Somewhere in Berlin, Germany
April 18th, 1941
Aether and Paimon explained their story to Father Brauer, where they confess that they are from the same world as the Fatui (Germany's new ally). For a moment, the only sound in the office was the clock on the shelf, the quiet rasp of its hands dragging time forward. Father Heinrich Brauer did not move as he stood with one palm resting on the edge of his desk as though it steadied him. His eyes narrowed as if determined the difference of the impossible and the merely dangerous.
"The Fatui," he said at last, in English careful enough to avoid misunderstanding, "You speak that name as if it means something to you beyond what is written in the newspapers."
"It does," Aether replied.
Paimon nodded quickly as Brauer's gaze flicked to her, then back to Aether.
"Then answer one thing first," he said. "Are you with them?"
"No," Aether said without hesitation.
Brauer watched him as though he expected hesitation and had not received it.
"You are certain," he said.
"They are the reason we're here." Aether replied, "And if you asked them, they might tell you that I have a history in interfering with their plans."
"You say that as if it is an old quarrel," Brauer replied with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, you have no idea, really," Paimon said as she floated up to Brauer, "No matter where we travel to, we have to deal with the Fatui in some sort of grand plot. Like Inazuma, Mondstadt, Liyue….at this point, where we go, we find them doing something evil. But an alliance with a bad regime with creepy police is a new one, for sure."
"Inazuma," he repeated carefully, as if testing whether the word belonged in a geography that he knew, "Mondstadt. Liyue."
"Yes," Paimon said, then faltered slightly at the look Aether gave her, "Uh… those are places where they've caused trouble in Teyvat."
"Trouble," Brauer said. "That is a charitable word."
Paimon folded her arms, "Paimon is trying to be polite."
"In Berlin, my child," Brauer replied dryly, "that too is becoming a scarce commodity."
Brauer looked back at Aether Aether as he kept his aging face composed and his mind working through each piece of information.
"You speak of these places," Brauer said slowly, "as though they are as real to you as Berlin is to me. As though you expect me to accept their existence without question."
"I don't expect anything," Aether said, "I'm just telling you the truth."
"The truth." Brauer repeated the word without irony, weighing it. "I have spent eight years in a city where truth has become a luxury most people can no longer afford. The newspapers lie, the radio lies, and the men who come to my church door lie about why they're taking people away. I have learned to measure truth by what it costs the person offering it."
He paused, letting that settle, as he continued,"So tell me, young man, what has this truth cost you?"
Aether was quiet for a moment. Paimon, sensing the shift, drifted slightly closer to him with a concerned look but said nothing.
"My sister," Aether said finally. "At the beginning of my journey, she was taken from me. I've been searching for her across Teyvat ever since. The Fatui have been in my way more times than I can count. They've lied to me, fought me, used me when it served them. And I've stopped them when I could."
He met Brauer's eyes as he continued to tell the truth,"That's what it's cost me….Years….Distance from finding the only family I have left. And the knowledge that every day I'm here, in your world, she's still out there somewhere, and I'm not getting any closer."
Brauer held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded once, a small movement that seemed to carry more weight than a larger one would have.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "That is not a story one invents lightly. And now you are here in the heart of the Reich, Berlin, in a plan that originally was going to land you in England."
Aether gave a faint nod, "It was."
Brauer exhaled slowly through his nose and stepped away from the desk at last, moving toward the narrow window with the careful pace of a man who had trained himself not to hurry even when every instinct argued for it. He did not pull the curtain aside. He only stood beside it, listening, as if Berlin itself might answer through the walls.
"Then let me give your truth a name you will understand," he said. "You are not merely in Germany. You are in Berlin. The capital. The center of ministries, offices, prisons, archives, telephones, and men who have convinced themselves that cruelty becomes lawful if it is filed correctly."
Paimon's expression fell. "Paimon was already worried before, but somehow that made it worse."
"It was meant to," Brauer replied.
He turned back toward them, the dim light catching the silver at his temples.
"The two men on my church steps were not common policemen," he said. "They were Gestapo. Men in that office do not enjoy embarrassment. They enjoy it still less when it comes from foreigners, in public, on church property. If they are able to speak, they are going to report what happened and then get back-up to deal with you."
That silenced the room for a moment as Aether and Paimon processed his words, where they understood what he was saying. The two Gestapo agents would be back with more and then it might also mean that the Fatui would know that they are in Berlin.
Paimon's hands tightened at her sides. For once, she did not immediately fill the silence.
Aether felt the truth of it settle cold and hard into place. They had known the landing was wrong the moment they saw the flags and heard the language in the street
"And the Fatui," Aether said quietly. "If the Gestapo reports what they saw…"
Brauer's expression hardened.
"Yes," he said, "If your Fatui allies of the Reich are as close to the state as the newspapers and radio claims, then a report of a blond foreigner and a floating companion will not remain a local curiosity for very long."
Paimon lowered herself until both feet touched the floorboards.
"Okay," she said. "Paimon officially dislikes every part of this."
"That," Brauer replied, "is the first sensible thing anyone has said in several minutes."
He moved back to the desk and rested both hands on it, leaning forward slightly.
"Listen to me carefully," he said. "I cannot get you to England, Berlin is not a place for a soul like the two of you. If they catch here and now who you are, then I fear that your lives will be on a timer to a death sentence. You definitely need to get to the Allies somehow."
"What do we do then, Father?" Paimon asked with a look that bordered on panic.
Brauer thought for a moment until he smiled as if he thought of an idea and answered Paimon's question,"I know someone that knows someone in the American Embassy in Berlin. "
"The Who Embassy?" Paimon said as she tilted her.
"The American Embassy," Brauer said with a smile as voice sounded to be filled with hope, "The Americans are neutral in this war, well by law they are. "
Aether's brow narrowed. "Can you get us there?"
Brauer's expression sobered at once.
"No, not directly. The Embassy is watched, if you walk to the front gate might put you in danger, especially if your Fatui friends know you are in the city," He said.
Paimon's brief spark of relief proceeded to fade as she processed the words, "Yea, that would be bad."
The priest turned away and began pacing once, slowly, behind the desk.
"There is a widow in the parish," Brauer said, "Marta Weiss. She is quiet and observant. She runs a sewing business and appears to the world in Berlin as a respectable, practical, and loyal National Socialist. Her cousin handles clerical work for a company that supplies and repairs items for several foreign offices in Berlin. Through him, on occasion, messages have found their way to a German employee inside the American Embassy."
Paimon folded her arms. "So you know a widow, who knows a cousin, who knows a German, who works in the American Embassy and knows someone in that Embassy that might be willing to hear us."
"Yes."
"That sounds… complicated."
"And this man in the American Embassy would help us?" Aether asked.
Brauer's eyes met his.
"I do not know," he said plainly. "But from what I have heard, he does have a conscience for the Jews and was in the American Embassy in Warsaw when the Nazi's invaded Poland; so he has experienced the horrors of war."
Paimon and Aether do not know what Warsaw or Poland is, but suspected that it was important to understand more on this embassy man that Brauer's contact knows.
"So the contact, the German Employee, could get a message to the American in the Embassy," Aether said, "To someone inside who might believe us and maybe help us out."
Brauer nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said. "That is the shape of it. Not a rescue. Not yet. A message. A request carried through hands cautious enough to survive Berlin."
Paimon looked from him to Aether and back again. "Paimon knows this isn't the time, but Paimon would really like our plans to stop sounding like they're built out of maybes."
The priest ignored Paimon and walked over to a cabinet against the wall where he opened it. From inside, he drew a dark wool coat, worn at the cuff but heavy enough to hide Aether's brighter clothing beneath it, and set it across the desk.
"You will wear this." Brauer stated, "It will make you look less suspicious outside. As for your friend, I would recommend that you hide her in your chest."
Paimon stared at him, "In his what?"
Brauer blinked once, then let out the faintest breath through his nose.
"Under the coat," he corrected, "Against his chest if necessary. Hidden. Still. Unseen."
"Oh." Paimon folded her arms. "That is much less horrifying than what Paimon thought you meant."
Aether took the coat and slipped it on. The dark wool swallowed most of the color of his clothing, leaving only the shape of a young man who might have belonged in the city if no one looked too closely. He adjusted the collar, then the shoulders, and looked back at the priest.
"And after that?"
Brauer crossed to the desk and opened a narrow drawer. From within he took a small leather satchel, plain and scuffed with age, and set it beside the coat.
"You carry this," he said. "No one remembers a man with an old bag. They remember the man who looks as though he has no reason to be where he is."
Aether slung the satchel over his shoulder.
Paimon looked between them. "So the plan is: coat, bag, no floating, and somehow not looking suspicious in the creepiest city Paimon has ever seen."
"Yes," Brauer said. "You begin to understand Berlin."
Brauer thought for a moment as he continued, "Listen to me, we are going to head to Marta now, while we still have time. But understand this, You do not speak unless absolutely necessary. If spoken to, I answer when I can. If I cannot, you are my nephew from Baden-Baden, here to assist me with church issues in meeting with parishioners."
Paimon raised a hand with a smile, "And Paimon?"
Brauer regarded her over the rim of his spectacles.
"You," he said, "are the weakest point in the plan."
Paimon gasped with her hands to her hips as she floated closer to Brauer, "Hey!!!"
"It is not an insult," Brauer said. "It is an observation. A floating white-haired creature is difficult to explain to policemen, let alone the Gestapo. Never mind the fact that if you stand, your outfit will draw attention to everyone with a National Socialist mind"
She lowered herself until both boots touched the floorboards and muttered, "Paimon leaves Teyvat for one trip and becomes contraband."
"In this city," Brauer replied, "many innocent things have become contraband."
Then came a faint creak of old wood under weight and the sounds of loud german screaming of orders.
Without wasting a second, Brauer's face changed into action as before the second shot had finished echoing throughout the church, he crossed to the wall besides the shelves and pressed hand against a carved frame of the book case. There was a muted scrape as a narrow panel gave inward. Beyond the narrow panel was darkness and a cold smell of stone.
Aether's eyes narrowed, "A passage."
"I am a priest in Berlin," Brauer said, "Did you imagine I survived this long by relying entirely on visible doors? Now quickly, get into the passage, it will lead us to the sewers."
Aether ducked into the tunnel first, one hand bracing against damp brick, the satchel bumping against his hip. Paimon followed close behind, keeping low and silent. Brauer came last, lowering the hatch behind them until the noise from the cellar became only a dull pounding through stone.
Near Lyminge, Kent
April 18th, 1941
Night covered the field west of Lyminge, where a young man stood with his brown coat collar turned up against the damp spring wind and his gloved hands tucked into his pockets. Through the brown peaky hat he wore, he looked more impatient than cold, the field itself was unimpressive and this was why Aubery had chosen it. There were two patches of woods between him as well as the two roads of Woodland Road and Green Lane. In front of him, there was an additional wall of tree where the whole area prevented him from being seen and allowed the guests that Miss. Alice told him would arrive right in front of him. He did not understand what she meant, but believed her as she had always been helpful to him and his family. In fact, without her, he would have been blasted to bits by a bomb when he was in London as the Blitz started. Ever since then, he had always felt that he was indebted to her.
Even so, standing in an empty Kent field waiting for two people to arrive by means she had declined to explain was testing the limits of gratitude. Aubery drew his watch out, flipped the cover open, and checked the time by the dim shielded glow of his torch. The appointed moment had come and gone. He snapped the watch shut again with more force than was necessary and looked back over the field.
He walked back to his car off the intersection of Woodland Road and Green Lane, where he drove back into the village of Lyminge, where drove down Woodland Road. After about a few minutes, he came upon a house that was made of red brick with its yard and porch decorated in little fluffy balls of fur with a face and a tail. When he first encountered them, Miss. Alice told him that they were called dodoco's and that they were a creature that her young little joyful daughter called Klee liked very much. When Miss. Alice first arrived into the village and her outfit especially, many people thought she belonged in the loony bin or even the Tower of London. Aubery himself had not been altogether certain they were wrong.The first time he had seen her standing in the lane outside this very house, smiling as though wartime Kent and whatever world she had stepped out of were on perfectly friendly terms, he had taken her for either a harmless eccentric or the most dangerous woman in England. Months later, he still had not entirely decided which.
He pulled the motorcar to a stop beside the low stone wall and cut the engine. For a moment he remained seated, hands on the wheel, listening to the ticking metal cool in the dark. Then he walked up to the oak door where it had a insignia that gave Aubery the impression of a pale silver celestial sigil of sorts. After he knocked on it for a few seconds, it opened where standing there was Miss. Alice in her outfit that seemed more grander than anything he saw the Royal Family wear on newsreels. Nothing about her belonged to Kent or even England itself. She was tall with pale gold hair and on her head was a large, hollow golden frame that connected to the witches' hat. She had on a long dress that had an assortment of different colors and gems ranging from red, blue, and white.
"Aubery," Miss Alice said, sounding excited to see him, "Good to see you again."
"It's good to see you as well, Miss. Alice," Aubery replied with a small smile, "I am sorry to come to you at this hour. But…."
Alice looked behind for a second as her brightness did not vanish but sharpened and understood the issue at hand.
"They did not arrive," She said.
Aubery nodded .
For the first time that night, Alice's smile faded as she placed her hand to her lip and looked to be in deep thought.
"You waited the full interval?" she asked.
"And beyond it."
"No flare? No distortion? No sound at all?"
"Nothing."
Alice let out a quiet hum and stepped back to allow him inside, "Well. That is irritating. Come on inside, Aubery, let me compensate you for the troubles."
Aubery followed her where he caught the scent of wax, tea, and something sweet. The house was not large, but it was fuller than most English homes where there were books, maps of odd places, strange brass instruments, folded cloth, odd little toys like more of those dodoco's, and pictures where in one of them he could see a smiling Alice beside what he guessed was a smiling Klee at a beach with tall rocks that reminded of Gibraltar.
Alice shut the door behind him with a soft click and moved deeper into the room. She moved through the room with ease as she reached for a kettle that was already steaming, poured two cups without asking if he wanted on, and set on the table beside him. The cup was china, delicate, and had more of those dodoco's painted on them.
"Tell me everything," Alice said as she indicated for him to sit on a chair as she flicked her hands towards the table as a cupcake stand floated from the kitchen to the table and was filled with different sorts of sweets and snacks.
Every time she did that, it caught Aubery off guard. He had been visiting this house for months, and he still wondered what else this woman could do. Then he continued to explain everything from the position of the moon, the wind direction at each hour, the sound of the roads, a bicycle a few hours ago, and anything that might sound important to her but minor to him. Alice listened with interrupting as Alice settled into the chair across from him, her own cup cradled in both hands. The gems on her dress caught the lamplight, winking like small, patient stars.
"No residual trace," she said quietly. "That's the interesting part."
"I'm not sure I follow," Aubery admitted as he took a sip of his tea, which was sweet and unlike anything he had tasted in England.
"If the transit had opened and failed, there would be something. Like a seal appearing on the ground before you and then disappearing. Even a elemental energy of geo would have been noticed appearing on the ground as a scar," Alice explained as she grabbed her cup and took a small sip, "But you are told the field is clean which means the transit might have work perfectly."
"But they didn't arrive."
"No." Alice's eyes were distant, calculating. "They didn't arrive here or if the transit failed, it didn't fail here."
Aubery felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then where?"
"That," Alice said, "is the question."
She stood up and walked to a map of Europe as she placed her finger on england.
"The transit was keyed to a specific location. To me, essentially. My presence was meant to anchor the arrival. But if something interfered on the other side, if the calibration was off, or if someone redirected it…," She paused for a moment, "They could have been diverted. The receiving point was stable, but the corridor itself may have been interfered with."
"You said diverted but where?"
"I do not know, maybe somewhere between here and East Prussia," Alice said as she placed here finger on East Prussia. The lamplight caught the edge of her profile, turning her pale gold hair to something almost luminous.
"What do we do then?" was the next words that Aubery asked.
"That is for me to worry about at the moment, what I want you to do is get some rest for right now, my dear Aubery. Come by tomorrow and I will have you take something to a friend of mine in London, he owes my dear husband a favor," Alice pondered as she flicked her hand again to her kitchen as a wicker basket appeared floating in the air and levitated towards Aubery's hands.
The basket was filled with fresh garlic bread, bottles of a drink labeled 'Fonta' in a elegant script, and freshly baked meat pies that were shaped like a moon crescent that Aubery's mom especially loved having to eat.
"Miss. Alice, you don't to give me anything." Aubery insisted with the basket warm to his chest.
"Nonsense, my dear," Alice said with a smile as she spun around "you did more than I asked of you by waiting longer than needed for my friends. The least that I can do is ensure that you are rightfully compensated for your dedication to the job."
After a few minutes, Aubery finished his cup of tea and Miss. Alice lead him outside with the door open as the night air rushed cold and damp.
"Get some sleep, Aubery. You've earned it. And give your mother my love," Miss. Alice said with a smile.
He stepped through, then turned back, "Miss Alice... the Traveler and Paimon. They're important to you."
"Yes," she replied quietly, "They are. Paimon is more than she appears but is nice flying bundle of joy. And the Traveller….he carries more weight than anyone should have to…argueably even more than Prime Minister Churchill does. They have helped more people than I can count and I fear they are in the worst place imaginable possibly and it is because my transit put them there."
"It's not your fault, Miss. Alice," Aubery answered.
"Kind of you to say," Her smile was sad now, just for a moment, "But I'm the one who built the door. I should have made sure it couldn't be broken."
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder once with a brief warm pressure as if her hands could apply heat to him.
"Goodnight, Miss Alice," Aubery said.
"Goodnight, my dear."
He smiled, a small genuine thing, and walked toward his car. The basket sat on the passenger seat like a promise. He started the engine, pulled away from the stone wall, and drove into the night without looking back. In the rearview mirror, the house with the Dodocos and the silver sigil grew smaller, then disappeared into the dark.
Behind the window, Alice watched his taillights fade. Her hand still tingled with the warmth she had transferred to his shoulder as a gift that would carry throughout the cold night. Then she turned back to her maps, her instruments, her silent Dodoco device.
Somewhere in Berlin, Germany
April 19th, 1941 - An hour after midnight
Aether followed right behind Father Brauer as they came upon a shop in a working class district. The lump in Aether's stomach which was Paimon pressed against his chest made walking awkward, but it did not take long for him to adjust his stride. They had stayed in the sewers for half an hour moving between streets until they popped out from behind a bakery. Brauer moved with confidence and without concern as a way not to make himself noticeable. He would pause at corners for a moment to listen. They passed shuttered bakeries, dark apartments, the occasional basement window where a sliver of light escaped through blackout curtains.
Eventually, they did come across a patrol of two field-grey uniform men with their rifles slung. They made a glance to Aether and Bruarer but paid no attention to them as they continued chatting with each other with a laugh. Aether and Brauer kept walking with their pace steady looking like a Priest and a young man in a dark coat with a large fat belly. Twenty minutes later, The shop had a flag of that crooked cross hanging on its its window while presenting the name of the business:
M. Weiss - Schneiderin
Below it, a small display showed a few simple garments like a mended shirt, a neatly patched coat, a child's dress hanging from a wooden hanger. However, Brauer did not hesitate trying to continue despite everything. He raised his hand and knocked in a pattern of three quick raps with a pause of five seconds and then another two more.
Footsteps approached with the sound of a bolt sliding and the door cracked open revealing the sliver of a middle-aged woman's face.
"Father," the face said, "It is late."
"I know, Marta," Brauer admitted with his voice equally low, "But I need your help."
The eyes behind the crack moved past him, found Aether, and found the peculiar shape of his coat where Paimon pressed against his chest.
"Who is that?" was the next thing the face asked.
"A friend in trouble," Aether replied.
A pause came as the door opened wider.
"Get inside. Quickly."
They stepped through into a narrow hallway that smelled of fabric, thread, and the faint sharpness of cleaning soap. Marta Weiss closed the door behind them, sliding the bolt back into place with practiced silence. She wore a simple housedress, her grey-streaked hair pinned back severely, her hands calloused from what Aether had to guess as the result of years of needlework. She looked at Aether first with his hair too bright even for the dim light, the way his eyes moved constantly as if cataloging exits and shadows. Then she moved her eyes down to the lump beneath his coat as it rumbled slightly. However, Marta's expression did not change as she simply looked at Brauer.
"Father, there is something alive inside your friend's coat." were the words she said.
"Yes," Brauer admitted with a small smirk as if wanting to see her reaction, "It's very complicated."
Marta smiled slightly, "With you, Father, it is always complicated. It is just the question of how much it really is."
As if on cue, Paimon's muffled voice came from somewhere near Aether's ribs, "Can Paimon come out now? It's very warm and also very cramped, and Paimon's legs are falling asleep."
Aether unbuttoned the coat carefully. Paimon emerged slowly, blinking in the dim light, as she floated in the air right beside of Aether. She looked at Marta, then at the flag visible through the shop window, and pressed closer to Aether.
"Paimon does not like that flag," she whispered.
"Good Lord!!!!," Marta exclaimed in shock as she held her hands to her chest.
Brauer laughed as he continued, "I told you that it was complicated, Marta."
"Complicated?" Marta voice climbed slightly before she caught herself and forced it back down, but glared at Brauer, "Father, you bring me a floating….a floating…."
She gestured helplessly at Paimon, who was now hovering at Aether's shoulder, looking mildly offended.
"Paimon is Paimon," the little floating creature said, as if that explained everything, "And Paimon is very sorry for startling you. It's been a long night."
Marta stared at her for another long moment. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands from her chest and pressed them flat against her apron, as if steadying herself.
"I have seen many things in this city," she said quietly. "I have watched neighbors denounce neighbors. I have heard the screams from the cellar of the Gestapo headquarters. I have held the hand of a dying woman who crawled to my door because she knew I would not turn her away."
She paused, her eyes still fixed on Paimon. "But I have never seen a floating child."
"Paimon is not a child," Paimon said, then seemed to reconsider, "Well, Paimon is not a human child. Paimon is Paimon. It's different."
"It is certainly different," Marta agreed faintly.
Brauer stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Marta's arm, "Marta. Breathe. I know this is…"
"I am breathing, Father," Marta drew a long breath, held it, released it, "I am breathing. I am simply... adjusting. Now, Father, tell me what is going on where you bring two strangers with complications to my shop."
Brauer removed his hat and held it in both hands.
"They were meant to arrive in England," he said. "Instead they arrived in Berlin. In my parish. In front of two Gestapo officers who had already decided I was overdue for a more serious conversation."
Marta's eyes narrowed at once.
"The two from earlier?"
"Yes."
"And these two,"she glanced at Aether and Paimon,"were with them?"
"No," Brauer said, "They intervened."
Suddenly as if the phrase surprised her, Marta brought her attention fully back to Aether.
"You struck Gestapo officers on church steps?" she asked.
Aether hesitated only a moment, "They were going to take him."
Marta's mouth tightened, though whether in approval or alarm it was hard to tell.
"That was brave," she said, "And stupid."
Paimon raised a hand as she spoke, "Paimon in a way already asked if it could be both."
Marta looked at her.
"And I imagine the answer was yes."
"It was," Paimon admitted.
Brauer set his hat on a side table near a stack of folded cloth and lowered his voice further.
"They are not German. They are not with the Fatui. They only know English and enough danger to understand they have landed in the wrong place," He paused, "And by now the Gestapo will be writing down what they saw as well as looking for them."
Marta's face changed at the mention of the Fatui as if she knew who he was talking about.
"The same people in the paper," she said, "Hitler's new winter allies that they have proclaimed in the papers and newsreels films. Die Deutsche Wochenschau shows them marching alongside our soldiers, shaking hands with generals and fighting in the fields with our troops in Yugoslavia and Greece for the past few weeks."
Brauer nodded grimly, "Yes. That's them."
Marta looked back at Aether and Paimon, her expression unreadable as she spoke, "And you are their enemies."
"We've stopped them more times than I can count," Aether said quietly, "In our world, they serve the Tsaritsa."
Paimon nodded vigorously, "Paimon and Aether have fought Harbingers and skirmishers and all sorts of Fatui. They're very good at causing trouble, and we're very good at stopping them. Usually."
"Usually," Marta repeated flatly.
"Well, we're not in our world right now," Paimon admitted, "So the 'usually' might be doing a lot of work."
Marta stared at her for a moment, then her mouth twitched again that was almost a smile.
"You talk too much," she observed.
"Paimon has been told that before."
"I'm sure you have."
Brauer stepped forward, his voice low and urgent. "Marta, they need to reach the American Embassy. There's someone there…we don't know who, but someone who might help them. I thought of your cousin."
Marta's expression sobered instantly, "Erich."
"Yes," Brauer said with a nod.
"He works for a cleaning contractor. He delivers supplies to the embassies. Once a week, he has access to the American building."
"I know."
Marta was silent for a long moment, her eyes moving between Brauer, Aether, and Paimon. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet.
"You're asking me to put my cousin in danger," she said quietly. "For strangers."
"I'm asking you to let him carry a message," Brauer corrected, "Nothing more. He doesn't need to know who they are. He doesn't need to meet them. Just a folded paper, passed to the right person, in the right moment."
"And if he's caught?"
"Then he knows nothing. He was paid to deliver a letter. He doesn't know who paid him. He doesn't know what it says. He's a cleaner, not a conspirator."
Marta considered this but replied, "Tell that to the Gestapo or the SS even."
Paimon and Aether did not know who the SS is, but only knew enough about Gestapo to understand that this SS must be just as bad. Because expression on the Priest tightened and he did not argue against her on her argument. Marta looked at each of them in turn, then she turned to a small cabinet where she retrieved a bottle of amber liquid and a small glass where she set them on the table. She poured another into the glass for a second where she grabbed the glass with a solemn look of pain.
"My husband," she said raising the glass to her face, "used to say that courage was just fear that had signed its name on the right line. Before the last war, we were happy in Munich."
She looked at the photograph of a man in a uniform that was completely similar from the usual uniforms that Aether had seen on the Germans, where it had a pointed end on the top of the helmut.
"He signed his name in 1914 for the 6th Bavarian Reserve Division, the same unit that Hitler was in, when the last war broke out. It only took two years for the signature to come due to his blood somewhere near the Somme," she then drank the contents of the glass in a few seconds, "They sent me his dog tags and a letter from his commanding officer. It was very kind and official, where it said that he died for the Fatherland. The same word they use today, but different patriotism, different excuses, and different uniforms."
She looked at the photograph for a long moment, then turned back to them, "We were happy in Munich…..Young…..Foolish even. We thought the war would be over by Christmas. It was….not any Christmas. And the man who fought in his division, who survived while Karl did not; that man now stands on balconies and gives speeches while people like me hang his flag on our doors so they don't take everything we have left."
Paimon floated a little closer to Aether, her small face soft with sympathy.
"Paimon is very sorry," she whispered.
Marta looked at her. For a moment, the hardness in her eyes flickered.
"So am I, little one. So am I."
She poured another glass, smaller this time, and raised it toward the photograph.
"To Karl," she said, "Who died for a Fatherland that would hang his widow if she helped the wrong people. Who would be ashamed of what his country has become."
She drank it in one swing, where then she set the glass down and looked at Brauer.
"Erich comes at half past six. Before his first delivery, you'll have until then to decide what your message says," She then looked at Aether, "Keep it short and simple as well as in English."
Aether nodded. "I understand."
Marta smiled as she led Paimon, Aether and Brauer to the upper floors of her shop, where accommodations could be provided. Paimon found comfort in sleeping in a cough with Father Brauer not far sleeping on a chair. Aether, on the other hand, could not sleep though as he took some paper and a pen that Marta had given him, where he tried to figure out what he could write as a message to whoever would listen in the American Embassy.
Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau
Paha Isle, Nod-Krai
April 19th, 1941
The base was originally designed for research of the local energy known as Kuuvahki, but after the entrance of Snezhnaya to the Axis that changed very quickly. The Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau had gone under massive transformations where there were slipways craved into the shorelines for the construction of U-Boats and a factory to construct hulls for a new tank that the Fatui were planning to implement. However, Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau was not the only factory made for Snezhnaya's expanding doctrine of warfare but it was one of the more recent conversations taking place in all manufacturing plants in the Snezhnayan arsenal. Even with this conversion, construction was still being done on the base and research components that it was designed for. Cranes swung against the sky, while workers of the Fatui Oprichnik moved between half-finished buildings that were already in production mode.
Now, by April 1941, the Kuuvahki Experimental Design Bureau belonged entirely to Sandrone but the Tsaritsa had given Sandrone an important order to enable Snezhnaya to match of any power on Earth and even allow Snezhnaya to expand exerting its military power on the other nations of Teyvat. The project called Moroz involved the complete transformation of the Fatui armed forces to where it would have an airforce, army and navy that would be unmatched in Teyvat; especially for the preparations needed for the planned invasion of the Soviet Union. The project in essence made Sandrone the architect of Snezhnaya's military-industrial expansion where she was responsible to build factories, dock yards, and anything that allowed the Fatui to build a massive military arm within a quick succession. After a meeting with main leaders of the German War Economy back in February, Pantalone managed to convince them to allow the industries of the German Reich to support Snezhnaya in exchange for access to the elemental weapons in the Fatui arsenal. The German Reich even sent Snezhnaya the best technical representatives of the companies that make up its war industry. Although, this result was only part of the outcomes that allowed Snezhnaya to gain influence on Earth.
However, with talks between FDR and Childe still on-going at the moment, the Tsaritsa has not told Sandrone to start releasing massive quantities of mechanical equipment to match American Industry yet. Only just enough to ensure the stability of the Axis Alliance and meet the needs that the Fatui require for other projects that connect to the Alliance.
In the main assembly platform at the top of the Design Bureau, there sat a woman who wore an outfit that was reminiscent of a maid. However, she was not alone as right beside her was a massive walking giant of a robot that followed her wherever she went. Her pale hair in a braided bun with two long strands that came along her face, she was examining a folder of various documents: production quotas, design semantics, and reports on flaws as well as intelligence of both Soviet as well as German designs.
She walked the steel floor of the platform with the robot right behind her as she stopped before a hull of the Panzer 38 (t). The turret was removed and its interior exposed as technicians in either blue or grey coats moved around it with clipboards.
Sandrone walked around it for a moment as she spoke to herself, "This is acceptable for operations in Teyvat, but if used in Earth, it is useless as a tank. I would just convert it to either artillery or anti-aircraft usages. The British have plenty of those especially and so will the Soviets."
Then she walked passed this hull until she came upon a Panzerkampfwagen IV Ausf. A in a similar condition and form of examination, but with the German representatives present. Sandrone circled it slowly, her eyes moving from the engine compartment to the transmission housing to the turret ring. The robot stood behind her, its glass eyes reflecting the tank's exposed mechanisms as if it, too, was learning. Meanwhile, a group of Oprichnik brought in a mock-up wooden models of a T-34 and KV-1
"The short-barreled gun of the Panzer IV-A," she said, touching the mounting bracket where the weapon would sit, "is designed for infantry support, but the role of this vehicle has changed. But the information that our agents in the Soviet Union confirm this with the KV-1 and T-34 specifications being a concern to me."
The German representative, a true ideological National Socialist, from a company called Porsche began to dismiss her concerns, "But Fraulein Sandrone, the inferior Bolsheviks can't even produce anything that will compete against superior German engineering. Their industry is primitive and their workers are slaves. Their designers are nothing but dirty deceiving Jews and incompetents. The T-34 is a crude copy of American prototypes and the KV-1 is a barn on tracks. When our Panzers meet them in the field, the results will be the same as in Poland and France."
Sandrone stopped circling the Panzer IV and turned to face him with a withering look that asked him 'if he was an absolute idiot' without saying it verbally. The other representatives from Krupp, Rheinmetall, and Daimler-Benz took a small step backward, distancing themselves from their colleague's enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Oprichnik workers on the factory floor below seemed to stop for a second and smirked as if they finally were waiting for any anger that Sandrone had to be directed at someone besides them.
"The T-34," she said, moving back toward the Panzerkampfwagen IV, "has around forty-five millimeters of armor plate set at sixty degrees of inclination. You may consult your engineers on what that angle does to effective thickness. When you do, maybe your thick underdeveloped brain may understand the dilemma that your Panzerwaffe faces. It has a diesel engine that won't catch fire when someone looks at it wrong. It has wider tracks so it doesn't sink in mud. It has a simpler design so it can be repaired in the field by mechanics who learned their trade on tractors. And they are producing them at a rate that makes your production numbers look like a hobby."
She smiled at the Porsche man as she stepped closer to him, "But please, tell me more about superior German engineering. I'm always looking for new ways to be entertained."
The Porsche man's face had gone red, "The Führer has said…."
"The Führer," Sandrone said, her voice dropping from cheerful to something much colder, "has never designed a tank, has never calculated an armor slope, and has never run a ballistic test. The Führer, I suspect, has never even changed a tire."
She tilted her head, "Why would I take engineering advice from a man who can't drive?"
The Oprichnik soldiers working made sounds that might been coughs as if trying not to laugh and be caught laughing by Sandrone.
"Another thing," Sandrone continued, "the T-34 has a 76 millimeter gun that will go through your tanks at around fifteen hundred meters and your guns need five hundred meters to even scratch the armour of the T-34. And that is if the T-34 is feeling generous and does not simply drive over you first. The most that your tanks will stop is shell fragments, small arms, and a stern look from a Soviet Commissar."
The Porsche representative looked as though he were deciding whether or not he should feeling outrage.
"The KV-1 is a separate problem," Sandrone continued, moving away from him toward the far end of the platform, "one hundred and ten millimeters of armor in some configurations. It's flat, yes, which is the Soviet's being sentimental about older design principal and that is still thick, but your inventory has one….."
Sandrone with a smile held her hand up as she put down fingers as if she was counting down until she stopped at one finger, "One gun that can knock it out without problems."
The Daimler-Benz representative then kindly spoke, "And what gun is that, Fräulein Sandrone?"
"Your eighty-eight millimeter Flak gun," Sandrone replied, "The one you use to shoot down British bombers and have in limited numbers already. But luckily for you, we have another solution."
"And what is that solution?" asked the Krupp representative.
"We can be able to create the ammunition that your current guns use to incorporate elements through delusions like Geo for density and Pyro for the thermal effect most importantly to give more penetrating power while you get yourself together. I recommend that you tell your crews that they should only be used against those tanks specifically and not infantry."
She led them to the other side to the other side of the platform where an exit was present, but before they stepped to the elevator was a blueprint displayed of a different tank. The tank was a mixture between T-34's sloped armor look and a German Panzer IV with the turret design almost hexagonal in profile, while on the sides of the turret was the Fatui pale-star emblem without its colors. On the top of the blueprint was the name in bold: Moroz Sredniy Tank, Model 1941.
"This is our answer to the problem with a 76.2 mm gun with our special ammunition that we will use in higher quantities, we are planning to begin production of it by April 21st."
The German representatives stared at the blueprint, their faces a mixture of awe, fear, and something that might have been despair. The Porsche man's mouth opened and closed. The Krupp representative's hand trembled slightly as he adjusted his spectacles.
"April 21st," the Krupp man repeated, "That is... two days from now."
"Yes," Sandrone said, her voice bright, "Unlike you, we do not have failed wannabe painters pandering themselves as glorious ingenious leaders that know everything. When we have a problem, we solve it very quickly."
She walked back to the blueprint and tapped the Pale-Star emblem on the turret.
"This is our own special design and it will not be shared with you. For right now, it is Snezhnayan and it will be run by Fatui," she finished with a bright and dismissive finale, "The ammunition for your guns will be ready in thirty days. Enough to keep your tanks alive, fighting, and doing the job against the Soviet Hordes. We will also assist in provide ideas to modify your Panzer IV just enough to fix the situation. Your engineer will work with my technicians. But I think that will be all for now, gentlemen."
She stepped into the elevator with the representatives and her robot right beside her. After a minute, she pressed the button for the lower levels as the door closed.