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Verto
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Imperial Palace, Berlin—10 BC
“Chancellor,” a nervous voice called from inside. “The council has been assembled.”
“Very well,” he replied. His eyes swept across the city of Berlin, stretching out to the distant mountain peaks and beyond. The sun set behind Bismarck Peak, its last rays falling upon the capital city. As he gazed at the tall monolith named in his honor, he sighed and for a moment his entire body sagged. His normally proud bearing faltered, and to Dieter, his scribe and protégé, he appeared to be an old, broken man. But that terrible foreshadowing soon passed, and the Chancellor quickly regained his composure.
Dieter stepped aside as the Chancellor walked past him, and he pulled the heavy curtains together. The Chancellor had enough on his mind without getting sick. Smoothing the crimson curtains, Dieter turned and quickly followed the chancellor down the hall, past the tall marble pillars and the austere portraits that stared at him as he walked past. A few months ago, he would have been in awe at the terrible majesty of the palace. Now, he had matured beyond that. No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t matured, he thought, pulling open the tall doors for the chancellor. He tried to think of what exactly he had become, but the events at hand forced him to push his thoughts back.
He guided the Chancellor into the room and when the chancellor sat down at the head of the table, he took his place at the Chancellor’s right.
“Councilors, I will not waste your time, or mine, with frivolous greetings and empty nothings.” He slowly stood up and made his way to the maps hanging on the far wall. He considered what each one represented before turning his back to them. “The German Empire is facing invasion on all sides. Our scouts have reported a massive buildup of French Swordsman near the cities of Stuttgart, Nuremberg and I just received word this morning that the French have crossed the Plains of Frankfurt. Our attempts of arranging a diplomatic exchange have been refused, as the Foreign Advisor will attest to.”
The Foreign Advisor, Schroeder, confirmed this with a grunt. He tried to speak, but Bismarck cut him off. “Also, I have been informed that sometime last week the Americans signed a Right of Passage with France. American Horsemen have been sighted near Paris, apparently to reinforce the French positions near Dijon.” He turned once again to the maps. “I have been assured that, although we could easily combat an attack by the French, the Americans will reach Berlin in a matter of days.”
“I warned you about Lincoln months ago,” the Military Advisor growled. “If you had allowed me to—”
“I am aware of past events,” Bismarck said, cutting him off. “More than you can imagine. However, the time for that has passed.” He gestured for the advisors to come, and they did. He pointed at the northern region of the German empire, which bordered France. “I believe we have only one course of action open to us. We must bring all our military might to bear on these two cities,” he said, gesturing to Dijon and Besancon. “If these cities should fall to Germany before the Americans can attack us with all her strength, she might be persuaded to turn on her ally. Once France has been beaten, we shall reinforce our borders and prepare for the ultimate battle with America.”
“I agree with the Chancellor,” the Military Advisor said. “France has always treated Germany with hostility and at times, open aggression. We must strike now, and secure the Continent for ourselves. Then we shall finally have the chance to explored the rest of the world.”
In the end, the Council agreed: Germany must go to war.
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23-03-2002 22:20
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