General Wolfgang Sturm was seated in his Bundesarmeehauptquartier office, slouched over his desk. His chin rested on clasped hands, his vision unfocused. Packed into the room was almost every general officer of the Bundesleet, with the pointed exception of its later Mobian additions. They all stood stock-still, looking at their leader with frightened anticipation. The silence in the room was deafening. They had been standing there for ten minutes.
Sturm finally broke the silence with a deep breath. "We have two options," he said slowly, "The first, a life of servitude; the second, a bloody war." Not moving his head, he glanced about at his fellow officers. "Neither is preferable, but make no mistake: unless Robotnik has some sort of life-changing epiphany, once he's finished with the lesser powers and his primary threats, he'll turn on us."
"You speak as though we actually have a choice," said von Buelow.
Sturm smirked. "Fair enough. He has practically half the world in his grip already; we can't stand to fight him as we are. In that sense, we are already subjugated. The question is, how long, and by what means do we resist?"
"What say the Mobians?" Kretzmann asked.
"They're frightened to death. They don't want Robotnik; neither do they want war. We'd either be sending them to slaughter or selling them out. And it's not a decision the government can make." There were a few clearings-of-throat at this, and Sturm straightened up. "We may have built a country out of this wasteland, but it was always intended to serve our interests first and foremost. We have spent eight years on this planet, still without a direct line home, still grounded. I think it's about time we started calling in our debts."
Aularch took a step forward. "We've just installed Caradian as the nation's president, and you want to go over his head?"
"Unless you have a better solution..?" he asked, rhetorically.
"One year," he replied, "Two at most. We'll have it ready, and then..." he punched his fist into his opposite palm.
"Two years," he repeated. He looked into the faces of his subordinates. They had followed him this far, and would march with him off a cliff given the alternatives. "Show of hands: all in favour of waiting it out?"
About half the group shot their arms in the air. As the seconds passed, the undecided fell in line, and soon the decision was unanimous.
"Non-aggression pact it is. But take heed, kameraden: once we have secure contact, everything is out of our hands. If she tells us to fight, then we fight. Dismissed."
