Epilogue

Hans Eckhart, a bandage wrapped around his head, approached the entrance to the Pariser Platz U-Bahn station, the setting sun casting an orange light across the sky. The guard recognized him and jumped up from his seat, helping him down the stairs into the station's foyer and rushing to get Lieutenant March. Hans eased himself onto a bench and leaned back, his eyes shut.

A few moments later Paul rushed up the stairs and approached him. "My God, Hans, are you alright?" he asked, and crouched down in front of his friend and commander. Hans waved a hand dismissively, nodding.

"It's just a cut," he said. "I'm not seriously wounded. It's over, Paul. We won't be having any more trouble with the Sturmutants."

"What happened?"

Hans told him everything, from their mission to Potsdamerplatz and Friedrichsstrasse, to being captured by the Deutsche Kommunists at the BMW building and finding out Friedrich Ademar was still alive, to being captured by the Sturmutants and watching Hilda being hanged before being rescued by Erich Braun and the Panzertroopers. He told him about the American military base, the Wanamingo tunnel, and the final assault on the Reichstag.

When it was over Paul didn't even say anything, a stricken look on his face. Hans reached into a pouch on his hip and pulled out the 10mm N99 he'd taken from Air Station Richardson, along with the H&K P7 that Irmina had given him. "Here, these are for you," Hans said quietly. "Figured you'd want some souvenirs..."

Paul put the pistols on the ground. "My God... I'm so sorry, Hans," he said, and Hans nodded. He pulled the bandage from his head, cleaned the wound again, and applied a fresh bandage. He pulled out his canteen and, with shaking hands, took a few gulps of the warm water. He set the canteen aside and sighed.

"I know," he said. "But I got to fulfill her final wish, so it all turned out OK... Well, I didn't fulfill her wish exactly. She wanted me to slash Queen Ilse's throat, and I threatened to shove a grenade up Ilse's cunt, but I had to settle for blowing her and that piece of shit Friedrich up. Can't always get what we want," Hans said with a chuckle.

"What happens now?" Paul asked.

"Now," Hans said, "the Panzertroopers will move their base closer to Pariser Platz and help provide security for us and the other stations. They're a little busy right now, tying up one last loose end, but I told Erich to come here once he was done."

"I can't believe it," Paul said. "Any of it, really. Hilda, Friedrich, Erich... If I'd known, I'd have dropped everything to come help you. You know I would have."

"I know, Paul, and thank you," Hans said, and he grasped one of Paul's hands. "Thank you."

Paul nodded. "Of course."

The guard came down the stairs. "Lieutenant March, Councilor Eckhart, there's someone here to see you. A big boy, in armor."

"That's Erich," Hans said, and stood up with a pained grunt. He limped up the stairs and out into the warm Berlin evening, Erich standing by the entrance with his Gauss Rifle in hand. He saw Paul March next to Hans and took his helmet off, his closely-cropped blonde hair moist with sweat.

"Lieutenant March," he said, and Paul nodded at him. Hans sat down in the guard's chair and told him to head inside and take a break. The kid, barely 17 but looking 30, nodded and went down the steps into the station, leaving the three of them alone. Hans looked up at Erich. "It's done," Erich said. "They were there at Alexanderplatz, just like you said. You shoulda seen it. Irmina and I just walked in their front door, announced that we were looking for recruits. They must've had over 200 people living in that department store. Most of them assembled on the wide open ground floor, by a stage. All I had to do was unsling the M42," Erich said with a shark-like grin.

"What about the rest of them?" Hans said.

"Irmina and I mopped them up. A couple escaped, but just the humans. Every mutant and Rotter they had there we exterminated. It was a real joy, let me tell you," Erich said.

Hans waved his hand. "I'm sure, I'm sure. What's next for you and the Butchers?"

"We've got most of the prisoners from the park at the venue, keeping them fed and housed until they can move into other settlements. There were 87 people imprisoned at the park and we rescued 86, not including you. One died of a heart attack during the assault. Not bad, if you ask me. Once we get all the survivors moved into local settlements we'll move shop here, to Pariser Platz. Minus Oskar, he's got to stay behind at the venue until Ernest and Jaeger return from their mission," Erich explained. "Once they get back we'll continue doing what we love: massacring mutants and keeping our city safe from the trash."

"Glad to hear it," Hans said. "You two can go down into the station if you want. I'm gonna stay up here a while longer."

"I've got to get back to Langenbeck," Erich said, and put his helmet back on. "Irmina and I will be back sometime during the week." With that he lumbered off, his boots thumping against the pavement as he began the long walk back to the venue. Hans looked up at Paul, who just nodded.

"I'll let the guard know it's OK to take an extended break," Paul said. Hans nodded and watched his friend descend into the station and disappear from sight, leaving them alone. He looked down the length of the square at the Brandenburg Gate, glowing orange in the sun's light.

What was the point of it all? That was the question still on his mind. He'd avenged Hilda, avenged Klara, destroyed the mutant camp that was causing so much trouble for the stations, removed the communists from the equation, and got extra security for the stations. A victory through and through, and yet he felt hollow. He knew that when he went down into the station, into his apartment, all of his wife's things would still be there. Her medical texts, her little horse statue, her clothes, her soaps, everything. Exactly where she'd left it, just four days ago. When he woke up tomorrow, she wouldn't be there in bed with him, or waiting for him in the shower. He would never see her face again, hear her voice again, never feel her touch again.

If their roles had been reversed he wondered what she'd be feeling right now. He knew her too well to know that she'd be feeling the way he was feeling. She'd still be angry, despite getting everything she wanted, because even then her closest partner would still be dead. That's what left him feeling so empty. He'd won it all, but Hilda was still dead. She'd never come home.

He thought back to when they'd been imprisoned by the Sturmutants, and he'd wondered what drove her so much. At the time, he'd thought it had been because of her childhood, or to express power or control over others. He'd even thought the reason she enjoyed killing was to prevent others from controlling her, but none of those explanations had satisfied him.

Now, he understood. Hilda had killed others to pursue that which she could never have, revenge for the abuse inflicted on her, and it drove her up the wall. She didn't kill because she was abused, she killed because her abuser died before she could kill her, depriving her of the chance. He'd gotten what he wanted, gotten his revenge, but it wouldn't bring his wife back. She was still dead, and Berlin was still a hellhole. Nothing he'd done had changed his reality. All it had served to do was satisfy his own sense of morality, and now that he had what he wanted he hated both it and himself.

Hans leaned forward in the chair, put his elbows on his knees, and pulled the Mars Automatic from his holster. He looked down at the massive handgun, dirty and scratched from years of use, and rubbed his thumb on it. After a moment he stopped, ejected the magazine, and put the muzzle under his chin.

He'd lost everything, and in his desire to get it all back he'd destroyed everything his enemy had held dear. To most people, it was the perfect ending for a warrior like him. But when the dust settled and the last of the blood soaked into the ground he was still left with what he'd had when he'd set out for his revenge. Like he'd told Hilda, it changed nothing. What he'd done for Projekt Natursturm, the pain he'd suffered, had been for a better tomorrow. He'd done it to try to change the world for the better. Today, there, outside the Pariser Platz U-Bahn station, he'd done what the men of the previous generation had done. He'd repeated the same angry, hateful mistakes they'd made that had plunged their world, his world, into nuclear fire, and he had nothing to show for it apart from the memories he'd rather forget, and the memories he never wanted to forget. Even if he'd done the right thing, had done what anyone in his position would've done, it didn't change anything, and he was left with one final question: what was left to live for?

Soon enough the last of the sun's rays vanished beyond the horizon and night fell on Berlin. After a long time Hans Eckhart stood up, holstered the Mars Automatic, and walked away.