Interlude Richter

On the dark side of the moon, Earth could not be seen in the sky.

Dr. Richter stood at the window of the war room, gazing out at the starlit void where the absence of the blue hues of their distant home world was almost painful to behold.

They had gathered in the main war room of Schwarze Sonne, a place more impressive than practical. The scientist in him deplored the room's unnecessary grandeur for its loss of efficiency, but the military men surrounding him craved such pomp.

As he turned away from the window, Dr. Richter's thoughts returned to Earth. He expected that the next time he saw their home planet, it would be time to set things right—to bring the Fourth Reich back to the motherland. Once, he had despaired he might never live to see its glorious return.

The world had a way of granting wishes strangely. They had lingered too long in exile on the dark side of the moon.

Now, Earth had come to them.

Just as he contemplated this shift in fate—once preparing for a first strike, now potentially defending against an overwhelming enemy—the doors to the hall swung open.

"Hail Hitler," he and everyone else in the room intoned as Wolfgang Kortzfleisch, the Führer and Chancellor of the Fourth Reich, entered flanked by stormtroopers. The heavy thud of their boots was punctuated by the sharp clinks of medals and the rustling of crisp uniforms, filling the room with a chilling sense of purpose.

The Moon Führer, as he was commonly called, was old, but he bore his age well—much better than Richter. Like Richter, Wolfgang Kortzfleisch was one of the few who properly remembered the Third Reich. Many of the others in the room were just boys when they fled the losing war. Some were not even born. They were Children of the Moon, born in exile.

It was not cowardice to flee, but strategy. And if he told himself that enough times, he hoped he might actually believe it.

Rather than offering a response, Kortzfleisch lazily waved the ivory baton, the official symbol of the office of the Moon Führer, in a cursory greeting. The gesture, subtly dismissive, was laden with the kind of political posturing that went beyond mere succession. While some might read ambitious intent in such minimalism, Richter, ever observant, quietly noted it without comment. To him, these displays were but a distracting veneer over the grim realities they were all gathered to grapple with: the last bastion of a once-great civilization, now exiled, plotting its return as Earth's moral decay continued unabated.

Except for the first time in forty years, there was a complication they couldn't account for.

Moon Führer moved to the strategy table, a meticulous carving of the moon's surface dominating the room. From the shadows of the dark side where a model of Schwarze Sonne stood imposingly to the various sites of strategic importance—helium isotope mines, titanium deposits, and lesser outposts—it was all mapped with precision.

Dr. Richter watched from his position near the table, his eyes tracing the contours of craters and plains. He remembered the panic that had seized them decades ago when the Americans planted their flag on the moon. At the time, it was feared to be a prelude to colonization, but such fears had been unfounded. The Americans had abandoned their efforts, a folly Richter attributed to the ineptitude he expected of a mongrel race.

Most importantly, the table was updated with the newest threats—flags and markers signifying sightings of the latest intruders, including the speculated location of their base.

The officers murmured among themselves, and even Richter winced. The problem with the newest interlopers was that no one in the Fourth Reich had any idea how they managed to get to the moon. Even after all this time, they had yet to see any rocket landings.

The Moon Führer gazed at them all with cold, reptilian eyes, and slowly took a piece of chocolate candy from his pocket. Deliberately, he unwrapped it and bit into it. The Moon Führer never offered to share.

"Well," he said, "anyone? Or do all of you need to be replaced? If you are incapable of this, I can find another way for you to serve the Reich. We are low on fertilizer."

Oberstgruppenführer der Mondstation Adler was the first to speak. Richter admired his bravery, even if he did not like the man. Adler was pushy about the matter of their children. Richter had a girl, and Adler a boy. They were both of pure stock, and the conclusion was obvious, in Adler's eyes at least. For Richter, it was too early. He was not prepared to think about his Renata that way. Besides, the boy should properly court her, not have her handed to him on a silver platter.

"We have managed to take some pictures of the departing ones," Adler said. He was a handsome man. Richter admitted to himself that if his boy Klaus grew up like that, Renata might find him pleasing.

One more reason not to make it too easy.

"Departing ones? And no arriving rockets?" the Moon Führer pressed, his tone sharpening with impatience. Fiercely, he bit into a small piece of chocolate.

"No, Mein Führer, our scouts have not seen any," Adler replied, trying to sound brave, but drops of sweat on his brow betrayed his nervousness.

"Are we deploying blind scouts now? Perhaps they should report to medical to see if they're still of any use to the Reich."

The ensuing silence was as oppressive as Earth's gravity, broken only by the slow, deliberate chewing of their leader. He shifted his gaze from one officer to another, his expression radiating lethal disappointment.

Unable to withstand the tension, one of the younger officers, his voice trembling, nearly shouted, "Perhaps we haven't found any stealth rockets because there aren't any, Mein Führer."

The room fell deathly silent as the Moon Führer turned his icy gaze upon the speaker. With a chilling calm, he replied, "What a fascinating theory. How did they get to the moon, then? Did they ride a hippogriff, or perhaps hoisted themselves by their bootstraps like Baron Munchausen?"

He paused, allowing the irony to permeate the air before his tone hardened. "How did someone with such glaring mental incompetency pass the psychological evaluations? No matter. Execute this idiot."

In a desperate last attempt to save himself, the doomed officer blurted out, "Wormholes!"

"Wormholes?" the Moon Führer echoed, his tone dripping with scepticism.

"It's only Jewish lies," Richter interjected. It was a risky move, but he felt compelled to defend scientific purity. "Einstein could not make good equations, so he invented such nonsense when his calculations yielded faulty results. The universe is not an apple to be eaten by worms. He is not just a fool, but a traitor as well."

The gunshot sounded, but Richter did not turn to look; he was silently satisfied that justice had been served.

"Dr. Richter."

"Yes, Mein Führer!"

"You have had sufficient time for preliminary analysis," the Moon Führer stated—not as a question, but as a declaration that could prove lethally perilous to contest.

"Yes, Mein Führer!"

"Summarize it."

"Yes, Mein Führer!" Richter replied, hastily pulling out a binder filled with photographs. He presented the first one, which depicted an oval metallic device mounted on a tripod, equipped with a single red camera at the center. "This represents the enemy's infantry unit. It is outfitted with machine guns on the sides that can retract into the main body. The apparatus is too small for standard human operation, leading me to conclude that the pilots must be physically altered—likely stunted, or missing limbs. While the mere contemplation of such a practice is abhorrent, we must acknowledge the harsh realities of space travel where every gram counts. It is distressing yet plausible that less scrupulous nations, driven by sheer avarice, might resort to using these unfortunate souls instead of offering them a merciful end. Thus, they sacrifice their ethical standards for fleeting economic gains."

A shudder of disgust moved through the room after Richter's words, affecting everyone except their formidable leader. He was made of sterner stuff.

Richter displayed the next set of photographs—the departing rockets. He wasn't certain these vehicles were rockets, but it was the closest approximation he could make. "The propulsion system remains unknown. In every instance, the rocket was observed after it had finished acceleration, even at very high elevations. Considering that escape velocity is achieved, we can conclude that the acceleration is unsustainable for humans. This may be just how launch resources return to Earth. It could explain why the intruders did not bother with stealth. Another possible explanation is that these were projectiles launched from something akin to a railgun."

"And were any such railguns observed?"

"Not thus far, Mein Führer. But since no launch sites were found from where the vessels originated, it's possible that it's a mobile platform."

"Could we develop such a device? It sounds useful for our eventual return. If we could fire even just rocks at Earth."

"I will look into it, Mein Führer." Richter then moved to the next set of images. They were blurry, as they dared not approach too close to the enemy's main base. Surprise was their advantage, and they needed to maintain it as long as possible. "Most of it is underground, so much is obscured. But from what is visible, I conclude that it is a mine. A very claustrophobic one. They are not here to settle, only to exploit."

"And their identity? Do you have any clues? Are they American? Russians?"

For that answer, Richter pulled out the last set of photographs. The subjects pictured were varied: the strange metallic infantry, the walls of the base, among others. On each, a single symbol was circled in red pencil by Richter himself—a broken circle. "I believe this is their flag. It bears no resemblance to any historical one, but the symmetry of the segments in the circle, suggesting equality, may indicate that this is a successor of the League of Nations."

Moon Führer slowly finished his chocolate and crumpled the wrapper. "We know too little. Thus, we must hide and watch. The first priority is to remain unknown. They should not have any hint of our presence. Second is to observe, to find weaknesses. An opportunity. And then we strike. Blitzkrieg. And reclaim first the moon, then the Earth."