Die Banke

An hour later Hans found himself standing in a marina turned military camp, complete with armed ferries tied to the docks outside the window he was looking out of. The marina was on a small little island named Muggelwerder, and was home to at least two dozen soldiers and various personnel. For what cause, Hans couldn't say. The armored soldiers had led him to the building, told him to stay put, and then left.

He didn't wait long. After about ten minutes a man of about 50, with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache to match, appeared and asked Hans to follow him. Hans did so, and now the two of them were in the man's office overlooking the docks. The man sat behind his desk. There were no chairs for visitors, Hans noticed.

"Who are you, what do you want, and why am I here? Those are the questions, right?"

Hans shrugged. "You forgot 'can I leave?'"

"I am Colonel Ernst Hoffmann," the man said. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his desk, and pointed at Hans. "You are Hans Eckhart. A problem solver with a reputation to match. That's why you're here; I have a problem."

Hans scoffed. "A problem solver? My God," he said. "Worst joke I've heard all week."

"Really?" the man said, incredulous. He picked up a folder, flipped through it, and began to read aloud. "Age, 29. Hair and eye color? Blank, but I guess I can fill those in now. Berlin native. Lived in Stuttgart a few years, taking care of 'problems'. You've been to Cologne too, God save your soul, and came back alive and without any extra eyes, limbs, or dicks. Moved back to Berlin in 2096, where you were accepted into a U-Bahn station. 2097 you found yourself a part of the Final Order, helping them with the now-destroyed Projekt Natursturm. Destroyed the Bavarian Coalition, at least. Last year you exterminated the city's biggest Sturmutant camp and killed former U-Bahn station head and notorious communist Friedrich Ademar. Your buddy Erich Braun even made sure there were no survivors. You did us a big favor with that one. Friends and acquaintances: Walter Steinbatz, deceased. Hilda Mueller, deceased. Klara Edmund, deceased. Paul March, alive, and the aforementioned Erich Braun. No vices, no flaws, and no sense of humor. I get all that right?"

Hans shrugged again. "You want an autograph?" he said, and the man grinned.

"Guess the 'no sense of humor' part was wrong," Colonel Ernst Hoffmann said. He closed the folder and set it aside. "The point is I know you, Herr Eckhart. I know everything about you. The Deutsche Kommunists, The Final Order, Projekt Natursturm, I even know about that excursion to the alps in 2098 with Herr March. What that was all about, though, I don't know."

"Call it a vacation," Hans said. He tried not to think about what had happened there. He and Paul had barely made it out of those mountains alive.

"What I do know," Hoffmann continued, "is that you are resourceful, tenacious, and dedicated. And, if the personality profile is accurate, you yearn to set things right."

Hans sighed. "Why am I here?"

"I told you, I have a problem. Germany is that problem. It sucks. Mutants, cannibals, warlords, cannibal warlords, communists, defeatists, opportunists, cultists, they're all over the damn place. My organization wants to solve these problems and put Germany back on the track to peace, prosperity, and freedom."

"Nice sales pitch, but I don't give a damn," Hans said. "The part your little dossier missed was the one where I walked away from all of that and retired to a nice cabin on the shore of that lake out there. I got what I wanted last year with Ilse and it didn't help me or Germany one damn bit, so why would I want to go back to doing all that?"

"But that's where you're wrong, Herr Eckhart," Hoffmann said. "It did help Germany. Sturmutants, Rotters, and all the other trash that plague our country are a direct threat to us all, every day. You know that."

Hans sighed. "Since you're so familiar with my past then you'll know I tried that once, with the Final Order. It didn't work. We tried, believe you me, but it didn't work. A whole lot of people died and all we were left with to show for it was scrap metal that barely even worked to begin with. Why would it work this time?"

"Because the organization I represent has more men, more resources, and more training than the Final Order had. We have the will and the way, but we need help. We need every last dedicated German we can find. You fit the bill, and you're certainly no fan of mutant trash, so why the hesitation?"

"I'm tired of it all, that's why. War, death, bloodshed, dismemberment, disfigurement, I'm done with it all. I count myself lucky I still have all my fingers, limbs, and eyes, to say nothing of being dead. More than that, though, I know the truth: we could kill every last mutant in the world and then we'd turn our guns on each other. Resources, food, water, precious metals, money, religion; plenty of other reasons for people to kill each other, all of them stupid and pointless. Is that what you want for Germany? For Europe?"

"No," Hoffmann said. "We only want peace, but you know how it goes. Si vis pacem..."

"Yeah yeah," Hans said, waving his hand dismissively. "I met your Panzertroopers, so you've got a better chance than anyone else who's tried, but you can count me out of it."

Hoffmann leaned back in his chair. "Frau Mueller would be on board."

Hans bit his tongue. "Hilda is dead. You're not about to start recruiting corpses, are you? Maybe put sticks up their asses and stand them on your walls to trick people into thinking you've got more guards than you really do? Fuck you. Really," Hans said, and leaned over the desk to jab a finger at Hoffmann. "Fuck. You."

"Money change your mind? Warm beds and hot showers? Hot food daily? I know you want this, Herr Eckhart. Your work with the Final Order and taking out Queen Ilse proves it. You've never wavered. You've never liked it, but you understand that killing is a chore like any other when done righteously. This is the moment you've been waiting for; a chance to get back to work. You're young, you would live to see the future you will help us create. Wouldn't you like that? To look back on your youth in your old age and know you did what was necessary? What was right?"

"Sure, if all you wanted me to do was cook meals and clean beds."

Hoffmann laughed. "We had a role with a more 'hands on' approach in mind for you. I'm not the only one in our organization who recognizes your talents. You'd get to work just the way you like it; freelance, with your old team, if you decide to get back in contact with them. Steady pay, a support network, and honorable work. Can't ask for much more than that these days."

"I asked for peace and I got it. That's better than anything you could offer me, bar none," Hans said.

"Alright, alright," Hoffmann said, putting his hands up. "Fine. I made my pitch and you're not buying, so I won't force you to fight for us. I just think it's tremendous that a man of your disposition would go down this road. We're doing valuable work for Germany, Herr Eckhart. Work that will change the future of this country. When it's over there'll be a job for you, though I can't promise it'll be as glamorous as the work we're doing right now. It'll probably be something like working a field, or sewing clothes, or maybe teaching? You might enjoy something like that, some day."

Hans gave him a look. "Gonna pass. Now, can I leave?"

Hoffmann gestured to the door. "Go ahead."

Hans scoffed, turned, and left the office. He walked back out into the midday sun and quickly made for the marina's gate, passing through it without incident. From there he followed the signs off the island and began the slow trek back home. He unslung the CAWS and kept his head up, watching for more Rotters and Rovers.

He'd said what he'd said and he meant it, but part of him did agree with Colonel Hoffmann in a sense. A world without mutants, without contamination, was a dream worth fighting for. The trouble was Hans had fought for it, and he'd lost. They'd all lost, when Projekt Natursturm turned out to barely work and the GECK was irradiated in the first place. He'd been idealistic then, but the failure had hurt him. The stations were a more realistic option, he'd decided, but then Hilda had been killed and he'd gone on to get revenge on the monster that did it. Only when it was all over did he decide that it had all been pointless. It hadn't brought Hilda back, all it had done was create more bad memories.

Soon enough Hans was back at home. He approached the cabin and stopped, watching for any signs that it had been disturbed. He carefully opened the door and entered the dwelling, shotgun at the ready. To his relief no one had come by and taken over his home. He closed and locked the door and set the CAWS against the wall by the door frame. He pulled the Mars from its holster and set it on his desk. The tape player had stopped, its dim red light still glowing. He ejected the tape and set it aside. He picked up another tape, this one loaded with classical music, and put it in. A moment later some soothing Bach filled the air and he sighed.

Hans sat down on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face with his hands. He reminded himself that regardless of what others thought, he was done with all the violence. If he lived the rest of his life on the lake shore, watching the sun reflect off the waves, he'd die a very happy man. Everything he'd done in the past, everything he'd gone through, had been for nothing. It had all been a waste. It was just that simple. Why waste time and risk your life doing it all over again, when you knew what the end result would be?

He stood, blew out a sigh, and grabbed his guns. He took them over to his work bench and set the CAWS on the table, preparing to disassemble and clean it. He set the Mars to the side, keeping it ready in case he was attacked. He unloaded the shotgun and it disassembled easily, allowing him to get inside and scrub out the barrel and gas assist system. He also took care to scrub and oil the bolt before putting it back together and reloading it. He followed up by doing the same with the Mars Automatic, setting both guns aside when he was done.

With nothing else to do for the day Hans decided it was time to relax. He washed his hands, grabbed a book from the shelf, and went out on the back porch to sit in the sun and enjoy the peace and quiet he had earned.