The Aftermath

Chapter 24

British sector, Hannover, 30. March 1948

UK took a pack of paper from the seemingly never shrinking stack from his left on the desk, checked the short description on it (Update on the Denazification in the police force) and let his tired eyes slide over the small letters, barly reading the sentences they created. As he blinked, it was like his eyelids were coverd with sand, scraping his eyeballs and dulling his vision.
Also his back hurt like hell.
He sighed, tried to blink again, but his eyes did not quite want to moisturise. The text on the paper blurred even more and UK was finally forced to rub his eyes. As he moved his arms up, something cracked in his sholders. I'm getting older and older...
No wonder that UKs eyes were burning that badly. In the last days, especially after the entire Soviet-Drama, they did not see anything but statistics, numbers, words and various shades of paper. Even more then usual, because every soviet diplomat and representative slowly left the shared allied control council, effectively nullifying their comprehensive management over Berlin and making everything much more complicated.
Maybe I should take a tea break, UK thought. My back is telling me, my eyes is telling me, my neck, my war wounds...

As expected, a lot of questions needed to be answerd, after France left, only leaving this dammed letter from the east. A lot of potential risks an dangers needed to be regognized in advance and countermeasures had to be created. This countermeasures needed then to be send to the responsible offices, so that they could carry out these orders ,adapt them to the situations ahead or sent feedback if these orders were even possible. Resorces were still sparse, even if they-as the victorious- got the lions share, it was not nearly enough.
For example, different goverment offices of all kinds were serverly understaffed and overworked, because checking every background of the germans working there or finding capelbe,fascist-clean people for the open places of employment, was a inmesurble struggle on its own accord. Often they had to 'overlook' certin parts of their resume, if the person in question did not already 'clean out' these parts in their faked papers.
What made the entire Denazification-Thing kinda...
Funnily enough, numeros german police station requested the authorization of guns for their men, the paper said infront of him, as UK could finally see somewhat straight again after a hefty eye rubbing. He scoffed at that ridicolus petition (UK would not even trust a german with a slingshot right now) and shook his head, the muscles in his neck stiff, despite maintaining his uptight posture the entire time. This war really put one two centuries on him...
Then after he had sended the first batch of Soviet-related orders, the 'usual buissnes' demanded his immidiete attention: the administration of his zone, the overlooking of the progress for the rebuild of the many destroyed citys, regulating the factorys (the one who managed to stay open) with their goods to the public, and,and,and...
UK broke out in a cold sweat as he rememerd that all this was only for his sector. On the right side of the room was a bunch of paperwork relating to his own soil and buissniss back home, all wating for his attention. Another negative point to a war: The paperwork could drive one into insanity.
So, for his own good, he should definetly drink a nice calming cup of tea, the good one, flown in straight from home. If he was alredy forced to live on enemy land longer then anticipated, then at least the tea should be extra exquisite.

Slowly UK arose out of his chair, bones crackleling, muscles acing, and took a few unsteady steps. As he opend the door and walked out of his stale office, the live around him let him wake up a bit from his work- induced apathy. Even in the late evening and through the night the headquaters were never quiet. Numerous typewriters were always clicking in unison, phones were ringing all over the place, conversations all around, the rustle of the omnipresent paperwork...
Many workers had finished their evening shifts and were on their way home, greeting him respectfully as they walked past him. Despite his tiredness. UK took his time to greet back and even converse a bit, as a gentlemen would. He asked about if anything new was known about Soviet or the missing Germany-piece, but there was nothing to write home about.
After ten minutes,UK made it finally into the break room for high ranking officers, where the furniture was better and the absolute crown jewel, an complete tea service with cups plates and cans, were residing. Because it was carefully hidden away in the basement of this building, the fine porcelan had somehow managed to survive numerous bombardmends without shattering and after it's discovering, the generals claimed it immidietly for themself.
Also lucky for him, nobody was here at the moment, so UK had some well deserved peace for himself. With mechanikal movements, he set up the kettle, waiting for the water to boil, while his thoughts went back to his thenthousand dutys.

"The clean -up of the rubble is way to slow.", UK thought. "The germans worked and worked, now even with the support of POW's and some heavy machinery but it seemed to barely do anything. And that was not good." Then he rememberd the reconstruction his people at home had to do, basically the same thing: Sorting trought the rubble, divide the still usefull bricks from the unsaveble ones, filling up various bomb craters with rubbish and trying to survive on the side. The same thing, just one ocean apart... You could problably say something profound and phillosophical about that, about everyone sitting in the same boat or that war hurt everyone involved, but UK was to tired for that.
The opposite even: The 3.Reich started the war in the first place and it was all alone his fault that his people had to live in moldy basements and houses with no roof and food. He wanted to set the world on fire and paid the ultimate price for it. Also Germany was the first who bombarded a city on his territory, not factories, not airfields; just a usual english city full of innocent civilians. His nails dug into his hands as he rememberd hearing the air raid sirens, the hectic run to the bunker and explosions in the distance. As he sat there,deep underground, wincing and wallowing in excruciating pain as the bombs ripped deep burning craters in his flesh and soil, knowing that his people were dying out there, knowing that this was a crime right on his doorstep, knowing that the terrible Kraut took another step too far...
Of corse UK had to send retributions for this crime and the end result was the view out of every window in the city. The same gray, burned out ruins, houses with their interiour spilling out on the streets like guts, shatterd glass, broken families and lost lives.
Just like London...
A voice spoke over the picturs of the ruined citys, a voice unpleasently optimistic and tempting with appaling promises: " You are my half-brother after all, don't forget that. You are connected with my race, my blood...somewhat. My offering still stands: I will look over your involment with the atrioucious contract and we can work together to furfill or higher call as the highest race. You may left us centuries ago but we are in our roots still from the same tribes. Our blood needs to stick together, more then ever before. How else will we ever succeed in a world full of the undesired?"
UK's chest tighend as the words echoed trough his head. Back then he didn't really thought about these words, but in hindsight with seeing the terror of the numerous camps...
The 3.Reich really meant his words, cruelty in honesty, as the Germans liked to do.
A sharp whisthe brought him apruptly back into the present, making him and his heart jump. UK needed a few seconds to realize that the tea was ready.

With shaking hands he pourd the water into the waiting, with handpainted soft blue flowers decorated cup. He didn't realize that he had broken out into a cold sweat while he was blinded from his own memory and 3.Reichs sinister words. With wobbely legs, UK managed to sit down onto the couch without spilling the tea all over himself. Even as he hasily took an way too early sip and burnd his tounge and throat, he still felt cold. This was the payback for not really sleeping the last days, he figured. The madness is shaking him up already.
A few minutes UK just sat there, staring into nothingness, even too tired to be really upset anymore.
His thoughts passed by him like trains, circeling around in his head, paperwork,denazification, Soviet, destruction, money, the 3.Reich, food supplies, winter,America,juristical measures against german war criminals, France, his home, Americas dubious plans, public work..., until they had almost no meaning anymore.
He had so much to do though... Looking after France(she had been awfully quiet the last days), looking after Germany (he had been transferrd to a highly secured millitary hospital), looking after America (this boy is only able to cause trouble), looking after himself...
When will it end?
When will it all...

Three hours later he was gently woken up by one of his officers. It took UK quite a while to come to his senses again, but then was wide awake as he feared the worst.
But luckily the officer had non-threatening news: America would come back to Europe on the 8th of April for further planning the future of Germany and something very important. As UK asked what this 'very important thing' was, he was met with a shrug. America didn't outright say it 'in fear of someone listening in', but had something prepared in advance.
So UK got handed a folder with a red TOP SECRET-writing in America's handwriting and he could swear his fingers twitched in reluctance, either because they had to touch paper again or in fear what they would find inside the folder. But he coldn't be hold back by that.
Prepared for the worst, UK opend the folder.
He read the title and smiled, more out of relief then happieness. No masterplan to take every machiene and soldier to the eastern border, thank god and all the heavens.
But this will still be a drastic move, highly provocing towarts the Soviet Union and the worst-even more bloody paperwork.

UK sighed, shook his head in tired distress and rubbed his temple. His son really knew how to step on somebodys nerves. Back then it was only his nerves with his wild behaivior and numerous refusals to listen to his orders or rebellious additude in general. As he threw his tea in the harbour over some silly grudge about taxes and even went to war with him to drive the 'greedy redcoats' out, UK thought it couldn't come any worse with his son. He asked himself why he had to deserve this mess. Why he had to endure this treacherous treatment from his own ungreatful son. Why only him and not someone else?
Now he wished that America would focus his antics only on him, not the rest of the world. And definetly not an already pissed off superpower, who had his fair share of bloodshed and the determination to reach it's goal, no matter how much life needed to be sacrificed for the big vision. But now America was happily stepping on Soviets toes, doing a tap dance even, pulling every string to really make sure he would sooner or later explode. Or whatever America is hoping to arcieve with this...
And he was pulling them all with him in his Ring around the Rosie-Dance, leaving them no choice as to dance with him, dance, dance, dance until... He didn't even want to think about it.

UK had to simply laugh again at this picture in his head, even if there was nothing funny about it. "I should sleep more!", he admonished himself sternly. "Or else I will really lose my bloody mind in this madness of a world."
He should do that right now, actually. Still tremendously tired, UK stood up from the sofa, thanked the officer and left the building for his quaters down the street. He should inform France about this, he thought but not now...not now...
"I'll be dammed.", UK thought to himself. "I'll be dammed to prove Prussia right, but I should have listend to the dammed sour kraut... Should have been more stricter with Americas upbringing..." Then he would be maybe still his faithful cute colony, without any ruckus trough the history, listening to any word and preforming his demands immidietly without a tantrum, just as the young Kaiserreich under Prussias education had done. A demure, strictly-but correctly-mannerd young nation with all the right rules to future succsess and scary potential.

But then he rememberd what the German Empire became and felt a little bit better about himself.