Chapter Fifteen - The Streets Are Made of Glass

On my trip back to Berun, idle chatter in the passenger car taught me two things that had developed in Germania: first, The attempt on my life had spread like wildfire after the Neu Deutschland had first published the news.

Other media outlets simply followed suit on the latest piece of sensational news telling. Foerster somehow talked despite stressing the importance of secrecy considering how volatile the atmosphere is; Second, the original Stab-in-the-Back myth I debunked countless times was outdated, obsolete, and hijacked by a new betrayal centered entirely around me.

No longer was it that Germania had been stabbed in the back by the treacherous Liberals and Socialists. No, I was betrayed by those Liberals and Socialists. According to the story, clearly a fabrication, I was investigating a conspiracy concerning the Weimar Regime after being tipped off by a whistleblower from within. The Progressive Bloc had hired Zhabotinski and his men to see me permanently removed from the equation for "getting too close to the truth."

My first reaction? March straight into the DNVP headquarters and drag Foerster by his ears before ripping them off for spreading such false and malicious rumors about the Progressives, especially when the country needs stability to recover. Yet, this felt like something other than the work of Foerster; he belonged to the DNVP after all. He can't be an editor of a newspaper that belonged to his party's ideological rival.

Was it one of Zhabotinski's men with the loose tongue? I severely doubt it, considering the immediate ramifications it would bring among the extremists roaming the streets. Perhaps it was another eyewitness in Konigsberg that spilled the beans. Regardless, if not Foerster, I would be on a wild goose chase trying to figure out how the incident was leaked to one of the most prolific newspapers in the republic.

To explain the truth to the passengers was exhausting. They were almost disappointed as to how the assassination attempt went down. It was as if the people wanted an ancient conspiracy about a hidden cabal concerned with world domination which I cannot fathom to comprehend the appeal. Can we just not agree that failure can come from more mundane sources within our government?

As to how the National Vanguardists marched north and made a mess of everything: I also got two conflicting answers. One camp stated that Rohr approached the right-wing conservatives and fascists like the DNVP for a temporary alliance to launch a nationwide boycott of Judean goods and businesses in protest against recent actions in Konigsberg. The other camp argued that it was the Heinrich Class and Herr Goering that approached Rohr for a mutual agreement to launch the boycott.

In the end, it did not matter who initiated this political alliance since the results would still be the same: a complete breakdown of relations. As soon as the boycott was 'unleashed' and 'completed' the night of November 4th, Rohr's Sturmabteilung engaged in street combat against Goering, Class, and a dozen other conservative Freikorps with tens of thousands of Judeans and Germanians caught in the crossfire. Even the police were divided between pro and anti-Rohr lines.

As for the Reichsbanner, they were in the Rhineland.

Why were they in the Rhineland?

That was the only thing everyone shared the same answer: to fight the Spartacus front to "secure the November election" from the Reds, taking almost all the Judean militias with them as well. The motive I understand perfectly fine but the method…the strategy…the doctrine…

What was Visha thinking? Leaving the backyard exposed to Rohr's stormtroopers…Cossacks alone cannot hold against the sheer number of Brownshirts marching north.

At least Beruners sided with the Progressive Coalition and helped chase Rohrites out of the city at the break of dawn. But the damage was already done.

At that point, I was too worn out to continue questioning people gathering around me. A National Revolution was called by Rohr's newest propagandist, Paul Fritz Odenhausen, demanding an overthrow of the SPD, radical land and wealth redistribution, and, most damning of all, restoring the "honor and integrity" of, yours truly, the Ace of Aces.

For the good of Europe, I will have my Reichsbanner throw these National Vanguardists into the abyss. I already let one man hijack my name to overthrow a republic, I cannot let that happen again.

Dacia has been turned into a human slaughterhouse but for the average mother trying to escort her son to school in this mess in Berun, that was not anywhere near her biggest concern.

Looking at the small hills of burning books, the streets and sidewalks covered with glass shards, political ads flying through the bleeze or plastered all over brick walls and lamp pots, and hearing the occasional gunshot in the distance, I almost found it hard to believe that the boycott lasted only one night; if it weren't for the fact that the buildings in Berun were still intact and its inhabitants still alive, I would have mistaken the carnage as another battlefield in the Great War.

It was a rather low bar to suggest that the city was 'fine'. The Federal policemen moved in groups of 20 since it was still unsafe to perform patrols with a lower body count.

Whether out of apathy or the desire to avoid accountability, people just passed these vandalized shops, sometimes stopping to look at the damages in open awe. They avoid stepping on the broken glass like a chef avoiding eggshells on the floor. While some expressed disappointment, many simply spent their money elsewhere at ethnic Germanian establishments spared from the boycott.

Yet, for every four people who looked at the devastation with blinders on, there was one activist who threw stones into the windows owned by Judean or left-leaning shopkeepers. "Traitorous Scum!" and "Vote for Degurechaff!" were their slogans, interchangeable really, as the phrases both implied violent retribution if the elections did not turn out in my party's favor.

An armored car zoomed past me, bearing the iconography of the Totenkopf, and behind it was a truck carrying a small company of Freikorps still dressed in their Great War uniforms. Their helmets were painted with the same symbol. One of the men on top of the vehicle locked eyes with me and it spurned him into action.

"HEIL DEGURECHAFF!" he roared, raising his right arm at a stiff 45-degree angle and prompting his comrades to bolt out of their doldrums to look in my direction. "DEATH TO ROHR! DEATH TO LUTZEBUERG!"

"Death to Rohr! Death to Lutzebuerg!" His comrades shouted, trying to see my face but the truck had already turned around the corner.

"For the Empire…!" their voices melted away into the din that is the new urban life of Berun.

Despite their brief screaming, a small crowd of men and women, young and old, had saluted the paramilitary men in quiet observance. Curious enough, among them were workers putting up political campaign ads for the DDP. Why is that? The Totenkopf belonged to men aligned with the ultraconservative establishment. The Junker elites were just as much of a rival to the liberal order as were the Communists, the National Vanguardists, and the Fascists.

Vote For Liberty! Vote For Freedom! One poster read as it depicted Lady Germania dressed as a knight in full-plate armor, protected by a shield depicting the twin-headed dragon while her sword had the tricolors of the Germanian Republic wrapped around it.

At least I think it was Lady Germania. Growing up, she was always depicted with brown hair with grey eyes but here, Lady Germania has blond hair with blue eyes. While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and I would certainly earn a lot of political capital, the current state of affairs has left me with a tiny seed of doubt.

I found myself gravitating towards my headquarters with the growing need to reach Visha though a part of me urged to contact Heimal Schlage immediately. The boycott, the rioting, and the street violence between the paramilitaries would have put a sharp halt to Schlage's plans of economic recovery. Plus, I needed to explain what occurred in Pullska as rumors would have already reached his ears. Reaching into my purse, relief reentered my throat when I felt Moscic's letter.

"Excuse me," I gave my best, most innocent-sounding voice to one of the overseers directing where the campaign ads should go. He was a young man, perhaps the same age as Weiss, with sharp features and a strong muscular body. The only thing hideous around him was a fencing scar on the left side of his face that started from his mouth and reached his ear. "Are you part of the Germanian Democratic Party? Or merely employed."

"The former, my lady," he responded with a quick bow. "I am sorry but I am on a tight schedule. I don't think I can answer all your questions if you have any."

"I only have one." I replied, "I just want to know if Heimal Schlage is in the city, in his office at the DDP headquarters."

The young man left out a huff as if he were given a physics equation to decipher.

"I cannot say for sure he would be there, given how violent the streets have become recently… it would be important for him to seek protection…"

"This is concerning the Ace of Aces…" I interrupted him with a wink, already impatient with his babble.

Immediately, the overseer paused and studied my face before looking back at the poster on the wall to glance at the portrait of Lady Germania. He did this several times before shrugging his shoulders and muttering something indiscreet under his breath. Only then did he lean forward for a slight whisper.

"Herr Schlage lives in the Reich Presidential Palace like a little dog to Erbel now. But my fiance says that he will be returning to his office to pick up any files that survived the fire."

"Fire?!" My alarm bells went off in my head in an instant.

"Yeah, one of Rohr's men threw some torches inside the building after the boycott. That was when the war started."

At that point, I threw aside any previous concerns I had with Visha and ran toward the DDP headquarters. Although my clique had pooled money together to buy a humble storefront to convert into our library of data collecting, it was paramount to assist Schlage in finding and preserving the materials we had accumulated over the last campaigning season. Whatever is left of it, at least. Material that is crucial in allowing us to combat the rising inflation and Triano payments due to the Francois. I hoped beyond hope that Schlage has shared copies with Zentrum and the SPD.

Deeper into Berun, the scenery did not get any better: I encountered barricades made of wrecked cars, sandbanks, and loose bricks; machine gun nests barred entire streets. It was as if the capital was under foreign occupation with the gross number of Freikorps soldiers, including Cossacks, guarding every street corner and maintaining vigilance.

Yet, the terror of a civil war was inescapable. Out of the corner of my eye, a group of civilians, a few rabbis among them, were held with their faces against a wall with bayonets pointed at their spines. Yet, the conflict was between the two soldiers, one a great bearded Cossack and the other an old SPD officer. Both men looked ready to shoot each other to settle their dispute with their underlings following suit. Naturally, I rather not let this spat turn ugly if I can help it.

"Damn it all! If only the Argent Silver was here…" the Russite swore under his breath as I approached behind him.

"Wish granted," I announced, causing the warrior to turn around and nearly jump a meter into the air. "What is going on here?"

"Thank God…it really is you." the Reichsbanner officer breathed a sigh of relief, "Please, tell this drunken, oafish Slav that these people are our voters, not theirs."

"Voters?" I inquired.

"Aye, voters." the Russite grunted, "My men and I were to escort them to the voting station to vote for the DDP. It is the only way to get you into the Reichstag."

Escort. Right.... That is why the bayonets were required.

"But they are registered Social Democrats!" the old man yelled, "They are to vote for us! You have already siphoned enough of our popular base - no offense to you, Argent Silver - our party needs to maintain its seats in the Reichstag."

"Your party is filled with Marxists. You shouldn't be in the Reichstag in the first place! These voters are going for the Germanian Democrats."

"Are you part of the DDP?" I looked at the Cossack to scrutinize him, if only his clothes were as well groomed as his beard.

"HA - no! Why would I ever associate myself with a party of Judean-lovers?" He replied rhetorically. "If it weren't for you, I would never be in this situation to begin with. Isn't that right, lads? You are the only woman in this entire damnable part of Europe who has the strength and courage to overcome the Bolshevik menace."

"And yet here you are." I gritted my teeth.

"Aye, I don't trust Schlage or any Judean in the DDP but with you at the helm, I certainly trust them more than I trust these Marxist dogs." He threw a hand at the elder Social Democrat.

"We have been through this before: don't twist my allegiance with the freaks in the Rhineland. Lutzebuerg is a whore to Moskva - not President Erbel or Chancellor Herimann." the old man glared daggers back at the Cossack. "And you know that."

"Just let them go," I stated, wanting to end this worthless scenery. It is seriously damaging my reputation when the election is so close. "Let them vote for whoever they want."

"What?!" the Russite looked at me as if I had a second head on my shoulders.

"Did I stutter?" I spoke, staring him down, "LET. THEM. GO."

With a scowl, he gestured his men to relinquish the bayonets from the civilians' backs. A small plethora of "thank yous" were headed my way as the small crowd vacated the street as fast as their legs could carry them.

The men of Reichsbanner Red looked very content as they too marched in the opposite direction. The company leader gave me a nod of approval before his departure.

"Good luck educating these barbaric Slavs…" He called out.

Ignoring the last comment, I maintained my attention on the Cossacks.

"There seems to be a misconception about my endorsement." I explained as simply as I could while trying to restrain myself from ripping off his beard, "Just because I joined one party does not automatically mean all other parties are suspect. The Social Democrats and Zentrum are not the same as the Communists or the National Vanguardists. And I further encourage you and everyone else here to drop this prejudiced attitude immediately."

"You are playing a dangerous game, Argent Silver." The Cossack replied. "We all know what happened to the last Tzar when he associated himself with liberals and Judeans."

"The last Tzar was a self-righteous idiot and a pathetic failure of a statesman. You are worshipping a man who couldn't govern a village and have the audacity to act surprised and enraged as to why your beloved empire fell to the Bolsheviks. Those liberals were trying to save it from the Reds…"

"They will betray you…" He warned as the brashness in his voice was replaced with mild timidity. "They will betray you and kill you. Just like what they tried to do in Konigsberg."

"People have been trying to kill me ever since I swore allegiance to the Empire. What happened in Konigsberg is no different and none of your concern. Do you still want to be useful to me? Go west and kill some Communists or march south to kill some National Vanguardists."

"But-"

"You have done enough damage in Berun already or have you and your men gone soft tormenting helpless civilians?" I shut down his pitiful protest. "Now go and make yourself productive and stop chasing after shadows and ghosts before I make you all into one."

With no one else brave, or dumb, enough to make another dissenting opinion, the Cossacks left the area grumbling curses under their breath. I will have to bring this issue up with Schlage concerning the Cossacks. Discipline and judicial action would be required to investigate their instances of voter intimidation as well as…whatever else happened in Berun during the boycott.

"Argent Silver, I am truly sorry but I am not allowed to talk to you…" the front desk secretary whispered to me upon my arrival.

"What? Why?"

I did not walk through militarized checkpoints, have the soles of my shoes penetrated by glass shards, and see my identity robbed and plastered on every campaign poster imaginable. Just a street down from here, I saw a young boy wearing the brown uniform of the SA getting lynched by a mob of Cossacks who were thrice his age.

I can still see his corpse swaying in the wind underneath a street lamp.

"You are not allowed here anymore…Herr Schlage -"

"Is my ally and respects me. What are you talking about? Is this building not the primary think tank of the Germanian Democratic Party? The burned marks on the ceiling and walls suggest it so." I cut her off.

"Please, I am on your side - we're all on your side - but…"

"But what? What is it? Why am I not allowed to enter a building that belongs to a party that I am a part of?"

"You were expelled." Another woman came forward, carrying a box of burned papers and soot, as she gave me a sympathetic look. "The announcement came last night. Herr Schlage revoked your membership."

"Don't be ridiculous…this is not a time for pranks-" I spoke aloud before another female staff member gave me a small notice. "No…This can't be…that cannot be true."

Spoiler: Adjusting Our Membership

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the looks of pity and concern of the workers, not the broken glass windows, nor the black marks that scarred the building. My entire world was found on that piece of paper and I laughed when I should have screamed. I LAUGHED.

"You're not supposed to be here." a male voice emerged from behind me after the doors were slammed shut.

I turned around to see my former superior and he looked as if he saw action in the Rhineland front. His face was contorted with renewed bewilderment and utter contempt while his eyes looked tormented and foreboding. We stared at each other for a second before he broke contact and walked toward his office.

"Herr Schlage." I spoke first, trying to grab his arm, "I can explain!"

"Don't bother. Get out," he demanded, not even bothering to look in my direction when he swatted my hand away. "I don't want anything to do with you."

"Please, just let me clarify."

"I don't want to hear it. Get out!"

"Wait! You just don't understand."

"I understand well enough. GET OUT!" Schlage shouted before attempting to slam his office door onto my face but I was quick enough to catch the door handle and close it behind me.

"I AM NOT LEAVING UNTIL WE TALK FIRST," I stated, staring him down with an honest smile. "Please…I just want to talk about what happened."

With a long and drawn-out sigh, Schlage retreated from my gaze and leaned against his ruined table. His face found more interest in the blackened wood while I stared at his back.

"Herr Schlage -"

"I am the one asking the questions here, Degurechaff. You either answer them or leave."

He looked up from the desk and stared blankly at the wall ahead.

"Do you remember when we first met and discussed background checks on your associates?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully, walking around the table to look at Schlage's face. There is no reason to lie, after all. "I remember."

"Do you remember that we agreed that you would oversee the background checks of your associates and future clique members?"

"Yes."

"What became of it?"

"I appointed my most trusted partner, Viktoriya Serebryakov, to oversee the background checks while I had to move on to other duties."

"Serebryakov…the Slav?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who she is?"

"Of course I do! She has been my subordinate during the Great War. What are you -"

"Silence, girl." There was more defeat in his voice than fury when he said that. What happened to him? I had never encountered him like this before. "Do you know who Serebryakov is?"

"I just told you, yes."

"DO YOU KNOW WHO SEREBRYAKOV IS?"

"Yes. I. Do."

"No. You do not." Schlage shook his head in disappointment, "To think I once saw you as wise beyond your years. You are just an ignorant little girl who brings death and strife wherever she goes."

"Then please, enlighten me…" I spoke through snarled teeth.

"She is a Kievan Cossack. Her family are Kievan Cossacks."

"So-"

"They were Judenjagers."

Judean Hunters?

"Her father, grandfather, her great-grandfather, and her great-great-grandfather were Judenjagers…ordered by the Tzars to find and exterminate Judeans within the Russy Empire. The Serebryakovs, like every other White Russy Cossack Exile here in this God-forsaken country, have killed thousands, tens of thousands perhaps, of Judeans before fleeing into the Empire when the Bolsheviks triumphed.

If you were diligent in examining the history of your followers, you would know. But because you didn't, I had to do it for you on short notice. There were an increasing number of party members in the DDP that had no business being in it…"

"What does this have to do with Viktoriya? Putting the sins of her forefathers upon her shoulder?"

"Degurechaff…did you ever ask her what she was doing before she was a conscript? Ever asked her what she thought of democracy and individualism? Ever asked her what she was doing after being DEMOBILIZED?!"

"No." A small but growing sense of shame burned my ears. My work must have deprieved me from noticing her personal habits. "She was silent on the matter and I felt such discussions were irrelevant when concerning the party's future."

"No indeed." Schlage let out another heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead in the process. "Tell you want to know what your Slavic friend was doing. Tell me that you want to hear it. Just tell me."

"I need to know," I replied, feeling like my mind was on a ship in the middle of a typhoon. I took a deep breath to steel myself for the flood."I want to hear it."

"Ok…that Slavic whore of yours…she was once part of a student organization in her university comprised of other like-minded students, White Russites including, campaigning to expel a professor for promoting 'Judeo-Bolshevism' in the curriculum as well as putting anti-semitic conspiracy books in the library. It would have succeeded if it weren't for their number being called up to the nearest conscription station. That was the best day of that professor's life - hoping that all those young men and women died in the trenches in the Rhineland.

Until he got shot by those who survived during the Boycott.

Regardless, after the war, while you chose to fight in Magyarozag, Serebryakov joined RNOD, the Russy National Liberation Movement, a far-right, anti-communist, anti-semitic, pro-Tzarist organization led by Alexander Il'in. A party of White Russites that campaigned for you-know-what for you-know-who. After you went to Daneland, she followed you there and we both know what happened later.

And I had uncovered all of this while you were busy killing democracy in Pullska and jumping in bed with the Preussians."

My mind was blank as white paper. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing…It does not make sense. Visha was diligent, intelligent, and versatile. The perfect adjutant for anyone, soldier and politician alike. She would not hide this from me…would she?

She was always a dependable employee. Climbing the corporate ladder would be a walk in the park with that work ethic. No… Schlage must be exaggerating Visha's flaws: conflating her Tzarist-Imperial nostalgia with extremely radical anti-Republicanism. It has to be.

"Herr Schlage, I know I created an unnecessary burden upon you and the party but please, let me help you fix this…I want to do you justice-" I protested, reaching into my bag to retrieve Moscic's letter. It was meant for Herimann's eyes only but circumstances have changed.

"Justice? Your army of delusional monsters has rioted across the country, Communists and National Vanguardists are on the verge of enacting their revolution upon us, and you aided a military man to overthrow a sister republic. What do you mean by justice?" Schlage demanded, snatching the letter out of my hand before reading it.

His eyes were set alight by the contents as if he were a priest reading a heretical manuscript.

"DO YOU TAKE ME FOR AN IDIOT?!" He threw it back at my face.

"I know these past two months were extremely unpleasant but I need to be reinstated in the DDP for our efforts to succeed. Please, we need to work together on this." I implored him as I caught the letter.

"I think our business is done here. You should leave."

"But-"

"If you do not leave immediately, I will call security for your physical removal." Schlage threatened. He did not even break from the impromptu staring contest. This is a terrible rut to be in; he truly meant it.

"Is there any way I could make this up to you?" I pleaded one last time. This cannot be happening!

Another heavy sigh emerged the DDP leader. For the longest time, he stared at me as if I was the biggest piece of dogshit under his shoe.

"Go to Yugoslavia. Help our friends there, rehabilitate your image, and we can start over from the beginning."

So that was it then?

After everything I have done for the Germanian Democratic Party, the radio addresses, the speeches, the advice, and the training on the Reichsbanner Red-Black-Gold, and this is the gratitude I was given? The alleged failures of a subordinate being placed upon the manager…

Usually, a low-ranking salaryman would feel the burn from the higher-ups, but I am the one getting roasted over a skewer. Being made into the scapegoat for the company to cover itself.

I still question the wisdom of terminating my future participation with the party. Don't they understand how much of an asset I was to their campaign? The campaign posters are inclined to agree. Now they're a liability to Schlage; he will have to spend a pretty penny replacing every ad that bore my name or face.

But it was too little, too late. The election was just a breath away; the voters had already committed to a party. There are very few things in the world that could force them to change their minds. Though, perhaps the boycott would be one of them. No doubt every politician, philosopher, and college professor in the future would use this event as an example of mass hysteria.

It is bad enough that the tragedy of this anarchic event would serve as ammunition for any opportunistic politician of this age decrying the inherent instability of democracy.

I laughed quietly to myself though it sounded more like a whimper. Now I know what it's like being the person sitting across from my desk in Japan.

Unemployed, with no reliable income, blacklisted from the establishment, and theoretically homeless; too old to return to the orphanage but just old enough to vote. Maybe I could find where my real mother was and crash at her place.

But given that she was most likely a prostitute, it would do more harm than good for my character. Then again, with Fascists and National Vanguardists "preaching" under my good name, it might be a desirable alternative.

I digress, however, the important thing to do now is to retrieve my belongings and go to Yugoslavia. If helping that Balkan kingdom is the only method to get into the good graces of the DDP, then so be it.

As for Visha…

'A party of Judeans and Liberals…' A warning unsaid but repeated in my head for eternity, spoken in Visha's voice, full of concern and subdued derision.

Sleep will evade me tonight.

As for the city…

Hate.

Fear.

Hunger.

The triumvirate that ruled Berun. Other than the sorry state of the small businesses getting trashed and the Freikorps harassing anyone wearing red or brown, were the throes of people still living in destitution as if wartime rationing never left the civilian world. Evidence that despite all the sound ideas and terrific advice I offer to the Progressive Bloc, full recovery cannot happen, much less in one year.

Everything seemed to have derailed all at once: the programs that the SPD have implemented to aid the impoverished were stunted, the ruination of simple market activity shot down the delicate trust the country has fought to earn from the foreign investors, and what remains of peace and stability was marred by tanks and field cannons blockaded entire avenues.

Even though Rohr's retreat from Berun was unobjectionable, his absence was only temporary…if he doesn't take over, the Reds will.

Perhaps I should move to the Unified States and escape the madness consuming the country. I laughed at the thought. I have no friends across the pond; the moment I land in New Amstreldam, the Americans will have me over to the Francois. My date will be the guillotine before the year is over. If I could try to engrain myself in the American Armed Forces, perhaps they would protect me…A very optimistic outcome - too optimistic. The American Military-Industrial Complex may not yet reach the levels of influence in Congress…

Perhaps exile in South America?

I heard Rio de la Plata is doing good at this time of year…would the government protect me from Entente retribution? The country lacked the leverages the Unified States had over the alliance nor had a large following of "fanatics" that would protect me thick and thin.

Maybe I should live in Daneland. I liked the Prime Minister there though that would put me near General Unger. I rather not his neighbor again...

Finally, I arrived at my office; the building was a small storefront closed down during the Great War. The previous owner died in the trenches on the Ionzo Front while his family perished during the food shortages. Despite the humble size, it was big enough for a conference room, a couple of office spaces, and an apartment space for me and Visha. After spending 8 years together, fighting and killing, being roommates and political coworkers was only natural.

The sight of bullet holes, broken glass, and a machine gun nest guarding the entrance suggest anything but a continuation of that life.

"Heil Degurechaff!" Over a dozen sentries shouted, greeting me with an angled Roman Salute while their high-pitched voices suggested that they were still teenagers. Their helmets were slightly too big for their heads. What was also curious were their black uniforms with yellow armbands depicting the Black Dragon.

"We thought you were dead." One of them commented.

"Oh really?" I smiled, I felt my brain ready to pop at any moment.

"Many people kept saying that you were killed in Konigsberg. I didn't want to believe it but then again, many people did want you dead…"

Giving a polite grunt, I brushed past these wannabe soldiers and marched into headquarters. I was immediately greeted with the stench of blood, sweat, smoke, and gunpowder in the conference room. It was filled to the brim with men and women, Germanians and Slavs alike, wearing the same black uniform and shouting over each other the latest developments in Saxony and Westphalia.

The only exception was Zettour and his clique of Preussian officers, dressed in their imperial garb in all its finery. He was conversing with Visha, who was wearing a stahlhelm and the same black attire as the sentries outside, it was as if she was in 1924 all over again.

Elena, however, spotted me first and made herself scarce, brushing past me at the doorway with a sly smile and a wink before exiting the building completely to wait outside. I didn't pay much mind to what her gesture meant as my eyes were solely on Visha. What was she arguing with Zettour about?

I failed to notice the room had gone silent when the crowd turned to look at me in mild joy and disbelief. I couldn't hear their laughter, their war cries, their chanting nor did I care about their right arm extending outwards though Zettour and his followers gave the more traditional military salute. As for Visha…

Her face was wrecked with fear, regret, adoration, and pure, unfiltered joy. Her smile was brighter than the sun, her eyes sparkled more than any star in the night sky, and her voice broke through the silent din like foghorn calling to a lost ship close to shore.

"Heil Degurechaff! For the Empire! For Germania!"

Instead of the calmness that her voice usually brings, I felt nothing but dismay and turmoil. It must have reflected upon my face as the room grew deathly silent again as everyone awkwardly stood tall minus the shuffling of the feet and a few polite coughs.

"Get out," I commanded, leaving no room for respite in my words. "Get Out! Work Day is Over. Go Home."

Everyone looked at each other as if to check they were hearing the same words.

"GET! OUT! ALL OF YOU!"

That prompted them to flood past me like rats feeling like a sinking ship.

"Not you." I reached out to squeeze Visha's wrist but my eyes were locked in a duel with Zettour. Instead of leaving, he remained defiant and remained in his position looking down upon me.

"This will be a private conversation," I explained to the old general.

No words left his mouth, nothing but a raising of an eyebrow. He thinks this is amusing but I am in no mood for games.

"Please, Herr Zettour. We can talk tomorrow, earliest at your convenience if need be."

"Very well." he acquiesced, feeling snubbed despite his status as the 'wise elder.' "I will hold you to your word."

I breathed a sigh of relief when the Junker left. Despite everything she did, I would rather spare her the humiliation in the eyes of the man who reduced our lives to tokens waiting to be spent in a casino.

Keeping my ironclad grip on Visha, dragged her over to an empty seat and sat her down on it. To her credit, she did not protest but kept a cautious optimism like so many aspiring college interns seeking entry into the corporate world, unaware of the snakes underneath their feet.

I removed her helmet and threw it in a corner, causing something to crash but I didn't care anymore.

I simply pace around the room some more, gathering my thoughts, and occasionally glancing at the battleplans to see the latest troop movements. After several gulps of air, I finally turned back to face her for answers.

"What did you do?"

"I…I - what needed to be done." she gulped.

"Explain."

"I feared for the worst…"

"That is not what I am asking for."

"I did what I thought would make you proud! You said I was ready! When you went to Pullska, I set to work gathering allies and old friends to build our movement to take down the Spartakus and National Vanguardist threats. I created networks, I sought out favors, I did everything to be prepared…and when you were attacked by Judeans in Konigsberg, I realized I had to act."

"Answer my question." I reached out and grabbed her by the chin to force her to look up at me. "What happened here?"

"We planned for a boycott when Foerster revealed that the Sozis have sought your demise. But ever since you left the country, our position has been under attack from within. Erbel and Herimann have been working behind your back and made arrests of some key allies in the Reichstag on false charges. I was excluded from conferences with Schlage or Berning; Elena found difficulty coordinating with their campaign offices; and even Weiss complained that the weapon shipments promised by the Czechs were often delayed and halfway emptied upon arrival. We were in the dark and had to conduct our own meetings to compensate."

"Foerster…" I repeated slowly. Where did he get that stupid idea from? Just where? Why?

"The boycott was supposed to be on the 6th but upon hearing the news of Pilsud's putsch in Warchau, I pushed for the event to move forward as soon as possible to prevent any potential retaliation from the Progressive Bloc…It was fortunate for us that there were many Germanians who did not need much convincing to express their anger for the betrayal by the politicians."

"Fortunate?" I gestured my head towards the Freikorp convoy outside the window. "It is anarchy out there. We may not have a safe election this year because of what you did."

"If the traitorous Socialists delay the election, it is because they fear us, fear you. Because they know - they know that they will lose. They are nothing without us! Rohr. Lutzebuerg. Either of them would be sitting in Herimann's chair right now if it weren't for Freikorps Degurechaff. You are the only person who can save us! And I did everything I could do to ensure that you needed to win."

"This is not about victory!" I let go of her face to pace around the room once more. Picking up a half-empty vodka bottle, I smashed it against the wooden wall near Visha's head. "I was struggling enough trying to do what is right; this is about basic human decency. People are getting massacred; the Judeans receiving the worst of all."

"Why do they matter?" Visha protested indignantly, "Their voting power is the only value they have to us. The Judeans were only holding us back; preventing us from reaching our true potential. They were in the way of our destiny!"

SMACK!

My hand was faster than my eyes and within a second, I saw my most trusted friend out of her seat and sprawled on the floor with tears in her eyes, blood dripping from her nostril, and a red mark on her cheek. At that moment, however, I felt great pride that there was unflinching defiance within her. Eight years of man-made hell did not make her break easily…so I kicked her in the belly and ribs before stamping my boot on her neck.

"Visha…there are consequences for tormenting, even killing an entire people…" I told her, shame, disgust, and sorrow slowly creeping over me like a plague.

"Why?" Visha demanded, not bothering to struggle out of that unflattering position, half-crying and half-seething, "We have been killing Judeans since antiquity and they have always come back! How do you know?"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW?!"

Her voice roared inside my mind like a thousand artillery shells exploding at once.

"Do. You. Really. Want. An. Answer?" I replied softly to her. It was an empty threat but it got the job done.

Silence prevailed Visha, looking silent, pale, and altogether horrified yet curious.

It was extremely hypocritical for me to lecture her like that. Even I must admit that I am not as knowledgeable in this field as I should be right now. Japanese history books always painted a very favorable light on the Imperial Era and it was disturbing enough to confront the realities of the Imperial Japanese Army in China and the rest of Asia and the Pacific alone. Realities that I was merely scrapping the surface of; everything was brushed under the rug, told through half-truths, and presented through a conservative perspective. It was a great shame that Japan itself, my beloved homeland, did not incentivize the engagement needed to address its "dishonorable" conduct in World War II compared to what I have heard Germany has done.

And I knew even less about what happened in Europe.

Germany had sought to dominate Europe militarily, now they are doing so economically as the leader of the European Union. They were divided for the duration of the Cold War, puppets of the Russians and the Americans, and emerged from the era more united and prosperous than before. They were disarmed and forced to renounce war but all that money that could have gone into military spending was invested in more productive sectors, raising the standard of living for all Germans. They had sought to eliminate the Jewish people and now Germany and Israel operate as great friends.

Germany lost land and ended up becoming the strongest economy on the continent. Just like Japan. We lost Korea, Sakhalin, Taiwan, and the Kuril Islands and we became the fourth-largest economy in the world. We became loved by the Americans, a former enemy now a valuable protector. We suffered two atomic attacks, countless firebombings, and the prospect of invasion and emerged as one of the leaders of scientific innovation and discovery. Our contributions to world culture and technology are unparalleled; the center of global trade after engaging in many massacres across the Asian continent.

Was it criminal for a nation to be so peaceful and prosperous despite having imprinted a dark stain in history?

"I don't want you to become hated. HATED. There is enough misery in this world already…We have already gone through Hell in the Rhineland, we don't need to bring it with us in Brandenburg." I told her.

Even with all the lucrative trade deals my company in Japan engaged in with the South Koreans and the Chinese, we could not escape the scorn they had for us.

Taiwan was the same: there were some KMT Old Guards who had not forgotten nor forgiven what Japan did to the Republic of China. How my homeland enabled Mao Zedong to usurp national leadership after the War's conclusion.

I do not need to hear their words; their eyes alone indicated well enough that Japan will not have that solidarity that Germany enjoys in the European Union. There will be no friendship in East Asia ever again, not when so many atrocities have been committed. Japan was fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to live under the American Nuclear Umbrella to avoid spiteful retaliation.

"Let them hate us. They hate us because they know we were in the right and they were wrong," she muttered, her words seemed more directed towards deluding herself than convincing me. "They hated us for who we were and what we stood for. I grew up knowing they will forever hate us and I care not for their concerns."

"No. You don't want that, Visha. It will only make everything worse." I shook my head, removing my foot and allowing her to return to the seat. "You don't want that at all. You do not know what you seek."

"Why did you do this?" I wanted to her reasons, no matter how irrational.

"Because I love you." She answered, trying to smile through her tears. "I would do anything for you."

"I would die for you."

"I would kill for you."

"And I killed because I love you."

These are dangerous words, Visha. You should not have said them. They are the Holy Grail for any aspiring tyrant seeking to dominate all life on Earth.

Oh Visha, why did you say them?

"I lost my Home. My God. My Culture. My Country…to-to the Reds." She sobbed into my hands, grabbing onto my wrists like a lifeline. "I don't want you to lose yours…becoming a foreigner in a foreign land. Tolerated but never truly welcomed…I didn't feel I belonged in the Empire until I met you. After the Great War, I returned to my family to see the house half-empty and the other half starving."

"I thank God every night that I had met you…"

I quickly shook my head. Being X, damn you…Everything would be settled so much easier if you had shown anger instead, Visha. Anger and rage I can handle, not…this.

"This is not love…" I said, causing Visha to whimper and squirm. "This is not love…this is an illusion of love. I am not who you think I am. I am not the messiah you seek. I was just a simple soldier in the Empire."

Instead of sorrow or wrath, she laughed, a weak, tearful laugh, choking on her spit in the process. It was rather terrifying to watch the fear vanish from her eyes.

"This is nothing simple about you, Major. You are unnatural…A living Saint. A Paragon. No common soldier could perform the same missions with equal vigor and foresight as you…You never lost a battle, you evaded death at every turn, and you displayed power not seen in the last 1000 years…Not since Charlemange...St. Jeanne d' Arc -"

"Cease these delusions." I struck her cheek again with my hand. However, instead of evading, Visha held her ground and endured the blow with an open smile. "Do you realize I was expelled from the Germanian Democratic Party? What you have done to this country? Do you realize what you have cost me from your idiotic sense of grandeur?"

"Expelled?" Her joy quickly faded into disbelief. "Schlage was not supposed to do that."

"YES! What you did and planned out over the past few weeks was taking a knife and stabbing it into my spine. How can you look at the current state of the country and consider it a success? We had everything going right for us! And you ruined everything!"

"Schlage was not supposed to do that…" Visha repeated, her eyes lost in deep thought. "He was not supposed to do that…"

"Well, he did," I told her with a heavy sigh. "Are you happy? Do you feel proud?"

"No…"

"No indeed." I turned to look towards the door. "ELENA! Get in here!"

Visha suddenly looked up at my face and the entrance with color draining from her face once again. Like a Grim Reaper, Elena appeared with a ghost of a smile and a Luger pistol in her hand; her eyes was instantly directed at Visha's head. This immediately prompted her to fall to her knees and grab onto my ankles like a woman possessed.

"PLEASE. Please." She sobbed pathetically over my boots; her tears could flood oceans. "I don't want to disappear from your life! Please, don't make me disappear…Everything I did, I did it for you…"

"Do you require my assistance in removing her, dear leader?" Elena asked nonchalantly.

"No," I replied, kicking Visha in the face to get her to let go. "I want to know why YOU have not alerted me of the degrading stupidity that is going on within the Freikorps?"

"Because I was working under the assumption that Visha was carrying out your vision. I felt no need to question Visha's leadership nor was she willing to explain how she reached her conclusions." Elena bowed, "I apologize for not approaching you first for verification."

"LIAR! LIAR!" Visha screeched, trying to lunge at our intelligence director with her hands outstretched but I put my foot down on her spine to keep her pinned to the floor. "Please, Major! You must believe me! She was also responsible! SHE told me that you would approve of my actions. Don't listen to her…"

Ignoring the squirming worm beneath me, I thanked Elena for her explanation but I had one last thing to say.

"Elena, from now on, let no one else claim ignorance as an excuse. This is the last order I can give as a member of the Germanian Democratic Party: find and locate the primary perpetrators and agitators behind the rioting and the vandalism, especially against Judeans. Purge them, rehabilitate them, it matters not to me; they must pay back the damages they have done to the people. Those that retain their wits; redirect their anger towards the real enemies of Germania: the Communists and the National Vanguardists. Not some imaginary foe to fulfill an imaginary agenda."

"With respect, dear Degurechaff," Elena bowed again, "The Junkers and the Fascists see the partnership with you as one of equals. This pursuit will be a breach of an established relationship. We act as political allies with them, after all."

"And allow their poison to continue to fester underneath my nose once again?" I retorted, adding steel to my words. "Tolerating their prejudices after today will not benefit anyone in the DDP nor the Progressives in general. Even now, they still find a way to weasel out of our agreements. They will either adhere to the democratic process and work with their fellow countrymen or that relationship is forfeit."

"But -"

"Class, Goering, Rudensdorf, even Il'in - they will need to understand that a new world is coming and they could either be part of it or be left behind. What is one more body to bury in the earth?"

"Very well." Elena nodded, flipping open her notebook to scribble my orders down. "But what about her?"

I looked down at Visha. Gone was her rage and replaced with overwhelming dread.

"What about her?"

"Are you not concerned about her future discretion?"

"You are not to harm a hair on her head, Elena." I removed my foot from Visha. "I will know if it's you. She is my…burden to resolve."

Elena frowned ever so slightly.

"But-"

"This decision is final. You are dismissed."

"But-"

"GO. HOME."

The frown deepened but Elena relented. She threw me the Roman Salute before exiting the building. Visha took the opportunity to pull herself off of the ground. She turned towards me wanting to express tearful gratitude but I was not in the mood.

"That includes you, Visha."

"Why?"

"WHY?!" I punched her into the wall, creating a human-sized crater in the wooden panels. "After everything I have told you, you still think you're innocent?! You are the most vindictive, cruelest, and insane person I have ever had the displeasure to work with…and to think I valued you so highly."

"Major…please. Don't send me away. I want to be with you for -"

"Go home, Visha." I dragged her over towards the doorway, "You created a mess that I have to clean up and I don't want you to get in the way of my goals."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trying to reach out to hold me but I slapped her hand away.

"Don't come back until you are truly sorry for everything," I stated, a thousand emotions welling up in my throat. "Because…I wanted you to be the best person you can be. I don't want you to destroy your…humanity...for me."

If it was only that easy to be a decent person in an indecent world…but after eight years of killing and surrounded by blood and carnage, I am beginning to wonder which one of us has gone insane.

But before Visha disappeared from my eyes, I couldn't help but call out to her.

"Was there not a single dissenting voice when you organized this boycott?" I inquired softly with a hint of iron underneath.

"It was Secretary-General Lergen." She answered ruefully.

"Don't lie to me, Visha. It is bad for your health." I said aloud.

Lergen would never be in the same room as her if he knew what was happening. He is too smart for that.

"It is true though. He was the only dissenter."

"How?"

"He made his opinion known and raised his hand last." She answered meekly. "The final decision was unanimous; I would not have carried it out otherwise. I needed full cooperation from everyone."

…

…

…

Lergen, you absolute fucking coward…