Blood and Iron: The Conquests of the Chancellor

[MTB4884]

OOS: Oddly enough, tR1cKy, Lady MTB4884 asked much the same question (minus the Futurama reference).

I can't reveal everything just yet, but I can say a few things, even on April 1st. Will Lisle Oberlin survive after all? Why IS there a spaceship in the story when Imperial Germany doesn't even have rockets yet? Does MTB4884 actually have a plan for "Blood and Iron"? Stay tuned, everyone!

 

[MTB4884]

December 11, 890 AD

Imperial Palace Infirmary
Berlin, Germany
Noon

At first Lisle Oberlin was conscious only of a dull ache in her left side. It seemed to take an age before she could open her eyes. She was still trying to understand why the walls and ceiling looked different when a young man's voice came to her. “Lisle? Are you awake?”

She turned towards the sound. As her vision cleared she realized that Prinz Franz was standing there, with an anxious expression. He was still wearing the formal suit and coat which she had seen at the ballroom dance. “Yes,” she managed to croak.

“You gave us quite a scare, Lisle,” replied the Prinz. “Dr. Kneibel tells me that you should be up and around in a day or so.”

“Where...am I?” she asked.

The Prinz smiled for the first time, as Lisle realized that he had a shadow of a beard on his chin. “You are here in the Palace, in the infirmary. It was the least we could do after your heroic actions.”

Recognition suddenly flooded over her. “Oh! Then, the spy is dead?”

“Yes,” said the Prinz grimly. “You need not be concerned for your safety, however. No further harm will come to you.”

Lisle shivered a little at the echo of Guardsman Schwartz's words. “And my chaperone? Is he all right?”

“Quite so, Lisle. It was clever of the spy to attempt to mislead us in such a fashion.” A serious expression came over his features as he continued, “I shall not underestimate the Turks again.”

A knock sounded at the door. “Come in!” said the Prinz. Even he looked surprised to see his father, Prinz Helmut, and his grandfather, Chancellor Otto von Bismarck himself, enter the infirmary. “I trust you are feeling better now, Miss Lisle?” said the Chancellor genially.

“Oh yes, my Chancellor,” she blushed. “Forgive me for not getting up.”

All three men chuckled at her comment. “That is quite understandable, Miss Lisle, given your condition,” replied the Chancellor. “I wished to express my own thanks and gratitude for saving my grandson's life. It is not often that a Chancellor incurs a debt which he cannot easily repay.”

“My pleasure, my Chancellor,” she said as another knock sounded at the door. “Come in!” said the Chancellor.

This time an older man in a white coat entered. “I am sorry, my Chancellor. Miss Lisle will need rest and quiet now.”

“I understand, Dr. Kneibel,” replied the Chancellor.

“Don't worry, Lisle,” said Prinz Franz as he and his father and grandfather left. “I'll be back later to see how you are doing.” He closed the door behind him in time to see the chamberlain rush down the hall. “Forgive me, my Chancellor. Minister von Bohr is here to see you and Prinz Helmut. He said it was most urgent.”

“Why does the Science Minister wish to see us, Father?” asked Prinz Helmut.

“A good question, Helmut,” replied the Chancellor as he turned to the chamberlain. “Please ask the good Minister to meet us in my office.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor.” The chamberlain rushed off to carry our his orders, as the Chancellor turned to his grandson. “Franz, I think Lisle will appreciate that you waited by her bedside until she woke up from surgery. However, it is high time that you changed out of that formal wear. A shave might be in order as well.”

“Of course, Grandfather.”

 

[MTB4884]

December 11, 890 AD

Chancellor's Office, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
12:15 p.m.

Chancellor Otto von Bismarck and his eldest son Prinz Helmut duly arrived in the office to find Science Minister von Bohr waiting for them. “Good afternoon, Niels,” said the Chancellor. “Your message said you had urgent news this day?”

“Certainly, my Chancellor,” replied the eminent scientist, as he bowed politely to his leader. “We have been working diligently for years on a method of connecting computers from one part of the Empire to another, and now we are ready for a full-scale test. If this works, we can use this method to connect all of the computers across the Empire to each other, within a very short period of time. It will of course take a good deal of effort to make this a glorious reality.”

“A fine effort indeed, Niels,” said the Chancellor. “Is there some reason, however, why this could not have waited until the usual War Council meeting?”

The eminent scientist looked oddly at his leader. “Oh. We will need to use the Radio Room, here at the Palace, as part of the test. We will need to make contact with the computers at the Hartz Mountain Observatory, as well as the mainframe computer at the Tor Research Laboratory. Our astronomers at the Observatory have detected some anomalous signals, and we hope to be able to use all three facilities to triangulate their origin point.”

“Triangulate?” asked the Chancellor.

“A simple method of mathematics, my Chancellor. We need at least three data points, separated by a known distance from each other, and then we work out the equations...”

“Enough, Niels,” said the Chancellor firmly. “I will take your word for it with respect to the technical details.” His face clouded as he continued, “You mentioned anomalous signals. What, exactly, are they? Could they be sent by the Turks?”

Again the Science Minister looked oddly at his leader. “I think not, my Chancellor. Why would the Turks do such a thing?”

“The Minister is right, Father,” put in Prinz Helmut. “The Turks do not have radio technology as we do, to the best of our knowledge. Our wartime successes have surely put this knowledge even further out of their reach.”

“Unless their accursed spies steal it from us,” replied the Chancellor grimly. “Still, Niels, your proposal has merit. Proceed as you think best with this..computer project of yours.”

A third time the Minister looked oddly at his leader. “My Chancellor,” he finally said, “the experiment I spoke of should begin within a few minutes. The signals which the Observatory has detected begin at 12:23 precisely, and end six minutes later. Perhaps you and Prinz Helmut would care to go to the Radio Room to observe the experiment?”

“Very well, Niels,” said the Chancellor, getting up from his custom-made office chair. “Then let us go to the Radio Room. I should like to hear this strange signal myself.” He smiled as he continued, “It has been a long time since I have been involved in such a thing. I remember assisting Meister Kleist in his electrical experiments when I was a boy.”

All three men duly went upstairs to the Radio Room. Both the Chancellor and Prinz Helmut were surprised to see Prinz Hans already there, talking with one of the technicians. “Hello, Father,” he said as they entered. “We are almost ready.”

“Then proceed, if you please.” The Science Minister walked over to one of the consoles and made a few adjustments. A low, steady hiss came out of the main speakers as he explained, “The signal should begin in a few moments, my Chancellor.” Suddenly a new, high pitched sound came over the speakers, unlike anything the Chancellor had heard before. It seemed to repeat every two or three seconds in a regular pattern. “Niels, what is causing this?”

“We do not know for certain, my Chancellor,” replied the Minister, intent on the instruments. “Both Harz Mountain and Tor Research confirm they are receiving the signal at 1490 cycles in the Ka band.”

“Then it is not interference from a local radio station?”

“Impossible, my Chancellor,” said the Minister. “Such interference would only affect one of the three test locations. It appears that all three locations are receiving the same signal.”

The Chancellor stood for a few seconds simply listening to the strange sounds. They reminded him a little of chirping hummingbirds. “I suspect, my Chancellor,” said the Minister, “that these sounds are a hitherto unknown natural phenomenon. There is much about astronomy which we do not yet know.” His eyes were bright with excitement as he continued, “Still, the computer links are all working perfectly. This signal will help us calibrate future links with ease!”

At least someone is happy about this! “I am pleased to hear that your plan worked as intended. Helmut, perhaps we should get back to work now.”

“Your pardon, Father, but I believe the Science Minister said the signal will only last for six minutes.” Prinz Helmut pointed to the wall clock. “Could we not wait, to see whether the triangulation effort will be successful?

“I suppose so.” Suddenly the chittering sounds ended, and a single steady note replaced them for a few seconds, and then disappeared into static and white noise. “What happened, Niels?”

“I am not certain, my Chancellor,” replied the Minister. “Both of the other stations report loss of signal as well. The signal should have lasted for another two minutes and twelve seconds.” He thought for a few moments. “The angle of deflection is very tiny, well within the margin of error. Clearly the source is somewhere quite distant.”

“Just how distant, Niels?” asked the Chancellor tentatively.

“Several million klicks at the minimum, my Chancellor. We shall have to continue our observations tomorrow, when the signal returns.”

“At least this is not some strange plot by the Turks,” mused the Chancellor. “Very well, Niels. Keep at it, and keep us informed of your progress.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor.”

 

[MTB4884]

December 20, 890 AD

Family Quarters, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
Noon

“Miss Lisle,” announced the chamberlain. The Chancellor and his family smiled as Lisle duly entered the informal dining room. She curtsied, a little clumsily, to her leader. “Ah. Good afternoon, Miss Lisle,” said the Chancellor genially.

“Thank you, my Chancellor,” she replied, a little nervously. She was still quite pale, but she looked much better after resting in the Palace infirmary for the last week. “It is good to finally be up and around.”

“It was the least we could do, Miss Lisle,” replied the Chancellor. “Do have a seat.” She duly sat down as two waiters brought in a set of plates for lunch. “Wurstchen! Oh, I love this, my Chancellor! How did you know?”

“Father spoke with your family yesterday when they were here,” explained Prinz Franz. “They told us of your...er...liking for Wurstchen. We thought you might appreciate this after the rather frugal fare of the infirmary.”

“Oh, I do, Franz,” she replied as she eagerly took up her knife and fork. A knock came at the door, and the chamberlain spoke with someone just outside in a low tone for a few moments. “Your pardon, my Chancellor,” said the chamberlain. “Minister von Landscheid is here with news. He also asked that Miss Lisle be there as well.”

“Me?” said Lisle with alarm. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not wrong, necessarily, Miss Lisle. The Military Minister may have information of import concerning the Turkish assassination attempt.” He sighed for a moment as he stood up. “Tell the Minister that Helmut, Miss Lisle, and I will meet him in my study at once.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor,” replied the chamberlain. Lisle could not help looking downcast at her lunch for a moment before she followed the Chancellor and Prinz Helmut to the Chancellor's study. The Military Minister was already there, and bowed to his leader as they entered.

“You have news, then, Hans?”

“Yes, my Chancellor. First, one of our...er...men in Aksu intercepted what we think as a coded Turkish telegram. Someone was clever enough to send the message by clipping into the line some twelve klicks south of Aksu. The message was sent in one of the former Turkish diplomatic codes, which we cracked some time ago.”

“We can do that, Minister?” said Lisle.

“Indeed we can, Miss Lisle,” replied the Military Minister. “I will of course ask that you not repeat any of this to anyone else. The message confirms that the spy ring failed, and requests further instructions. Unfortunately, the means for doing so is merely stated as 'Procedure Reis' without further explanation."

“Let me get this straight, Hans,” said the Chancellor. “We think the spy ring will receive further orders from the Emniyet, but we are not certain how those orders will be conveyed to the Turkish agents in question?”

“Precisely, my Chancellor.”

“I see. You will make every effort to find and neutralize this spy ring, then, Hans.” The Chancellor then turned his attention to Lisle. “I fear, Miss Lisle, that it will be prudent for you to remain here in the Imperial Palace for a little while longer.”

“There must be something we can do, Minister,” said Prinz Helmut.

“We shall work most diligently on the problem, Prinz Helmut,” said the Minister. “I have one specific idea in mind, though it will require Miss Lisle's cooperation and assistance.”

“Anything, Minister,” said Lisle. “I want to see those evil Turks brought to justice!”

“Very well, then, Miss Lisle. My plan is to have one of my female agents, who happens to resemble you, return to Alfeld with your parents. She will even wear the same sort of clothes, the better to fool the Turks, while you remain safely at the Imperial Palace. We can then set the trap for the Turkish spy ring.”

“But, Minister, what if they come after my parents and younger brother?”

“It is possible, Miss Lisle, but unlikely. A discreet watch is already being kept on your family. The Turks are not fools, and are only likely to make their move if they think you are alone and vulnerable. It is of course possible that the Turks will not make such an attempt.”

“I think it is worth a try, Hans,” decided the Chancellor, “so long as Miss Lisle is agreeable.” She nodded yes in agreement. “Of course, Minister. Can I at least tell my parents what is going on?”

“Do not worry about that, Miss Lisle. I myself will explain what they need to know.” The Chancellor spoke up after a brief silence. “Then proceed, Hans. Is there anything else?”

“One other matter, my Chancellor. Marshall von Kotke reports that our siege forces at Bukhara are readying for an assault on the city. He believes all should be ready by mid-January.”

“Excellent, Hans. Tell the good Marshall to proceed with the attack at his discretion. Thank you for coming in this afternoon. Dismissed.” The Military Minister duly bowed to his leader as usual and left the study at once.

“I suppose we should go back now,” mused Lisle. “It is a pity that our lunch will be cold by the time we return.”

“Not at all, Miss Lisle,” said the Chancellor with a smile. “It is not uncommon that news of the war, in particular, comes in at inconvenient times. Lady Notburga is most diligent about keeping a few extra plates warm for just such occasions.”

“My wife has quite a gift for domestic matters,” said Prinz Helmut with a smile. “She took over that section of the Palace years ago. It is a pity that she will probably never receive any public recognition for her efforts.”

“Well, Prinz Helmut,” replied Lisle, “please tell her that I appreciate her efforts!”

“Gladly, Miss Lisle.”

 

[MTB4884]

January 3, 900 AD

War Council Meeting Room
Berlin, Germany
10:00 a.m.

Chancellor Otto von Bismarck called the meeting to order, as he had done so often over the years as leader of Imperial Germany. “Hans, I expect that you have a detailed report to make to the Council today. I will ask you to keep it as short as possible.” He coughed once as he finished the order. “I fear that I may have caught another cold,” he said, a little sheepishly.

“I hope not, my Chancellor,” replied the Military Minister. “Lights!” A slide was projected onto the wall as the Minister began. “We now have two army Corps within striking distance of Bukhara, where the Sultan has set up his new capital. Several Panther tank divisions will soon be ready to assist. The Corps can begin their assault within the week at your order.”

“Then the order is given, unless there is some objection?” No one spoke, and whatever doubts might have lurked among the Council members were invisible in the darkness. “Very well then, Hans. Please continue.”

“Certainly, my Chancellor. There is a sizable enemy force near Edirne, with at least a dozen divisions in the remote woods of the area. We propose to attack them with bombers before finishing them off with Panther tanks. Our bombers will be more effective and useful here then against fortified troops in a major city.”

“Excellent. Do proceed, then.”

“Yes, my Chancellor. Once Bukhara falls, we will proceed north to the Sultan's remaining fur producing regions in south-central Siberia. Their loss will be a bitter blow indeed to the Sultanate. We shall also proceed against other targets as they present themselves.”

“A logical plan, Hans. You may proceed as you have said. Lights!” Everyone blinked for a few moments as the lights came back on. “I'm sorry, Hans. I should have asked if there was anything further to report.”

“One minor point, if I may. An INN staffer, one Raimund Stoffler, who worked on the contest drawing for eligible maidens to attend Prinz Hans's coming of age ball was found dead late last night in the Hamburg docks. It appears to be a case of murder. He of course was one of several who were suspected of being involved in the assassination plot against Prinz Hans.”

“Wait a moment, Minister,” broke in Prinz Helmut. “Are you telling us that the Turks murdered their own agent? What on earth for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Prinz Helmut, but it is entirely possible that the Emniyet, fearing that we would unravel more of their spy network, chose this drastic action to frustrate our own efforts at counterintelligence. It is also possible that this was the Sultan's brutal way of expressing his own displeasure at the failure of his agents.”

“Now that I can believe, Hans,” said the Chancellor. “How typical of the evil Sultan, to repay the loyalty of his own people with such a dark betrayal.” He scowled as he continued, “You will continue to work on uncovering the enemy spy network.”

“Of course, my Chancellor.”

“Very well, then. I have a brief question of the Foreign Minister before we get to the Domestic Ministry's report. Ludwig, do we know the state of Turkish morale, now that they have lost so many cities in battle?”

“It is difficult to say for certain, my Chancellor,” replied the Foreign Minister. “I have consulted with Hans, and we both agree that there is no sign of any significant weakening at this time of Turkish morale. No doubt, however, that can change as the war progresses.”

“And as we conquer more of the Sultan's cities,” put in the Military Minister.

“Very well. Axel, I believe you have a report to the Council?”

“Yes, my Chancellor.” The Domestic Minister now took over the podium. “Public opinion within the Empire in support of the war remains at very high levels. I can confidently predict that you will easily win reelection as Chancellor for an eighth term with some 80% of the vote. I should caution, however, that public opinion will eventually turn against the war if it is prolonged.” The Minister looked a little uneasy, but said nothing further.

“That is not surprising, Axel. I recall you and your predecessors have said similar things during the previous wars of the Empire. Still, I shall not permit the Turks to plot and scheme against the Empire when Helmut deservedly takes my place in six years time. The attempted assassination of Prinz Franz is merely the final proof, if such a thing was needed, that we must continue the war.” The Chancellor glanced around the table, but no one said anything.

“Very well, then, everyone. Is there anything else?” The Science Minister, to the Chancellor's unspoken annoyance, raised his hand. “I do have some good news to report, my Chancellor. While we were not successful in identifying the mysterious astronomical signal from our test of three weeks ago, we did confirm that the computer links worked perfectly. I have spoken with my Domestic Minister colleague, and we recommend diverting the production of Leipzig to create an organized network, to allow computers throughout the Empire to connect with one another. Our tentative name for this network is the "Internet". Best of all, we should be able to finish the project within a year or so.”

“Excellent, Niels. Are there any objections?” Again no one said anything. “Very well. I want you and Axel to work out the details, and proceed as you have said. Meeting adjourned.” Everyone stood as usual as the Chancellor left the War Council meeting room.

The Science Minister was gathering up his notes when Prinz Helmut approached him. “Minister, do we have any idea what that strange signal was at all? Is it possible that it is some scheme of the evil Turks?”

“Impossible, Prinz Helmut. The signal originated somewhere in deep space.” The Minister sighed as he continued, “I cannot help but think that we missed something important. I did not want to go into details in view of your father's condition.”

“A prudent move, Minister. I'm certain that you are the best man in the Empire to determine what this signal might be. Perhaps this 'Internet' you spoke of will help us find the answer.”

The Minister's face brightened at this. “I think you are right, Prinz Helmut. Our research efforts will be improved considerably throughout the Empire. We shall be able to discover things in days which might have taken weeks otherwise! It will be a glorious time for the Empire!”

“It will be better still when the Turks are finally conquered,” replied the Prinz. “Thank you for explaining all that to me.”

“Any time, Prinz Helmut.”

 

[MTB4884]

January 9, 900 AD

German Siege Line
1 klick SW of Bukhara, Turkish Sultanate
Dawn

“Are you sure about this, Marshall?”

Marshall von Kotke, field commander of German forces at Bukhara, scowled at his aide. “It is a little late, Gunter, to be questioning the attack plan. Berlin wants this city captured at once. We have the numbers to do it alone. He turned to his radiomen, who were waiting for his instructions. “The order is given! For Bismarck and for Germany! CHARGE!”

A few hundred meters away, nearly eight thousand cavalry troopers of 6th Corps obeyed the radioed orders of Marshall von Kotke and began the dangerous ride towards the enemy city. The huge walls, twenty meters high in places, teemed with thousands of finely trained guerilla soldiers, the pride of the remaining Turkish army. They knew they were the last, best hope for the Turkish people and for their beloved Sultan.

The dying started a hundred meters away from the walls. The Turkish defenders had the advantage of cover and concealment, while the attacking cavalry troopers were in the open. Still, there were simply too many Germans to stop so easily. The majority reached the base of the city, under withering Turkish gunfire. Some threw nylon grapples, lighter and thinner than the rope they replaced, up to the top of the wall, while others stood off, trying to give some measure of cover fire for their comrades. Exploding artillery shells merely added to the chaos.

A carefully trained team of sappers began to set twenty kilogram explosive charges at the base of the reinforced city gates. Nearly half their number were shot down, dead or dying, before they had finished their work. Several dozen went off simultaneously, and for a few seconds nothing could be seen but dust, debris, and shattered stone.

Marshall von Kotke heard the blast from the siege line. “Send in 3rd Corps!” Eight thousand knights, armed with sword and flails as their fathers and grandfathers had been, charged at the now destroyed city gates. They expected a fierce battle at the gates and the fall of Bukhara, just as many other enemy cities had fallen to the German Empire. The enemy gunfire even diminished as their war horses trotted over the broken remnants of the gates.

Inside they discovered that the Turks had foreseen the destruction of the city gates. Every building facing the city wall was crammed with enemy soldiers. Turkish rifles and guns were readied from every window as the knights of 3rd Corps advanced. Knights and their steeds cried out as the inner Turkish defenses opened fire. Even worse, at an unseen Turkish signal, many of the enemy troops on the wall simply turned around and fired on 3rd Corps. The knights were caught in the open, with no real defenses, and it was only a matter of a few minutes before the retreat signal was sounded.

The survivors of 3rd Corps returned back through the shattered gates. Outside they realized the situation was getting worse. Few of the cavalry troopers attempting to scale the walls reached the top, and those lucky enough to succeed found themselves surrounded by Turkish troops.

It was the troopers of 6th Corps, acting on their own judgment and experience, who prevented a German retreat from turning into a complete rout. They fired at the Turkish defenders, forcing them to keep under cover as much as possible, while the unprotected knights of 3rd Corps raced off for the safety of the siege line a klick away. Many of these troopers paid for their valor with their lives.

Marshall von Kotke knew from the fragmentary radio reports that things were bad. It was not until he saw the retreating knights through his binoculars approaching the siege lines that he realized the true scale of the situation. Perhaps a fourth at most of the men who had charged at the city at the start of the battle still lived, and many of them were wounded. He dropped the binoculars into the mud in shock. “My God, Gunter! What am I going to tell Berlin?”

 

[MTB4884]

January 9, 900 AD

Family Quarters, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
7:30 p.m.

“How is Father doing, Dr. Kneibel?” asked Prinz Helmut. Military Minister Hans von Landscheid was standing just behind him. The usual two Guardsmen were standing post at the door to the Chancellor's quarters.

The Palace physician sighed. “A little better, I think. Still, there is some risk of a relapse, particularly for a man of the Chancellor's age. You may go in, gentlement, but you must be brief.” He looked uneasily at the Military Minister. “It would be best to avoid any...undue shocks.”

“We understand, Doctor,” replied the Prinz, as he knocked on the door of his father's quarters. “Come in!” came a weak voice from within. The Chancellor coughed once as the Prinz and the Minister entered. “Good evening, my Chancellor,” said the Minister, bowing to his leader as he did so. “I regret the necessity for interrupting your rest at such a time.”

“That is quite all right, Hans,” replied the Chancellor. He shifted position, noticing the expression on his faithful Minister's face. “Has something happened in the war?”

“I fear so, my Chancellor,” said the Minister. “There was a major assault by 3rd Corps and 6th Corps on the Turkish citadel at Bukhara early this morning, local time. Unfortunately, it appears that they were unable to overrun the Turkish defenses.” The Minister paused for a moment. “Both Corps suffered terrible casualties, and both will be out of action for at least a year, perhaps more.”

“That is to be expected in war, Hans. You have warned me repeatedly that the Turks are a dangerous and unpredictable foe in battle.” The Chancellor closed his eyes for a moment, and coughed again, before continuing. “I will not hold you responsible for the failure of the initial assault, Hans. You will continue the siege of Bukara, and plan for a second attack as soon as possible.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor. I shall, with your gracious permission, consult with Prinz Helmut on the subject while you are recovering from your illness.”

“A good plan, Hans. Approved.” The Chancellor closed his eyes again, and then opened them at the sound of another knock at the door. “Come in!”

Domestic Minister Axel von Folich entered, and nodded to his colleague as he bowed to his leader. “Your pardon, my Chancellor, for disturbing you. I regret that I must be the bearer of bad news this evening.”

“You would not be the first, Axel,” replied the Chancellor dryly. “What is it?”

“It...is a magazine article, in “Young Ladies”, which is being printed even now. Lady Notburga will be most upset indeed. They have publicly revealed her pen name in the article, despite our request not to!”

“Pen name, Axel?” asked the Military Minister in some confusion.

“Ah. Lady Notburga has written several books on cooking and the like, but has always used the pen name of Ulhrike Schmidt. She has never liked the limelight, and this will be most distressing to her to see her work become public knowledge.”

“I fear you are correct, Minister,” said Prinz Helmut, as he clenched his fists in anger. “Notburga has done nothing to deserve this! How did that wretched magazine find this out? I would like to shut that worthless rag down myself.”

“Tell the people the evil Turks revealed this information to the magazine,” said the Chancellor, with his eyes closed, leaning back into his pillow. “Now, if that is all, gentlemen, I should like to get a little rest now.”

“Certainly, Father,” said the Prinz in a gentle tone. Both Ministers duly bowed to their leader, and all three went outside. “Do you think Father is right?” asked Prinz Helmut once they were well out of earshot of the Chancellor's room.

“In point of fact, yes, Prinz Helmut,” replied the Domestic Minister. “We can use this to great advantage here at home. The public will believe the evil Sultan's minions are now reduced to finding out purely harmless information about Lady Notburga, since they are unable to discover secrets with any real military value. This will serve to harden public opinion against the Turks. It may also have the side effect of turning public opinion against the magazine, since they have refused the Ministry's request to identify their source.”

“I should call that a fortunate bonus, Minister,” said Prinz Helmut after a moment's thought. “I suppose that is why Father appointed you Domestic Minister some years ago. At least it will make Notburga feel better about the matter. Thank you both for coming in this evening.”

“It is our pleasure, Prinz Helmut,” said the Domestic Minister, as his colleague nodded in agreement. “Shall I proceed with...notifying the proper people of the...er...Turkish involvement?”

“By all means, Minister,” replied Prinz Helmut with a smile.

 

[MTB4884]

January 14, 900 AD

New Topkapi Palace
Bukhara, Turkish Sultanate
Dusk

Once again Sultan Kassim Timur-Lenk was standing on the west balcony of the Palace, looking out over what would surely be the temporary capital of the Sultanate. He heard, rather than saw, a small noise behind him as the door opened. “Yes, Rasoul?”

“O patient Father,” said the Crown Prince, after bowing politely, “I have spoken with General Aziz, who confirms that the Germans do not appear to be preparing for another cavalry assault on Bukhara. We gave them such a beating that it will be months before they can strike again.”

“Until they bring in their flyers and their terrible Panthers,” mused the Sultan. “We are still vulnerable here, despite our victory.”

“We thought of that, O wise Father,” replied the Prince. “Two emergency tunnels are being dug even now, with their exits well outside the German siege line. They should be ready by the end of January. We shall be able to escape, even if the Germans somehow get past the defenses which stopped two full German Corps. Personally, I doubt they will ever be needed. The people's morale is as strong as ever. We need only hold out long enough for our Sipahi units in the east to return in force to the homeland.”

If they ever do! Aloud the Sultan merely said, “Then so it shall be. One other question before you go. What of our spy ring in the Empire?”

“We have not heard further from them, O great Father. It is only to be expected that the Germans will do whatever they can to find and stop them. They know the situation quite well, and they have the intelligence and experience to do what they can for the Sultanate.”

“I trust you are right, Rasoul. That will be all.” The Crown Prince bowed again to his father, relieved that he had not been asked any other questions, and retreated the way he had come. The inside of the converted German consulate was fairly cramped, particularly compared to the magnificence of the original Topkapi Palace. He met General Aziz just at the bottom of the main staircase.

“You have a report, O General?” asked the Prince.

'Yes, O patient Prince,” replied General Aziz nervously. Prince Rasoul knew the look on the General's face all too well from previous experience. He must have more bad news, and is reluctant to tell Father about it. “Come into my office, then.” General Aziz duly followed the Prince into what was once one of the staff offices of the Consulate.

“All right, General. What is the bad news this time?”

The General actually winced at the Prince's words. “We have received an aviary report from Balkan less than half an hour ago. The pigeon which brought the message here was badly injured, from a German rifle bullet. German scouts have been sighted in the woods south of the city, along with more Panther tanks. We have but two divisions defending the city.”

“Then Balkan will probably fall, General,” said the Prince in a grave tone. “Still, the more forces the evil Chancellor sends against outlying cities, the fewer he has to send here against the new capital.” His voice softened as he continued, “I will tell Father of this myself. Your defense of Bukhara has saved us all so far, and the attacks of the Germans are not your fault.”

“Thank you, O Prince,” replied General Aziz, the relief evident in his voice. A sudden knock came at the door. “Yes?” asked the Prince.

A uniformed officer came in, and, after saluting his General, said, “An aviary message, from Askarden, O General. They report sighting German cavalry units approaching the city, and request any available reinforcements.”

“We have none to send them,” replied the General. “However, Askarden is well defended with riflemen and guerillas, and that will be more than enough to stop a few cavalry soldiers.” The Prince noticed that the messenger looked very nervous, but said nothing further as he saluted his superior officer and left at once.

“I trust you are right about Askarden, General. We have lost so much already, and we cannot afford to lose any more ground to the Germans, even if we are safe here.”

“We shall do all that can be done, O Prince.” said General Aziz solemnly.

 

[MTB4884]

February 1, 900 AD

Movie Theatre, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
9:12 p.m.

“Any last words?” growled the villainous Songhai General Ali to the two leads onscreen.

“You may have won this fight, General,” replied the dashing Lt. Schmidt, played by the veteran actor Klaus Zeletmann. “You will, however, lose the war, and you and your foolish King will disappear into the pages of history within the year.”

“It will be even sooner than that,” said Miss Marlene, pointing out the window. “Those are German Panthers, coming to rescue us even now.” Suddenly the mood was broken by a knock on the theatre door. Now what? “Come in!” said the Chancellor aloud.

The chamberlain duly came in, and bowed quickly to his leader. “I'm sorry to disturb you, my Chancellor. Minister von Landsheid is here with news of the war.”

“Can't it wait for a few minutes, Father?” said Prinzessin Elsa. “The movie is almost over, and you know what Dr. Kneibel said about you taking it a little easier.”

“I must set a good example as Chancellor,” was her father's response. “It would never do to delay the Military Minister unnecessarily. Rudi, tell the good Minister to come down here to the theatre. No doubt he might like to see the end of the film as well.”

“As you command, my Chancellor,” replied the chamberlain, and departed at once on his errand. A few seconds later he returned, with the Military Minister just behind him. The Minister stopped short upon seeing the Chancellor's family, most of whom were looking at him balefully. “My apologies, my Chancellor. I could certainly wait a few minutes.”

“No, no, Hans. Let us hear the latest news of the war.”

“Er...yes, my Chancellor. I am pleased to tell you that tanks from the 5th Anatevka Panthers have broken through the defenses at Balkan. The city is now under German control. We have quite a few damaged tanks, mostly broken tracks and the like, but relatively few casualties.”

“Excellent, Hans. That is just the news I wanted to hear. So, I trust you have plans to press forward to Bakharden?”

“Indeed, my Chancellor,” replied the Military Minister, looking a little nervous. “Our latest intelligence is that the latter city is rather poorly defended with only two garrison divisions. Marshall von Rommel reports that our tanks can be in position to attack the city within the next week or so. Even better, once Bakharden falls, the last Turkish fur producing regions near Uskudar will be vulnerable to our attack. Their loss will be a bitter blow indeed to the Sultan.”

“Does that mean, Minister, that we might all get another fur coat?” asked the young Prinzessin Traudl. “I do hope so!” Even the Military Minister cracked a rare smile at her comment. “I could not say, Prinzessin Traudl. That will be up to your father and grandfather.

“Then, Hans,” replied the Chancellor, “you will give the good Marshall von Rommel whatever tank support he may need to proceed with this plan. And yes, Traudl, I think we shall all get another fur coat once our forces succeed.” The Chancellor smiled at his faithful Minister as he continued, “That goes for you as well, Hans. Surely you have earned it.”

For the second time the Military Minister looked a bit surprised, though he recovered quickly. “Thank you, my Chancellor. That is most generous of you.” Another knock sounded at the door. “Come in!” said the Chancellor.

The chamberlain came in, and bowed once again to his leader. “Your pardon, my Chancellor. Minister von Bohr has arrived and requests to see you at once.”

“I'll never get to see the end of this movie at this rate,” mused the Chancellor. “Very well, Rudi. Send Niels down here at once.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor,” replied the chamberlain. Presently the Science Minister arrived, and, like his military colleague before him, looked uneasy at the Chancellor's assembled family. “Er...my Chancellor, I was not told that you were not alone.”

“That is quite all right, Niels,” replied the Chancellor genially. “Now, you have news to report?”

“A request, actually, my Chancellor. You will of course recall the test we conducted in the Palace itself a few weeks ago. We at the Imperial Science Ministry have analyzed the anomalous signal we detected, and there appears to be a regular, repeating pattern. There is some disagreement, but most of the experts believe that the signal is...artificially generated.”

“Is the signal some sort of message, then, Minister?” asked Prinz Helmut.

“Quite possibly, Prinz Helmut. In any event, we propose that we make efforts to confirm such a thing. The plan is tentatively called the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. We could, by diverting Constantinople's factories to this project, complete it within three years or so.”

“And what if this is a natural signal after all, Minister?” replied Prinz Helmut. “We would then waste years of work with nothing to show for it.”

“I think not, Prinz Helmut,” said the Science Minister. “We could, at the very least, greatly improve our astronomical knowledge, with all sorts of ancillary benefits to our overall research programs. After all, our existing navy is more than sufficient to deal with a few small barbarian galleys in distant reaches of the oceans.”

“I agree, Niels,” decided the Chancellor. “Besides, I think we cannot afford to take the chance that this mysterious signal is some sort of message. I want you and Axel to work out the details, and proceed on this SETI program you mentioned.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you and Hans would care to stay for the last few minutes of the film?”

“We should be delighted, my Chancellor,” replied the Military Minister, as his colleague nodded in agreement. “Indeed, my Chancellor.”

“Then,” said the Chancellor with a smile, “I shall get to see the end of the film after all.”

 

[MTB4884]

OOS: I'm not yet satisfied with the next installment, but I hope to have it polished up and posted sometime Friday. Planned updates for the next week include:

Spoiler :

a medical decision, a city attack, and more military planning.

Stay tuned, everyone!

 

[MTB4884]

February 21, 900 AD

4th Regiment, 5th Anatevka Panthers
1 klicks west of Bakharden, Turkish Sultanate
Dawn

The coded dots and dashes came over the radio in the cramped Panther tanks. “Sir, it's Regimental command,” said the command tank radioman. “They want to know if we are in position.”

Colonel Weiss thought for a moment. “Send this, Lt. 'Diversion force in position. Ready to attack on your command.'” A new series of coded beeps came over the internal radio net a few seconds after their message was sent. “From Regimental command. Message acknowledged. New orders: For Bismarck and for Germany! Attack!”

Regimental HQ certainly didn't waste any time. Colonel Weiss duly turned the radio to local broadcast. “All tanks forward to designated positions!” 24 Panther tanks followed Colonel Weiss's command unit in the early morning light through the dense forest towards the enemy city. Fortunately the Panthers were maneuverable enough to avoid large trees and tough and strong enough to roll over or crush any smaller obstacles in their path. The small western gate of Bakharden was soon visible, a hundred meters or so beyond the edge of the forest.

“All tanks in position, Colonel!” reported the radioman.

“Excellent. Send to all diversionary tanks. Fire at will!”

The Panther tank regiment did just that, following their preplanned objectives. The western gate hung askew after the first volley, and crashed to the earth after the second, along with most of the guard towers along either side. At first only a few scattered rifle shots answered the German attack. Colonel Weiss was beginning to think that the diversion had failed until he saw, through the viewfinder, hundreds of men clambering over the rubble toward the Panther force at the treeline. “All units, hold position. The Turks are attempting a sortie!”

A wild melee ensued, with machine guns and flamethrowers on one side, punctuated by the occasional main tank gun round, and concentrated rifle fire and grenades on the other. Many of the Turks never even reached the treeline to get within effective range of their targets. Some particularly brave enemy guerillas managed to damage the tracks of a few Panthers, only to discover that an immobilized tank was still as invulnerable to rifle fire as ever, and could still fire its own weapons, particularly at close range.

The tide of battle changed with a sudden roar as a large section of the city wall of Bakharden crashed outwards, followed immediately by the sight of German Panthers emerging from within the city itself. Turkish guerillas, now caught between two regiments of German tank and with nowhere to run, fought hard to the last, but had no real chance, and the last of the organized resistance near the destroyed western gates ended within the hour.

“New message from HQ, Colonel!” reported the command tank radioman. 1st and 2nd regiments have taken the City Hall. Bakharden is ours!”

So, the plan the generals in Berlin came up with actually worked in the field. “What of our own casualties, Lieutenant Schmidt?”

“Relatively light, sir. 15 of the regimental tanks are still fully operational. At least eight have damaged tracks, and will be stuck here for awhile.”

A small price to pay for the capture of an entire city! “Very well, then, Lieutenant. Get the Motor Pool men up here as soon as you can, along with what medical staff we can spare.”

“At once, Colonel!” was the instant reply.

 

[MTB4884]

Ed. This update references an in-story incident, which is recounted more fully in posts #452 and 453.


March 19, 900 AD

Imperial Science Ministry
Berlin, Germany
11:30 a.m.

Dr. Alberich Schweitzer was getting impatient. He had been waiting for the Science Minister in the anteroom for half an hour, and yet there was no sign of him. All the office staff could tell him was that “the Minister is in a Council meeting” and could not be disturbed. Three other scientists, undoubtedly busy with their own pet projects, were also waiting in the anteroom.

Finally, a single set of footsteps came down the hall. “Ah, good morning, everyone!” Minister von Bohr went over to the desk clerk. “Has Dr. Schweizer arrived yet?”

“I am he, Minister,” said Dr Schweizer, getting up from his chair.

“Ah. Welcome to the Ministry. I am sorry to be late, but the Council meeting ran a little long today. All the planning needed for the war, of course.” He sighed for a moment. “It is a difficult task to be a Minister during wartime.”

At least you get to spend the war here in Berlin, instead of on the front lines or in a field hospital! Aloud Dr. Schweitzer replied, “No doubt, Minister.”

“Well, come on back to the office,” said the Minister, and the two men duly did just that. “So, you have a medical research proposal to make today?”

“Just so, Minister.” Dr. Schweitzer took out a file from his valise. “Are you familiar with the barbarian attack at New Lahore just after the second Indian War?”

The Science Minister's genial manner vanished at once. “Yes, Doctor,” he finally said. “My wife's sister and most of her family perished at the hands of those savage barbarians. Elke only survived because there was not room for her and her mother aboard the last transport ship to New Lahore. The barbarian attack was one of the darkest days in the history of the Empire.”

“I am sorry, Minister. I did not know that you had a personal connection to the matter. I have made a preliminary examination of our records of the disaster. While some two-thirds of the colonists perished in the assault, the barbarians were killed almost to a man.”

“That, Doctor, was due to the military retaking of the city,” replied the Minister, in a carefully controlled voice.

“Not so, Minister,” said Dr. Schweitzer firmly. “A military expedition was indeed sent aboard the galleon GNS Wuhjah. What is not generally known is that the riflemen aboard Wuhjah did retake the city, but not by force. All they found was a few surviving colonists and a vast horde of dead and dying barbarians. The public was simply told at the time that the city was retaken, and the details were largely lost and forgotten during the immediate postwar period. The sudden attack by the Turks upon Germany two years later diverted public interest away from India for years, and so few in the Empire today even remember that this incident occurred at all.

“And what, Dr. Schweitzer, has all this to do with your proposal?” asked the Minister, bringing the discussion back on track. “Why are you bringing all this up decades later?”

“I think what actually happened, Minister, was that the barbarians did overrun New Lahore, causing terrible damage and loss of life. However, the colonists had their revenge after all, in a way. The primitive barbarians had no immunity to certain diseases, such as cholera and diphtheria, which were largely eliminated in the Empire by that time. They were killed, not by gunfire, but by plague and disease. We may be able, by careful exhumations, to verify all this.”

“And what good will it do to bring all this up now, after all these years? Cannot these poor innocent people rest in peace?”

“The good, Minister, if I may say so, is that we can demonstrate what really happened. We can show the German people that the field of medical research is indeed useful and needed. We may even be able to learn details which can aid our various current research projects today.”

It took the Minister several seconds to reply. “I think it is worth a try. I would like to see some good come out of the New Lahore disaster. Write up your proposal, then, and I will talk to the necessary people so that this project can begin as soon as possible.”

“It shall be done, Minister. And...thank you.”

“Don't thank me, Dr. Schweitzer. Thank poor Ursula, Axel, and Otto, who died all those years ago.” The Minister's genial manner returned as he continued, “Will you send Dr. Stein in? I still have many other matters to attend to.”

“Of course, Minister.”

 

[MTB4884]

April 2, 900 AD

Family Quarters, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
8:30 p.m.

Chancellor Otto von Bismarck and most of his family were relaxing in their quarters, listening to the radio reports of the election returns which were coming in from all over the Empire. Miss Lisle, newly affianced to Prinz Franz, was the only one who seemed particularly nervous. “Is it always like this, Franz?” she asked.

“Generally, yes, Lisle,” he replied. “I would not be too concerned, however. Grandfather has been leading by at least 4-1 margin in all of the preelection polls.”

“It used to be much more tense on election night, Miss Lisle,” said the Chancellor genially. “I can remember the old days, when the Throne Room was converted into the temporary election headquarters. We even had aviary pigeon coops set up in the Imperial Palace during my father's time.”

“I'll bet the maintenance staff are glad those days are long over, my Chancellor,” replied Miss Lisle, to the general amusement of everyone in the room. The mood was broken by a knock on the door. “Come in!”

“Your pardon, my Chancellor,” said the chamberlain. “Ministers von Bohr, von Folich, and von Landscheid are all here to see you.”

“Now that is unusual,” mused the Chancellor. “Rudi, please ask the Domestic Minister to come in first. Helmut and I will meet the others in my study shortly.”

“As you command, my Chancellor,” said the chamberlain, bowing to his leader before departing on his errand. Presently the Domestic Minister, with a beaming smile, came in. “Congratulations, my Chancellor! It appears that you have easily won reelection to an eighth term. I have just spoken with Councillor Bergen, who confirmed that he will be giving his concession speech within the hour.”

“Now that is good news, Axel. Is there anything else about the election I should know, before I speak with your Ministerial colleagues?”

“One minor point, if I may, my Chancellor. It appears there was a large write-in vote for Prinz Helmut, though of course he was not running. So far he has gathered nearly 2% of the overall vote.”

“But...how is that possible?” asked Prinz Helmut.

“I suppose there are those who think you should have run in my place, Helmut,” suggested the Chancellor. “Still, that bodes well for your own election as Chancellor in six years time.” He turned to his Minister. “Thank you for all your hard work, Axel. Please make the necessary arrangements for me to give my usual acceptance speech to the Reichstag tomorrow.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor.”

“Very well, then. Helmut, we must not keep the Military and Science Ministers waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” replied Prinz Helmut. Both men duly went to the Chancellor's study, where both Ministers stood and bowed to their leader. The Military Minister, after giving a look to his colleague, spoke first. “Good news, my Chancellor. Marshall von Kotke reports that Panther tanks are approaching Uskudar even now. Our latest intelligence indicates that the city is defended by two or three light divisions at most. I expect that the city, as well as the fur-trapping regions nearby, will be in German hands within the next few days.”

“Now that is good news, Hans. I only regret that von Kotke's report did not come in time to affect the election vote.”

“I doubt that will make any real difference to your reelection, my Chancellor, from what Axel told me earlier.” replied the Military Minister. “I will of course inform you when Uskudar and the fur-trapping regions are secure.”

“Excellent. Do keep up the good work.” The Chancellor now turned to the Science Minister. “I must admit, Niels, that I am most surprised to see you here tonight. Has something happened?”

“Not exactly, my Chancellor. I have a proposal to make. Our doctors think we can learn useful medical knowledge by examining the remains of those unfortunate people killed in the barbarian assault on New Lahore many years ago. We require only your approval to...” The Science Minister broke off at the look on his leader's face.

“Gunter, Manfred,” said the Chancellor curtly to the two Guardsmen standing post, “would you leave us for a few moments? I shall ring if need be.” Both Guardsmen naturally saluted their leader and left as requested.

“Is something wrong, my Chancellor?” asked the Science Minister with concern.

The Chancellor's face assumed a grave expression. “It is not your fault, of course, Niels. New Lahore is rather a sore subject for me, even many years later. My mistake cost the lives of nearly every man, woman and child in the city.”

It was Prinz Helmut who broke the uncomfortable silence. “Minister, perhaps it would be best to present the proposal in a few days time. It has been almost forty years since the New Lahore...incident, and no harm will come from the brief delay.”

“A good idea, Prinz Helmut,” replied the Science Minister. He paused for a moment. “If I may be so bold, my Chancellor, I too have a personal connection to the New Lahore matter. Several members of my wife's family were killed at the hands of the barbarians. They, and indirectly the evil Mahatma, are the ones truly to blame.”

“Very well, Niels,” said the Chancellor. “We will discuss this further in a week's time. I appreciate you and Hans coming to the Palace tonight. Dismissed.”

 

[MTB4884]

April 7, 900 AD

Movie Theatre, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
11:50 p.m.

Chancellor Otto von Bismarck and his three children were watching the latest comedy sketch film of Stefan Sondheim. The Chancellor's grandson Prinz Franz was also there, since he had worked on the last skit as part of his internship with the Cultural Ministry.

“This is it, Grandfather,” said Prinz Franz as the final scene opened. Meister Stefan Sondheim was seated behind a desk. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a rare treat for you. We have been able to send an agent, thanks to the help of Prinz Franz von Bismarck, to infiltrate the Turkish Emniyet to see,” and here he gave a wink to the camera, “what really goes on there. Lights!”

A hidden organist began to play ominous sounding music as a man, dressed all in black, walked towards a building with a sign reading, in flowing Germanic script, “Emniyet HQ”. The man took off his mask for a moment, revealing the features of Meister Sondheim, just before entering the building. Inside was a group of four men, also dressed in black and wearing masks, though their masks were a bright orange with white trim.

“All right, men,” said an unseen voice. “Go on ahead to the elevator for your respective assignments.” The elevator doors at the end of the hall opened, and all five men duly entered. The operator, who was also wearing an orange mask, pressed the proper button.

The background music changed to an oddly cheerful tune as the elevator operator began his spiel. “First floor, information extraction and tortures. Acid pools, chopping blocks and hot boiling oil.” Meister Sondheim seemed appropriately dismayed, though none of his companions appeared to notice. “Second floor, jewelry department. Assorted chains, racks, and thumbscrews.” Again Meister Sondheim looked dismayed, though one could hear laughter from the hidden studio audience. “Third floor, evil plans. Murders, rapes and robberies. Everyone OUT!”

Suddenly a knock came at the movie theatre door. “Come in!” said the Chancellor. The Palace chamberlain duly entered, and actually recoiled slightly at the looks he got from most of those present. “My deepest apologies, everyone. Minister von Landscheid is here with urgent news of the war.”

“Oh, very well,” replied the Chancellor. “Helmut, Franz, with me.” Both Prinzes duly got up and followed the Chancellor upstairs to his study, where the Military Minister was waiting. “All right, Hans,” said the Chancellor. “What brings you to the Palace at this late hour?”

“Important military news, my Chancellor,” said the Military Minister, bowing to his leader as he did so. ”Marshall von Rommel has reported that Uskudar has fallen to our forces, and better still, the fur-producing regions nearby are also in German hands at this hour. Our casualties are quite low, since most of the enemy defenders were only musketmen.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else, Hans?”

“A command decision, my Chancellor. We could send the Panther units which were not needed for the attack on Uskudar to reinforce Marshall von Kotke's forces at Bukhara. Doing so will of course delay our attack by at least two to three weeks. However, von Kotke reports that he believes he already has sufficient forces to successfully attack Bukhara at this time.”

“That's what the Marshall thought three months ago, when he had 3rd and 6th Corps at his disposal, Minister,” pointed out Prinz Helmut. “I think we should wait until Center Force can arrive.”

“I think not,” decided the Chancellor. “Von Kotke would not have made this report if he was not confident that he was correct. He of all people knows what became of the first assault. Hans, tell Marshall von Kotke to proceed with the attack on Bukhara at his discretion.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor.”

“Very well, then. Perhaps you would care to come back to the movie theatre, to watch the last part of Meister Sondheim's show?”

“I should be delighted, my Chancellor.” All four men duly went back downstairs to the basement, where the movie theatre was. They arrived in time to see Meister Sondheim being interviewed by an obvious actor who superficially resembled Prince Rasoul Timur-Lenk. “So, you say you were able to infiltrate the Imperial Palace in Berlin. Whom did you try to kill?”

“Er...no one, O great Prince. The mission was too delicate for that.”

“I see. Then you discovered vital German military secrets of use to us?”

“Er..not exactly, O patient Prince, though I did find out something secret.”

“Well, what then?” asked the Prince with some asperity.

“I found out something which will shake the Chancellor's family to the core. It is something so terrible, so utterly shocking, that the Chancellor would do anything to prevent this information becoming public knowledge.”

“WHAT DID YOU FIND OUT!” demanded the Prince.

Meister Sondheim winked towards the camera as he admitted, “I found out that Lady Notburga von Bismarck has written several books on cookery, under the pen name of Ulhrike Schmidt. I can give this information to a German magazine, called...er...'Dumb Ladies'. The Germans will never know that we were the ones behind the leak!” The studio audience laughed at this, and even the actor playing the Prince struggled to maintain a straight face.

“Excellent work, er, Herr 'Heimsond,” replied Prince Rasoul. “Truly you will be a great asset to the intrepid forces of the Emniyet.” He laughed maniacally for a moment, as the studio lights came up. Meister Sondheim, still seated behind his desk, closed with, “And that's the mostly true story of our stealthy infiltration of the Emniyet. Good night, Germany!”

“It is too bad, my Chancellor,” said the Military Minister as the theatre lights came up, “that it is easier to infiltrate the Emniyet in fiction than in reality.”

 

[MTB4884]

April 8, 900 AD

New Topkapi Palace
Bukhrara, Turkish Sultanate
Early evening

How did things get so bad so quickly?

Sultan Kassim Timur-Lenk, ruler of the Sultanate, looked out over the garden of his Palace and asked this question of himself once again. The detestable Germans, not content with harrying him from the ancient capital at Samarkand, had launched a major assault on Bukhara early that morning. Panther tanks had breached the walls, at points far away from the heavily defended gates, and now the city was on the verge of being overrun.

“Father?” came a familiar voice from behind him. “It is time. We must flee to the east. The emergency preparations for moving the capital to Kerki are already set up.”

“Flee to Kerki? Why there, Rasoul?”

“It is the largest city still outside the enemy's reach, Father. That, at least, will be the official story.” The Crown Prince smiled for a moment. “Better still, that is not where you and I will be...withdrawing to. The Emniyet's plan is for us to head southwest to the mountain fortress at Khiva. The Germans will never think to look for us there.”

“Do not underestimate the evil Chancellor, Rasoul. His armies and tanks have crushed all opposition before them. The Indians and the Songhai are but the latest victims of his mad dream of world domination and conquest. Now we are the target for his wrath!”

“All the more reason, Father, why we must leave now, while we still have time. We shall only remain at Khiva for long enough for our Sipahi divisions to rescue the Sultanate and reclaim what is rightfully ours!”

“All right, Rasoul.” Father and son duly made their way downstairs, where clerks were in a mad rush of activity. General Aziz came up and bowed quickly to his leader. “The tunnel has already been cleared, O mighty Sultan. Please, follow me.” He signaled to the two remaining Janissary guards, and the small party went downstairs to the basement, where the General unlocked a hidden door, revealing a dark, small, and poorly lit tunnel. “This way, O great Sultan.”

Sultan Kassim and his small retinue duly entered the tunnel. General Aziz himself followed, closing the secret door behind them and locking it. Neither the Sultan nor his followers needed any urging to proceed as quickly as possible. Most of the middle part of their trek took place in near total darkness, with only a few battery-powered torches available to light their way. Finally, after what seemed hours, they reached a closed and locked iron door.

“Rasoul, General Aziz,” ordered the Sultan, gesturing them forward. General Aziz took the other key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He then, once the Sultan's retinue was through, tossed both keys into the tunnel and shut the door once more. Ahead was a single ladder, leading to a narrow hole above them. A few stars were visible.

“Everyone up,” said the Sultan. The two Janissary guards went first, followed at once by the rest of the small retinue. Sultan Kassim was the last to emerge. Two horses, saddled and ready, were tethered to a small tree a few meters away. They could hear, in the distance, faint echoes of gunfire coming from the city.

“This is it, O mighty Sultan,” said General Aziz. “There are maps of the route to Khiva and provisions in the saddlebags of each of these horses. We will follow on foot, and join you in Khiva as quickly as possible.”

“Then let us depart at once.” Sultan Kassim quickly strode to the leftmost horse and mounted it. A quick slash of his scimitar severed the tether rope, and a fast prod to the ribs sent his steed on its way. “Thank you for all that you have done, General Aziz,” said the Crown Prince as he mounted his own horse. “Your heroism for the Sultanate in this darkest hour will not be...”

Suddenly the small party heard an ominous rumbling from the direction of the city. “The Germans!” said General Aziz. “Go, O Prince! We'll hold them off as long as we can!” The all too familiar sound of German machine gun fire rang out, followed by the sounds of Turkish rifles as the two Janissary guards vainly tried to stop the oncoming Panther tank. Crown Prince Rasoul scarcely felt the pain in his side at first as he rode for his life. He had half turned, trying to see how badly he was injured, and never even saw the low-hanging tree branch which knocked him from the saddle. There was but a brief moment of intense pain, and then nothing.

 

[MTB4884]

April 9, 900 AD

Chancellor's Quarters, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
7:00 a.m.

A knock at the door woke the Chancellor from an uneasy slumber. “Come in!”

Kathi, one of the longtime serving maids in the Palace, duly came in, with a cup of steaming coffee on a silver tray. “Your coffee, my Chancellor.”

“Thank you, Kathi,” replied the Chancellor, as he had done every morning for years. The only change was the substitution of coffee for tea after the death of his late wife Lady Eva. “That will be all.” Kathi duly curtsied to her leader and took the tray. She was about to depart when there was another knock at the door. “Come in!” said the Chancellor.

The Palace chamberlain came in. “Forgive the intrusion, my Chancellor. We have just heard from Minister von Landscheid. He, along with Minister von Folich, requests a meeting in your office at 8:30 this morning.”

I wonder what brings them to the Palace. At least I can eat my breakfast in peace this time! Aloud the Chancellor replied, “Very well, then. Tell them that Prinz Helmut will be there as well. I will tell Helmut myself at breakfast.”

“As you command, my Chancellor.”

An hour and a half later the Chancellor and his eldest son Prinz Helmut duly went downstairs to the Chancellor's office. Both the Military and Domestic Ministers bowed to their leader as he entered. The Military Minister spoke first. “Good morning, my Chancellor. I have very good news to report this morning. Our forces launched a major assault on Bukhara yesterday morning. The Turks fought hard, but were unable to stop our forces from breaching the wall late yesterday. Better still, Marshall von Kotke reports that Crown Prince Rasoul Timur-Lenk was captured while attempting to escape. He was badly hurt, and may not survive his injuries.”

“I see. What became of the evil Sultan?”

“That, my Chancellor, is the only bad news to report. It appears that he has fled. Preliminary reports suggest that his destination is Kerki, roughly here.” A map of the central Sultanate was duly provided. “We could attempt an assault, but we have very few Panther tanks readily available. I recommend that we make our preparations to attack Kerki next spring, when we have had a chance to rest and resupply our forces.”

“Helmut?” asked the Chancellor.

“I agree with the Minister, Father. After all, Kerki is not going anywhere, and the fighting at Bukhara is a perfect example of what can happen when an attack is not made with proper planning and preparation.” The Prinz paused for a moment. “One question, however. Do we know why the Sultan is fleeing to Kerki?”

“It is the largest city the Turks have left, Prinz Helmut,” replied the Military Minister. “The forests to the south make it difficult to approach. I should also point out that waiting will do us relatively little harm. I believe the Turks will be too busy retreating to Kerki and setting up their new capital to mount an effective counterattack on the Empire.”

“I trust you are right about that, Hans,” said the Chancellor. “Secure Bukhara, then, and make the necessary preparations for the assault on Kerki next spring as you have said. I trust that we will continue on other fronts?”

“Indeed we will, my Chancellor. We are working on our strategy even now.”

“Excellent.” The Chancellor now turned to the Domestic Minister. “All right, Axel. What brings you here to the Palace with Hans? Are we facing more revolts?”

“It is the capture of the Turkish Crown Prince, my Chancellor. He will be a most valuable hostage, if he recovers. The boost to the morale of the Empire, and the corresponding damage to that of the Sultanate, is more than enough to justify his medical treatment, even if one leaves aside basic humanitarian concerns.”

“Minister, where would we keep him?”

“We shall keep him in Stalag 1, Prinz Helmut. It is a most secure facility. No one has ever escaped from Stalag 1. There have not even been any serious attempts so far.”

“I cannot help but think I am missing something important, Axel,” said the Chancellor after a few moments. “Still, your proposal has merit, assuming of course that the Prince survives. Proceed as you have said, then.”

“It shall be done, my Chancellor. I should perhaps add that, while the situation in the occupied Turkish cities is potentially dangerous, we at the Domestic Ministry believe the chance of a successful revolt is relatively low.”

“That, Axel, is probably what your predecessor thought just before Ganges revolted some thirty odd years ago,” replied the Chancellor grimly. “Still, you are the best qualified man in the Empire to deal with the situation. Thank you both for coming to the Palace this morning. Dismissed.”

 

[MTB4884]

April 9, 900 AD

Family Quarters, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
Noon

“Is something wrong, Grandfather?” asked Prinzessin Traudl.

Her grandfather, Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, sighed for a moment. “I must attend a meeting this afternoon which I am not looking forward to, Traudl. It is a difficult matter, and one that that never gets into the history books.”

“Really, Grandfather?” replied the Prinzessin. “Meister Mueller has been telling me a few stories of his own experiences during the second Indian War. He even said only this morning that he accompanied you when you went to Tanjore to negotiate with the Mahatma and ended the war.”

“I remember the peace mission well, Traudl. Indeed, I have been reminded of those long-ago days quite recently.” The Chancellor paused for a moment. “Meister Mueller? I believe he was the Deputy Foreign Minister at the time. How did he end up as your history tutor?”

“That was my doing, Father,” said Prinz Helmut. “He retired from the Foreign Ministry a few years ago due to age and ill-health, and Minister von Offenbach highly recommended him for the post. So far it has worked out quite well.”

“Meister Mueller told me about your idea to allow the people of the village of Rawalpindi to return to their homes, to demonstrate your seriousness in the peace negotiations. He even showed me the box of gold-plated pens you gave him as a souvenir of the successful negotiations.” The young Prinzessin smiled at her grandfather. “Who else could have led the Empire in such a way?”

“It is good of you to say so, Traudl.” The Chancellor's face grew grave as he continued, “Did Meister Mueller tell you what happened after the negotiations were over?”

“Did you mean the barbarian attack on New Lahore, Grandfather?” The Chancellor nodded yes. “He told me all about it, and how you asked for the city in tribute from the Indians instead of their maps as the Mahatma originally offered. Meister Mueller told me you made the right decision.”

“He said that, Traudl?”

“He did, Grandfather. The Empire needed New Lahore at the time, in order to build the city of Kwai to the west. We might not have any new settlements in the remote islands off Asia at all, or in the Australian continent.”

“Meister Mueller and Traudl have a point, Father,” put in Prinz Helmut. “After all, the construction of Kwai allowed our galleon GNS Wuhjah to do battle with the pirates and barbarians in the area. They might still be a menace otherwise.”

“That was another blow to the Empire, Helmut,” replied the Chancellor. “We lost Wuhjah with all hands. We were fortunate that she survived her first encounter with the pirate frigate off Kwai. I believe at least one Indian caravel was also destroyed, though another fled the scene and survived.”

“Meister Mueller told me that too, Grandfather. He said that one reason why the Indians chose not to interfere during the first Turkish War is the heroic actions of Wuhjah and her crew. A great many more German lives would have been lost had the Mahatma done so.”

“I suppose that is possible, Traudl,” admitted the Chancellor. “It seems you are becoming quite the little historian of the family.”

“I do like history, Grandfather. I'm just glad I wasn't the one who had to risk his life at Tanjore. Meister Mueller even said the Mahatma threatened to kill you, and he had riflemen there to back up his horrible threat.”

“It was my duty as Chancellor to go to Tanjore, and stand into danger, Traudl. I could not merely sit here in Berlin. The war had caused great disruptions and unhappiness in the Empire, and I needed to take decisive action to end it.”

“Traudl is right about something else, Father. A city, even one attacked by barbarian hordes, is far more valuable to the Empire than a few maps. Besides, surely you were justified in being most cautious towards the Mahatma. The attempt of his agents to assassinate you sparked the second Indian War in the first place. Such a leader is not to be trusted.”

“I suppose you are right, Helmut. The Chancellor paused for a moment. “Oddly enough, Traudl, the meeting I spoke of earlier concerns New Lahore, and those long-ago days. Perhaps you would care to attend, as the new Palace historian?”

“I'd love to, Grandfather! I'll have to miss the afternoon piano lesson, though.”

“Do not worry about that, Traudl. I will have a word with Meister Grodan,” said Prinz Helmut. “You will still have to finish the piano lessons for the year, even as you learn more of history. Consider it a character building exercise.”

“Yes, Father,” said the Prinzessin, with much less enthusiasm.

 

[MTB4884]

April 9, 900 AD

Chancellor's Office, Imperial Palace
Berlin, Germany
1:20 p.m.

The Chancellor was meeting with Science Minister Niels von Bohr and his aide, Dr. Alberich Schweitzer. His son Prinz Helmut and his granddaughter Prinzessin Traudl were also there. “I know it may seem a little...er...ghoulish, my Chancellor,” explained Dr. Schweitzer, “but we have every confidence that we can confirm that most of the barbarian attackers at New Lahore died of disease and plague. We may even be able to learn vital medical information which may help the Empire today.”

“Then so it shall be,” decided the Chancellor. “Niels, you will proceed with this plan. I think the victims of the barbarian assault would be pleased to know that their deaths were not in vain. I will of course insist that the actual exhumations be done with as much dignity and respect as possible.”

“Naturally, my Chancellor,” replied the Science Minister.

“Very well, then. Thank you both for coming in this day. Dismissed.” Both the Science Minister and Dr. Schweitzer bowed to their leader and took their leave. “I don't understand, Grandfather,” said Prinzessin Traudl. “Why were you so concerned about this meeting?”

The Chancellor sighed as he replied, “It was not the meeting itself that troubled me. The New Lahore disaster was in part my fault, Traudl.” The Prinzessin stared at her grandfather in shock as he explained, “You see, we had an agent with the Indians at the time. I ordered that our agent investigate the Indian capital, instead of New Lahore. I did not know until too late that the city was defenseless against the barbarians just to the south. Officially, of course, history blames the Indians and the barbarians themselves for the disaster.”

“But, Grandfather, the Mahatma must have known the barbarians were there. He could have said something, and deliberately chose not to.”

“The Mahtma's agents tried to have me assassinated, Traudl. Would you have believed him, especially under the tense circumstances of the peace negotiations?” His granddaughter's silence was eloquent. “I demanded New Lahore in part precisely because I did not trust the Mahatma. The subsequent disaster was most distressing for all of us. Why, Minister von Clauswitz nearly tendered his resignation over it.”

“Really, Grandfather?”

“Indeed. He was here, in this very office, sitting where your father is now. I told him that the disaster was my fault.” The Chancellor scowled for a moment at the memory. “That is one reason why being a Chancellor is harder than is generally believed.”

“You did the right thing, Father, and acted as a true leader for the German people.” said Prinz Helmut. “It was not von Clauswitz's fault that we knew nothing of the barbarians. Indeed, he might well have recommended that we proceed even if we had known. Agent Tricky's report confirmed that Tanjore was very well defended, and that information prevented us from launching a futile and costly assault on the city. Instead, you weakened the Indian enemy, and benefited the Empire overall, by ensuring that New Lahore was in German hands, though the price was indeed very high.”

Prinzessin Traudl broke a lengthy silence. “I am grateful that I will never be called upon to make such a choice myself. Soon Father will succeed you as Chancellor, and one day my brother Franz. I want to be a help to them, Grandfather, and not a hindrance. That is the other reason why I want to be a historian. Events long in the past may affect things that happen today.”

“She's right, Father,” put in Prinz Helmut. “We just heard the Science Minister detailing how we can learn important information by quite literally studying the bones of the victims of the New Lahore disaster.”

“Very well, then, Traudl. You may work towards being a historian someday, if that is your wish. I have no doubt...” Whatever the Chancellor might have said was lost as the intercom rang. “Yes?”

“My Chancellor, Minister von Folich is here, with a large box.”

“Ah. Please send him in, Gunter.” The Chancellor smiled as the Domestic Minister came in. “I have been looking forward to this, Axel. I trust that box contains the furs for my family that you mentioned on Monday?”

“Just so, my Chancellor,” replied the Domestic Minister, bowing to his leader as he did so. “These furs are from the Uskudar region. I did take the liberty of ordering a larger sized coat this time for Prinzessin Traudl.”

“A prudent idea, Axel,” said the Chancellor. He beamed at his granddaughter. “I believe she is indeed growing up.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” replied the Prinzessin with a smile in return.

 

[MTB4884]

June 1, 900 AD

Hut #1, Stalag 1
24 klicks SW of Leipzig, Germany
11:45 a.m.

“Attention!” announced Sgt. Krupp as he entered the hut. “Ambassador Tarkaan, will you accompany me to the Commandant's office? And, before you ask, I have no idea why Commandant Waud wishes to see you.”

“Very well, Sgt.,” replied the former Turkish Ambassador. The two men duly made their way to the administration building. Ambassador Tarkaan noticed a small truck, painted with a large blue cross with white trim, as they went inside the building. A few moments later they were ushered into the Commandant's office. “Ah, good morning, Ambassador. Thank you for coming.”

As if I had a choice! “Certainly,” replied the Ambassador aloud. “So, to imitate my German hosts, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“A new and important prisoner has just arrived here at Stalag 1, after being treated for his injuries while attempting to flee from Bukhara.” The Commandant pressed the intercom button. “Send in the special prisoner.” Ambassador Tarkaan, despite his long diplomatic experience, looked in shock as Prince Rasoul Timur-Lenk, heir to the Turkish Sultanate, limped into the office under the watchful eyes of two camp guards. He had a long fresh scar along his right cheekbone, and a large bandage was just above his right ear.

“What have you done to Prince Rasoul?” demanded the Ambassador.

“We saved his life, Ambassador,” was the cool reply. “It appears the Prince got most of his injuries when he quite literally ran into a tree in his flight.”

“That is not entirely accurate,” said the Prince. “I did receive a glancing wound from a German bullet, here,” pointing to his left side. “That is why I hit the tree. And, for the record, I shall tell you nothing of any military value.”

“It seems, Prince Rasoul, that we have a most unjustified and unfortunate reputation in these matters,” replied Commandant Waud. “We have no cauldrons of boiling oil here at Stalag 1, or any other torture devices. You are technically exempt from interrogation due to your standing.” His tone sharpened as he continued, “Besides, I have my doubts that you could tell us anything useful about the defenses of the few remaining cities of the Sultanate which we do not already know.”

“Then why the special meeting?” demanded the Prince.

“Ah. A small matter of protocol, Prince Rasoul. We have been fortunate to have the able services of Ambassador Tarkaan here at Stalag 1. You probably already know that he declined our offer to release him a few months ago, preferring to remain in custody to aid his countrymen during this sad time. Technically, Prince Rasoul, you are the more important prisoner, and normally would be the chief point of contact for us. I think it would be better that Ambassador Tarkaan continue in that role, given his demonstrated skills and experience, especially given your own medical issues.”

The Prince and the Ambassador looked at each other for a long moment. “That will be acceptable to me, Commandant,” said the Prince. “I have only one other question, then. What is it that you wish in return for my release?”

“That is not up to me, Prince Rasoul. However, the Sultan no longer has any important German prisoners to make such a trade, to the best of my knowledge. I doubt very much that he will acquire any, given our recent victories in the war.” He paused for a moment. “We will expect you to follow the camp rules just as your fellow prisoners are required to. Fail to comply and you will be punished. Do you or the Ambassador have any questions?”

Sgt. Krupp, rather to the Commandant's surprise, cleared his throat meaningfully. “The official custody letter, sir?”

“Ah. We normally ask high-level prisoners to write a letter to their next of kin, confirming that they are here at Stalag 1, and including personal details that only a close relative would know.. You will of course not reveal the precise location of Stalag 1 for obvious reasons.”

“And if I refuse?” asked the Prince.

“Would you prefer that your father believe that you died, vainly trying to flee Bukhara as the city fell to our assault?”

The Commandant's blunt statement hung in the air for a few moments. “Then, if the good Sgt. Krupp will provide me with the necessary pen and paper, I will write the letter as you wish.”

“Excellent. I believe that will be all, then.”

 

[MTB4884]

June 1, 900 AD

Berlin Colosseum
Berlin, Germany
Noon

“It is time, Father. Break a leg!”

“Thank you, Helmut,” replied the elderly Chancellor Otto von Bismarck before he duly stepped out onto the temporary stage, much to the delight of the crowd. Grosbruckner Horst was waiting for him, carrying the traditional massive, leather bound Bible.

“Otto von Bismarck, do you solemnly swear, before God and country, that you will faithfully execute the office of Chancellor, and defend the Empire against all enemies, foreign and domestic?”

“I swear.”

“Then, by the power vested in me by the free citizens of the Empire, I solemnify your election as Chancellor. Congratulations, my Chancellor.” The newly reelected Chancellor shook hands with the Grosbruckner, and then turned to the temporary podium and its microphones.

“My people! I stand once again before you as the leader of a free and united German Empire! We have made great strides in many fields during the last six years, and I trust that during this, my last term as Chancellor, we shall continue our great work, for the benefit of us all!”

“We are engaged in a great war even now against the despicable Sultan Kassim, who is sadly cut from the same cloth as his deceitful father and treacherous grandfather. I am hardly revealing a state secret when I tell you all that Germany is now crushing last vestiges of opposition to the global reach of the Empire! The evil Sultan Kassim has now fled once again before our advancing troops! His son and heir Prince Rasoul is a German prisoner of war!” The crowd in the Berlin Colosseum roared its approval, and it took a few moments before the Chancellor could continue his address.

“There have been a few voices raised in the Reichstag about the costs of the war, both in blood and in treasure. Some have even suggested that we make peace with the Sultan! Accordingly, I shall explain what our goals are in this, the second Turkish War we have fought. We did not expect the first Turkish War a generation ago, particularly after the Empire had spent more than a decade doing battle with the infamous, unlamented Mahatma Gandhi. We defended what was ours when the Turks attacked without warning, and we were able to take the battle to the enemy and capture several Turkish cities in battle. The first Turkish War ended thanks to my own father, the revered Chancellor Konrad, who risked his life so that Germany could have peace once again.”

A stern tone entered the Chancellor voice as he continued. “Today, the situation is quite different! It is the Turks who were surprised by our lightning war, despite their vile Emniyet spies and traitors! Our victories at Samarkand, at Tashkent, at Astrakhan, at Aksu, and many other far-flung places are not mere accidents. We now have mighty Panther tanks, many of whose crews are veterans of the Songhai War, and they are smashing through the Turkish resistance!”

“And so, my people, what shall we do with these weapons of might! We shall use them in this, the last great war of our civilization! I intend to see to it that the Turks are utterly defeated within the next six years. I shall repeat what I told the Reichstag and the German people in April. There shall be no peace with the Turks so long as Sultan Kassim lives!” Again the huge crowd roared in approval.

“I wish to see my son Helmut deservedly take my place, in six years time, of a united and free Germany! I wish to see him rule the German Empire in peace, unconcerned with the machinations of a dangerous and evil Sultan! I wish, nay expect him to stand in this very spot six years from now as the leader of a German Empire which rules all the world! That is the vision I have for the future of the Empire! What say you to my plan!”

Chancellor Bismarck had confidently expected what happened next. The cheers of the Colosseum crowd quickly coalesced into a single, mighty chant, repeating the ancient battle cry of the Empire. All he had to do was stand at the podium and raise his arms high. “VICTORY OR DEATH! VICTORY OR DEATH! VICTORY OR DEATH!”