those lies aren’t sins. Killing in battle isn’t a sin. I like to think that I’ve never committed a serious sin. I say my prayers each night with a clear conscience.”

“Er, yes, sir.” Van Gelder knew that ter Horst, like many Boers, was religiously devout — Van Gelder himself believed in God, but wasn’t big on organized worship.

“So as I was saying, Gunther, I want to address — allay — any concerns you may have, before the next steps in our journey together.”

“How so?” Van Gelder felt intoxication coming on from the schnapps, and he tried to be very careful now.

“Discipline and training are your job. What I want you to do is meet with the officers and men in small groups, over the next day. But first, get some rest, a good eight hours’ rest. The schnapps will help.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” It would be nice to get a decent night’s sleep for once.

“Keep each gathering brief. Speak no more than fifteen minutes, say, and allow time for questions and open discussion.”

“On what subject, sir?”

“On why we’re fighting, on why our cause is just, on how well the war is going, and on where we’re voyaging next.”

“Where are we going next, Captain?”

“In due time. Let me take these points in order. You’ll remember what I say? You don’t want to take some notes?”

“I have a good memory, Captain.” A first officer needed one. “I’ll write things down if it becomes necessary….”

Ter Horst drew a deep breath. “We and the Germans are together fighting a police action, Gunther, against American imperialism, against outside interference in our proud national destinies, and against Anglo-American military-political atrocities of the last century or more.”

“You mean the forced end to apartheid,” Van Gelder stated. “The abuses of the Versailles Treaty after World War I.”

Ter Horst nodded. “Stripping Germany bare. Destroying her economy, and her self-esteem. Doing it again after World War II, especially in the East, under Soviet occupation for fifty years…. The Boer War, putting our forefathers’ wives and children in concentration camps, where thousands died of typhus.”

“But we fired the first shots, this time, in this war, sir.”

Ter Horst shook his head vehemently. “It’s all one long connected war, Gunther, going back decades and decades. Don’t you see? This is just the latest battle. The Americans, the British, they fired the first shots, long ago. Militarily, politically, they’re culpable for all that followed, and for all that follows now. They’re culpable morally too.”

“But the Germans nuked Warsaw and Tripoli.”

“And the U.S. nuked Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Don’t you see the duality, the justice of it, the revenge here on a global scale? Many readings of international law say all nuclear weapons are illegal. Who invented them? Who used them first?”

“I see your point, Captain.”

“And take the collapse of apartheid. That system worked for us, for all South Africa. The Bantus, the coloreds, they had a proper place in our society, and a proper, safe place in which to work and live. The communist so-called Front Line States to our north made trouble along the border, sure, but we fought them back. We held the line against the Reds as much as America ever did, with their botch-up in Vietnam. We held it better, until the Berlin Wall came down! Then the Americans hit us with trade embargoes, sanctions. They claim we’re violating human rights. So apartheid falls, and starting in 1994 our country becomes a democracy. And what do we get, from this democracy? ” Ter Horst said the word like it was obscene. “Open borders, and an inrush of AIDS decimating our black population. An open economy, freedom for all, and violent crime skyrockets. Internal terrorism, tribal strife, they explode all out of control! Look at the statistics, Gunther. Years and years of statistics. The statistics don’t lie.”

“No, sir, they don’t.” Van Gelder felt himself being won over. He felt himself relaxing, his inner concerns being salved.

Watch out, my friend. Is this burgeoning peace of mind because of ter Horst’s hard logic, or because of your own fatigue and the schnapps? Is ter Horst an inspiring leader, or is he just a manipulative, seducing bastard?

“It’s the enemy who lies, Number One. It’s the enemy who practices hypocrisy on a monumental scale. What the Brits have done to the Irish. What the U.S. did to their Native Americans, what the North did to the South in their bloody War Between the States… The joint NATO task force we and the Germans attacked at the outset of this latest conflict was a legitimate military target, Gunther. Diego Garcia was a legitimate military target. The Americans and British and the others we killed are the fools, for not thinking of the risks when they joined up, when they donned the uniform in what they thought was peacetime. There has been no