pirated stuff

"Out of all the people that I became a guest under, it had to be you," I muttered under my breath as I finished folding the dress that Ruth had gifted me. After I slammed my luggage bag closed, I turned around to see Heidler resting on a chair, his back leaning against the edge of the wooden desk, while he fiddled with a pen between his fingers. "It has been strange being productive in your presence."

It was the truth. The man in my past life was synonymous with a military uniform; to see him wearing a simple white shirt with beige lederhosen and suspenders will always be uncanny.

"Was it an accident or providence?" Heidler returned a sly smile as he reviewed my speech. "Finding the answer will drive any man insane."

It was not one of my best works that I had conjured since the meeting but who else could I blame? The communists were already denounced. I made my anger known to the fascists. I refused to become a hypocrite and join the anti-semitic garbage bin; even after Konigsberg. The militarists want their beloved institutions protected but if they bother reading my past statements, they would know that my words have all but condemned the Imperial Armed Forces for their egoism during the Great War. This left the liberals and the conservatives as the last people to be sent to the executioner's block.

All in the name of keeping the Imperial fanatics complacent so that Heidler's revolution would succeed. I tried to keep my tone professional, with minimal words to provoke emotional outrage, to at least give some ground for the liberal movement to stay afloat in the sea of extremists. Vagueness would be my greatest tool here - I suppose I am a better politician than I would like to admit. The Liberal Democratic Party in Japan should have me as their Prime Minister!

The joke was empty; one last attempt at my inner conscious coping with reality. My status, once implicated and now acknowledged, would give an air of legitimacy to military coups and popular uprisings for the next century. So long as there are Argent Silvers in Asia, Europe, and North America, democracy will never truly flourish. I have to put my hope in Heidler to do the right thing. What. A. Joke.

I must have stared unreasonably long at his face as he shifted uncomfortably and set his eyes to flicker back and forth on my speech. He was an artist and a backer - I could tell immediately he was faux-reviewing my speech.

I just have to hope for the best. It's the least I could do.

"Is it simple enough to understand?" I inquired as politely as possible.

"Well…" Heidler tapped on the paper, trying to look clever, "It's not what I expected. I don't know if Theoneau would accept this - I mean, I'm sure he would if he just wanted to support the return of the Empire but…"

"But what?"

"Nothing. Forgive me for my ramblings."

"Confidence is your greatest ally here, Heidler." I reminded him. "Speak up. You're the leader here, right now, you must stand tall. How many times have I told you this before?"

"Right…but, uh...what do you mean by 'European Brotherhood'?"

The groundwork for the European Union. I wanted to say. But in this political environment, such a concept would be utterly unthinkable for everyone involved. However, it is necessary to prevent any future conflict in Europe and to put an end to the atrocities emerging from the growing chaos. They won't understand until they see it in action. When they see it, they will appreciate why the European Union exists.

A kind, collaborative peace that Asia could never experience in a thousand years.

"An end to the cycle of revenge," I told him. "I intend to put an end to war before war puts an end to all of us. To prevent the next Great War."

Heidler smiled. The kindest, most genuine smile I have ever encountered so far. It was terrifying to see such naked optimism and appreciation; like dancing in the garden with knowledge of no snakes or parasites lurking around. I don't think even my own father smiled like that.

"If I have a daughter, I wish she would be just as kind and strong as you," he remarked warmly.

"Spare her that burden," I replied quickly. "You do not want her to end up like me."

"Why?"

Is it really possible for a grown man to be that innocent? Especially Heidler of all people?! What is his story?!

"Because I have seen things you would not believe," I answered firmly. "Don't let her aspire to become like me. It will break her."

Perhaps I was being too cruel in crushing a father's dream but it's the truth. Knowing what men like Theoneu thought of me, it would be a blessing if his daughter and her future descendants lived in obscurity.

I grabbed my two suitcases and walked down the stairs to see Ruth talking with her father. From the red cheeks and tears flowing down her eyes, it must have been another tense argument. Heilder immediately moved to comfort his wife, wiping her tears away with his rough hands, as I moved to look at the old Judean man.

He looked brooding, deathly so, and undeterred from his mission to leave for the Francois Republic before traveling to the Unified States. He wanted Ruth to leave with him. I can't fault a father for trying to keep his only daughter safe from harm, especially when her husband is about to embark on a very irrational and extremely dangerous endeavor.

"I don't blame you for wanting to leave," I replied once I had finished listening to his side of the story. "Some would call you a coward, but leaving Osterry will be the smartest decision you ever made. But let her choose to stay."

"WHAT-"

"We can still fix this. It is not too late to change - to stop - this…stupidity that is occurring around us. We can still save Osterry and Germania."

"I-I see…" Ruth's father mumbled quietly. "Can you…promise to keep her safe?"

"N-," I tried to say before Herr Heidler shoved his way in to embrace the old man.

"You doubt me so much, father." He smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. "I'm a veteran of Ionzo. I know my way around a skirmish or two. I didn't get my Iron Cross for sporting the best mustache in Illdoa!"

His teary-eyed wife gave a small laugh before eventually moving to embrace the two greatest men in her life. 'Greatest' - heh, if only you knew how deified you were in my previous life, Heidler.

As much as I want to continue conversing, there is work that must be done. Each newspaper that came every morning brought news more ill than the last. What happened to the letters I have sent to Berning? Surely his hatred of me cannot be greater than the political upheaval engulfing the republic. I had even made it clear to Weiss that he was to support the Progressive Coalition in any way possible.

This was all so…frustrating. Exhausting even.

After leaving the house, I dragged my feet to take me to one last public to garner the last few morsels of public support. With the Heidlers not too far behind, we finally arrived at the rally set within the grand halls of a local opera house. Upon seeing how the establishment was packed to the brim with earnest supporters of every class and background, I paused to wonder just how brazen we had become.

This is still Wien. The heart of Osterry and the center of Dollfuss's power. Where are his men? Even if the communists were marching on the presidential palace right now, I am absolutely sure that my presence alone would warrant a greater threat. Heidler and Hessen-Buhler did a terrible job of downplaying my importance in the coming revolution.

But to see the audience undisturbed and, dare I say, rather jovial with one another despite some being complicit in the Osterrian November Boycott, made me consider how truly strong the Ostnationalists were. Even Alfred, despite volunteering himself as local security, was extremely relaxed and jovial.

"No one is stopping us," I spoke aloud, trying to spy a face that wasn't smiling or laughing in my presence. "Why is that?"

"That's good, right?" Heidler replied, already shaking hands with his fellow Ostzentrum party hacks. I suppose Miklann is old news given how they address him with greater respect and adoration than before.

I snickered under my breath. You know the ruling government has failed completely when even the moderates take up arms in open revolt.

Where are the fence-sitters? My speech was vaguely written not just for the militarists, but for them as well! This is an echo chamber. Curse you, Being X! You're making me want to stay and reign in the worst excesses of an abused population seeking recompense.

"Miss Argent Silver! Miss Argent Silver!"

A strange female voice emerged from the crowd. The way she spoke Germanian indicated that she was not native Osterrian - the stereotype that Osterrians were low-cultured mountain dwellers persisted after all, almost like Osakans - yet she was not a Germanian national either. An actual foreigner outside Central Europe, I reckon.

"Miss Argent Silver! Behind you!"

I turned around and came face to face with a gorgeous and well-groomed face. Well, as well-groomed as can be in a crowd of rambunctious dissidents.

"My name is Millicent Caldwell!" she introduced herself, her Germanian was suitable enough. "I am a reporter from the Unified States."

Oh dear. I hope the Americans don't get involved now. Not when the tide of revolution is becoming a tsunami.

"You're not here to arrest me?" I gave a crooked smile. For her sake, I hope she wasn't. She'll be torn to shreds and eaten by an angry mob of radicalized, disillusioned citizens.

"No, no, no!" Caldwell smiled back. "I came here to Osterry to write about the November Boycott."

Oh. Right. It's always that. Blood and tragedy sells big in the US.

"And what did you discover?"

"Discovered enough now that you're here. Maybe I could get the real answer from you instead."

"I understand the desire but I have a train-"

"Of course, she can do the interview!" Hessen-Buhler popped into existence, looking over my shoulder as he spoke English with feverish enthusiasm. If I had a bayonet at hand, my instincts would have shoved it through his skull. "But wait until after the rally is done."

"Richard…" I spoke slowly, trying to clue him in on my sudden irritation from his presence.

"You mean after your interview?" Heidler reminded his friend.

My head immediately spun around to face the chef. "What interview?!"

"Ever since you took up our guest room, every night our discussion always comes back to your subordinates not listening to what you have to say." He explained quickly. "I mentioned it to Richard once and he suggested putting all your thoughts in writing."

"I did do that."

"In letters sent to a single politician that may still hate you." Heidler nodded. "Not in a book where everyone can read it."

"I like that idea!" Caldwell's eyes erupted in enthusiasm before reaching out to Hessen-Buhler. "We can work together and co-author this book!"

"Hold on-" I protested but I could tell it was already too late.

"That's a great idea!" Heidler's friend bounced on his feet like a child seeing his favorite toy. "We can do it right after the rally."

Curse you, Being X!

"Do I get a say in this?" I spoke in a controlled tone.

"Of course you do!" Heidler patted my head like I was some lost puppy. "You will dictate what this interview will be about."

"Heidler, my train is-"

"Shit! You're supposed to be on the stage right now!" Hessen-Buhler looked at his pocket watch before grabbing me by the arm and dragging me further inside the opera house.

What a lovely contrast to see…the uncouth and the miserable inhabiting the halls built in neo-Renaissance style. Halls of golden light cast dark shadows over the crowds. The silence was consumed by roaring chants of left-wing, right-wing, radical, and centrist slogans. Each voice trying to drown out the other in a wretched competition over who can make teh loudest din.

If language was inherently violent, then Pan-Germanics were the most violent interest group of them all.

Well, I might as well give them a show…

Keep it together-you're here to placate the militarists first. They're watching you…they have agents hidden among the crowd. Just say enough to keep them relaxed and loyal. Agitating the masses for a revolution is just a luxury.

I have the support. I just need insurance.

Keep it vague. Keep it simple. Keep it violent.

"Today we stand on the precipice of the abyss!"

I paused when I realized what I just said. I looked down on my script. Hold on, did I really write this? It sounds so strange to say it out loud. Heidler would have told me about any changes he would have made but he is not the natural orator, unlike his alternate self. Snap out of it, Tanya. This is no time to express any doubt.

I have no choice but to move forward.

The crowd, however, loved it. The people didn't look human anymore, just a stampede of hate, a hurricane of sorrow, and an avalanche of revanchism. So many wrongs that needed correction."

"Today we stand on the precipice of the abyss," I repeated for emphasis, "And under my leadership, we will take a leap of faith! For too long, we have been pushed into the future, moved by forces beyond our control, to a destination that few could predict. The first step towards unity is taking control of our own destiny! Take back your lives! Take back your freedom! Take back OUR country!"

If I don't manipulate their anger and scorn…someone else will. And he'll certainly use them against me.

If I knew this was to be the result of my war service…would I have joined the army? In a militarized nation-state built around the pillars of sacrifice and duty, how else am I to drag myself out of childhood poverty?

I quickly glanced over to Heidler, who stood quietly at my side. He seemed…so contemplative. The roaring applause, the overwhelming approval, being the center of the world…I worried he would grow addicted to the feeling.

As would I.

I just wanted a nice quiet life in luxury. I just wanted to be safe and secure.

I spoke a little while longer to prepare for Heidler's entrance. A routine we have done a dozen times by now.

I hyped the audience, sprinkled a little pro-Imperial rhetoric and revanchist catch-phrases to satisfy Theoneau's demands - nothing too hypocritical - but with every word spoken, the more I wondered how I could explain my current situation with Berning and Schlage. Would they even accept me? What will I do next if they won't?

"That was an amazing speech." Frau Caldwell came up to me almost immediately when I departed early from the stage. Unlike Viktoriya, her joy could not infect me. My derision must have shown on my face when Caldwell shifted uneasily on her feet.

How did she manage to get past Alfred?

Regardless, it was important to leave Heidler behind so he had the responsibility to lead the revolution; I had to maintain the current relationship. I cannot afford to incriminate myself any further when word inevitably reaches Berun.

"Umm…do you still allow for the interview?" she asked sheepishly.

"As long as I keep the royalties when it inevitably gets published."

"DEAL!" Hessen-Buhler poked his head out of the doorway to give me a thumbs-up. "WE CAN DO IT AT HIS HOUSE!"

"His?" The American asked, looking confused.

"Herr Heidler's…I reside in their guest room." I answered, "Let's go."

"You're really forthcoming…" she remarked, causing me to look down and see that my hand had latched onto hers. "But I still want to hear Heidler's speech first." She pulled out her journal for emphasis.

"I'll wait outside…"

Of course, leaving is rarely a simple affair. There were a few outliers that tried to grab my attention, requesting autographs, a few handshakes, and a couple of questions. Some civilians, but many more were small-time reporters from news outlets either local or from Czech-Slovak, Magyraozag, and even from Germania.

Thankfully, Heidler's oratory skills have improved enough to be an attractive force in its own right. He plays up his humble origins as a baker and an artist victimized by Dollfuss's tyranny like any true demagogue. I would say I am a proud teacher but knowing what became of my acolytes gives an extremely sour feeling in my stomach. Not to say that Heidler will be like Serebryakov…

Stop it.

Stop thinking about her.

She is gone.

She needed to be gone.

The Devil of the Rhine was known for many things in the Francois Republic and the Unified States. She was a whore, a demon of war, a living weapon, and the greatest visionary of her era. Her essays, when they were finally seized and translated into Francois and Albish, shook the conservative establishment to the core. How a little girl, barely prepubescent at the time of her writing, understood the intricacies of trains, roads, and the general movement of soldiers, material, and vehicles better than even most Field Marshals was utterly incomprehensible.

Why, given how quickly Degurechaff's essays were immediately implemented in the officer curriculum in West Point and Norwich, there were rumors that President Hoovy was going to hire the Devil as an instructor to rebuild the US Army from the ground up. As for Francia, half the country wanted Degurechaff hanged while the other half wanted to kiss her on the lips for putting into words what every forward-minded junior officer was screaming about during the war.

Even a blind man could see the envy simmering underneath the layer of hatred and fear among the Albish elite. For a young commander to be given full autonomy over her unit and allowed to experiment with new ideas and tactics, now that was a position many Albish officers would kill for if it meant a chance to end the Great War sooner.

But here, in Wien, Milicent Caldwell saw another aspect of the Devil that her opponents continued to underestimate; her ability to elevate her fanatics into icons of adoration. From what she gathered by questioning Ostcentrists, Judean neighbors, and army veterans, Heidler was a nobody, a statistic, and seemingly the least qualified person to lead a popular uprising. By all rights, this trench runner had never gotten an opportunity in his life to speak to an audience that was beyond his immediate household.

Until now, that is…

As Caldwell watched him, one among hundreds if not thousands of spectators, the fear of Dollfuss's stormtroopers faded from her mind. He spoke with great passion and terrifying vigor, like a man possessed with the voice of God, that even if the walls were shattered like glass against hammers and the President's men were revealed bearing machine guns and rifles, Caldwell felt immovable, insurmountable, with only her two hands and notebook as weapons.

The Treaty of Triano was doomed for failure. It was dead the moment the Devil on the Rhine evaded capture and imprisonment. So long as she remains free, there will be no shortage of her disciples taking up arms to avenge the calamity that fell the Empire. So long as the people worship the Argent Silver as their savior, their revanchism will surely torment them for all of eternity.

The most terrifying thing is…the people welcomed it. They embraced it.

The Devil's men were in Hell.

And they already conquered it.

With Degurechaff at the helm, why would they be scared of damnation when Heaven itself could be breached with bullets and artillery shells?

A loud thud and a sharp cry knocked Caldwell out of her thoughts. Heidler was no longer on the stage. Was he shot?

The American journalist, like most of the spectators, leaned forward to catch a glimpse of what became the speaker. The crowd let out a huge sigh of relief when the upstart revolutionary dusted himself off the ground with the help of the front-row attendants. Heidler, that silly artist, walked too close to the edge of the stage during his monologue, and promptly fell off, performing a spontaneous spectacular faceplant.

To save face, Heidler, dazed from the fall, immediately did a few around of handshakes with the nearest attendants but before he could walk back onto the stage, the whole room was engulfed in light. The thunderous laughter was quickly replaced with terror and stampeding crowds. Caldwell's vision was engulfed in a flash of red and black and she was forced to look away.

Like a miracle of the Old Testament, the stage exploded into a geyser of splinters and flame, knocking the people closest to it right off their feet. Heidler, like the Great War veterans, immediately dove behind cover behind chairs with hands or newspapers over their heads.

As soon as the dust settled, there was naught but the echoing pandemonium outside the walls of the theatre. Many wasted no time evacuating the area, desperate to save their own lives.

Those that chose to remain inside, Caldwell was guilty of not fleeing, peeked their heads to glare at the small crater where the podium used to be. Many veterans laughed when they realized how small the explosive was; it brought back old memories in the trench.

But the peace proved to be false.

"Herr Heidler!" she heard the Devil scream in panic.

There would not be another word as a second bomb, hidden underneath the stage itself, detonated. Once again, Caldwell's vision was drowned in a hail of fire, debris, and smoke. The earth trembled, the winds howled, and screaming grew ever more distant.

No.

This is no place for death.

Pray.

Pray for salvation.

If I live, Caldwell thought to herself as trinkets of glass shards and burnt curtains washed over her hair as she ran for the nearest exit, I am getting that interview…

400 years of culture, history, and talent went up in smoke. Whoever set up the charges, as I had no shortage of enemies and ideological competitors, saw the violent death of an old relic as a worthy price of my vanquishment. I felt rough, calloused hands brush against the back of my neck before gripping my collar and pulling me back. The building trembled around my ears as the walls creaked and groaned; I squinted up and saw the ceiling on the verge of collapsing with deep, violent scars cracking through the Baroque murals.

Was there a third bomb on the roof?

"Let me go!" I shouted at my benefactor as my nails scratched against his skin. "Let me go! I need to find Heidler!"

I did not give you permission to die yet! I still need you to lead this revolution. Damn you, Being X! He was to be my scapegoat for the Progressives in Berun!

Damn it! Where is he?!

I was finally let go when the sun blinded me. When I recovered my bearings, I saw that Heidler's captain had retrieved me. He gave me a respectful nod before running into the opera house to search for more survivors.

"Tanya!" I heard that familiar but cursed voice reaching my ears. "Oh good, you're still alive. They'll need a lot of bombs next time."

It was Heidler, covered in soot and debris, a look that reminded me of the trenches in Rhineland. A sentiment that we both seemed to share.

"I suppose the bad news is that we will have to start the revolution early." he chuckled weakly. "It pains me to say…but we have to take advantage of this."

"But my trip to Yugoslavia-"

"Yugoslavia isn't going nowhere - well, it will go everywhere the way it is heading, I mean - but this is our chance to triumph early."

"The interview-"

"We can make it up as we go along." He said quickly, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me to stand on top of a car with him. "We have to show the people that you are still alive. We cannot lose hope now."

"Heidler-"

"I may not know what our future entails with you, Argent Silver, but I do know what I don't want. Our country needs you. We all do." Heidler remarked before turning to the crowd to whip up another spew of words belonging to the nonsensical sputtering of a deranged madman. He was full of violence and fury; more of a wounded beast than a man.

Curse you, Being X…at least Visha would have listened to what I wanted to say first.