Published at 11th of March 2026 11:10 am

Chapter 900: The Cost of Victory

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Bruno sat in his new office, today was a day like any other day since assuming the mantle of German Chancellor. Well... that wasn’t entirely true. Today there was one distinction.

An intelligence report sat on his table. It wasn’t regarding anything of critical and immediate interest to the German Reich, but when Bruno read it, he felt as if he was reminiscing about something that happened a lifetime ago, even if it had already been a matter of years.

The report showed that despite the late President of the United States, Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s attempts to secure a rump state, sense renamed as that would keep the flame of the American republic and its post-enlightenment ideals alive. It had finally fallen beneath the weight of its many enemies.

The American republic was no longer a political entity, it was a historical one. The Rump state since renamed as the Union of Columbia fell to a Canadian invasion after initiating a border conflict with their northern neighbor.

What little remained of the old American Republic had been snuffed from existence, and its legacy little more than ink on the pages of history.

Bruno read the report before tossing it aside. He didn’t smile, he didn’t frown, and he didn’t toast to victory.

To him this was the simple closure of a book he never intended to read again. As far as he was concerned, the United States died with Roosevelt, the official collapse of its so-called successor was of little relevance.

If Bruno were being honest, he could not remotely predict how long the former United States would remain in a state of civil war. But if the intelligence reports were anything to go by, the borders had begun to stabilize into smaller state unions. And that was exactly what he had always wanted.

This was the last item on Bruno’s list of work today. And he had opted to leave early. Normally, Bruno would stay until the exact moment he was supposed to clock out. But today was a special day for him, and many others.

Bruno gathered his coat and left the office of the Chancellor, taking a train across the Reich, not to Innsbruck, but to a very specific location. One that would otherwise be considered completely lacking in importance to anyone other than the small number who had gathered.

Heinrich was already standing there, the cloudburst of rain falling softly upon his thick black woolen overcoat. He no longer wore the prestige of a Field Marshal of the German Army.

Nor the grace of the honors he had won in this life through fidelity and valor. He stood there as an old man, a civilian honoring the loss of a fallen comrade.

When Bruno approached, Heinrich didn’t stir. He simply sighed and drank from his own flask. Bruno stood by his side, looking at his watch before looking up at Heinrich again.

"Where are the others?"

Heinrich snorted and shook his head.

"I’m sure he’s on his way...."

The two of them stood silently at the meaning behind those words, staring at the spot where decades prior Bruno had shot dead the third pillar of their trio, Erich von Humboldt.

The truth of the matter was, there was nobody else coming. In his life, few cared to spend more time with Erich than they were required to. And towards the end, his own family had even begun to distance themselves from him.

The number of people who still mourned his passing could be counted on two hands at the most.

There was Bruno, Heinrich, Alya, Erwin, Louise, and the daughter that Erich had never met, nor known existed, Erika. Those were the only souls that were all that were left outside a few old intelligence operatives who paid respect in their own silent way every year at this time.

However, Alya, Erwin, Louise, Erika, and Bruno’s grandson Erich who only knew of his namesake by proxy as Erika’s husband, usually paid tribute at the man’s grave rather than the place where he died.

To Bruno and Heinrich, they had spent the last 28 years of their lives keeping up a tradition that only the two of them had ever shared.

Bruno didn’t say anything... He never really did outside the initial exchange. He simply stood there in the rain, remembering.

He looked back in life to the wars they had waged, the battles they had won. The bonds of brotherhood forged in battle, and the lives they had lived in between.

Twenty-eight years.... Bruno had lived his life longer with Erich dead than he had known the man during his life. It was remarkable to think about.

Of all the figures he had met in this life, of all the men he had buried. Erich stood among the top five who had made the most impact on him.

Bruno had buried his own father, he had attended the funerals of historical figures whom he had always held enormous respect for. Men whom he had become family by the marriage of their children.

Each one of their passings had been a wound which Bruno felt greater than any other than he had endured during his past life.

But Erich was different. Erich had always been a constant reminder, a memento mori; a physical representation of the true cost that Bruno had paid to reshape the world in his image.

The two of them stood there in silence for over an hour. And then they turned away. Not saying a word, just like every year, they walked away after the hour of their grief had passed. And would not mention it again until their next gathering a year from now.

Bruno would sit on the train home long enough to regain his clarity. When he finally walked through the front door of his estate, one that he had helped build with his own two hands, he was welcomed by his wife, his children, and his grandchildren.

And that would have to be enough....

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