Shadow of the Old Continent (5)
One of the top Nazi officials, Hermann Göring, returned to his mansion humming cheerfully.
The world seemed especially beautiful today. Ah—how could he even put this joy into words!
"Brother. Don't you think it's time you let me go now?"
"Hold on. I've just brought back an incredible business idea."
"Oh yeah? Then hurry up and shut down that paper-scrap business. Even if it's not perfectly honest, at least we should do something with a bit of dignity instead of selling other people's products—"
"I secured the rights to handle the original from America, so now we're the real deal! Ha—hahahahaha!!"
Göring burst into triumphant laughter, wearing the grin of a conqueror.
A few years ago, he had come across the "new civilization" known as card games by sheer chance—and was utterly shocked.
Simple, yet possessing strategic depth comparable to chess.
Short phrases written on the cards that naturally sparked the imagination.
And the addictive feeling that the more packs you opened, the stronger you became.
From that day on, Göring spent vast sums importing card packs from the United States and Britain… but whether it was terrible luck or divine mockery, he kept pulling nothing but garbage.
"Damn it! These trash packs! Those British pirates must be hoarding all the rare cards and selling the leftovers!"
His shouting became a familiar sight to the servants, and the former hero of the skies began increasing his morphine usage day by day.
Then one day, clutching his latest streak of bad luck, a brilliant idea struck him.
If the problem is that I can't pull them… I'll just print them myself.
Thus was born a perfect trinity of intelligence, business instinct, and boundless greed.
Göring set up a secret counterfeit operation in Austria, placing his brother Albert as the front man. Over time, their German-language knockoff cards began raking in money hand over fist.
"No need to make fake goods anymore. Now that we've got the license, let's sell authentic products as fast as possible."
"Then what about all the people who already bought them?"
"They'll just have to start collecting again from scratch. Ah! We should run a campaign against illegal piracy. Gather up all the leftover fake stock and burn it in the middle of the city. Perfect!"
He was genuinely moved by his own business brilliance.
"This is what happiness looks like."
"…You're my brother, but seriously, what a piece of trash."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Albert sighed and followed his brother's lead.
As always.
***
While Göring marched confidently toward limitless wealth,
Adolf Hitler was facing the dilemma of his life.
What if… just maybe…
I was mistaken?
From a defeated nobody at rock bottom, he had clawed his way up to become the leader of the largest party in parliament with nothing but his voice.
Regardless of ideology or personality, there was no way a man like that could be incompetent at reading people.
And yet, throughout the meal, he had not once seen a genuine smile on Yujin Kim's face.
"Heil Hitler! Leader, are you alright?"
"Ah, Dr. Goebbels. You've come. Did our guests leave safely?"
"Hess escorted them back to their hotel. They asked me to convey their gratitude for your hospitality."
Even after hearing that, Hitler's concerns only deepened.
"Dr. Goebbels."
"Yes, Leader."
"Was I… wrong?"
"No. You are always correct—the savior of the German people."
Neither of them bothered with empty platitudes.
A young Asian general in his twenties, leading a clearly "inferior" black unit of the crude, low-class nation known as the United States—marching boldly onto the battlefield.
The embodiment of glory, romance, and military achievement that countless young men who rushed into the trenches had dreamed of.
Hitler himself had once been captivated by that dazzling accomplishment. Who could look at a man standing before the world, rifle in hand, displaying his valor—and not feel echoes of Alexander?
And yet, as the leader of the Nazi Party, he found himself trapped in a massive contradiction.
Nazism claimed that the Aryan race was superior and destined to rule the world.
But Yujin Kim's very existence directly contradicted that belief.
To deny Yujin Kim?
That would only make them look like bitter losers making excuses after defeat.
Admiration and envy.
Hatred and resentment.
Contempt for the incompetent Junkers.
And even the instinctive stirrings of the "Yellow Peril" theory.
After wrestling with this dilemma, Hitler had previously resolved it with a miraculous conclusion:
Yujin Kim must be a descendant of the Aryans. Even if he doesn't know it himself, it must be true. The Führer's judgment is infallible!
Until now, that logic had worked.
Until now.
"He… he didn't seem interested in revolution."
"..."
"Isn't that strange?! How can someone stand so close to the center of power, stir up the masses like that—and yet have no interest in revolution?!"
Goebbels said nothing, but Hitler didn't wait for an answer.
"He has such extraordinary ability, yet instead of using it for the advancement of the state, he wastes it tending to parasites! I can't accept it. A superior being must lead from the front—not push from behind! Those fools! A crude nation like the United States is exploiting an Übermensch!"
"Leader."
"Fine! Let's say he doesn't sympathize with Germany's tragedy—that's understandable. We were once enemies. For us it's humiliation, but for him it might be a glorious achievement. But the United States itself is drowning in the very corruption and failures of democracy!"
His fists clenched so tightly that veins bulged across his body, but he paid it no mind.
Why… why would someone who understands everything turn away from the tragedy right in front of him?
He was certain.
A man who possessed the will for power, the charisma to lead the masses, and proven ability—
If such a man simply raised his hand, that deceitful United States would crumble to dust, and a new fascist state would rise in its place.
"I must persuade Kim."
"…Persuade? You mean you won't give up?"
"Of course. If he is wavering, then persuasion is the answer.
Just as I once looked to Mussolini and questioned my own role, it is my duty—as the leader of the most advanced people in the world, the German people—to guide Kim into becoming a proper fascist leader."
Germany was destined to stand as a bulwark—a white knight against barbarism and Judeo-Bolshevism.
Then wouldn't Adolf Hitler, leader of Germany, have a duty to support a revolution in the United States—the very center of corrupt materialism and Jewish capitalism?
There was still time.
If only Kim would realize his destiny and choose the right path, even now…
***
We already ate. Isn't that enough? What more do you want from me?
Our dear one-balled friend, Mr. Schicklgruber, really ought to let me go already—but for some reason, instead of loosening his grip, he clung even tighter.
At first, I even entertained the bold thought that maybe he wanted to use my name for something… but considering how many German soldiers had died by my hand, I doubted I'd be of much help in that regard. So I ruled that out.
For reasons unknown, Hitler and the Nazis went out of their way to accommodate me and Ezel. Ah—was it that? Because we were connected to their financial backer?
"Welcome to Munich!"
"I am the Gauleiter of the Nazi Party in Munich—"
"We've arranged the finest hotel for you! Please enjoy your stay comfortably!"
"The Leader has permitted you to use the private plane. What do you say—would you like to try it?"
A private plane? You mean the one with that giant swastika painted on the tail? You want me to board that and jump off midair?
There were all sorts of… situations, but touring Germany itself was incomparably more comfortable than Britain or France.
Well, when your travel agency is literally Nazi Inc., if it isn't comfortable, someone's probably getting beaten with a stick.
At least Dorothy and the kids were enjoying themselves.
"Mom, what are those people doing over there?"
"Don't look at that."
The sea of red flags flooding Germany.
No matter how much Dorothy tried to cover their eyes, she couldn't block all four pairs with just her hands.
"Haha, the young lady is curious, I see. Those people are communists!"
"Communists?"
"They're bad people who think that because they're hungry, everyone else should be hungry too. General Kim here is protecting all of you from them!"
Damn driver—why are you giving Cold War propaganda lessons in front of kids?
At first, I wanted to sew his mouth shut. But eventually, I just found myself nodding along.
Because as long as we were in Germany, there was no way the children wouldn't see the endless tide of political thugs.
"Kill them! Kill them all!!"
"It's the SA! Beat them to death!"
"Heil Hitler!!"
"Long live the workers and peasants!!"
Day or night, as long as you were in the city, batons and daggers ruled the streets.
I thought I had already seen enough of the Great Depression's scars after encountering the Bonus Army back in the U.S.… but at least America hadn't completely lost law and order.
Unemployed people everywhere.
Vacant eyes staring into nothing as they lay sprawled across benches and sidewalks.
[No shirt?
Join the Nazi SA now and wear a brown shirt!]
[The Communist Party will give you bread!!]
Even as everything fell apart, the Hoover administration at least tried to create jobs through public works.
But here in the Weimar Republic, the state had long since hollowed out into something resembling a corpse. Starving citizens were flocking to the enemies of the republic just to survive.
"Everyone stop! You're under arrest for rioting!"
Rat-tat-tat-tat!!
The only reason these political gangs hadn't toppled the republic yet was simple:
They didn't have machine guns or tanks.
If they did, the country would've collapsed long ago.
"How do you find it, General?"
"What do you mean?"
That night, after touring landmarks with the children and returning to the hotel,
I turned to the driver while looking out at the streets where swastika flags fluttered proudly.
"Is the United States this chaotic as well?"
"Not to this extent."
"Since 1918, after we were burdened with defeat, there hasn't been a single moment of peace on these streets. Well… there was a brief time. Right before the Great Depression."
The driver smirked and lit a cigarette.
"Our Leader firmly believes that General Kim will save the United States from decadence and corruption. Tell me—are you interested in revolution?"
"Not at all."
What, am I insane? Become a fascist leader? I'm not interested in growing a mustache.
"I see. I asked because you always seemed uncomfortable watching us."
"Well… it's not discomfort. You've been very accommodating."
"Let me tell you one thing. We only wish to guide this nation onto the right path. We are not bloodthirsty madmen. General—look over there."
Another fire flared up in the distance.
What a wonderful country.
"In America, the threat of communist takeover probably sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it? For us, it's a blade pressed against our throat.
A weak republic… cannot protect anything."
This guy sure knows how to spin words. He'll go far.
"Come to think of it, we never introduced ourselves. Your name?"
"Martin Ludwig Bormann. I serve as the Leader's secretary."
"So you weren't just a driver."
"A loyal secretary anticipates what his master needs—without being told."
Yeah, yeah. Aren't you impressive.
Starting the very next day after that short conversation in front of the hotel, our guide—and driver—was replaced.
The new one didn't preach Nazi ideology. He simply told us what was necessary, like a proper "German."
Finally, some peace and quiet.
"Hey, Yujin."
"What? Done talking business with the Nazis?"
"Let's be honest. If GM is investing in Opel, what are we supposed to do—sit this out? The Nazis say once they take power, they'll produce hundreds, thousands of tractors. Are we just going to hand over that entire market? If we don't do it, you think they won't?"
Thousands of tractors… wow. My wallet's about to get just as fat. Feels great—except it might burst at this rate.
"Anyway, enough business talk. I've got somewhere else to be."
"Yeah? Have a good trip. I've got to take care of the kids."
"Well… about that…"
Ezel, unusually fidgety, rolled his eyes around before pulling out a telegram and handing it to me.
"Hey! HEY!!! Ezel! Get back here right now! HEY!!"
"Not my fault! Take it up with D.C.!"
—To Lieutenant Colonel Yujin Kim,
We would appreciate it if you would accompany Ezel Ford and visit Moscow.
—War Department
…Why the hell do I have to go there?