Published at 6th of January 2026 8:51 am

Chapter 814: Bismarck

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The warm summer breeze of the Atlantic Ocean carved across the bow of the SMS Bismarck.

A nuclear-powered supercarrier from a future age, a beast of the atomic era, made reality through steel and German ingenuity.

Surrounding the monstrous vessel was an entire fleet built to support it. Guided missile cruisers, frigates, and destroyers, each acting as air defense, surface combatants, or anti-submarine warfare platforms, were all dwarfed by the leviathan that stood at their center.

And the Bismarck was not alone in her glory.

A secondary sister ship sailed nearby, it too escorted by enough men and materiel to occupy a city, and the ships required to carry them.

Alone, the German High Seas Fleet might have been the largest naval force ever mustered in history, by tonnage, at least.

But they were not alone.

The Russian Black Sea Fleet sailed alongside them, having passed safely through the Bosphorus with the permission of the Hellenic Navy, which flanked their advance.

What remained of the French Navy, now reconstituted under the banners of House Orleans once more, followed in formation.

Even the Hungarians, who controlled the Balkans through fire and steel, sailed their own battleships and fast cruisers alongside the massive flotilla that now moved with a singular purpose.

Bruno stood on the bow of the Bismarck. Turbojet-powered interceptors and torpedo bombers lay idle along the deck, while their crews worked tirelessly to ensure every aircraft was in optimal condition for combat operations.

No one noticed the Reichsmarschall standing beneath the pale light of the sun, gazing into the vast distance that held nothing but open sea.

Centuries ago, men had sailed these waters without knowing what lay on the other side. In doing so, they had laid the foundations for what would one day become the world’s greatest superpower.

Now Bruno stood in their place, not casting off to settle new lands in search of gold and glory, but to snuff out a sleeping giant before it truly had the chance to rise from its slumber.

He remained utterly silent, even as the clacking of polished jackboots echoed from behind him.

Heinrich approached in the full garb of a Generalfeldmarschall, his greatcoat caught by the wind as it struggled to stifle his advance.

He did not stand at attention when he came to a stop, nor did he salute. Instead, he gazed into the distance just as Bruno did, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. He lit it and took a heavy drag from its poison.

Only after exhaling a gust of smoke, caught by the wind and torn apart by its fury, did he finally speak.

"So this is it, huh?" Heinrich said. "This is the end... of all that we have done, of all that we dreamed to become. It ends here, across the Atlantic?"

Bruno did not answer at first. Nor did he turn to acknowledge the intrusion by his oldest friend. He stood firm and still, as if he were not a man at all, but a bronze statue.

Eventually, he spoke. And when he did, it carried the weight of a life lived.

"If all goes according to plan, yes," Bruno said. "But things seldom follow the script we have written, do they?"

Heinrich smirked as he continued to smoke, knowing the truth of those words all too well. They had lost too many men across too many wars to believe any plan survived contact with reality.

Still, Bruno did not lament the fact. Instead, he spoke again, almost like a prophet watching his vision come to fruition.

"For nearly sixty years," Bruno said quietly, "I have spent my life preparing for this moment. From the day I could first think; could first read, could first function as a human being, I knew that this... all of this... had to be done."

Heinrich did not deny it.

He had not known Bruno in his earliest years. In truth, the only person who still remained who had was his wife. And according to Heidi, Bruno had always been this way.

By the time Heinrich had met him, they were already young men at the academy. It defied reason, and yet Heinrich knew, deep in his bones, that Bruno was not lying.

He had seen too much, participated in things that could not be explained by logic alone, to the point that he had long since abandoned the luxury of disbelief.

And Heinrich could tell that Bruno was ready to lay down his arms once this war was concluded.

He simply could not fathom it, consciously, even if he understood the reasoning.

"Still," Heinrich said after a moment, "a lifetime of war... and what do you plan to do when it’s over? Become a farmer?"

Bruno clicked his tongue, almost disappointed in himself as he heard the jest.

"Shit..." he muttered. "Following Diocletian’s path might have been wiser. Alas it is too late now to choose such a humble path. I already promised my wife that I would become Chancellor."

Both men broke into a light, somber chuckle, fully aware of the absurdity of the statement. But Bruno interrupted the brief levity, returning his focus to matters of weight.

"In truth," he said, "it was always meant to end this way. I first took up arms to defend family, folk, fatherland, and Kaiser. And now, after a lifetime of war, no one remains who can threaten us."

He paused.

"Nothing but the idea of a reunited America stands opposed to our will. And soon enough, that dream too will be laid to rest."

Heinrich stood in silence, searching for the courage to ask the question both of them had avoided for years.

And in the silence that echoed between the two of them... he found it.

"Do you think," Heinrich said quietly, struggling to keep his voice steady, "that if Erich could see what we accomplished... he would be proud of what he gave his life for?"

He was speaking of Erich von Humboldt, the man Bruno’s grandson had been named after.

Bruno turned away momentarily, gazing once more into the endless expanse of ocean stretching beyond their limited vision.

When he spoke, his voice carried across the waves, not with authority, but with grief.

"Erich... Franz Joseph... Nicholas... Svetozar... Mackensen..." Bruno said softly. "I have buried many men I called friends. Some as casualties to war. Others as victims to peace."

He exhaled.

"In the end, I believe we did not dishonor their memory. And that is all those who survive can ever truly hope for."

Bruno straightened.

"Rest, Heinrich," he said. "The final campaign begins soon. And this time, I do not intend to sit behind a desk and watch it unfold from afar. I will no longer hide in Berlin while others bleed to conclude what I began."

He stepped forward, drawing his cap from the inner pocket of his greatcoat and placing it atop his graying hair.

Without another word, Bruno walked past Heinrich, who remained standing there long after his friend had gone.

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