by Pliss, Todd
Pliss / Reich
CHAPTER ONE
New Berlin City has had a magnificent skyline for the past forty years. It was rebuilt by the Reich Ministry for Reconstruction in the Occupied Territories where the beautiful Statue of Liberty stood on what was Liberty Island. Now, a massive statue of a well-built young man stands with his right arm extended in the Sieg Heil salute. A huge sculpture of a swastika sits at the statue’s base. The Reich Ministry of Interior building, once known as the Empire State Building, is lit up in the colors of the Deutschland flag: black, red, and yellow.
The city that used to be home to the most important stock markets in the world, a great center of capitalism, is now little more than ruins thanks to German bombing raids during the war. After the victors have rebuilt, the neoclassical style of the Third Reich reigns. European-styled outdoor cafes are commonplace. The automobiles parked on the streets are all Volkswagen Beetles, a car designed by Hitler himself, with the exception of a handful of Mercedes
driven by important government officials. The signs are all printed in German.
On this crisp, clear spring day, a large procession of Nazi SS men dressed impeccably in full uniform and carrying brightly lit torches marched in disciplined columns to the blare of martial music. Citizens are perched on windowsills, while boys cling enthusiastically to iron fences like bunches of grapes, cheerfully waving their little swastika flags.
The procession proceeds down the Avenue of the Americas, now called “Kreuzung Von Neu Deutschland” or the “Crossroads of New Germany,” toward what was once known as Times Square, but is now called “Grunder Platz,” Founder’s Square.
Adolf Hitler stands tall in the center of the square. The Fuehrer is not around anymore, having died in 1965 at the age of 76, but statues such as this and his important writings like Mein Kampf have kept his spirit alive, and will continue to do so for eons to come.
Standing around the Hitler statue, packed in very tightly, are citizens of the Reich - men, women, and children - all very Aryan looking with their blond hair and blue eyes. Many of the men sport the always popular toothbrush mustache, as a tribute to the man who had led Germany to a height of conquests never before attained by a nation in man’s short history on Earth.
There is an excitement in the air, for today is a big holiday-Victory Day. This commemorates the anniversary of the end of the war, when Germany received an unconditional surrender from her last enemy she had not yet defeated, the United States.
Victory Day is one of many national holidays that the Reich uses as an excuse to stage huge rallies, parades, sentimental speeches, and all sorts of other propagandist means to remind the German masses of their own superiority, perfect bloodlines and, since most German citizens were not even alive at the time the war took place, that how their superiority led their people to such great heights. Besides Victory Day, other national Reich holidays include Hitler’s birthday (April 20), Party Day (January 30th-the day that Hitler became chancellor of Germany and thus the Nazis came to power) as well as many others.
Just as important a purpose for these national Reich holidays is to remind the slave peoples of the world (peoples of the many “inferior” countries whom has been allowed to live with the sole purpose of serving their Reich masters) just who is in charge. The slave peoples, including the natives not of a pure Germanic bloodline from the countries formerly known as France, Russia, Mexico, Holland, the United States, Greece, Iran, Tonga, Hungary, Poland, Canada, and Norway (just to name a few) are all required to observe these official functions. They, obviously, are banned from participating in them.
Gestapo headquarters, located in the heart of the city, is a towering structure. In front of the building, two flags hang from a flagpole. One flag is the German national flag. The other flag is the Party flag, which is comprised of the familiar red background with a large white circle in the middle and a black swastika in the white circle. Just the thought of being brought to this building is enough to instill fear into the citizens of this magnificent city.
The Gestapo’s importance and power has expanded significantly since the end of the war. This organization of secret state police is considered necessary to protect the existence of the Reich by tracking down and doing away with all complainers, dissenters, and opponents. It is official Gestapo policy that any individual, no matter what his status, is a potential suspect. In 1991, a top Gestapo official, Hans Saeber, was accused of allegedly harboring anti-party feelings when he was overheard on the phone telling his wife that all the official functions and dinners he was obligated to attend on a regular basis were tiring him out. After a quick trial in the Volksgericht, the court was set up to render quick verdicts for accused traitors of the Third Reich. Saeber was publicly hanged; his four young children were forced to watch.
A two-foot thick, steel entrance door opened to the cellblock. The prisoner, Wayne Goldberg, a young man with black hair and brown eyes, was dragged in by five guards. Blood is caked in Wayne’s hair and stains his torn rags. SS Captain Siegfried von Helldorf stepped in behind everyone.
Captain von Helldorf, a middle-aged mole-like man, nodded to one of his men, “Open the door.”
The cell stands empty except for one other prisoner cowering warily at the back; there’s not even a toilet. A guard shoved Wayne into the cell and locked it behind him.
Helldorf, stared menacingly at Wayne, “See you at your execution, my friend.” He laughed and then left with his men.
Wayne leaned his hurting body heavily against the concrete wall and spit out a mouthful of blood.
“Where’s the toilet in this God forsaken rat hole?” he asked wearily.
The other prisoner pointed down, “You’re standing in it.” Wayne looked down at his feet to see a puddle of urine.
In Grunder Platz was bubbling with a festive atmosphere. National German music played as children danced and ate cotton candy below the fluttering swastikas. The New Berlin branch of the Hitler Jugend was present. They were all dressed in their uniforms of black shoes, black ties, and swastika armbands. Behind them, the League of German Girls stood smiling in their matching dresses. When a child turns ten, they are required to register with the Reich Youth Headquarters. The Hitler Youth was exclusively for boys. The membership of the organization for girls, the League of German Girls, was also present, though its membership was not nearly as big as that of the Hitler Youth.
A speaker’s podium had been set up near a massive television screen. Reich Marshal Ulrich, a balding, heavyset man of about fifty stood at the podium with prominent Reich leaders, Gauleiters and, SS Security men behind him.
Reich Marshal Ulrich addressed the massive crowd, “Now, citizens of New Berlin City and of all the German Unified Territories, it is an honor for me to present to you - live from Berlin - our Fuehrer!” The crowd reacted wildly, chanting, “Seig Heil” and raising their arms in salute.
On the big screen appeared Fuehrer Karl Goering. He resembled his late father, Hermann Wilhelm Goering, who was Hitler’s second-in-command and the high military and economic leader before he came to power after Hitler’s death. Karl Goering was obese, loud, and had a full head of salt and pepper hair. He had inherited an overindulgence for the finer things in life. Goering had the most valuable art collection in the world, as well as the largest wine collection, not to mention his vast private hunting preserves around the planet.
Goering raised his right arm. The masses responded enthusiastically, “Heil, Goering.”
In his deep, powerful voice, the Fuehrer started roaring out his speech, “As I stand here before you today, citizens, let us remember what we are celebrating, and let us look forward to the future. Many sacrifices have been made by our brave German warriors while accomplishing the shor
t and long term goals of the Reich...”
Throughout the German Unified Territories, people were spellbound as they watched their Fuehrer live on television.
A gathering of two hundred people listened intently to their Fuehrer in the territory once called Arizona, with the majestic Grand Canyon in the background. The officials in the Reich Ministry of the Interior liked the name of this natural wonder – its name hasn’t been changed, though it’s typically spoken in German now Grandios Schlucht.
At UC Berkeley in the Bay Area, where rallies and political protests used to reign, the Fuehrer has enraptured the student body. Swastika banners wave in the air held by idealistic college students.
A rally was also being held at the Oberkoblenz Military Base, located in upstate New York. Columns of German soldiers stood rigidly at full attention as they watched their Fuehrer. Goering continued speaking, “...if land and resources were desired in Asia or South America, it could be obtained by and large at the expense of Japan. This means the Reich must again...”
A rally also occurred in South Dakota at Mount Rushmore. The once proud rock faces of four great American presidents had been recarved to bear the faces of four prominent figures in National Socialist history - Adolf Hitler, Hermann Goering, Heinrich Himmler, and Rudolf Hess.
Outside a farmhouse, a German flag flies proudly. The small Aryan family sits inside around an older television set watching the Fuehrer speak. A copy of “Mein Kampf” sits on the table as the Ministry of Education says it should. They are the ideal family.
In New Berlin City, Goering continued his rhetoric, “...to secure for the German people the land and soil to which they are entitled.” The masses in Grunder Square roared their collective approval of his words.
In the Gestapo jail cell, Wayne sat uncomfortably on the filthy floor. The other prisoner in the cell approached Wayne.
“Erich,” he put out his right hand in a friendly gesture.
Wayne did not bother to shake his hand, but merely ignored the stranger.
“You have a name?”
“Wayne,” he mumbled.
“They roughed you up pretty bad, huh?”
Wayne just stared straight ahead.
“This is the third time I have been picked up,” Erich continues, “My crime this time was not giving the proper salute to an SS officer. Can you believe that shit?” he laughed. “Why did they pick you up?”
Wayne gave Erich a long stare, “For trying to change history.”
“What?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway.”
“Why not?”
Wayne stood up, walked over to the cell door, and stared out.
“You’re about to die,” Erich said. “What have you got to lose?”
“My mind is going to be rotting in a field or burning in a fuckin’ crematorium with the rest of my body no matter what,” Wayne snapped back.
“Suit yourself,” Erich shrugged, then mumbled, “Asshole.”
Wayne thought it a bit odd that some other prisoner was taking such an active interest in him. It was also strange that he spoke with almost no detectable German accent. So many painful thoughts were going through his head; Wayne almost thought he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“I just met you,” he said. “What makes me think I can trust you?”
“You ain’t got nobody else.”
Wayne paced the cell a few times. Then he stopped abruptly. The sound of the silence of the tiny jail cell was deafening to him. Maybe, he reasoned, talking to somebody would help ease his mind, even a slight amount. “Alright, I’ll tell you how I ended up here,” Wayne said with anger in his voice. “From the beginning. You want to hear it, I’ll tell you the whole fuckin’ story.”
“Go on.”
Wayne took a deep breath. “My story starts in New York City,” he started. “Not New Berlin City, but the Big Apple - the great city that was. A city where a person could get anything that he might desire at any time. There weren’t any curfews or any restraints on free speech. New York also had its share of crime and crackpots, but that only added to the character of the city.”
The average morning rush hour hustle and bustle of New York City had taken place on an average day as usual. Men and women dressed in conservative suits quickly walked to their offices and yellow cabs noisily honked civilian vehicles out of their way. On a corner, a dirty man dressed in old tattered rags who grasped a small paper bag in his hand, sang opera at the top of his lungs. No one paid any attention to him.
On Liberty Island, the Autumn morning was unusually cold - the type of weather that reminded a person that the full force of winter was just around the corner.
Wayne Benjamin Goldberg had been attending New York University, the well-respected school in Lower Manhattan. Wayne had wanted to go there as long as he could remember. It was sort of a family tradition. It was Wayne’s senior year as an undergraduate and he was excited about graduating next May.
That morning he said goodbye to his girlfriend. Lauren had been up in New York for the weekend from Penn State and was going to drive back that morning. Lauren was twenty, and very beautiful with her long, golden hair, hazel eyes, and warm smile.
Wayne gave Lauren a big hug and asked her, “Did you have fun this weekend?”
“It was the greatest,” Lauren said with a smile.
“So, I guess I’ll see you at Penn in two weeks.”
“I can’t wait. I’ll make reservations at that Italian restaurant that you like so much. You know, the one with the real dark atmosphere,” Lauren said brightly.
“You’ll call me tonight when you get in?”
Lauren nodded her head and gave her boyfriend a passionate kiss.
Doctor Lisa Hoffmann’s advanced physics class had been Wayne’s first class of the day. Most students, and even some of the other professors, considered Dr. Hoffmann something of an unfeeling kook.
Dr. Hoffmann is a small, frail woman who is fond of wearing outdated horn-rimmed spectacles and styling her hair into a beehive. She long ago decided to marry her career instead of any Mister Right that might have come along. It had been a good decision.
Wayne had enrolled in one of Dr. Hoffmann’s classes during the previous summer session and was surprised when she had once actually asked him to go out for a cup of coffee with her. Wayne joined her for a few hours and thought that his professor was just lonely.
Dr. Hoffmann was known on campus for her offbeat lectures and some of her “far out” theories and she did not disappoint.
“That process will occur through the mediation of a particle called a muon.” She lectured to her class in her usual manner of standing behind her big metal laboratory desk in the front of the room and not moving from that spot until the end of class. “Negatively charged muons attract positively charged hydrogen nuclei close enough together so that they can fuse. Now let us imagine what it would mean to mankind if we could harness this power. It could mean space travel over vast distances. Or even time travel.”
Next to Wayne was Steve Gruber, one of the first friends that Wayne had met as a freshman at NYU and who, like Wayne, was also an engineering major. Steve whispered to Wayne, “Time travel? Who does Hoffmann think she is, H.G. Wells?”
“Maybe,” Wayne whispered back. “Rumor has it that she’s been building some weird project in her lab.”
“Want to know what I think? I think she’s building the world’s first nuclear powered vibrator; she actually cracked a smile this week. She probably found out she has a G-spot.”
Wayne laughed.
“How’s your car holding up?” Steve asked.
“Typical American piece of shit,” Wayne answered. “One day I’m going to drive a high performance German machine, like a Porsche Nine Eleven Cabriolet.”
“I hear ya, man.”
Dr. Hoffmann quickly glanced up at the small clock hanging on the wall to notice the time. “Class dismissed,” she informed her students. “And m
ake sure that you review chapter four in your laboratory work book by next class.”
As the students started to exit the classroom, Dr. Hoffmann approached Wayne. Stoically, she asked “Mr. Goldberg, can I see you in my laboratory today at three-thirty?”
“Sure,” Wayne responded.
Wayne thought he knew why she had wanted to see him. Wayne had let his grades slip a little - well, actually a lot. More than he should have. With the apprehension of graduating in a few months and the uncertainty of his future, plus the incredible workload of the past three years, Wayne simply figured that it was time to see less of the library and more of what Manhattan had to offer. After all, it was his senior year. He thought Dr. Hoffmann was disappointed in him and was going to tell him that.
The inside of Dr. Hoffmann’s laboratory was a mess. Flasks, books, soldering equipment, a rat cage, assorted power tools, and the dusty guts of a washing machine were randomly scattered about. It looked like a yard sale instead of someone’s office.
Dr. Hoffmann sat at a long table working with a metal tube of about one inch wide by ten inches long with wires sticking out of it. Wayne knocked.
“Enter,” Dr. Hoffmann called out.
“What’s up, Doc?”
“I just need another minute here,” she said still busy concentrating.
Wayne looked at the phallic shaped object in her hands and balked, “Doc… is that a…?”
“I just fixed this Geiger counter,” Dr. Hoffmann interrupted.
“A Geiger counter! Gotcha. That makes more sense,” Wayne said with a hint of embarrassment.
“What?” Dr. Hoffmann wanted to know.
“Oh, nothing.”
Dr. Hoffmann looked at her watch, “Mr. Goldberg, I requested your presence here at precisely three-thirty. You have arrived ten minutes late.”
“Sorry ‘bout that. I had to go get this part for my car and-”
Dr. Hoffmann wasn’t in the mood for any excuses. “Mr. Goldberg,” she lectured, “when I say three-thirty, I mean three-thirty. Not three-forty. Not three thirty-five. Not even three thirty-one. I need to know that you are a punctual person and that arriving late for appointments is not a habit of yours. Are you a punctual person?”
