Blood and Iron: The Conquests of the Chancellor

White Leader, Scout Force
Morning


“Move out, carefully,” ordered Major Guderich, “and watch for any more enemy tanks!” The Panther crept west, hoping to avoid contact with the enemy long enough to radio a warning about the Turks who had somehow captured at least one German tank. Dieter, Karl, and Major Guderich himself were all looking for anything unusual through their respective viewfinders. The radio picked up more chatter in the strange language they had heard earlier, but no further communication in German.

“Movement, 320!” said Dieter, and a moment later he added, “Two more of those little trucks. They are running away.”

“Figures,” mused Major Guderich aloud. “They must have only light weapons, and that won't be enough to stop us. We have bigger fish to fry for now. Keep heading west, and stay alert.”

“Yes, sir,” chorused White Leader's crew.

“Enemy tank, 280!” shouted Dieter.

“Target them!” ordered the Major, as he turned his own viewfinder towards the correct line of bearing. He could see what appeared to be an experimental early model Tiger tank, with the shorter barrel and the extra skirting armor. Strangely, the main gun was rotating away from their Panther, and came to a stop in parade rest position as he watched. Now what are those Turks up to?

“Targeted!” replied Dieter, clearly awaiting the order to open fire.

“Stand by!” A white flag popped out of the turret as the radio came to life. “German tank, we not Turks,” said a female voice in German, marred with the same odd accent Major Guderich had noticed from the unknown male voice earlier. “We Tiger tank to your northwest. We only wish talk,” she continued in slightly broken German. “We come out and surrender if you agree no more fire.”

The Major turned the radio back to the proper setting. “Identify yourself!”

“Auray senshado, anklerfizh team.” she replied.

“Name and unit designation!” ordered the Major.

There was a brief silence. “My name Meehoh Nizhoomee,” she said, slowly. “We not enemy yours. We no want kill.” The same male voice from before broke in, giving what sounded like an order in the strange unknown language, to which the woman replied with a single clipped word. "Hi."

“Men, what do you think?” asked the Major over the internal radio.

“It must be some sort of trick, sir,” insisted Dieter. “We should destroy them while we can!”

“Then why is their main gun at parade rest?” said Karl over the radio net. “And why would the Turks use women to crew their tanks? We should hear them out, sir.”

The Major paused in thought. A modern version of 'The Lady or the Tiger'. Shall we listen to them, or simply open fire?
 
White Leader, Scout Force
Morning


“All right,” said Major Guderich after turning the radio knob back to the proper setting. “Tell your friends to maintain their distance, and come on out of that Tiger tank. We'll be watching you, and keeping you covered, and if this is some Turkish trick, you will be the first to die!”

“Hi” was the instant reply, followed by a sentence or so in the same unintelligible language as before. “We are coming out now.”

Major Guderich and the rest of the crew of White Leader looked on in amazement as the front hatch opened up. They saw what certainly looked like a young woman of sixteen or so climb out, followed by two others. All three were wearing a white tunic, with a green skirt and matching cravat. The apparent leader was holding a small metal object in her right hand. A few moments later two more girls walked up to the group, presumably having climbed out of the rear hatch.

“Do we look like Turks to you?” said the leader into her microphone, as she pivoted in place.

It took several seconds for the Major to reply. “No, fraulein.” A light rain began to fall once more as he continued, “What on earth are you doing in a German tank, then, if you are not Turks? Are you allies of these evil men?”

“Why should we Turks be, here in the Auray...um...Schulboot?”

“And what, fraulein, is a Schulboot?” replied the Major, his suspicions returning with a vengeance. “Why did your comrades fire on us if you are merely innocent schoolgirls?”

“That was Kuromarin Team, sir,” she replied. “They mistook your tank for one of ours.” Dark clouds began to form overhead as she spoke. “Why did you fire on the senshado marshals?”

“Do you mean the men in the little truck, with the alarm?” At the young woman's nod, the Major continued, “They were coming to the aid of the Turks who had somehow stolen a German tank and fired on us without provocation. We are at war with the Turks, of course.” The dark clouds beginning to form overhead matched the darkening tone of the Major as he added, “Are you telling me that you and your...team of girls are fighting them as well?”

His mood was not improved by the confused look on her face. “Sir, they were the opposing team, but they are not truly our enemies. My sister leads....” A loud, three tone alarm broke in over the radio circuit. “Team Anklerfizh,” said a male voice in German, “return to your tank at once, but take no hostile action. A tohrnaydoh is approaching your position.”

“Hi” she replied, and with a short bow towards White Leader's tank, climbed back aboard her own Tiger and disappeared back inside, followed by the rest of her crew. A dark funnel cloud, similar to the one Major Guderich had seen an hour ago or so ago, was now bearing down on both tanks.

“Your orders, sir?” asked Karl over the internal radio net.

“Move out...wait. Hold position here!”

“Sir?” asked Karl in evident confusion, as the winds howled around their tank with rapidly increasing fury.

“The storm, or whatever, somehow brought us to this strange land, where girls play with tanks, correct? This may be our only way to ever return home!” The Tiger tank moved backwards out of the funnel cloud's path as Major Guderich watched. “Hang on, men!”
 
August 21, 890 AD

Family Quarters, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
4:30 p.m.


Prinz Franz von Bismarck, son of Prinz Helmut and grandson of Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, returned to his room in a dreadful mood. He had managed, with great difficulty, to wheedle a little extra time from his internship at the Cultural Ministry to meet his longtime girlfriend Birgitte. She had told him, to his consternation, that she was going to travel with her family to New Heidelburg, in the distant wilderness of North America. She had promised to be “true to him”, but he knew all too well that she would be much sought after in the frontier.

He saw an odd looking metal cylinder, about the size of a large marble, sitting on his small desk in his quarters as he entered his quarters. What is this? He touched the end of the cylinder with an experimental finger, and, to his surprise, a bright blue light emerged. The light quickly expanded into a translucent image, not unlike that of a cinema projection, of an elderly man.

“Good afternoon, Grandfather,” said the image, much to Prinz Franz's astonishment. “I am Chancellor Axel von Bismarck, speaking to you from the far future. Two Panther tank crews from your time, designated White Leader and White Four, were transported into our time by the temporal storm which struck North America four days ago, by your reckoning.”

“Who...what?” stammered Prinz Franz.

“Your confusion is quite understandable, Grandfather. Relatively little is known, even in our time, of these strange phenomena. The good news is that, according to our records, no other such storms will occur in the next century.” The man's image grew sad for a moment. “The bad news is that these ten valiant soldiers of the Empire are now trapped in our time. We are able to send this message, but we cannot return them to their home time.”

“Why not?”

“It would take too long to explain fully, Grandfather. Still, their families deserve to know that these men are not deserters. Major Hans Guderich and his crew in particular served with honor and distinction, under very strange and difficult circumstances. You must remember this name most carefully and tell your own grandfather all of what you have seen and heard.”

“But...he will think I am going mad!”

The image smiled. “Ask him about Miss Etta's key if he should doubt you.” He turned his head a fraction to his right as a brief alarm sounded. “I must go, Grandfather. The German Empire salutes you!” With that the image shrank to a small pinpoint and vanished. Stranger still, the cylinder which projected it disappeared into nothingness without a sound from the top of Prinz Franz's desk.

It took only a few seconds for the Prinz to decide what to do. I must tell Grandfather all about this! He rushed out of his quarters as fast as his teenaged legs could carry him, and presently found himself in the anteroom of his grandfather's office. He was just in time to see the Military Minister approach the inner door, which was being held open by one of the Guardsmen standing post.

“Is something wrong, Prinz Franz?” asked the Military Minister.

“Minister, something amazing just happened to me. I must tell Grandfather all about it at once!” With that the Prinz darted into the inner office, with the Military Minister following at a more sedate pace.

“Franz, this is not a good time,” said the Chancellor evenly.

“I'm sorry, Grandfather. You won't believe what happened to me! He said I was to ask you about 'Miss Etta's key'.”

Prinz Franz was alarmed at the look on his grandfather's face. He gave a curt order to the two Guardsmen, standing post in the office as usual. “Gentlemen, if you would leave us for a few minutes?” Both Guardsmen naturally saluted their leader and left at once.

“All right, Franz. Tell me exactly what happened, from the beginning.” The Military Minister unobtrusively took a seat and listened intently as the young Prinz narrated what had occurred, finishing with, “and then, Grandfather, the cylinder simply disappeared into thin air!”

“Are you quite certain, Prinz Franz, that you are not making all this up?” asked the Military Minister skeptically. “If this story is true, why would your future grandson tell you all this in such a strange and unusual fashion?”

“I think I have an idea, Hans. There is one other point to address first, however.” The Chancellor looked sternly at his grandson. “What precisely do you know about Miss Etta, Franz?”

“Nothing, Grandfather,” replied the Prinz with obvious sincerity. “I thought you would know what this meant, or what her key has to do with any of this.”

“So why, if that was really your grandson, did he not explain himself, Prinz Franz? Why leave such a mystery behind?”

“I think he wished to avoid a temporal paradox, Hans,” replied the Chancellor in a gentler tone. “That also explains both the brevity of the message and its ultimate disappearance.”

“A...temporal paradox, my Chancellor?” asked the Military Minister in some confusion.

“A theory in physics, Hans. I have taken the liberty of speaking privately with some of our physicists from the Imperial Science Academy after my own...er...experiences.” The Chancellor smiled for the first time. “It is quite remarkable what these men will tell their Chancellor if he expresses interest in their own theories. Indeed, the real difficulty is to get them to stop talking. In any event, the basic idea is that, if time travel is truly possible, certain actions taken in the past can lead to dangerous consequences in the present and future.”

“So how does that help us now, my Chancellor?” asked the Military Minister.

“Simple, Hans. A message was sent, telling us of the fates of two German tank crews, but without specific instructions as to how to proceed. A way to authenticate the message was also given in a way that I would be certain to recognize. Clearly the...sender, for lack of a better term, wanted to avoid leaving any physical evidence behind.”

The Chancellor paused for a moment. “There is one other way to authenticate this message. Hans, I want you to verify the existence of this Major Hans Guderich, who was serving in... North America, Franz?” The Prinz nodded in agreement. “That is what he said, Grandfather.”

“Oddly enough, my Chancellor, I believe I can do that now.” The Minister took out his valise, and rummaged around for a few moments. “Ah, here it is. I came here to brief you on quite a different matter. Our Panzer division in North America has fought and defeated another dangerous barbarian group, some two hundred klicks north of Big River. The good news is that an estimated eight barbarian divisions were destroyed, with minimal losses on our side.”

The Minister glanced at his briefing reports. “It does appear, however, that two tanks from the initial scout team which discovered these barbarians failed to return to base and are now missing. They are codenamed White Leader, commanded by a Major...Guderich, and one of his team, White Four. They were presumed to have been overrun by sheer numbers by the barbarians.”

“Interesting. That is yet another confirmation of the message's authenticity, Hans. I do not believe it is a coincidence that you happen to have that paperwork with you, at just the moment it was needed. I have no further doubts. I believe White Leader and White Four will not return, or at least not anytime soon.”

“Just so, my Chancellor,” agreed the Military Minister after a moment's thought. “What, if anything, should I tell the families of Major Guderich and the other lost men?

“I think a small white lie is quite in order for the moment, Hans,” replied the Chancellor. “List them officially as killed in action, and give the proper notices to their next of kin.” His expression softened as he turned to his grandson. “Someday, Franz, when the Empire is ready and you have rightly taken my place as Chancellor, you may wish to correct the record.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” replied the Prinz solemnly.

“Now then, we still have an Empire to run. Hans, I want you to continue the monitor the situation in North America. We cannot allow barbarians in such numbers to threaten our outposts or the rail line in that distant land.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor.”
 
September 1, 890 AD

Berlin Colosseum
Berlin, Germany
11:58 a.m.


“Everything is ready, Father,” said Prinz Helmut. He smiled as he continued, “This is your last chance to change your mind about running for reelection.”

“I think not,” replied the Chancellor. “I spent a good deal of time last night working on my speech, and it would not do to waste it. I want you to know, however, that I appreciate your help. Believe me, your time as Chancellor will come soon enough.”

“Yes, Father,” said the Prinz as the backstage doors were opened. The massive Colosseum was filled to capacity with thousands of loyal supports of the Imperial Party. They cheered wildly as their elderly leader, with his son a pace behind, walked out to the temporary podium. The last of the noon chimes from the GrosGunter tower had begun to fade as the Chancellor began his address.

“My people! Once again I stand before you today, as I have done on seven other occasions, to begin my campaign for the Chancellorship.” Even this simple statement brought cheers, until the Chancellor waved them to silence.

“My original intention was to retire as Chancellor, as my father Konrad did before me, and allow my eldest son Helmut to run in this election in my place. Instead, it was Prinz Helmut himself who convinced me to serve as Chancellor one last time.” He pointed to his surprised son. “I trust that, in due time, you will support him as you would me.” Again the great crowd roared their approval.

“There are a few in the Empire who believe that we should not have declared war on the Turks. 'We should be content with our lot.' and 'the Turks are harmless' are but two of their slogans. I do not have to tell you about the numerous and repeated provocations of the Turks, or of their hatred for Germany and her people!” Once more the crowd cheered wildly.

“I shall explain what our true goals are for the war. There are some in the opposition who would be content for us to seek peace with the evil Sultan Kassim. They feel that the war will drag on for years, perhaps even decades, and they have a naive and misguided trust that somehow all will be well if we simply leave the Turks alone.”

“I have a different and far better vision for the future of the Empire! I intend to see to it that the Empire supports our valiant troops as they smash the Turkish defenses! We shall not stop now, while the Turks are on the ropes! I can assure you that our victories at Samarkand, at Aksu, at Tashkent, and many other places are not mere accidents. I wish to see Prinz Helmut rightfully take my place as Chancellor in a little more than six years time as the rule of the German Empire spans the globe! All that stands in our way of this glorious future for all mankind is the evil Sultan Kassim and his vile minions! I will tell you today what I told the German people a generation ago during the first Turkish War. There shall be no peace so long as the Sultan still lives!”

The shouts and cheers of the great crowd quickly began to coalesce into the ancient German battle cry. Realizing the inevitable, the Chancellor merely raised his hands high as the roar of the crowd seemed to reach the very heavens above.

“VICTORY OR DEATH! VICTORY OR DEATH! VICTORY OR DEATH!”
 
OOS: Great point, tR1cKy! I'll have to see if I can work that into
Spoiler :
the Chancellor's next inauguration speech.


Good to hear from you as well, GreyCIV! Your namesake battlecruiser still has a role to play in the story.

I may be out of town over part of the weekend, though I hope to get the next update posted sometime Sunday, or Monday at the latest. Planned installments for next week include:
Spoiler :
espionage in Samarkand, a movie premiere, and a birthday ball.
Stay tuned, everyone! :)
 
September 12, 890 AD

A nondescript house
Occupied Samarkand
Dusk


Agent Vonn stirred as three knocks sounded on the door. Hopefully that is the right man! He glanced at his Mauser pistol on the table and pressed the electric switch, and the door unlocked with a soft click. “Nine to seven,” he said.

“Seven to five,” said the newcomer, completing the countersign.

“Welcome, Agent Tricky.” The electric lights came on, revealing an ordinary looking sitting room. “Do sit down. The Abwehr has need of your particular skills once more.”

“Yes, sir.” The visitor took a seat as he was directed. “I was hoping to meet you again.”

“I see. To business, then. There are two specific areas that I think you may be suited for. The first involves the new telegraph office in Aksu.” Agent Vonn pushed a copy of a message form across the table. “This was sent to a suspected resistance cell in Izmit. Do not be deceived by its commonplace language.”

“What does it truly mean, sir?”

“That is what we'd like to know, Agent Tricky. I for one do not think it is a coincidence that both cities had large concentrations of Turkish soldiers in the vicinity. We know the identity of the clerk in Aksu who sent the message, but we do not yet know whether he was a mere innocent bystander or more deeply involved in the Turkish spy ring.”

“That is most interesting, sir. What is the other option?”

Agent Vonn's face hardened into a grim line. “The other is a more personal matter for me, and involves one of your former countrymen. He was once an Abwehr agent, and provided us with vital information on several occasions. I myself met with him in my capacity as Military Attache on several occasions. However, we also know that he gave Songhai military secrets to the Turks prior to the Songhai War, no doubt hoping to line his pockets by playing both sides.”

“What? Then why was this traitor not dealt with years ago?”

“The short answer, Agent Tricky, is politics. He sought refuge in the Turkish Embassy just before the fall of Timbuktu. It was decided at the highest levels to let him go for the moment, rather than risk Turkish intervention in the Songhai War. We know he returned to the Emniyet, with the codename Agent Seljuk, but we lost him a year or so ago.”

Agent Tricky thought for a few moments. “I might have an easier time maintaining my cover in Aksu, sir. After all, it would be easy for IT&T to transfer me to the Aksu office, now that it is no longer on the front lines.”

“I agree.” An large envelope was slid across the table. “Everything is arranged. Your train tickets and a picture of the clerk I mentioned are in the envelope, together with some background information. You will report to the telegraph office in Aksu on 8:00 a.m. Monday morning. Any questions?”

“No, sir!”

“Excellent. We will arrange to contact you in Aksu should we develop any other relevant information, using Procedure Siegfried. Good luck and Godspeed!”

"I shall not fail, sir." With that he saluted his superior officer and left at once. Agent Vonn was left in thought for quite some time after he left. How are we going to find the traitorous Agent Seljuk?
 
September 28, 890 AD

Hut #1, Stalag 1
24 klicks SW of Leipzig, Germany
8:00 a.m.


“Attention! All prisoners will report for morning inspection!” The twenty prisoners in Hut #1 groaned a bit, but in a very short time all were standing in front of the barracks as usual. Former Ambassador Tarkaan was the first to be counted by Sgt. Krupp and his team of guards.

“Any special orders today, Sgt. Krupp?” asked the Ambassador genially. He had volunteered to remain behind, even after the prisoner exchange for the rest of the former Embassy staffers had been completed, and was held in high regard even by the camp guards.

“Just one. You are requested to meet with the Commandant at once,” replied Sgt. Krupp. “And, before you ask, I have no idea why.”

“Lead on, then.” Presently the two men arrived at the Commandant's office. The elderly German Foreign Minister was there, along with a young man in a dress uniform of an older style, whom the former Ambassador did not recognize.

“Good morning, Ambassador,” said the young man, a little nervously. “I am Prinz Franz von Bismarck, elder son of Prinz Helmut.”

That explains the uniform, then! “A pleasure to meet you, even under these circumstances,” replied the Ambassador aloud. “What brings you here to Stalag 1?”

“Perhaps, Ambassador,” said Commandant Waud, “I should give a little background. We discovered, after examining our records, that a Consul Atak had been taken prisoner at Tashkent shortly after that city was liberated.”

“Conquered, you mean,” replied the Ambassador bitterly.

Commandant Waud waved off the Ambassador's comment. “In any event, it appears the good Consul Atak provided a false name when he was originally taken, which is why he was not sent here to Stalag 1 in the first place, and why he was not exchanged with the other diplomatic prisoners.”

“An interesting story, Commandant Waud,” said the Ambassador. “Perhaps the better question is what does this have to do with me?”

The Commandant gestured to Prinz Franz. “We have reason to believe that the good Consul can help us with an inquiry today. However, since he was once a diplomat, he may not be officially interrogated. Our laws and customs of war do not prohibit him from merely being asked questions on an unofficial basis. That, Ambassador, is what I propose to do now. You were asked to come here as a witness to the process.”

Ambassador Tarkaan considered the point for a few seconds, while everyone else waited for his reply. Surely the Consul is far too wily to give this boy whatever information he seeks! “Then, Prinz Franz, you may proceed, so long as the rules of prisoner treatment are not broken.”

Commandant Waud pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Send the prisoner in.” A few moments later a somewhat disheveled Turkish prisoner entered, flanked by two guards. “Consul Atak, I presume? I am Prinz Franz von Bismarck.”

“What do you want?” was the curt reply.

“We have reason to believe, Consul Atak, that you can help us locate a Turkish agent, in the former Songhai Kingdom.”

“And you think I will simply betray my people! Forget it! I am a Turkish diplomat, and I know my rights under treaty. Your threats against me will be useless!”

“There shall be no threats, Consul,” replied Prinz Franz. “We do not expect you to betray your people. What you may not know is that Agent Seljuk gave information both to our man in Timbuktu and to the Sultanate. He is a traitor to both our nations. He was living in Samarkhand as of early last year, but then we lost track of him.”

“What then do you offer in return, O boy Prinz?” said the Consul, in a friendlier tone of voice.

“We are prepared to overlook your earlier...er...misstatements as to your true identity, Consul Atak.” The Prinz paused for a moment. “This assumes, of course, that you can in fact help us.”

“No.” The Consul's expression turned resolute. “Release the Ambassador, and I'll tell you everything about Agent Seljuk.”

This time it was the Ambassador who objected. “What? Consul, I am needed here, to assist my unfortunate countrymen!”

“Sir, you have done more for the Sultanate as a prisoner of war than anyone could have possibly imagined a year ago. Surely you deserve this chance at freedom.”

Ambassador Tarkaan thought for a few seconds, and then turned to the Foreign Minister. “Minister von Offenbach, what if you kept me in custody and released Consul Atak instead? You know quite well that I am needed here.”

The Foreign Minister merely pointed to Prinz Franz, who looked quite confused for a moment before he recovered. “A noble gesture, to be sure, Ambassador Tarkaan. Perhaps it would be best for Consul Atak to reveal the information in question first. We are quite willing to leave the decision as to which of you to release in your hands.”

Everyone now looked to Consul Atak, who sat silent for several long seconds. “Then we shall hold you to your word, Prinz Franz. Do not think that I am betraying my people or our agent, however. Agent Seljuk is now beyond even your Chancellor's reach. He did indeed live in Samarkhand as you have said. However, he died in August last year, of a burst appendix.”

“What?” stammered the Prinz. “How do you know this?”

Consul Atak smiled at the Prinz. “I attended his funeral, in secret of course. I knew him well from my own service to the Sultanate in the former Songhai Kingdom. Now, when will Ambassador Tarkaan be released?”

The Prinz turned an angry shade of red. “You are trying to trick us, Consul, just as you lied about your true identity!”

“Perhaps, Prinz Franz, we could make a few inquiries, now that we know what to look for,” suggested the Foreign Minister. “It should not take long to confirm Consul Atak's story, and it will provide time to determine whether he or the good Ambassador Tarkaan should be released. I suggest you and I return in three days time and conclude this matter then.”

“Very well, Minister,” conceded the Prinz. “We shall live up to our end of the deal, assuming of course that Consul Atak has told us the truth. We shall return on Friday.”
 
OOS: I'm still not satisfied with the next update, but I hope to have it polished up and posted sometime Tuesday. Upcoming planned installments include:
Spoiler :
bad news for Prinz Franz, a movie premiere, and a barbarian attack.
Stay tuned, everyone!
 
September 28, 890 AD

Grand Central Station
Berlin, Germany
4:30 p.m.


“Attention!” squawked the overhead public address system. “The Leipzig Express has just arrived on Track 29.”

Lady Notburga von Bismarck sighed as she stood up, holding a white letter in her right hand. Her eldest son Franz was coming back home, after his first true diplomatic mission. I wish I had better news to tell him. Presently she saw the incoming travelers from the express, and among them were the elderly Foreign Minister and her son. The latter's face lit up as he saw his mother waiting for him.

“It is good to be back, Mother,” said the Prinz as he embraced her. “I only wish that I had better news to tell Father.” Lady Notburga was taken back by her son's unconscious echoing of her own thoughts, and scarcely heard the Foreign Minister's comment. “I must go to the Ministry, Prinz Franz, and see whether we can verify Consul Atak's claims.”

“Of course, Minister. Will you be coming to the Palace tomorrow?”

“Most certainly, Prinz Franz. Until tomorrow, then.” He bowed politely to Lady Notburga and duly took his leave.

“Did something go wrong with whatever your mission was, son?” asked Notburga once the Minister was out of earshot.

“Not wrong, exactly, Mother. It was not the result I had hoped for or expected.” The Prinz finally noticed the envelope that his mother was carrying. “What is that?”

“I'll explain once we get to the car.” Presently they did just that. It was only once they were underway that Lady Notburga spoke. “Franz, we have heard from Birgitte.”

“Did something happen to her, Mother? Please, tell me!”

“It is not like that, Franz. It appears that Birgitte has...chosen to take the veil. She has been accepted into the Missionaries of Charity mission in New Heidelburg. You must have known that she was considering joining a convent for some time.”

“She...did what?” replied the Prinz in complete shock.

“I think that is why her father asked her to accompany them to North America. They had hoped she would change her mind. Of course, Birgitte can be most stubborn sometimes.”

“Did I do something wrong, Mother?”

“No, no, dear. This is not your fault.” She paused for a moment, and then checked the security panel in the staff car. “Franz, there is a reason why you received that strange message from your grandson in the future. He would have known that Birgitte would do this.”

“Then why didn't he warn me!” asked the Prinz angrily.

“He couldn't, Franz. The message was too short to do so, for one thing. It was more important for him to assure you that you would one day become a grandfather, and that your heir would one day rule the Empire as Chancellor.” The staff car lurched once as it came to a stop just outside the gates of the Palace.

“So what do I do now, Mother?”

“Now,” replied Lady Notburga as the huge iron gates swung open, “you will speak with your grandfather, and tell him all about this secret mission of yours. Then, you will write Birgitte a gracious note. You must let her go, Franz.”

“I suppose you are right, Mother,” said the Prinz as the car stopped in the Palace courtyard. “I never dreamed this would happen.”
 
Hey,

OOS

You finally got me, MTB4884. I posted my first post in this very forum. From there to PBEM to NES but always coming back to see the tales & stories. In all that time I never thought of reading your tale. You see, I became bias after reading Coinich's World War I... in 2051 A.D.!?!? , falsely believing that a Civ story without pictures wasn't worth my time. You changed that. Though a map of the Empire would be nice. :cheers:

The few time traveling posts of White Scout Leader has pulled me in. Just something about Girls & Panzers, tigers I mean. :D Had to look that game up. The knowledge that there was a earlier time event has me starting at Post #1. Plus the history of wars for your Empire looks interesting. Though I don't get email updates anymore I have subbed your great history.

Your story has replaced Kdramas as my new source of enjoyment.


Blaze Injun
 
OOS: Thanks, Blaze Injun! :) :blush: I'm a fan of Coinich's magnificent story as well. Sadly, my home computer and its slow internet connection are not yet up to the task of putting proper graphics, let alone Coinich's wonderful pictures, into the story. Sooner or later, I should be able to add that, even if the story itself is over.

I'm glad you liked the adventures of White Leader and his valiant Panther crew as well. I've put in a number of "off-the-game" installments into the story, though some are actually based on some in-game incidents which are unique to Kal-El's mod.

Next update coming right up!
 
September 30, 890 AD

Imperial Palace Theater
Berlin, Germany
7:45 p.m.


“PANZER VOR!” ordered Marshall von Rommel onscreen. The Chancellor, along with most of his family, was watching the latest film of Franz Kapra intently. He did not notice the Palace chamberlain discreetly approach until the latter man said, in a quiet voice, “Your pardon, my Chancellor. Ministers von Landscheid and von Offenbach are here to see you and Prinz Helmut.”

“Very well,” sighed the Chancellor in reply. “Helmut and I will meet them in my study in a few minutes.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, Franz, I think you had best come with us.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” he replied. “What about the film?”

“I think I know how it ends,” replied the Chancellor with a smile. “We must go. It would never do to keep the Ministers waiting unnecessarily.” All three duly went upstairs to the Chancellor's study, where the Foreign and Military Ministers bowed to their leader as usual.

“My Chancellor,” began the Foreign Minister, “we have made a few inquiries based on the information Consul Atak gave us. There was indeed a funeral at the relevant time, which was kept quite confidential. However, we cannot absolutely confirm that the traitorous Agent Seljuk was the one buried on that occasion, though it is quite likely.”

“It is a pity that he escaped German justice,” mused the Chancellor. “I suppose the question now is whether to release former Ambassador Tarkaan or not.”

“Should we not release the Consul instead, Grandfather?” piped up Prinz Franz. "Ambassador Tarkaan himself certainly preferred that option."

“I tend to agree with Prinz Franz, my Chancellor,” said the Foreign Minister. “After all, the former Ambassador helped prevent a riot at Stalag 1 when news of our victory at Samarkhand arrived. It is quite possible that his diplomatic skills will be needed again as the war continues.”

“Very well, then, Ludwig. We shall release the Consul. I shall want a discreet eye kept on him, however. He attempted to deceive us during the Songhai War, and again once he was taken prisoner. Such a man is not to be easily trusted.”

“A wise precaution, my Chancellor,” said the Military Minister.

“All right. Franz, you may return downstairs, then. Hopefully the movie is not quite over.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” replied the young Prinz Franz as he rushed out of the room. The Chancellor turned to the Military Minister once he had left. “So, Hans, you have further news of the war?”

“Not exactly, my Chancellor,” replied the Military Minister. “We have received reports from our scouts near Edirne that Turkish troops are moving south, instead of west to attack the newly occupied city. We do not, however, know why.”

“Could the Sultan be attempting to flank the city, Minister?” suggested Prinz Helmut. "They may also hope to attack our railway workers extending the rail line."

“Perhaps, Prinz Helmut. However, most of these Turkish troops are foot soldiers. There are even a few light spearmen divisions. We will be ready to resume our attack long before they can hope to get into position.”

“That brings up a good point, Hans," said the Chancellor. "How soon do you expect to resume our offensive?”

“I should like to request another three or four months, my Chancellor. We will need at least that long to rest and refit our own forces, so that we can strike with the full might of the Empire.”

“Then so it shall be. Thank you both for coming in this evening, especially you, Ludwig. I fear you will have to report to the Palace quite early indeed so that you and Franz can reach Stalag 1 by noon tomorrow.”

“Just so, my Chancellor,” said the Foreign Minister.

“All right, then, gentlemen. Dismissed.”


*(Lit.-Tanks Forward!)
 
October 22, 890 AD

West Balcony, New Topkapi Palace
Bukhara, Turkish Sultanate
Dusk


Sultan Kassim Timur-Lenk, latest of his line to rule the Turks, scowled as he looked westwards towards the setting sun. He could not see the expanding siege lines of the Germans, though he knew all too well that they were slowly but surely encircling his new capital city. It is only a matter of time before the Germans attack in force!

A small noise from just behind him caught his attention. “Yes, Rasoul?” asked the Sultan, without turning around.

“O wise father,” replied Prince Rasoul, “we have news from Tashkent. The Emniyet has confirmed that former Consul Atak is now in the city, having been released from German custody.”

“And what of it, Rasoul? The Consul once fled the collapsing realm of the Songhai when the Germans attacked, and now he has betrayed the Sultanate to save his own skin.”

“We think not, O merciful father.”

The Sultan turned at the confident tone in his son and heir's voice. “What makes you so certain, Rasoul, that the Consul is still loyal?”

“Two things, O patient father. First, we have the report from former Ambassador Tarkaan. He states that the Germans were seeking to find the late Agent Seljuk. Consul Atak succeeded in tricking the German Prinz Franz simply be revealing that Agent Seljuk was in fact dead. It took all the Ambassador's efforts to convince the Consul to agree that he, and not the Ambassador, was to be the one released.”

“Really, Rasoul? Consul Atak tried to convince the Germans to release Ambassador Tarkaan, and only reluctantly allowed himself to be set free in his place?”

“Exactly, O wise father.” The Prince smiled for the first time. “I have even better news from the good Consul. He was able to send a covert aviary message to the Emniyet, and has a most interesting plan, subject to your approval of course. The evil German Chancellor will hold a coming of age ball for his grandson Prinz Franz in early December this year. It may be possible for the Sultanate to bring a suitable maiden thither. At the very least, we may be able to learn vital information about the security of the German Imperial Palace which may be of the greatest use to us.”

Sultan Kassim considered the matter for a few moments. “I would have preferred a more direct approach, Rasoul. Still, we have little to lose and much to gain by making the attempt. Tell the good Consul Atak to proceed at once, and keep me informed as to our progress.”

“I hear and obey, O prudent father.” Prince Rasoul bowed politely to his father and leader, and then took his leave. The Sultan remained on the balcony as the sun finally sank below the horizon and the stars appeared in the night skies of Bukhara. There must be something else I can do to stop the Germans and restore the fortunes of my people!
 
November 24, 890 AD

INN Studios
Berlin, Germany
9:58 a.m.


“Thank you again, Minister,” said the radio host, “for filling in today.”

“That is quite all right, Herr Gruner,” replied the Military Minister, after checking his lapel mike. “Minister von Folich has always been quite amenable when the situation was reversed, and so I am happy to help. I should say that I do not have his experience in domestic matters, so I may not be able to answer certain detailed questions.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Minister.”

The last few seconds ticked away, and a red light came on just at the stroke of ten. “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to another edition of “Face the Empire!” I'm your host, Heinrich Gruner. We expected the Domestic Minister, Axel von Folich, to appear today, but unfortunately he had to cancel at the last minute. Fortunately, however, Military Minister Hans von Landscheid has graciously agreed to appear in his place. Welcome to the show, Minister.”

“It is my pleasure, Herr Gruner.”

“I suppose the first question our listeners want to know is whether Chancellor Otto will be reelected for an eighth term next spring.”

“Well, Herr Gruner, this is not precisely my field of expertise. I can say that the Domestic Ministry is quite confident that our beloved Chancellor will win reelection quite easily, particularly since the outbreak of war with the Turks.”

“Ah, yes, about that, Minister. We have not heard much lately about the progress of the war, or of further victories. Why is that?”

So much for the easy interview I was promised! “I must be somewhat cautious in my answers, Herr Gruner. I can say, however, that our forces have done very well in a very short time. The Turks, like the Songhai before them, are learning the true meaning of lightning war!”

“And what are our goals in this war, Minister?”

“It is not I who sets such things, Herr Gruner. I can say that the Turks have been hostile to us for decades, and that the Empire is far safer if the evil Sultan is no longer capable of mounting a serious threat to the Empire.”

“Yet Sultan Kassim still lives, and undoubtedly is plotting revenge against Germany even now.”

“That is true to a point, Herr Gruner. The ancient Turkish capital of Samarkhand has already fallen to Germany's tanks. He can run, but he cannot hide!”

“That is most reassuring, Minister. To change the subject for a moment, I had heard from the Domestic Minister's staff that a few new projects were underway.”

“Naturally, Herr Gruner,” replied the Military Minister, as he took a notebook from his pocket. “The Imperial Arts programs which were used extensively in the final war against the vile Mahatma will be renewed as we battle the Turks. Shipments of fine furs, long denied to the Empire by the machinations of the Sultan, are being distributed even now in the markets in our major cities.”

The radio host acknowledged the wave of the radio producer with a slight nod. “I am also told that there will be a coming of age ball for the young Prinz Franz in a few weeks. Could you tell us a little more about it?”

“I shall try, Herr Gruner. Typically candidates for the ball were most carefully considered, and only a most select few were actually given invitations. I am told that at least some fifty invitations will be made available to any interested eligible maidens, though I do not have all the specifics at this time. More information will be forthcoming through the Domestic Ministry shortly.”

“And, that's all the time we have this morning, Minister. Thank you for coming today.”

“My pleasure, Herr Gruner.” The red light went out overhead as the Minister turned off the lapel mike. “It is a pity I did not know earlier that I would be asked to appear on the show today. I hope I did not confuse any of your listeners.”

“I doubt that very much, Minister. I suspect that the Domestic Ministry will receive quite a few inquiries about the ball next month.” The radio host smiled. “No doubt a few of them will listen to INN in the hopes of finding out more about it.”

“I wish you success with that, sir,” replied the Minister.
 
December 9, 890 AD

Chancellor's Office, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
3:58 p.m.


Lady Notburga was worried as she arrived at the office. She had only been here a handful of times, even though she had been the daughter-in-law of the Chancellor for more than twenty years. Something must be terribly wrong if the Military Minister asked me to meet him here! “Good afternoon...er...Gunter,” she said to the chief clerk. “Has Minister von Landscheid arrived yet?”

“Not yet, Lady Notburga,” replied Gunter, “though we expect him at any time. He is always most punctual.” A single set of footsteps could be heard in the corridor, and a moment later the Military Minister walked in. There was a hint of nervousness behind his serious expression. “Is something the matter, Minister?”

“It is a most delicate situation, Lady Notburga.” Turning to the chief clerk, he asked, “Is the Chancellor in his office?”

“Oh yes, Minister. He is expecting you. Please, go right in.” One of the Imperial Guardsmen standing post as usual opened the inner office door.

“Good afternoon, Hans,” said the Chancellor as they walked in. Lady Notburga in particular was surprised that neither of the usual Imperial Guardsmen were standing post in their wall niches. “I trust you have news of importance today?”

“Yes, my Chancellor,” replied the Minister, bowing to his leader as he did so. “It concerns the ball tonight. We have long suspected that the Turks may be attempting to infiltrate it. One of our Abwehr agents, working in Aksu, has intercepted a message which we believe details their plan. There are three possible candidates who will attempt to do so. Unfortunately, we do not know their names or physical descriptions. We know only that their invitation numbers are 13, 29, and 41.”

“What!” cried Lady Notburga. “You must stop them, Minister!” She sat down next to her husband, Prinz Helmut, who gave her a reassuring smile.

“We are working on that even now. We have two basic options, my Chancellor. We could simply order the Guardsmen to stop anyone whose invitations contain the relevant numbers for further questioning and investigation.” The Minister paused, and his nervousness deepened. “However, my Chancellor, I would prefer to allow them entrance.”

“But that will endanger Franz! You cannot do this!” insisted Lady Notburga.

“There is some risk,” said Prinz Helmut. “I take it, Minister, that your plan is to identify these individuals, with a view towards unraveling the rest of this Turkish spy ring and determining what their precise plot might be.”

“Precisely, Prinz Helmut,” replied the Minister.

Everyone looked to the Chancellor for his decision. He paused for a few moments, and then pressed the intercom button. “Gunter, find Prinz Franz, and tell him to come to my office at once.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor,” said Gunter, and the line clicked off.

“I think,” said the Chancellor, “we should ask Franz before involving him in all this. He deserves to know the true situation if he must stand into danger.”

“Why can't we just stop these evil Turkish traitors at the doors of the Palace! God only knows what their evil plans are.”

“It may be more complex than that, Lady Notburga,” said the Military Minister. “It is quite possible that the Turks knew or suspected that we would intercept their message, and so are attempting to distract us from their real intentions. Only by allowing them entrance will we learn anything helpful. We must also avoid alerting the Turks that we can break at least some of their codes.”

“I agree with the Minister, Father,” said Prinz Helmut, “though I do not want to see Franz in any danger any more than you do. One who will someday lead the Empire must be willing to do his part for the Empire. We ask much of our troops as they battle the Turks on behalf of the Empire. I have no doubt that they would gladly trade places with Franz if given the chance.”

“A good point, Helmut.” A knock at the door caught everyone's attention. “Come in!”

Prinz Franz duly came in, and looked surprised for a moment at the sight of his parents, together with the Military Minister. “Grandfather, is there something wrong with the ball tonight?"

“Not wrong, exactly, Franz. I shall ask the Military Minister to explain.” The Minister duly repeated what he had already reported to the Chancellor.

“I will gladly volunteer to meet with the suspects as the Minister suggests, Grandfather,” said Prinz Franz when the Minister had finished. “Besides, I think the danger is minimal. The..er...message I received from my future grandson proves it.”

“And just how do you know that?” asked Lady Notburga with some asperity. “What if these evil Turks try to assassinate you, as they tried to kill your grandfather a year ago?”

“Simple, Mother. The Turks will not kill me tonight. My grandson would not, or perhaps more accurately will not exist, if I do not survive the ball.”

The Chancellor smiled at his grandson. Truly Franz will make a fine Chancellor someday! “Then so be it, Franz,” he said aloud. “I will of course insist that every reasonable precaution be taken."

“Quite so, my Chancellor. I myself will be here, with your gracious permission, and I will speak with Colonel Voglen after this meeting.”

“Very well.” The Chancellor pressed the intercom button. “Gunter, please send the usual Guardsmen back into the office.”

“At once, my Chancellor,” was the instant reply.
 
December 9, 890 AD

Imperial Palace Ballroom
Berlin, Germany
9:15 p.m.


Lisle Oberlin took another look at the dance floor as she sipped from a glass of punch. I expected this to be different, somehow! She was one of five maidens who had won the right to attend the coming of age ball for Prinz Franz von Bismarck thanks to the Imperial News Network contest. A dozen other maidens, presumably selected by the Imperial Palace staff, were also in attendance. The Prinz was just finishing the classic “Blue Danube Waltz” with one of her competitors.

“Is something wrong, Miss Lisle?”

She turned at her chaperone's comment. “No, Guardsman Schwartz, not exactly. I just...didn't know what to expect at the ball. I didn't even know that each of us would have her own chaperone.”

“That was Minister von Landsheid's idea, Miss Lisle. He insisted that special precautions had to be taken. I have no doubt the others have similar feelings,” replied the Guardsman confidently. “You will come to no harm tonight.”

“I suppose not, since you are here.” Lisle looked at her dance card for perhaps the tenth time tonight, as if the text would somehow change upon repetition. She was scheduled for the next dance at 9:30, after a short break for refreshments. She looked up in surprise to see the Prinz himself approaching, with his most recent dance partner in tow.

“Good evening, Miss Lisle,” he said. “Miss Greta has asked to see the throne room during the break, since she has never been to the Palace before. Perhaps you would care to join us?”

“Why certainly,” she stammered, barely remembering to curtsy as she did so.

“Excellent,” said the Prinz. “If you will follow me, then?” The Prinz duly led the way, followed by a smiling Miss Greta and a rather nervous Lisle. The two Guardsmen chaperones took up the rear of the little procession three paces behind. Lisle could not quite contain a gasp of surprise as the group entered the magnificent throne room.

“It is rather overwhelming, I suppose,” said the Prinz kindly. “After all, I have had the good fortune to grow up here at the Palace.”

“What are all those curious items along the wall?” asked Miss Greta.

“Ah. Those are what you might call a few souvenirs of the Empire. Each one has a story.” The Prinz moved over towards the south wall, followed by the two ladies. Even the two Guardsmen at the door turned their attention to the Prinz as he began his explanation. “This little piece of wood, for example, was once part of the stern of an infamous pirate frigate called the Eustace. She was defeated in battle by the Wotan's Spear long ago.”

“And the rugs?” asked Greta.

“Those were given to the Empire during happier days of peace and tranquility. That particular rug,” continued the Prinz, pointing to the one on the right, “was given to Chancellor Konrad by Sultan Achmed when he first took office.”

“Then why is it woven in a Persian...” Miss Greta put her hand to her mouth as she realized her critical mistake.

“You are right, Miss Greta,” replied the Prinz in a much more menacing tone. “I lied deliberately, to set a trap. I thought it was strange that you alone of the candidates asked to see the throne room. I have only one question of you. How did you rig the INN contest so that you could gain admission to the ball?”

“He helped me,” said Miss Greta angrily, pointing at Guardsman Schwartz. Only Lisle noticed that Miss Greta's right hand moved into the bodice of her dress as everyone else stared at the shocked Guardsman, who began to stammer out a denial.

“Look out!” cried Lisle as she threw herself between Miss Greta and the Prinz. A stabbing pain shot up her left side as the hilt of the thrown dagger lodged in her dress. Lisle scarcely heard the gunshots as the Guardsmen, their doubts resolved, opened fire on Miss Greta. The would-be Turkish assassin gave a groan as she fell dead to the throne room floor.

“Are you all right, Lisle?” asked the Prinz, putting his arm around her. A red stain was forming around the dagger hilt. “Get a doctor, NOW!” he ordered. Someone, whom Lisle didn't see, rushed out of the throne room.

“Don't blame..Guardsman Schwartz,” gasped Lisle. “He...is innocent.”

“I know, Lisle,” replied the Prinz tenderly. “I never dreamed this would happen.” His voice seemed to be coming from farther and farther away as the Prinz turned to the nearest Guardsmen. “Gunter, get some bandages, quick!” At least Prinz Hans is safe was Lisle's last thought as her vision dimmed and faded to black.
 
December 10, 890 AD

IGSA Otto von Bismarck
One half lightyear from Alpha Centauri
7:30 a.m.-ship's time


Cultural Minister Axel von Folich sighed as he shut off the automatic alarm clock on his nightstand table, moving with instinctive care in the zero-gravity environment. He had volunteered to lead the German expedition to Alpha Centauri, arguing that his status as one of the seven Immortals of the Empire meant that he could do so more easily than others. He had also argued that he was the most expendable of the Immortals should the spaceship come to grief somewhere in deep space far from home. It had taken days of discussion and argument before the Chancellor himself had agreed to let him go.

The launch of the von Bismarck had been greeted with cheers throughout the Empire and around the world. Even the Abyssinians had reluctantly congratulated the Germans on their success, despite being hard at work on their own competing spaceship program. He had stayed with the skeleton crew of the Bismarck through the initial stages of the trip, and had been the one to oversee their entry into the cryogenic pods once the spaceship had left the solar system and had accelerated using the von Einsteininan drive to half lightspeed. Everything had gone according to plan.

For the last nine years he had been the only man awake aboard ship, making copious notes in his journals and transmitting regular video reports back to Earth. Though alone, he was not bored. The holographic library and entertainment facility was more than sufficient to keep him occupied. His chess playing skills had certainly improved while aboard the spaceship. Adapting to zero gravity while the ship was in deep space had been his most difficult challenge, but one he had mastered years ago.

“Daily diagnostic complete, Minister,” announced the computer in its robotic voice, breaking into his reverie. “All systems are functioning within standard specifications. The braking maneuver is scheduled to begin in exactly 38 minutes from now.”

“Thank you, computer,” replied the Minister. He had long ago decided to respond to the ship's computer as if it were a real person. At least we will have gravity back once the initial braking maneuver begins! He took a little longer than usual getting ready, knowing that cameras would record every detail of his historic actions.

Presently the Minister made his way down a short hall from his quarters to the cockpit. He had spent nearly ten years aboard Bismarck, and yet the sight of the thousands of switches and knobs and buttons never failed to impress him. “Time to braking maneuver, computer?”

“Eight minutes, nine seconds and counting, Minister,” was the monotone reply from the computer.

“Excellent. Give me a countdown beginning at one minute.” The Minister made sure the cameras were on, and then went over the various display panels. Everything looked fine, so far as he could tell. All the primary systems were functioning normally. The bad pump he had replaced yesterday on the #5 fuel cell seemed to be working correctly now.

Finally the computer's voice came back on. “Begin braking maneuver in sixty seconds.” A display on the center console showed the seconds ticking away as the Minister quickly made his final checks and strapped himself into the center seat, checking the exterior cameras. His last action was to turn on all the shipboard microphones. “Ready for maneuver, computer,” said the Minister aloud.

“Five..four..three..two...one...Begining braking maneuver.”

Two carefully controlled bursts of flame emerged from the thrusters, slowly changing the trajectory of the massive spaceship, which was still traveling at half lightspeed. The Minister carefully watched the starfield shift, exactly as the simulations had predicted. The test message from Earth faded into oblivion as the main antenna rotated out of position. It took a full six minutes before the ship was oriented 180 points from its previous configuration.

“Orientation confirmed,” said the computer voice.

“Computer, start main ion engines,” ordered the Minister, “in five...four...three...two...one...Now!”

Ion chambers on the aft end of the spaceship glowed with energy, and for the first time in nearly eight years the velocity gauge numbers began to change. The Minister felt the sudden weight as the apparent gravity, which had been missing for nearly eight years, returned. He turned his head, with a little difficulty, confirming that the rate of deceleration was steady at 10.3125 meters/second and that the ship's apparent gravity was at Earth normal. Once again, everything appeared to be going to plan.

“Braking thrust holding firm,” said the computer. “ETA in seven months.”

It is a pity that it will take nearly four years for the news of our success to reach home! “Thank you, computer. Adjust main antenna and lock in on the test message from IGSA.”

“Adjusting main antenna,” acknowledged the computer. A slight hiss could be heard as the antenna began to turn. Suddenly a loud static roar came over the speakers for a moment, and then disappeared once again.

“What was that, computer?”

“Insufficient data, Minister,” was the robotic reply. “Sensors detected a radio signal at 1490 cycles in the Ka band.”

The Minister thought for a few moments. A radio signal! We must have missed that before, since the main antenna was always pointed at Earth. Still, I must reestablish contact with IGSA as soon as possible. Seconds later the warbling test pattern came over the main speakers. The Minister listened patiently for a full minute before the pattern abruptly ended and a new and familiar image appeared on the main viewscreen.

“Good morning, Axel,” said the familiar voice of his Chancellor. “It is the morning of February 16, 860, though it should be December 10, 890 by the time you hear me. I trust you and the crew of the Bismarck are well. Everything is fine here in Berlin and in the Empire. We all have the greatest confidence in you, and have no doubt that you will succeed in your colonization mission. Good luck and Godspeed!” The viewscreen returned to the starfield outside the spaceship, though the telemetry reports continued, confirming radio contact with IGSA was being maintained.

“Computer, can you detect the previous unknown radio signal with the auxiliary antenna?”

“Negative, Minister,” replied the computer. “It will be necessary to reorient the main antenna to do so. We would also lose contact with IGSA if that was attempted.”

Now what? Do I break contact for a few minutes, or a few hours, and try to find out what that signal was, or simply proceed with the mission?
 
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