“Give me sector C,” the commander says. Now the large screen is showing one of the outlying areas. They can see more young men, too many to assume this is just a random grouping.
“I think they’ll be the first to try. Can I get another camera?”
The strategy simulations all showed the same thing: they will send young men up front, who will try to climb the fence and weaken it from the other side. Or claim asylum, that might happen too. They must be stopped. It’s like a balloon. If the rubber bursts you can’t stick it and the whole thing collapses – you have to ensure that first hole doesn’t appear.
“Loudspeaker,” the commander orders, “and move two water cannon over there. Keep those boys well away from the fence!”
Well away is no longer possible, however. Most of the refugees at the front are far too close to the scary electric fence. Nobody’s tried to touch it yet. Some of those at the front are anxiously pushing backwards.
“Should we . . .” Gödeke asks the minister. They’re standing side by side, watching the organised chaos, so that he can authorise decisions at any point.
The minister shakes his head. “Nine thousand volts is enough.”
The power cables have been moved. They’re working, but they’re now at the top of the fence. They mooted the idea of electrifying the entire thing, but it would have been counterproductive. If such a mass of people were to push against the fence it would kill at most a few hundred before the installation became overloaded or damaged. And with such a large number of people unable to retreat, this would be a few hundred deaths to no additional effect. It would be no more than a “we tried” signal, and this signal could be given more effectively with targeted shooting. Shots are generally audible and there are fewer fatalities. And the fear of the electricity remains. It will scare them off for longer.
“We don’t want to sit and wait, open up the fucking gate!” they’re now singing.
“There is no gate,” the minister mutters. There’s only one way to disperse this crowd and that’s from behind, where they can still be kept well away from the fence. Those behind would need to be driven back, dispersed into Austria, after which they could set about removing those at the fence. Then those wankers would have to scoop the refugees up again. They’d have to deal with them rather than just waving them through. But it’s inconceivable that the Germans could use tear-gas grenades or anything similar on Austrian soil.
“O.K.,” the commander says. “Showtime!”
Accompanied by cheers from the refugees one of the boys climbs onto the shoulders of another. “Water cannon the moment he touches the fence,” the commander says into his headset. “And get ready for sector A, that’s where the next attempt is likely to be.”
The first water cannon spouts forth, knocking the first boy clean off the shoulders of the other, but two more have climbed up and are already holding onto the fence. These are smooth metal struts, now wet too, yet the boys stick to them like geckos, with only one arm. They reach back with the other, trying to get their hands on coats, blankets, whatever they can use to cover the electrical cables and razor wire at the top.
“Give the warning!” the commander orders. “Snipers at the ready!”
The fear of the electricity is greater than the electricity itself. As long as nobody climbs up the fence, nobody knows just how strong the current is. So the key is to keep the refugees on the ground. The commander glances at the minister and Gödeke, and when neither reacts, he says firmly, “Warning shots!”
The gunshots are clearly audible. The cameras show the crowd retreating, if you can call it that. It appears to contract, but there’s barely any room. One metre, perhaps only half. The boy clings to the fence.
“He’s going to get it,” the squad leader warns. “Fingers or legs!”
Two shots are fired, and the boy sails back into the crowd with a scream. More shots are fired, and all the cameras show an empty fence once more. The minister fetches a cup of coffee. He saw Lionel do just that on television earlier: get a coffee. He raises his cup and toasts his absent opponent.
It could be going worse.