10 Kilometers from Gaspar Castle, a few days after the battle

The field was covered with tents. There were traditional ones, round, high, made of sailcloth. Red color roughly colored patches that had depicted heraldry before. There were edifices which belonged to somebody`s garden as a gazebo, many of them patched. There were some which had the shape of small hoses. They might have belonged to the Bundeswehr or disaster management in a different time on another world, now they were surplus to requirements to their original owners. There were improvised ones, former sails stretched over whatever wood was handy.

And then were the huge white and orange ones. Their bright colors, their recent make and the fact that many of them were inflated instead of erected stated they did not belong to the Rebels. Andy Thrope was headed for them and entered one of the white ones after the briefest of checks by an unarmed aide.

He found himself before a disk that held a ton of paper, a laptop and a slender woman with short, frizzled gray hair, lines in her face she did not care about and eyes who had seen enough for a thousand years.

"Good morning Doctor Lefevre."
"Good morning General Thorpe."
"I thought we settled for Andy Doctor."

"That we did until I saw your handiwork General. When I still worked for Medecins sans Frontieres I have been to Afghanistan, to the Sudan and Yemen. I have seen lots of things I`d rather not. Never have I seen so many dead and wounded in one place and one day. More than 5000 dead and the same number severely injured in what, three hours? You must be proud of your work."

"No, I am not Doctor, but my choices are very limited."
"That is what you all say. It is never your choice that so many die, it is just the circumstances that force you to.
"It was my choice to join the Rebellion, and they have damned good reasons for their insurrections as you well know."
"Oh, many of these places had such good reasons. In the end, it was so often only about who gets to be boss and who can skim the money."
"Not here, not now and not on my watch. Have you talked to the Lads? They are simply fed up to watch their starving families when they have to give most of their harvest to their so-called nobles. They do no longer want to see their daughters raped and they want to have a say in their lives."
"And so they burn their ways through their enemies."

"Doctor, you said you have seen so things. Yet I do not believe you saw something these days."
"What did I not see?"
"A dead civilian. We wage the best war we can as there is no alternative. And we do actually allow your work, and allow you to work on all patients, no matter what side. The Royals would never agree to that. I know it is not much but it has to be enough."
"In the end it is neither here nor there General Thrope. You think you are right and you may very well be. I am just sick and tired to try to see so much death and pain."

"Doctore Lefreve, I am truly grateful for the services provided by Shallya`s helpers and so is this army. And you and your team did save many lives, no matter how hard we or the Royals made it. We should agree to disagree."
"That we can do General. Now, we have to discuss the results of our work. We have 621 injured who are in a state that allows release to your forces. So, what are you going to do?"
"We will bring our own lads home so they can heal properly. The enemy commoners will be sent to Soreil and will be kept there till the war`s end. Believe me, we will treat them better than their own side when they were still fighting for them."
"And the nobles?"
"Ransom them back of course."
"Why would you do such a thing?"

"Because many of them, or their families, will pay serious money for their return. We will ask for their word that they stay out of this war and maybe 10% of them will keep that."
"So you return them so there can be more killing?"
"Actually they will pay so much for their ransom that they will make such contribution for our side that it completely outweighs the little they do to add to the Royals. And it is totally customary here, when they have their little wars they usually finance themselves that way."
"It would be such a nice world…"
"But for the people in it. I know doctor, I know."

Kopernikus Space Station, Orbit around the Warhammer World, next day

Nathan Alpers watched the girder slowly push itself from the box. It had a satin finish, many intricate trusses, smooth, rounded connections and corners and was incredibly strong for its weight. It was made from the recycled remains of Sage 15, a satellite of the Old Ones. "Nordstern" had towed the fuselage of the old killer sat close to Kopernikus, a solar smelter had rendered it into its base metals. One of the more impressive details about the girders was that it was not "grown" by the space stations Nanites but by 3d-printing. Several lasers were melting layer after layer of metal powder onto the surfaces.

"This one should be ready in 90 minutes Major, two more to go of this model, then we switch to the engine mounts."
"Looks like we are getting closer to the plan again, ..Frank."
"Yes, we are. Yusilf and I will tack on two hours today and tomorrow, then we will be slightly ahead. Would be a shame not to be ready when they send up the engine block."
"Thanks, you are doing good."

The fact that Nathan had to think for a few seconds whom he was addressing spoke volumes about the changes that had happened to the space program in general and "Kopernikus" in particular. There were 25 people on the station now, with a comparatively lively turnover of technicians, scientists and astronauts. And there was a great lot to do. There was another gravwheel going up, its part were already outside and being assembled as fast as possible. Currently the space station`s first hangar held several racks for sleeping bags and that was not appreciated.

"Nordstern" was getting another set of modifications. The weapons pallets were pulled out and a new docking collar was fitted that would allow the space ship to handle a "Zwilling" based dropship. The latter had a "Rune of Fire" engine instead of a H2/LOX one. It was sufficient to land on Mannslieb and bring He3 back up.

Yet the project that kept most of his attention was "Morgenstern" (Morning Star). It was the first purpose-built space warship and assembled from three different sources.

First off there were the parts sent up the Warhammer World, like the four tungsten core "Rune of Fire" engines and the much bigger ice blocks from Kislev. There were girders and other structural materials which were made by various additive manufacturing techniques inside "Kopernikus."

And there were the things that emerged from the Nanites tank which took their sweet own time but made everything that Neupapenburg provided blueprints for. Currently they were working on a full set of APAR and Smart-L radars to be fitted to "Morgenstern`s" various facings.

A full set of missiles would join the laser and the recoil-less cannon taken from "Nordstern". He knew he would have to hurry, the powers that be wanted the spaceship at least in recognizable form when the German "Allstreitkräfte" would be officially founded. And what would a German Space Force be without a suitable spacecraft?

Only if and when that one was done could Nathan begin to restore more of the KEW satellites. If things were going as planned, a big if given how new everything was, there would be few places on the world below that would not be in range of a KEW strike within the hour in two years' time.

Pool close to Chatlon, Bretonia, same time

Mirabeau, Damsel of the Lady, watched the fast light move across the heavens. The light had increased in brightness during the last months and she wondered what portents that might have. Questions about that subject were not encouraged though, the light was said something that the Germans had somehow put into the heavens. It was another way that they intruded into Bretonia`s hallowed way of life, unbidden and without regards for the consequences of those who lived here so long. A symbol of the new times unfortunately.

She went from the stone she had used for rest and faced the pool again. To the casual observer, it would have been nothing more than a beautiful little body of water inside a clearing. There would not have been a casual observer though, such an entity would never have found this place. Only those deeply into the lore or those invited could ever enter into its presence. And while it looked perfectly natural something had fixed it the way it was for centuries. An ordinary lake would have turned into a swamp after a few years and have changed into something else after that.

This would not have pleased the Lady who liked to keep things as they should be through various means. And she had done it to this place as well, a spot of perfect beauty in an imperfect world. This perfection was currently marred by two stretchers that were placed next to the pool side by side. The carts that had been used to bring them were outside the clearing. They had been ordinary, used to haul wheat or such things before they were needed to haul the wounded. The Lady would not like their sight and they had been unbecoming to their eminent passengers. There had been so many wounded, so much confusion and so much despair after the battle. The apparent end to King Louencour had shattered what command structure the Royals had for days and no directive but flight would find any takers. Even the most noble of the wounded had to take what was available, not what they wished. Mirabeau and her sister had done everything they could to keep the two alive. It was far beyond their capabilities to heal Lady Morgiana and the King, their wounds to mind and body were far too extensive for that.

Mirabeau did the only thing she could think of and brought the two who were so vital for Bretonia`s defense to a pool sacred to the Lady. She and Heloise took turns in their prayers for help. She took the few steps that brought her to the smooth stones she would debase herself before the pond that represented the Lady when the light changed.

The Lake had been visible through Mannslieb`s light alone, enough to orient oneself. Now the pond itself started to glow and mists formed above its surface. It took little time to form a column above the water and a shadow formed within that. Mirabeau`s forehead was on the ground before the Lady of the Lake was fully visible. A commoner would be killed for setting his eyes on the Lady, even she needed explicit permission. She waited on that and it was not forthcoming. Instead her mind heard something like an absentminded murmur.

"…Made a proper hash of it, didn`t you Louen? How many of these bones are broken, oh my. And with the spine in this condition this useless appendage will not sire any more figureheads I am afraid. Looks like I have my work cut out then."

The next things Mirabeau did not hear with her mind alone, there were sounds, but unintelligible ones. Some of them came from a parched throat even if many of them should not emerge from a human one. The sounds spoke of pain, of fear and of despair. There were other sounds she could not place, could they be the sound of bone ends grinding against each other? The sounds continued for a while until they ended on an uneven breath.

"Now that should take care of these pesky objections and this misplaced humanity. You will play your role and be a good boy Louen, won`t you? And what have we here..oh, oh, failed a major spell, didn`t we Morgiana? And what is that, bleeding into your skull? That is not good you know, with your kind it ends breathing sooner or later. And that bit of squishy brain will no longer do anything at all, that won`t do. My my, what are we going to do about that?

Mirabeau heard a thump followed by a slithering sound, like something was dragged across the floor. The sounds stopped right next to her and Lady Morgiana`s face appeared in her peripheral vision for a moment. And then there was something at her neck, something that felt like a vise made from glowing steel. Her mind was mostly occupied by the pain, so she did not really parse the last thing she ever heard.

"You should do once we have emptied that pretty head of yours, not that there was so much in there to start with…"

LH-Z6 "Melitta von Stauffenberg", Shirasagi-Onsen, Nippon

The anchor lines had been pulled in and the Lufthansa Zeppelin began to rise from Shirasagi´s airport. Most passengers were in the airship´s lounge to see the great view on the city from the panorama windows.

Among these passengers were Markus Ruhdorfer, his wife Erika and their two young daughters Annika and Maho. The kids were naturally fascinated by the view, their parents as well, but there was more to it for them. For the start of this voyage, Erika Ruhdorfer had put on a kimono she wore only rarely, for special events. The cloth was silk, the color patterns and depictions made by one of Nippon´s most famous tailors. Her hair was not done as special as her clothing was, for ease during travel, but the style still announced Erika´s high status for those who knew the details about various styles. One thing which would be soon sacrificed to modern times and easier travel were the traditional shoes. After leaving the Shirasagi area, Erika would change in their cabin and get into boots.

The reason for the elaborate choice of clothing was a goodbye. After nearly a decade in Shirasagi-Onsen, Markus Ruhdorfer had not only been promoted, but given a new task closer to home. His next work would be helping to make Nanseitoshi a proper federal state of Germany. Since Markus would mainly working in northern Nanseitoshi, he might even be able to commute from his home city. The family could get a reserved flat in Ringomori, that was already prepared, but he would try commuting at first and see after a few weeks.

That was still in the future. Markus had given over the reins of the Doitsu Ikku in Shirasagi-Onsen to his successor, a man he considered right for the job himself. In administration that was not always the case. He was sure Stefan Jansen would continue to do the Job well, but some things would change. Stefan came from a village in Holstein near Hamburg and was a local area patriot, a true "Nordlicht" (northern light, pet name for North Germans).

Markus came from the Southwest with it´s own brand of local traditions, but, now his former staff was prepared for more changes by their boss than "Morje" to "Moin".
Markus Ruhdorfer looked forward to a visit some time further down the line and check out what happened in the meantime.

Markus wore casually good style for the voyage home. A designer shirt with black jeans, black because he did not like blue jeans on himself, his favorite leather jacket and a bandana. His blue eyes took in the view down on Shirasagi-Onsen. What had happened in the last years!

When Markus arrived first here, Shirasagi was already a large city, about 300 thousand people, but it was clearly a Japanese, eh Nipponese, style of centuries past.

Now Shirasagi had surpassed the expectations. In the beginning, the Germans had estimated that after a decade Shirasagi might might grow to fourhundred thousand people, but then in the last years the Nipponese modernisation took on more and more speed. And in this region of Nippon, Shirasagi-Onsen was the Schwerpunkt (center of gravity) of it.

Three months ago, the number of citizens surpassed the half a million mark. Looking down from the airship lounge, you could see the construction going on, mostly with stone and concrete. The growing railway grid, the tall furnances of the steel makers, the paved streets...

This view was mirrored elsewhere in Nippon or the Empire. Altdorf, Sumeto, Middenheim, Nuln and many cities more were looking similarly. Suburbs were beginning to ring the mountain Middenheim was built on. Altdorf was in the process of erecting a second city wall, enclosing the newest quarters of the capital of the Empire, but it was an open guess how long that would be enough and a third wall might be needed. If such a wall would be built at all.

In Nuln the factories got larger by, flippantly speaking, the day, with in the North of the city a sizeable new industrial quarter popping up. Salzenmünd or Dietershafen had port facilities not looking out of place on a former era Earth.

And it was not confined on the major cities any longer. Steingart, near the southernmost part of the Empire, had become a local center and reached "Großstadt" (major city, meaning 100k+ citizens) status last year.

While the Mootland was never and doubtfully would ever become an urban region, it was too busy being a breadbasket, the progress of the Empire was easy to see there as well. The industries and peasants were loading massive transport trains with all kinds of foodstuff.

Hochland, hardly one of the easy to access parts of the Empire, was likewise modernizing. The famed hunters and tinkerers of Hochland had their own things to sell and it was telling of the new era that a railway head was at Fort Schippel, one of the remotest regions of the Empire.

To the surprise of many, Sylvania was growing too. Okay, they had oil and some other things, but there were people from other provinces of the Empire going there to work. Something that would never have happened just 20 years ago. The village Drakenhof at the Castle was today a city, Leicheberg and Tempelhof, as an example, were production centers.

Granted, the modernization of the Empire followed the main train axes of the nation and more or less important side axes, but it spread further year by year. The industrial revolution had taken hold of the Empire and Nippon.

Another area where you could see the power of progress was Tilea. Miragliano was beginning to become competition for the Tilean capital.

Markus Ruhdorfer looked at the Castle of Shirasagi, the rebuilt main shrine of the city, one of the new quarters in Jugendstil (Art Noveau) style, directly built to the old city and the picturesque mix of old, German and New Nipponese style buildings in the city center until they became too small to be told apart.

He was happy going home, but a piece of his heart was reserved for the second city of Nippon.

Bochum, Germany, 2023

The car was red, small when compared to its more modern counterparts and there were practically no parts left of the vehicle that had left Ford`s factory in 1938. It was considerably lower than originally made, the tires would not look out of place on a Porsche 911 even if the chrome wheels would. And the chrome did not stop at the wheels, the headlights, bumper, radiator and many other surfaces were resplendent with it. The exhaust was chromed too and the sounds that emerged from it were, if possible, even more exciting to the small crowd around it than the car. A deep burbling rumble indicated a large displacement engine and the more discerning of the spectators identified the V8 from the sound alone.

The humans around Björn cheered, slapped his ample shoulders and made the right kind of noises. And Björn Stonehammer thought he had earned that as well as his salary. Adapting a Karaz-a-Karak-made Small Block engine to the Hot Rod had been no mean feat. He had also made a lot of parts that would have been ordered from the US a decade before, something that was no longer possible. His life had changed considerably ever since the Germans had pulled him from a hellhole in Hag Graef. He had not been sure at what to do with himself once the hospital had released him. He had taken up an apprenticeship with Daimler-Benz together with some others, including Uli Grimnison who earned his money as a bard these days. The apprenticeship had been an eye-opener. He thought he had an idea about technology till the Germans showed him different. What machines could he build with that knowledge. Unfortunately, the Karaks were not too keen on taking in former slaves, they though he should have suicided honorably. These days things might be different, but he had chosen another path now. Changing oil filters as part of a scheduled maintenance or working on Daimler`s long assembly lines did not appeal to the Dawi who wanted to see something of life.

Uli Grimnisson came through for him and brought him into contact with a small workshop in Bochum. This workshop specialized in working on US cars and motorcycles, often old ones. These machines spoke to him much more than the technological marvels that Daimler built. They needed no electronics to run, they were robust to the point that a stout Dawi could appreciate them and they were open to modification to no end. His talent in making things by hand and a few tools that usually took a huge amount of machinery was more than welcome given that the original source of parts was gone. And since oil was no longer a restricted commodity the old cars that had their fans in Germany received a second lease in life. Said life was prolonged when Björn somehow hammered a flawless front bumper from sheet metal or milled a piston on a machine that should have been incapable of that feat endeared him to many of these. He had gotten to like this group of Germans. They could drink huge amounts of beer, could handle themselves in a scrap and respected everybody who could wrench as good as he could. By now his clothing and tattoos began to mirror his new station in life.

He had gathered such a reputation that his company allowed him to work on a project of his own, integrating the newly-made Small Block engines into human cars. That these engines were a pretty close copy of the old CID 427 helped greatly. And now he had helped to finish rebuilding a Ford 1938 into a glorious Hot Rod when the project had seemingly died with the Weltensprung.

Something made its way for his head and he barely managed to catch it before it connected. He found the object to be a set of old fashioned, chromed keys.

"Hey Björn, want to give it a spin?"
"Sure about that?"
"Sure as sure."
"Yes, let`s go."