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A RESTLESS couple sat on a blanket on a twisted, rusted
girder, holding hands sadly, occasionally glancing toward
the ancient ship at the pier in the distance, silent love
islanded in a forest of broken steel madness. The girl
moved nervously, stared through the bones of the
shipyard, hating the ship that would take her Kurt away—
Jager, a gray steel dragon specially evolved for the
dealing of death, crouched, waiting beside the Hoch-und-
Deutschmeister pier. Her hand tightened on his. She lifted
it, rubbed her cheek against his knuckles, kissed them, and
moved closer. He slipped his arm around her, lightly. Hers
passed around his waist. The cool, moist fingers of their
free hands entwined in her lap.
They were Kurt and Karen Ranke, married eleven
months, two weeks, and three days, and about to be
parted by the warship—perhaps permanently. Both were
tall and leanly muscular, blond, blue-eyed, almost stereo-
typically Aryan, alike as brother and sister, yet related
only through marriage. Their sadness was for the War, on
A snatch of song momentarily haunted the ruins to
their left. They turned. A hundred meters distant, beside
the shallow, scum-topped water-corpse of the Kiel Canal,
sailors made their ways toward the destroyer; men without
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