Kaiser Wilhelm's father, Frederick III was an avid supporter of liberalising Germany's feudal, militaristic regime. Many historians believe that if Frederick had lived longer or he had been closer to his son, Germany may have liberalised without the violence that defined the first few years of the Weimar Republic. This is fact.

Also, I thought you loyal readers deserved some action so the second half takes place in the war torn streets of Consta... I mean Istanbul. Be careful of Lilit. I didn't mean to make her so scary but in the end, I quite liked the atmosphere it created. The war has been a little too comfy after all...

Part 5

The geometric patterns of the Brandenburg Palace gardens always fascinated Kaiser Wilhelm II. When he was a child, he would always get lost in the interlocking hedges, spread out like the gears of some enormous clockwork mechanism. Every corner would bring new mystery: a bed of white lilies so soft that it was almost like a feather mattress, a pond filled with inquisitive fish in bright tropical colours, a statue that saluted him with a whirr of clockwork... Then he would clamber to the Audience Chamber on the top floor of the Palace and all the vast gardens would be laid out below, their secrets and charms revealed like in some industrial blueprint. He stood at the long window, his frail left arm hidden inside of his evening jacket as if reaching for a cigar.
A polite cough from one of the servants reminded him who he was keeping waiting. Turning from the window, he seated himself on one of his plush armchairs. There used to be some sort of stool made from ebony and red velvet but the thing was far too uncomfortable to sit on during a meeting of the high command and his father had discarded it. Now he had an armchair, and one that could light cigars and pour champagne, though the mechanical arms were still a little too clumsy for those most delicate of arts.
The Minister of the Interior was seated on his right, maintaining his signature silence, his temples lightly dusted with silver hairs that hadn't been there when he took the position less than a year ago. He lay back in his chair, his posture languid and bored but his grey eyes betrayed a restless intelligence as they observed the assembled military men. They were all impatient. Strange. In the military academies, patience was regarded as one of the finest of virtues.
"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Kaiser Wilhelm the Second, King of Prussia and Emperor of Germany." the men all bowed at the crier's introduction.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Generalfeldmarshall von Heste?"
The man was flustered about something. And Kaiser Wilhelm believed he knew what it...
"Your Highness, I must protest at the orders we received from THAT man."
The Generalfeldmarshall pointed furiously at the Minister of the Interior.
"Cutting our budget by HALF in FIVE years? Withdrawal of ALL occupational forces in TWO?"
The Minister of the Interior stood and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Are you saying it cannot be done, Generalfeldmarshall? From a purely logical, logistical point of view, I mean."
Von Heste raised his hands.
"Of course it can be done but it would..."
"Then do it."
The Minister snapped. Von Heste stared at him, taken aback.
"We need that money to..."
"To do what?" the Minister of the Interior strode up to von Heste. "To build more walkers? To buy more dreadnoughts? This country doesn't need any more goddamn war machines! We need proper agriculture! We need more factories, more trade routes, more universities! You won the war. Well done. Now let the rest of the country do its goddamn job!"
If he didn't dislike von Heste so much, Kaiser Wilhelm would have fired the Minister of the Interior on the spot. But right now, it seemed an appropriate enough wake up call to an over bloated military. von Heste looked positively dumbstruck. Perhaps it would have been worth it just to see the outrage on that old war horse's face.
"Generalfeldmarshall, go back to Berlin. You have a budget to rethink."
von Heste stiffened.
"Yes, Your Highness."
He turned and strode out, the other generals in tow.
"Antagonising the military. As far as political suicides go, that is quite a good one."
The Minister of the Interior turned.
"I got too emotional. I am sorry, Your Highness."
"You believe it is the right thing to do and I trust you. My father always argued that the military held too much sway over this country's politics. Now we have secured ourselves from the Darwinists, perhaps it is time to rebuild the nation in a more peaceful way."
The Kaiser resumed his position at the long window.
"But reigning in the military is only the first step."
"So you are serious about this?"
Kaiser Wilhelm thought back to his father. The animation that had entered his voice when he spoke of it, the joy it brought the old man even as he neared death.
"Yes. I do not care who or what stands in our way. We will make this nation everything my father dreamed it would be."

Normally, a printer's boy could never hope to be a surgeon. Being a surgeon meant years of expensive training and recommendations from "respectable people". But Karl Neumann was on his way to the top. Sure he was only a field medic now but it was training. He even got paid for it. Soon, very soon he would be promoted to a field hospital. Probably not a surgeon immediately but he would help one, learn all he needed to know and then he was going to show them how smart the son of a printer could be! He had it all planned out.
"Incoming!"
The shout brought his thoughts crashing back to Earth. On pure instinct, he threw himself to the floor. For a moment, he thought it had been another false alarm. Then there was an explosion of noise. The wall seemed to shatter into a thousand stone and plaster fragments. One of the soldiers screamed, a jagged shard planted itself in his shoulder.
"Medic!"
Karl tore his eye from the collapsing wall and crawled over to the soldier.
"Don't pull it out!"
The man's comrades turned, his hand on the stone shard. Karl pulled himself over and pulled a thick wad of gauze out of his pack.
"Private, I need you to hold it over the wound."
The man's friend complied. Karl chanced a glance at the wall. It was cracked but whole. What had...?
A metal fist burst through the wall. Each finger was as wide as Karl's waist and segmented like some medieval suit of armour. With a clash of pistons, the vast fingers flexed and then opened wide. A soldier yelled something incoherent and fired his rifle. The sergeant grabbed his shoulder, saying something about ricochets but the man kept shooting. Then the hand reached forward, its metal fingers wrapping around the screaming soldier. He struggled, his arms flailing. The pistons roared and there was a sickening crunch.
The hand retreated out the wall, leaving the broken corpse of the soldier.
"Get out of the building. Now!" The sergeant roared.
"But what about..."
"Hurry!"
The sergeant pushed two of the soldiers towards the door. Stirred into motion, the rest of the unit made for the exit. Karl pulled the wounded soldier's good arm around his neck and pulled him to his feet. The man swayed but with his friend's help, they half carried, half dragged him down the stairwell and into the garden, abandoning the broken body of their former comrade alone in the collapsing room.
The garden was a small tiled courtyard, typical for this district of Istanbul. The bubbling fountain looked absurd amongst the crowds of armed men. Someone had set up a dressing station with half a dozen field beds. Karl let the injured man slip from his shoulder and onto an empty bed. The man's eyes widened as he saw the linen mattress was stained with dried blood and his friend began speaking to him, meaningless distracting words to take the man's mind off his wound and the blood stains.
"Neumann! Get over here!"
Karl scrambled over to the sergeant.
"Whatever that thing was..."
The boom of cannon fire shook the courtyard, the blast wave deafening the assembled men. The sergeant opened his mouth but all Karl could hear was a high pitched ringing. He could still feel rumbling in his boots. Were those steps? Over the courtyard wall, a huge figure loomed, black against the red tinged sky.
It was demonic. Its huge horned head was thrown back as if roaring out some terrible war cry. Its arm reached out, its fingers still splattered with the blood of the man upstairs.
Another boom shuddered through his bones. The monster shuddered, boiling steam bleeding from ruined pneumatics as its chest was struck with a shell. It turned. A walker, beautifully simple and angular, stormed towards the stricken demon, its cannon smoking and white crosses painted on its dull steel armour. Then the monster reached out with its clawed hand and grasped the canon barrel. The walker tried to step back and Karl realised he could hear the screech of metal scraping against stone. The demon twisted the walker's cannon and the terrible sound of tearing metal renewed its assault on Karl's damaged eardrums. The walker stumbled back, its cannon ripped out of its belly by the demon's hand.
By now the entire platoon was staring in awe at the duelling walkers. They watched in collective horror as the demon forced its hand into the ruined gun port.
"Take cov..."
The walker's belly exploded in an orange fireball that engulfed both the titans. The shockwave lifted the men off their feet and threw them across the courtyard. Whiteness filled their vision and the world became suddenly absolutely silent.

The high pitched ringing returned. He felt his ears and saw blood on his fingertips. The wall of the courtyard had been broken by explosion and the falling walker. White steam and brick dust filled the air. He could not see further than ten metres. He stumbled idly through the gloom, only vaguely aware of the corpses underfoot. Then he saw a standing figure through the dust. He called out to it but he could not hear his own voice. The figure turned. It was a girl, barely seventeen. Blood flowed from a cut on her temple and she held a hand over her stomach where a rapidly growing stain betrayed a greater wound. He called out again, this time in what little Turkish he knew.
"I can help you."
He stumbled through the broken masonry towards her, reaching into his pack. She stood stock still, her attractive face as white as sterile bandages. He smiled to calm her.
"Don't worry. You are going to be just..."
He felt a sudden pain in his chest, bringing him to his knees. He looked down. She had stabbed him, through the collar bone and down into his lung.
"...fine"
He whispered. He could feel blood entering his lungs, fouling his speech. He tried to speak again but blood filled his mouth. He spat and managed to whimper out.
"Please."
He looked into his killer's eyes. They were deep and brown and filled with hatred. She said something but he couldn't hear it. His lips moved but no noise escaped his blood clogged lungs.
"Please."