Doubts

"You've got kids fighting for you, you sick son of a bitch?!"

Hans had to hold himself back from grabbing General Harper by the neck and wringing him out like a towel, lest his bodyguard turn him into atoms. They'd returned to Tempelhofer Feld without incident, proceeding straight to General Harper's office to make their report. The American was standing by his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'd have expected a man of your caliber to understand the reality of life in Germany, Herr Eckhart," Harper said.

"Don't lecture me about reality, you Yankee swine. I was born here, I saw the bombs drop. Bombs dropped on Germany by the Chinese as the result of your psycho government invading China after promising not to, pushing them to the very edge. Does whatever's left of your government know what you're doing here? Do they know you're putting teenagers on the frontlines? Do you even talk to them?!"

Harper sighed and sat down. "No," he said. "We've not had any contact with the U.S since we left in 2079. This was a one-way trip and we all knew it. We all knew it'd take decades to bring Europe back, and that it'd be the responsibility of our kids and their kids to carry on the torch of freedom. The work we do here today, Herr Eckhart? It's like the work of a man who plants trees he'll never see bloom."

"Kiss my ass," Hans said. "You and all the other Yankees here are fucking insane, sending kids into battle and teaching them that it's OK to indiscriminately slaughter mutants. You're teaching an entire generation how to conduct a genocide! You're going to build our entire future on a foundation of corpses!"

"Isn't it?" Harper asked. "OK to kill mutants, I mean. You don't seem to have any problem with it, given your past."

"Revenge is one thing," Hans said. "Preemptive self-defense is Nazi shit."

Harper leaned back. "I'm not talking about Queen Ilse," he said. "I'm talking about the Final Order. About the time you stood by and watched your future wife gun down scores of unarmed Rotters behind the trigger of an MG34. The Monster of Munich, remember that part? She understood what was necessary to secure the future of Europe."

Hans leaned forward and put his hands on the desk. "One more word about Hilda and you'll be dead so fast your bodyguard's Gauss rifle will be jealous of my speed."

"See, that's the kind of energy I want to see you direct against Europe's enemies," Harper said. "Rotters, Sturmers, other kinds of mutants, and those Goddamn monarchists. You saw the kind of resources they've got at their disposal. Panzerbots, Panzers, even a damn Panther tank. Do you want them to win? Because they will if we don't respond with even greater force. Force so strong that even their ideals will be destroyed."

"I won't serve a man who sends kids to kill for him," Hans said. "It's wrong, period."

"You must think those kids are some kind of elite shocktrooper force I'm proud of," Harper said. "We use them because we have no choice! Because they want to fight for a better tomorrow! They want to live in a Germany free of the trash! You want that too, Herr Eckhart, you're just too Goddamned idealistic to understand the REALITY of what building that future will be like!"

"Fuck you," Hans said. "Fuck. You."

He turned to leave and Paul stopped him. "Wait, wait, Hans, just wait! Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but kids all across Germany right now are killing people. Killing in self-defense, killing to rob them, killing out of desperation. Seeing kids in uniform is messed up, I know, but at least they're fighting for a cause, right? You want to protect them, I know. You want them to enjoy lives free from war and killing and mutants and rape and all the other depraved shit we deal with daily. But it's their future to win. If they want to fight for it, then... Then it's better than them becoming marauders or slavers or warlords."

Hans ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and turned around. "It's fucked up, Paul."

"I know!" Paul said. "I know, but... It's their choice. You want to argue about it, argue about it with them, but I'm sure they'll all tell you the same thing: they want to be here, fighting for the future of Germany. We can be there too, to give them cover. Or at least ammo."

"Christ's sake..." Hans said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. Paul and Harper were right in a sense, and Hans knew it, it just disgusted him. The whole thing disgusted him. It offended him on a deeply personal level, revolted him. Seeing kids, teenagers, in uniform and fighting in battle was just...beyond the pale.

"How far would you go to restore the old world?" Hans asked, looking at Paul and then at Harper. "Before you answer that, ask yourself this first: how far is too far?"

"There's no such thing," Harper said. "To bring back the old world? To bring back a world in which our worries were mundane and financial? To bring back a world where conflict was finding out who took your lunch out of the office fridge? There's nothing I wouldn't do."

"I said the same thing once," Hans said. "All it got me was dead friends and bad memories."

Harper leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Dead friends and bad memories are reality, friend, but dying in the name of a good cause is something few people get these days. Instead they die of disease, hunger, thirst, and in violent storms of bullets at the end of some deranged lunatic or selfish degenerate. We can end all of that. You can end all of that, Herr Eckhart."

"And you know I'll be there every step of the way, buddy," Paul said. "Until the very end."

Hans sighed and let his hands fall. "Fine," he said. "Have it your way. Have it your Goddamn way. So what's next?"

"What's next," Harper said, "is you spend a couple days resting and recuperating. After that, I'm asking you to head here." Harper stood and produced his map of Berlin, using a pencil to circle a part of it. "The NDM have a base here, part of their radio network. The tower here boosts their signal all across the city. Taking control of it would allow us to hijack the airwaves; spread our message to Berliners everywhere."

Hans took a look at the map and his eyes went wide. "My God... Fernsehturm. I've been there." A flood of memories came back to him as he thought back to the last time he was there, K98 in hand, his friend Walter at his back. The battle, the gunfire, the prisoners.

'She's a communist,' Walter said. 'She's got their book in her cell. They're probably not even cells. Just converted rooms.'

'Rooms have locks on the inside, not outside,' Hans said. He crouched beside the woman's cell and looked at her. 'What's your name, and why are you in here?'

"You have?" General Harper asked. "Good, then you'll know the layout of the building. Assuming the monarchists haven't changed it."

"Or repaired it," Hans said. "When I left, the person with me, well... She bombed half the building. She blew it all to Hell, and those damned communists with it."

"Your wife, I presume?"

Hans nodded.

"If that's where you met her then I understand the location may bring back unpleasant memories for you, but the importance of the location cannot be understated. It is the hub of all the NDM's broadcasts. Knocking it off the air and taking it over for ourselves would be a major boon," Harper said. "You won't be going alone, either. I've got a squad of Fieldmen standing by for the mission. You'll both need time to resupply and rest, I'm sure, so how does the day after tomorrow sound? Same pay as the fight for the gardens."

Hans rubbed his forehead, feeling the exhaustion coming on. "Fine, we're in."

True to Harper's word they needed a resupply, so they went straight to the market after their briefing. While Paul went off to find them some food Hans paid a visit to the arms dealer, finding himself eager to see her. To see that she was alright.

"Traveler!" Helga said as he approached. "You look awful! Did you go fight in that big battle? I could hear it from all the way over here."

"Yeah, I did," Hans said as he sat down next to her. "Ammo and grenades, same as before."

"You and the other soldiers have all been buying a lot lately! I really made the right choice when I decided to start selling this stuff," Helga said.

Hans sifted through the ammo crate and started picking out 8mm Mauser and 8mm Kurz. "How did a girl your age even get started as an arms dealer?"

"I found an old truck full of guns and ammo a couple years ago," Helga said. "I was going through it all when Willie showed up, wanting to search it himself. I told him if he wanted anything he had to pay for it, and that's when I found out I'm really good at bartering with people!"

Hans looked at her guard, who just leaned back with his hands behind his head. Hans suspected the man had just been humoring her, but still... "So eventually we made a deal," Helga continued. "He agreed to be my bodyguard, and in exchange he got ammo for free. There was too much in the truck for us to carry, so we had to find carts and drag it all around everywhere, which was super hard!"

"I'll bet," Hans said. He finished counting out the ammo and paid her for it, loading up his and Paul's magazines in the meantime. "So, what, you two just traveled around for a few years before ending up with the Enclave?"

Helga nodded. "Yep! I used to travel around that big lake, but that Colonel guy told me to go here. He said I'd make a lot more money selling stuff here, and he was right! I'm getting rich off all the soldiers. Only thing I don't have is laser guns or ammo for them. The Americans are really weird about laser guns, they don't let anyone else touch them or their big armor suits. If I could get my hands on ammo for laser guns I'd make a whole load of money!"

"Yeah, no kidding," Hans said. "So you just buy food with all your money?"

"Food and old-world gadgets and stuff," Helga said. "Some of the merchants have all sorts of cool stuff from before the bombs dropped. I really like the comics, they're all really cool! I saw an ad in a pre-war magazine for a machine called a Pip-Boy 2000, it was like a computer that you put on your wrist, it was SUPER cool! I want one, but no one's ever found one."

"What would you do with it?"

Helga shrugged. "I dunno. It'd be cool, though."

"If I ever find one I'll bring it back for you."

Helga's eyes lit up. "That would be AWESOME, traveler!"

"How come you never get me any gifts?" Paul suddenly asked from behind Hans, prompting him to turn around and face his old friend. He was carrying a new canvas bag, doubtless filled with all sorts of food for them.

"Because you snatch up everything not nailed to the floor, you degenerate packrat," Hans said, and Paul laughed.

"I won't deny it," Paul said. He reached into his bag and produced a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, which he handed to Helga. "Here, for the Queen of Capitalism."

"Thanks, traveler!"

Paul grinned. "We gotta go now, big guy. I want to go sit down and get some rest."

"Goodbye, Helga," Hans said to the little girl. "We gotta go on a new mission in a couple days, but we won't be gone long."

"You'd better not!" Helga said. "You're my best customers!"

Hans smiled, bid the girl goodbye, and then he and Paul left the market. They walked to where Paul had the Kettenkrad parked, by the wall of the hangar that contained the market. He sat on the edge of the vehicle, reached into his bag, and pulled out a can of sardines. "Here, since I know you love this nasty shit so much."

"Oh, great, thanks," Hans said as he took the can and used the key to wind back the sheet metal.

"So, what's the deal? With you and that little girl, I mean," Paul said.

Hans pulled out one of the sardines and popped it in his mouth, the overwhelming explosion of salt on his tongue a welcome sensation after sweating through a hard fight. "I don't know," Hans said when he was done chewing. "I just...feel a connection with her. Like I want to protect her and look out for her."

"Did you see how many guns she has? We need protection from her, not the other way around," Paul said.

Hans smiled and nodded.

"And now you're laughing and smiling all the time, and it's not your usual bitter 'I'm-traumatized-after-twenty-years-of-living-in-a-nuclear-wasteland' laugh. When we're not dodging bullets and pre-war heavy tanks, that is. Seems like meeting this girl gave you a new lease on life, friend. You gonna adopt her? Build a little house with a picket fence and see her off to school every morning? Hey, maybe Erich will be her godfather. How cool would that be? If anyone tried to put any moves on her he'd just shove his nuke-launcher down their throats. Eh... She'd probably like to see that, actually."

"Fuck you," Hans said, mouth full of sardines.

"Ah, see, there you are. There's the grouchy prick I know and love," Paul said. "Really, though, I guess I understand what you were thinking, walking away from everything after killing Queen Ilse."

"Figured it all out, have you? What are you, a psychiatrist?"

Paul smiled. "Come on. As grim and surly as you usually are it's not hard to figure you out. You're basically an open book. You feel guilty for everything we've been through, with nothing to show for it all. You feel like you owe it to kids like Helga to save the world for them. You blame yourself for everything. You can't hold up the world yourself, friend. Maybe if you worked out a bit you could, though."

Hans gave him a look. "Yeah, thanks I'll keep it in mind."

Paul's smile faded. "Really though, Hans, it's not your fault. Everything we've been through, all the friends and loved ones we've lost, it's not your fault. We all try our best, try to make the right decisions, but sometimes all you can do is roll the dice."

"Yeah, well, every time I roll the dice someone dies, and I'm tired of it. I've got an inverted Midas touch; everything I touch turns to shit. You're probably next on the terminal list."

Paul stood and put a hand on Hans' shoulder. "Who, me? Don't worry about me, I usually skate by with a winning smile on my face."

Hans scoffed, finished his sardines, and put the empty can in his pack to throw away later. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go find a place to crash. I want to actually get some rest before our next mission."

"Now you're speaking my language," Paul said. "Still, think about what I said."

"That's the problem, Paul," Hans said as they started walking back to the tent reserved for the freelancers. "I try not to think about any of it at all."