Published at 16th of December 2025 8:23 am

Chapter 784: The New Era of Colonialism

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While Bruno was currently not in a dire need to commute to Berlin every morning, and return home every night. The same could not be said for his eldest son Erwin.

Erwin, who was now approaching his 40th birthday within the year, still had to travel to the corporate headquarters of his family’s industrial empire, which was located in Berlin.

In the morning he would say goodbye to his wife, mother, father, children, and siblings, after sharing a breakfast with them. Where he would then board the train, and head to Berlin.

The journey was roughly 75 – 90 minutes between the two cities, as in recent years the maglev rail had replaced the older, but more conventional high speed rails. Increasing the speeds significantly of the trains, and thus transit from around the Reich as a whole.

For longer journeys like from Innsbruck to Saint Petersburg, flights were still optimal for saving time. But across the borders of the fatherland itself, nothing beat the Maglev.

The trains ran like clockwork, never late, never delayed, and never unavailable. For the residents of the German Reich, it was perhaps the greatest feat of human engineering they had ever witnessed.

On a day like today, Erwin would receive a coffee from the railcar’s stewardess, and would drink it slowly while either getting a head start on the work for the day. Or on a more dreary day like today, gaze mindlessly out into the countryside and allow himself to detach from reality, even if only temporarily.

But eventually, every day, just like today, he arrived in Berlin, where he would exit the tram, and head straight to the von Zehntner tower. A large skyscraper, one that perhaps was the largest in the world was surrounded by other titans just below its own weight class.

Berlin had transformed into a modern metropolis. And yet, despite the shimmering towers of steel and glass, it still retained the spirit of the old world.

When Erwin entered the building his ID was checked by armed security guards dressed in full combat equipment. These were not soldiers of the German Army, but Werwolf operators whose sole duty was the protection of Bruno’s corporate assets.

Erwin simply nodded to the men after they put his bag through a metal detector and waved him down with a wand. Even the head of the company was not exempt from such security measures.

One of the men, behind his unique balaclava simply looked at Erwin with an apologetic gaze, of which Erwin could only return with a slight sigh and a nod of his head. One that both affirmed the man was doing the right thing and still recognized the tedious nature of such protocol.

And it was only after he had been thoroughly searched within reasonable limits for anything that could remotely be considered a threat to the security and welfare of the tower, did the Guards wave him through with a simple order.

"Move along...."

Erwin found himself resting against the railing as the elevator climbed higher and higher through the building. Piercing the depths of the heavens, it challenged the might of the sun like Icarus long ago.

But its wings did not burn; rather it came to a steady and soft stop. Adjusting temporarily to the restoration of gravity in is fullest, before marching into the entryway of his private office.

The layout of the top floor of the Tower was designed as an unassailable fortress. Not only was it fortified to withstand an absurd level of punishment, but its layout was designed to funnel any unwelcome visitor into a choke point where the only path forward was death.

The guards on the floor were ready to greet and scan Erwin through a second layer of even more secure checks.

Here, they looked for any items that might be wielded by an assassin that could perhaps bypass a more standard checkpoint.

The fortress even had its own private monitoring station that was separate from the rest of the tower.

In fact, the top portion of the tower was equipped with backup generators, a small armory with weapons, munitions, and emergency supplies as well as parachutes.

Just in case as a last resort the occupants needed to jump from the building.

It was only after Erwin had gone through all of this that he was able to enter his private office and begin reviewing his work for the day.

And by then he no longer cared to pay attention to the men outside his private domicile. He could only look at the fresh ink inscribed upon the stack of papers on his desk and begin glancing over their meaning.

Erwin had just finished skimming the initial stack of memos when there was a polite knock on the door.

"Send them in," he said, without looking up.

His secretary stepped inside, followed by three men in dark, perfectly cut suits. They carried leather portfolios, not briefcases, and wore the restrained, quiet confidence of men who knew their numbers were more decisive than any field report.

"Gentlemen," Erwin said, rising just enough to be polite. "Africa first. I assume that’s why you wanted this meeting on a Monday."

The eldest of the three, a thin man with silver hair and wire-rimmed spectacles, inclined his head.

"Yes, quarterly consolidated reviews of the Mittelafrika and Indochina development zones. There have been... significant changes."

"That usually means trouble," Erwin muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of the man’s lips.

"Not this time, sir."

They moved to the conference table beside the broad windows, Berlin’s skyline glittering beyond the glass.

Erwin sat at the head of the table. The three analysts took their places opposite each other.

The silver-haired man opened his portfolio and laid out a series of summary sheets, each marked with the deep green seal of the von Zehntner Consortium.

"Mittelafrika," he began simply.

That single word still carried weight, even after two decades of reform.

Once, it had meant tangled colonies and brutal competition. Flags planted on maps like teeth in flesh. Now, under the Consortium’s ledgers, it meant something else entirely.

"Begin with Tanganyika," Erwin said.

"Yes, sir." The man slid one sheet forward. "Tanganyika Protectorate and its adjacent coastal partners have completed Phase IV infrastructure goals ahead of schedule. Rail and telegraph have been extended inland to all major mineral extraction zones, and the Mtwara–Kigoma corridor is now fully electrified."

He tapped a figure with one long finger.

"Freight throughput has increased by thirty-eight percent compared to last year. Port capacity in Dar es Salaam and Tanga has doubled since the pre-war baseline. Local dockworkers’ unions remain stable. No major strikes, no sabotage."

Erwin’s brows rose slightly.

"Any unrest?"

"Isolated banditry in the interior." The second analyst, younger, chimed in. "Handled by local gendarmerie with Werwolf advisory detachments. No incidents reaching the level of ’insurgency’ as the British once experienced in Kenya."

He said the last part with a faint edge of pride. The British problem had always been that they stayed too long and gave too little. Germany had left early, but never really gone.

"Cameroon?" Erwin asked.

"Cameroon, Togoland, and the lower Niger corridor have completed the integration of their river transport systems," the silver-haired man replied, turning another page. "Hydroelectric installations along the Sanaga and Benue are operational. Regional assemblies have ratified the latest revisions of the debt restructuring agreements."

"In our favor, I assume," Erwin said.

"Of course..." the man stated with certainty before continuing with his explanation. "We have reduced the interest rates on their loans in exchange for exclusive refinement rights and long-term mineral concessions. They keep their flags. We keep the spoils."

A small silence followed.

Erwin glanced out the window, toward the east where the sun was struggling through the winter haze.

His father’s words echoed in his mind from a conversation long ago:

We do not need to own the soil. We need only to own the future written on it.

"Go on," he said.

"Southwest Africa," the younger analyst continued. "Namibia and the adjoining protectorates remain the backbone of our chromium and manganese supplies. The Windhoek–Lüderitz line has been upgraded to heavy gauge. Ore exports to the Reich have increased twenty-one percent this quarter. The local monarchical councils are stable. There have been no major protests in two years."

"What about the Congo basin?" Erwin asked. "That was always the cursed land, before."

It had been under the Belgians.

Now the third man, the quietest of the trio, finally spoke.

"Kasai and Kongo Free States have reached full domestic administrative functionality," he said, tone precise. "Their own civil services, their own courts, their own tax collection, supervised, yes, but no longer staffed by German officials."

He looked up, meeting Erwin’s gaze.

"Our role there is now almost entirely financial and advisory. The worst of the abuses died with the old flags. They remember that. And they remember who helped bury them. And if not, that’s why Werwolf is there, now isn’t it?"

He turned a page.

"Security contracts remain substantial," the silver-haired man said. "Werwolf units in Mittelafrika number roughly two mechanized brigades’ worth, if you convert their structure into formal army terminology."

"But they are not brigades," Erwin said.

"No," the older man agreed. "They are ’consultants’. ’Training cadres’. ’Infrastructure defense detachments.’"

He allowed himself the barest hint of a smile.

"They guard the mines, the rails, the dams, the ports. They train local forces. They run intelligence networks along bandit corridors. They are paid, quite handsomely, by local governments using credit extended by our banks."

"So we loan them money," Erwin summarized, "so they can pay our men to guard the investments we built with the money we loaned them in the first place."

The younger analyst shifted, almost sheepish.

"Put crudely, yes."

Erwin chuckled.

"There is nothing crude about efficiency."

He leaned back, folding his hands on his stomach as he listened to the last part of the report.

"Overall," the silver-haired man concluded, "Mittelafrika has become what the Chancellor envisioned thirty years ago. Not a colony. Not a battlefield. A lattice of sovereign states whose survival is inseparable from our own prosperity."

He let that sit for a moment before adding:

"And whose wars, if they ever come, will be fought to protect our shared interests, not to expel us."

"Any sign that they might begin resenting that?" Erwin asked. "No one likes a creditor. Even a generous one."

The third man cleared his throat.

"There is... growing nationalism in several of the coastal cities," he admitted. "Young men who have never seen a German flag flying above their town gate now question why so much of their ore, their rubber, their oil, flows north. They do not yet understand what their grandparents survived."

"And if they someday decide they no longer wish to pay?" Erwin asked.

The silver-haired man folded his hands.

"Then, we will do what your father designed this structure to do."

"And what is that?"

"In such a circumstance we would see to it to either empower the locals to crush the rebellion with swift brutality, or fund the revolution of whoever comes next. Either way, it is a simple matter to handle," the man said quietly.

Erwin exhaled through his nose.

It was ruthless, but effective.

"Any last issues?" he asked.

The silver-haired man shook his head before standing up. Reaching his hand out in solidarity to his employer.

"That is all for now, sire. If something else arises before the next scheduled report, then you will be the second to be notified. Until then, it is an honor, as always."

Erich stood up and shook the man’s hand before sending him on his way. He then looked down at the papers on his desk once more in silence as he sipped the coffee from his mug.

Whatever thoughts he had in that moment were his alone.

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