Berlin 2097
Hans Eckhart was sitting on the stairs of the utility entrance to the Pariser Platz U-Bahn, the door wide open and held against the outside wall by a pile of cinderblocks. He sat parallel to the open door, his left knee drawn up and right leg braced against the step, his rifle cradled in his arms. Outside, the whole broad length of Pariser Platz was lined with debris and wreckage. Cars left in place by their owners, long dead. Rubble from nearby buildings, sandbags and other fortifications from conflicts years old and long abandoned.
At the end of the plaza was the Great Gate. Only a few of its lights still worked, casting long golden rays up its concrete facade. Once known as the Brandenburg Gate it was now home to a raider sniper, picking off caravan guards to let his friends plunder the cargo. This had gone on for a week until the caravanners asked the U-Bahnen, the only settlements in the area, to do something about it.
Plenty of mercenaries had agreed, and had formed a coalition to remove the raiders from Pariser Platz. Standing on the steps beside Hans were his friends, Walter Steinbatz and Hilda Mueller, weapons in hand. Walter was something of an oddity; a tall man of a slim build with glasses, his strength could be surprising. He had a strange affinity for suspenders, as all of his outfits made use of them. He claimed to prefer leather ones, as if one was supposed to hear that and understand why or even what the difference between them and other kinds was. He preferred his Gewehr 41(M), though kept some other guns back home.
Hilda, on the other hand, was your typical woman. Of average stature with a modest build, and shoulder length red hair, she was fairly popular in the Pariser Platz U-Bahn. If you asked why, she'd say it was because of her looks until she tended to your wounds, then she'd tell you she's popular because of her medical skills. She preferred the automatics, her weapon of choice being an Erma EMP.
"How long must we wait?" Walter asked. The plan was to wait for the other mercs involved to get into position before moving on the gate. There were several U-Bahn lines around Pariser Platz, each with their own identity, though they all flew the flag of Pariser Platz. The mercs storming the gate numbered around thirty, including Hans and his friends, so it wouldn't be long until everyone was ready.
"Shouldn't be much longer" Hans said. He made sure his K98k had a round chambered and just watched the plaza for any signs of movement. There was a whole raider camp built around the base of the Brandenburg Gate that would have to be knocked out, but officially their job was to kill the sniper, or snipers, camped out on top of the gate.
Across the Platz Hans saw some of the other mercs begin to move and he stood. "Time to go." Keeping low he rushed out into the cloudy midday light, his friends right behind him. Shots began to ring out, to and from the Gate. The top of the Great Gate had been reinforced with all sorts of fortifications. Sandbags, sheet metal, wood panels, barbed wire (Hans loved that one. Who was going to climb a ladder all the way to the top of the gate?), and all along these fortifications were gaps that the sniper, or snipers, could fire from.
Hans and his friends made it halfway across the plaza when they came under fire. Hans had just reached the rusting, barren husk of a Chryslus when a bullet hit the roof, showering him in sparks and micro shrapnel. He half fell, half threw himself to the ground, his team sliding in right behind him. "I'm alright, I'm alright!"
"Lemme see!" Hilda yelled, and Hans rose into a crouch. The raider sniper turned his attention elsewhere and Hans let Hilda look him over, her hand on his chin. He couldn't tell if it was her or him who was shaking, but Hilda seemed pleased that he wasn't hurt too bad. "Just some scratches, you'll be fine."
Hans nodded and turned back to face the plaza. Some of the other mercs had made it farther along and were nearing the base of the Brandenburg Gate when they came under fire. The sporadic pops of K98's and pistols was replaced by the ripping staccato of a machine gun, and four mercs went down, dead or wounded. "Judging by the sound that's an MG-34, which means this just got a whole lot more complicated" Walter said.
Hans agreed. He braced his rifle on the hood of an imported electric Chryslus and took a look. The machine gunner was on the ground level, at least, hidden somewhere along the fence the raiders had erected around the gate. The raider let rip another burst of fire, keeping the heads of the remaining mercs down, though he hadn't yet seen Hans' group.
"OK, we're going to proceed as normal. Keep to the right side of the Gate as we approach, and be mindful of sniper fire" Hans said. He waited a few moments to make sure the machine gunner wasn't going to look their way before he bolted. It was another hundred yards to the fence, with plenty of cover between here and there, so he did what he always did: keep moving. Head down, keep moving. It had kept him alive all his life, even with all the dangerous mercenary work he'd been doing for the past five years.
His mad dash ended when Hans reached the fence, Walter and Hilda right behind him. This close to the fence there was no way for the raiders to see them, let alone shoot them, so they had a moment to breathe. They'd ended up right next to the fence's gate, undoubtedly locked. All across the plaza mercs kept their heads down as the raider on the MG-34 sent bullets everywhere he saw movement. There was a van next to the fence, its panel bearing a faded logo: Vault-Tec. Hans climbed atop the van and was able to see right into the raider camp. To his amazement, almost none of the raiders were watching the gate. Most of them were sitting around eating, or taking chems, or fucking. It was surreal, in a way. Amusing, almost. He crouched back down on the hood of the van and looked back at his friends. "Hilda, any grenades?"
She nodded. "Yeah, here." She slipped her backpack off and dug out a few, ancient M24 Stielhandgranaten, and handed them over to him. He unscrewed the caps, yanked on the pull cords, and lobbed them in. One at the largest group of raiders, bunched up by a grill, and one at the machine gunner. They each detonated just a second apart, their thunderous roar silencing the MG and replacing it with cries of pain from the wounded. Hans vaulted over the fence and landed right next to one of Brandenburg's stone columns, the perfect cover. Amazingly, the fence's gate had no kind of lock at all, and he quickly pushed it open.
When he hunkered back down by the column he watched a raider haphazardly drop down by one of the other columns, gun in hand. From her position she couldn't see Hans, but he could see the barrel of her gun pointing right at the gate. He lined up his shot and fired, the bullet striking the column right next to her gun. She shouted in surprise and pulled back just as several mercs poured into the camp, taking cover behind the columns and what little furniture the raiders had strewn about the camp.
Walter rushed right by Hans and into the camp proper, his Gewehr 41 barking. Hilda was no where to be seen, but he could hear the steady beat of her Erma nearby. He pushed into the camp, the raiders dropping like flies. The grenades had killed about seven, leaving maybe a dozen remaining. Hans could barely see anything beyond the fence of the camp, the adrenaline giving him tunnel vision. The whole world was just this little raider camp, nothing else existing or mattering at the moment. There was a raider standing in the doorway of a nearby shack, a shotgun in his hands, and Hans fired. The round tore through the raider's chest and he crumpled over, writhing and wheezing. He died just seconds later.
There was another explosion and Hans dropped to the ground, his K98 clattering next to him. Whether the grenade had been thrown by the mercs or the raiders, he couldn't tell, but since there'd been no warning he guessed it was the raiders. He caught a brief glimpse of Hilda scurrying across the camp and then lost sight of her, her Erma cycling.
After just a few minutes it was all over, the chaotic skirmish ending. The sounds of combat gave way to the sharp cracking of a nearby fire, and the background noise of the Berlin Wasteland. There was a hand-built staircase by the other end of the Great Gate, leading all the way up to the top. Hans recovered his rifle and jogged over to it, Walter and Hilda already standing by the base along with a few other mercs. "We're all ready to head up. Coming with?" Hilda asked, and Hans nodded.
"Who wants to go first?" he asked. Walter and one of the other mercs raised their hands, and Hans nodded. "Up you go." They started up the steps and Hans and Hilda waited, watching. They slowed down near the top of the stairs, chucked grenades, and crouched. Hans heard a faint cry of surprise and then the grenades went off.
Hans took the opportunity to head up the steps. The stairs were a little rickety, raiders weren't known for their woodworking skills, but they were stable enough. He reached the top and found the sniper's nest in disrepair, little bits of all kinds of debris strewn about. The sniper's body was no where to be seen, though at least one of his legs had stuck around.
"Some view, huh? Should bring Hilda up here" Walter said. The view was pretty impressive, all things considered. As far as the eye could see stretched the sprawling remains of the Berlin Wasteland, the river Spree nearby. To the west was Grosser Tiergarten, one of the few places in Berlin where a wastelander could see and touch grass and trees. On brighter days the Alps could be seen, faintly, far to the south.
"I don't think she'd like the heights so much, ever since that time we spent at the Fernsehturm tower. It'd be visible from here, if it were still standing" Hans said, and Walter laughed.
"Who knew such a little woman could carry so many bombs, eh? Eh, fuck 'em, though. Communist pricks got what they deserved. Let's go back down, see what kind of loot is left and then go home" Walter said. He didn't wait around for Hans to answer, and instead just headed back down the stairs. With the raiders excised from the Great Gate the area could go back to being a hub of trade and commerce for Berlin. At least that was the talk Hans had heard around the U-Bahn. Maybe people would go back to calling it the Brandenburg Gate, now that civilized people would be around to educate them on its history.
Hans scavenged what he could, both from the top of the gate and from the raider camp, and rejoined his team by the fence. Their haul had mostly been ammo and grenades, the remainder of the goods being reserved for processing into the U-Bahnen economy. Guns, utensils, a few hot plates, dishes, the grill (for parts, seeing as how the first grenade had actually landed on it, to Hans' surprise), chems, tools, it'd all find a place in the shops of the Pariser Platz U-Bahn, and then to those who needed it. The camp would be cleaned up, refurbished, and expanded. Hans and his team would have no part in this, but it'd be nice to see.
"Back home, then" Hans said, and they began to walk.
"Take a look at this, friend" Walter said, and reached into his satchel. He pulled out two boxes and handed them to Hans, who looked them over. "Military Mauser ammunition, brass cased. I took a look at the rounds, they're premium. I figure one box for you and one for me. The little one found an Erma, for spare parts, and some magazines. A smoke grenade, too, if you can believe it."
"'The little one'?" Hilda said, and Walter laughed. Hans handed one of the cartridge boxes back to Walter and pocketed the other.
"Nice find, thanks. Better than the inconsistent hodge-podge the Bahnen make" Hans said. He slung his rifle as they neared the public entrance to the subway, clearly marked, and descended. What little industry that remained in Berlin was in the subway-cities; ammunition production, parts production, tool production, it was all done on whatever salvaged machines could be found and brought back to the stations. The tools and parts, Hans had discovered, were easy to get right. The ammunition was another story, seeing as how most of it was handloads on old presses. The premium stuff was made from scratch, when possible, and reserved for mercs like Hans and the others that the subways relied on for security, but it was rare. Most of the time they were using the handloads and, if they were lucky, it'd be their own handloads.
Once back inside the group went their separate ways, and Hans headed straight for the main office of the Pariser Platz subway, to report their success to the council. And, of course, to get paid. From there he'd head home, clean his rifle, and replenish his kit.
And tomorrow he'd do it all again.