Re: Blood and Iron-Chapter 474: Berlin Crisis

After having settled his conversation with the President of the United States, Bruno found himself alone and once more without work… It was a dreadful thing for a man like him not to be busy with some important matter or another. And now he simply could not figure out how to rest.

However, just as he was about to crack open a bottle and pour himself another drink, Bruno's phone began to ring. At this hour, there were only a handful of people who would dare to call him—and they all knew better.

And yet, the phone rang nonetheless. Naturally, Bruno would not ignore this, and was quick to accept the cal, noticing immediately that the hasty voice on the line was a familiar one, both from history and his personal life, but the tone was far more haggard and grim.

"Bruno, my old friend… I need you in Berlin as quickly as you can come. Nothing more should be said, not until we've spoken in person."

And with that, the line was cut—clearly having been hung up intentionally by the other party. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

It did not take Bruno long to put two and two together. Currently, he was dressed like a field hand, or a factory worker. Which was hardly the attire necessary for who he was about to meet with, and where they would be.

But Bruno most certainly did not have time to change into more appropriate attire for the man he was meeting with, as the orders were very clear: time was of the essence. Thus, Bruno compromised, and grabbed an old leather jacket—a gift to him from Max Immelmann, better known by the nickname "The Blue Max."

He was Germany's first flying ace to be awarded the Pour le Mérite during Bruno's past life and had died midway through the war. But in this life, like his more infamous counterpart Manfred von Richthofen, he had survived the war.

When the war came to the end, and the German soldiers who briefly occupied Paris celebrated their victory, Bruno had shared drinks with Max in Paris during the occupation where the man had handed him his jacket as a sign of respect for all that Bruno had done to win the war and keep his pilots safe.

Bruno was normally not one to wear meaningful clothing or accessories he did not earn, but a gift from a man who had worn this jacket into battle—and who was a legendary figure Bruno had admired—was hard to turn down. Though Bruno had indeed tried to reject the offer, the Blue Max demanded it be accepted.

Thus, Bruno threw on the brown leather jacket and a matched pair of cavalry gloves as he walked out the door of his house, pausing only to give Heidi the briefest explanation of where he was headed and how long he might be gone.

"Something urgent came up in Berlin. I'll be back when I'm back. Don't worry about me, darling—I'm sure it's nothing dangerous. In the meantime… you know what to do."

For as long as Bruno could remember, he and Heidi had made a litany of contingency plans for a variety of emergency situations that might occur, or even potential emergencies like this moment.

Bruno's knowledge of what he would be walking into was almost nonexistent, but the orders given to him were clear. He did not have time to investigate. Thus, all he could do was have Heidi act in his stead. And like the angel by his side that she always was. She knew exactly what to do without it ever being said.

As a result, Heidi didn't ask questions. She simply nodded, kissed him goodbye, and moved like someone who had practiced this moment a hundred times in her nightmares. Heidi quickly called her meeting with the dames of her newly established order to a close and rushed to get people on the line who would be on standby in the event Bruno needed their support. It was all she could do at this turbulent hour.

Meanwhile, a quick drive to the airport and a brief flight to Berlin allowed Bruno to arrive at the Kaiser's palace by the time the sun had begun to set. He was greeted by members of the Leibsgarde, who simply saluted Bruno and led him silently to the Kaiser's office, where Wilhelm and his current chancellor stood with disgruntled expressions around the desk.

When Bruno entered, the Kaiser's face brightened slightly, though Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg's remained sullen. Bruno, perhaps assuming someone important had been killed—or that Germany had been attacked by a foreign power—was quick to demand answers as he approached and saluted the Kaiser.

"What has happened? Who attacked us? Is everyone alright?"

Both Wilhelm and Bethmann looked at each other, confused, before the chancellor finally clarified the situation.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding—probably due to the need for security and the few words His Imperial Majesty said over the phone. But you can rest easy knowing that there is no urgent situation of that sort. Rather, this is an internal matter.

I'm sure a man of your status is quite busy with military affairs and countless more pressing issues, so forgive me if I'm assuming ignorance—but if you don't mind my asking, how much do you know about the current state of the Reichstag?"

The Reichstag? Bruno practically had to force himself not to scoff. Was this really so urgent? It was just the lower house of the bicameral legislature—a bunch of career politicians squabbling over nonsense. Elected by the populace, yes, but meaningless in the scales of real power.

Bruno knew only that his people were in place and that the conservative bloc had maintained power for the last decade. Because of this, he couldn't help but make an educated guess about the cause of this urgent summons.

"If I were a betting man I would wager now that it's peacetime and we're trying to push through reforms that benefit the people as is our duty in accordance with the classical principles of noblesse oblige, these parasitic rats—who do nothing but argue on the taxpayer's dime—are offended by our anti-corruption measures and are threatening to block the vote unless their demands are met?"

Considering how quickly Bruno had put two and two together, von Bethmann—who had limited personal dealings with him—was visibly surprised. The Kaiser, however, knew the father of his future daughter-in-law all too well and boasted proudly in front of his chancellor.

"See? What did I tell you? Now that you know the situation, Bruno, I wanted your advice. We've come up with many ideas, but these bastards are trying to claim that our measures breach constitutional authority.

They're saying our reforms—meant to benefit the people—are tyrannical. Tyrannical! As if our duty as noblemen is an act of oppression, not chivalry! The very idea boils my blood. How do we convince them to come to terms with the proposal as it stands?"

Bruno's expression was stoic, but his voice rose slightly in surprise. What he said next astounded both men.

"Convince them? Your Majesty, why would we ever stoop to that?

The Reichstag was born not of reason, but of panic—a limp concession made in 1848 to quell the fever of revolution. It is not sacred. It is not noble. It is a parasitic relic, where men bicker like hens over the scraps of sovereignty.

What 'will of the people' do they claim to represent? The people don't care who governs them—they care that their bellies are full, that their homes are warm, and that their streets are safe.

These men—these so-called tribunes—don't serve the people. They serve the bankers. The factory lords. The ideologues too cowardly to lead and too vain to be ruled.

But you, Your Majesty—you are crowned by God, not by ballots. These men? They are elected by marketing campaigns and bribes. Who truly holds the right to rule?

Our soldiers bled for your banner, not theirs. You gave them victory and peace. And now you ask me how to negotiate with men who call that tyranny?

No. The time for games is over. The Reichstag is not a check against tyranny—it is a leash on sovereignty. It is time we remind the world that thrones are not granted by votes, but forged in blood and iron.

So I ask you, my Kaiser: Will you be the man who asks permission to rule—or the man who rules because it is your divine right to do so?"

Kaiser Wilhelm II and Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg stared at one another in complete disbelief. Did Bruno really just suggest what they thought he had? He had.

Bruno's defiant stare in the face of a so-called "constitutional crisis" proved it. Democracy? The will of the people? Liberty and freedom? He couldn't care less. They were just pretty words—tools used by men who coveted power they neither earned nor understood.

In this life—from the day the first king was crowned in Sumer to the end of the Great War—thrones were won and crowns were forged with blood and iron, not with ballots.

And if need be, Bruno would prove it here and now, for the whole world to witness. Now, all that remained was for the Kaiser to choose his side in history.