Berlin 2099

After spending four months of the past year in the freezing cold of the Alps, Hans Eckhart had come to really appreciate the warmth of more temperate climates. Of course, Berlin got cold during the winter months, but the effects on the climate The Bomb had meant that Germany's winters lasted only a few months. In the spring and summer she was warm, if a bit rainy.

Of course, there was such a thing as too warm. As the heat and blast from the Deutsche Kommunist's incendiary grenade washed over him he tightened his grip on his G11 K1, keeping as low to the ground as possible to avoid blisters and worse. With the danger past Hans was free to lean out and return fire on the DK squad, his rifle gently vibrating as the 4.7mm rounds found their mark. The firebomber communist fell and her comrades ducked back into cover.

"Paul! Move!" Hans shouted, and his second in command nodded. Lieutenant Paul March vaulted over the overturned cigarette vending machine he'd been taking cover behind, STG-44 in hand. Hans followed a few moments after, the two of them moving up to put pressure on the DK soldiers. The hall they were in ended in a T-junction, the Communists having ducked down both offshoots. If Hans and Paul entered the junction, they'd be caught in a crossfire and swiftly ventilated.

The two of them stopped at the threshold to the junction and drew their grenades. With a twist of the caps and a yank of the cords the M24's went around both corners, detonating just seconds after. They chucked another helping of grenades, just to make sure, and ducked low around the corners. As expected, there was no return fire. The Deutsches Kommunists were all dead.

Hans stood and began picking through the bodies, checking them for ammo, food, and meds. Paul did the same, the building suddenly silent. That was always the part that bothered Hans the most; the silence after a battle. When the bullets were flying and people were dying, everything was a blur but it still felt as though it would last forever. When it was over, and the silence descended, it felt strange. Alien. It didn't help that Hans suffered from some kind of tunnel vision during gunfights. He could see the room, the targets, any cover, just fine. Everything beyond that, though, was shrouded in some kind of gray haze that would dissipate only after the fight ended.

"Anything good?" Paul asked, knocking him from his thoughts. He shook his head and slung his rifle. "They never have anything good, honestly," Paul said. "Which is odd, when you consider just how active these commie pricks are."

Hans nodded. "I know." The Deutsches Kommunists had always been something of a bother to Berlin's U-Bahn stations. For as long as he'd been a member, at least. Their headquarters at Fernsehturm was abandoned, as far as he knew, so they must be elsewhere. The question, as always, was where?

"Well, these ones won't bother anyone ever again," Paul said. "Come on, let's go back." The two of them went back down the hall, down several flights of stairs, and through the rooms and corridors of the embassy building. The lobby door was still open, just as they'd left it, and they quickly walked back outside into the midday summer sun and onto Unter den Linden. The street's namesakes were all in bloom, their branches full and vibrant with green. At least, if one was old enough to have seen them in bloom and remember how they looked before The Bomb killed them all.

From the front doors of the embassy building a turn to the left and a short walk down Unter den Linden took them back to the entrance to the Pariser Platz U-Bahn station, the Brandenburg Gate looming just a short distance beyond it. Hans paused by the stairs to the station and stared idly at Brandenburg, his mind wandering.

Savoring the sun for a few seconds longer Hans sighed and began his trek down the steps to his home, a hand on the railing. "What I can't understand is why the communists don't just fucking ask us for help. I'm sure there's something they could offer us, and there's plenty the stations could offer them. Just come to us and let us work together," Hans said.

Paul scoffed. "Remember what Hilda told you about the ones at Fernsehturm? The stupid pricks couldn't screw in a lightbulb, let alone get any kind of gardening or hydroponics machinery working. They have to steal from the stations because they're too busy reading books and writing poetry to learn gardening."

The two of them reached the lobby of the Pariser Platz U-Bahn station and passed by the support columns, the din from the markets rising up from the platform below. "Speaking of, I'm going to go see Doctor Muller. Get a message to the DHM and Potsdamer Platz stations. Let them know we dispatched a DK squad at the former Russian Embassy," Hans said. Paul nodded and made a beeline for the stairs leading down to the platform to get on the handcar that would take him to the station at the Deutsches Historisches Museum.

Hans turned the opposite way and walked over to the door to Doctor Muller's office. Before the War it'd been the station's bathroom, and before it'd been the doctor's office it'd been the home of the Pariser Platz councilor. A friend sadly missed.

The door was open, as it usually was when Doctor Muller was in and not tending to any patients. Hans walked into the ersatz clinic and shut the door behind him, making sure to lock it, and walked over to Doctor Muller's desk. She looked up from the report she was writing and stood when she saw who it was. "Hans, thank God you're unhurt. Where's Paul?"

"Downstairs," Hans said, and stopped by Doctor Muller's desk. He took hold of one of her hands and gave her a kiss she eagerly returned, the faded gold of their rings rubbing together with a tinny *clink*. "The job was easy. Didn't even break a sweat."

"Glad to hear it," Hilda said. "Entitled bastards get what they deserve." She sat back down and pushed her papers aside. "Anything else planned for the rest of the day?" she asked, looking up at him, her right elbow on her desk and her chin rested on her hand. Her green eyes sparkled in the light, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing green scrubs and her blue skirt, her legs bare save for her shoes. Hans pushed aside one of her trinkets, a statuette of a grey horse with a brown mane rearing up, and sat on the edge of his wife's desk.

"No, that was it for the day. You?" he asked, and Hilda sighed.

"Afraid so. I had to transfer one of my patients to the station at Potsdamer Platz, so I've got to go over there in a little while to bring him a few things. Before I do that, however, I've got to finish recording some important information about his diagnosis, as well as a few notes from one of my medical texts, to give to the doctor at Potsdamer. Did you send Paul to Potsdamer?" Hilda asked.

Hans nodded. "DHM, too. I imagine he went to DHM first, seeing as how it's closer. When he comes back you can go with him."

"I'd much rather go with you, obviously."

"That can be arranged, I'm sure," Hans said. "That's more fair to Paul, too. He goes to DHM to deliver our report, I go to Potsdamer to deliver it. And, since the handcar's got a motor attached to it now, we can just sit on the bench for the thirty minute ride."

Hilda smiled coyly at him. "You mean you will be sitting on the bench, while I'm sitting on your lap, right?" she said.

"If that's what you want."

"I do." Her smile faded. "But first, my patient." She pulled one of her medical books out from one of her desk's drawers and set it to the side, using her right hand to flip it open while her left hand gathered up one of her pencils and clipboards. "Just come get me when Paul returns. I'll be ready."

Hans nodded and stood. "See you in a bit," he said, gave her another quick kiss, and left her office. Across the station's foyer, behind the ticket master's counter, was a breakroom. The apartment he shared with Hilda. An upgrade from the utility closet he once called home. More spacious and better decorated. A good thing, too, since a woman like Hilda wouldn't have been impressed by a closet. Not that Hilda needed impressing; she'd fallen for him first.

Inside the apartment, across from the small bed, was the armoire Hans used as a personal armory. He stopped by it to check his gear, looking for anything he needed to replace. He hadn't expended too much ammo fighting the communists at the embassy building, but he definitely needed to restock on grenades. He pulled a few of the M24 Stielhandgranaten out and put them in their dedicated pouches, repurposed MP40 magazine pouches. Everything else he was good on, from 4.7mm ammo for his G11 K1 to the .45 Mars Long his Mars Automatic Pistol used.

Supplies topped back up he closed the doors to his armoire armory and headed back out into the station's foyer. From there he headed down the adjoining stairs to the station's platform, eyes on the bar on the B-side of the platform.

As he approached the bar Hans couldn't help but think of all the memories the station brought to him. When he, Hilda, and Paul had reoccupied it they'd retained much of the station's previous layout, just for the sake of convenience. Of course, just being in the station reminded Hans of things he'd rather forget, but these days the U-Bahn stations were the safest places in Berlin, just like they'd used to be.

Hans sat at the bar, ordered a water, and turned the stool around to watch the track for Paul's return. The platforms, both A and B side, were modestly busy with activity. There were more markets at the larger DHM station, with the ones at Pariser Platz being more for travelers. The whole station had been built up with caravanners in mind, a free hotel in the back behind the bar.

Of course, even inns needed security, and that's what Hans and Paul provided. Security. Both for Pariser Platz station as well as DHM and Potsdamer Platz. In return they got free food and rooms at Pariser Platz, and pay from the other two in exchange for help with anything and everything. Communist partisans, marauder gangs, Rotters, Rovers, etc. It wasn't as meaningful as trying to change Germany, but it helped improve the lives of his friends and acquaintances, so it was enough to keep him satisfied.

A gentle squeaking from down the tracks told Hans that Paul was returning. He finished his water and hopped down from the stool, eager to get going. As Paul pulled into the station he slowed the motorized handcar down, stopping right by his friend and commander with a smile. "Hey there, need a ride?" Paul asked.

Hans shook his head. "Go get Hilda, she needs to go to Potsdamer Platz too." At this, Paul's smile grew even wider, his eyebrows dancing.

"Ah, I see what's happening here. Sure, sure, just wait here a moment," Paul said. He shut the handcar off and jumped onto the platform, jogging for the stairs that led up to the station's foyer. Hans rolled his eyes and sat down on the handcar's bench. Paul and Hilda came down a few minutes later, and his wife joined him on the handcar. "I'm guessing you want me to stay here, yeah?"

"That's right," Hans said. "Someone has to stay here and keep the station safe."

Paul nodded and saluted. "You got it. Have fun, you lovebirds. If you need more time before you get to Potsdamer, just put the motor in low gear. Should give you plenty of time" he said with a wink.

Hilda rolled her eyes and Hans leaned forward to start the motor up. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks. Bye, Paul," Hans said.

"Stay safe."

The handcar got moving, slowly at first, beginning the half-hour ride to Potsdamer Platz station. As they slipped into the darkness of the tunnel, lit only by a faint lantern on the handcar, Hans and Hilda moved closer to each other on the bench, a hand on each other's thighs.