Re: Blood and Iron

"Not through speeches and majority decisions will the great questions of the day be decided - but by iron and blood." – Otto von Bismarck

Karl sighed heavily after reading this quote from a historical text displayed on his phone. He instantly shut down the device and stared out the window of the bus, which he used as daily transportation to and from work.

In the modern era, Germany's place in the world was different than it had been in the past. It was no longer a great military power, one which would take the combined efforts of the entire world to bring down.

Rather, it had become a wealthy and industrious nation. One which was at the head of an economic and political entity known as the European Union.

But with its repeated defeats in the prior century, it was Karl's belief that the German Nation and the people within it had lost something great. Something unique to their culture that would never again return to this world.

And as much as that may pain him, his beliefs were a minority in this new era. In his youth, he had decided to take up the path of his ancestors and enter the German Military, the Bundeswehr, which it was now known as.

While he had some minor combat experience in Afghanistan, in his old age, he now knew that waging wars on behalf of foreign interests, and those of international corporations was not an honorable experience.

These days he was well past the age of fighting, and was instead employed as an instructor at the Bundeswehr Command and Staff College where young officers were forged into capable leaders and hopefully one day generals.

Today's lecture was one of unimportance. Why would anything he had to say really matter? Germany was well behind the other major powers in terms of military capabilities.

And though war had broken out in Eastern Europe, it seemed like a mere fantasy that a global war would break out with them, one that would involve the mobilization of the Bundeswehr.

It was with these thoughts heavy on his mind that Karl sat on the bus, waiting for it to arrive at his stop. But something was wrong. The bus appeared caught in an unusual amount of traffic. With no signs of moving forward.

He was just about to get out of his seat and ask the driver what the commotion was when the sound of automatic gunfire echoed from not too far away. Automatic weapons? Here in Hamburg? There was only one thing this could possibly mean.

The muscles in his body, which had become largely atrophied with old age, and a lack of training suddenly sprung into action. Years of combat experience in the Global War on Terror propelled the man forward and out of the bus.

He may not have a gun or even a knife on him. But he could not sit idly by while innocent people were massacred. Screams rang throughout the air, some blood curdling, others filled with terror. And yet the echoes of automatic fire continued to drown them out.

Eventually, Karl rounded the corner and found the source of the commotion. A small group of men, armed with AK pattern rifles were firing into the crowded streets of Hamburg.

In years past, such an event would be almost unthinkable, but due to Germany's lax migration laws, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of military age migrants had flooded the country, and Europe in general mostly coming from war-torn nations.

Terrorism was just "part and parcel of living in a big city" as was famously quoted by the former mayor of London. And Hamburg was no exception to this rule. But this did not strike fear into Karl's heart, rather what he felt in this moment was a sense of cosmic irony.

Despite decades serving in the German Military, not once had Karl been given the opportunity to actually defend the fatherland and its people. Now in his old age, with a broken down and weary body he was given a chance. A chance to do something that would honor his ancestors.

While rounding the corner, it became abundantly clear that one of the terrorists was holding a young woman hostage. No, she was not a young woman, but an adolescent girl. That was a far more accurate descriptor. 

Knowing that the police had yet to arrive at the scene of this attack, and were likely moments away, Karl felt compelled to act before this young girl could be killed, or worse.

He quickly jumped out from behind the corner and attacked the nearby terrorist who held the young girl hostage. Doing so, by grabbing hold of the terrorist from behind, instantly putting him in a neck crank.

An act which shocked the man, as he was not expecting an attack. Before he could fire his weapon, Karl utilized every ounce of his strength and the old combat techniques he had learned in the army to break the man's neck.

The man fell to the floor, along with his victim, but unlike the terrorist, she was still breathing. Before Karl could make another move, a burst of gunfire rang throughout the air, and he realized by the stinging sensation in his chest that he had been hit by one of the other two men.

Using his last ounce of strength, Karl screamed at the young girl to run as his legs buckled beneath him.

"Go! Save yourself!"

The girl ran off, not even giving a second glance to the middle-aged man who had saved her. Nor a simple thank you. But none of this mattered to Karl. The corruption of the youth, and their lack of concern for anyone else was just a symptom of much larger problems with this cruel world.

He would rather die an honorable death here and now, defending his people, then to continue wasting away in a meaningless life, for a future that was void of any hope or happiness. 

His last thoughts were about how bitter he was towards this world, and its current degenerate state.

"This fucking world…."

*bang*

---

Utter darkness enveloped Karl. He could not speak, nor could he scream no matter how much he wanted to. But there was something else he noticed as he lied there. There was no pain where he had been shot. Was he alive, dead, or waiting to be judged for his sins in life? He had no idea.

Nor did he really believe such things were true. If God really existed, then Karl was owed dearly for the suffering he had endured in this pitiful and meaningless existence. And as if his prayers were suddenly answered a light began to be revealed at the end of the tunnel of darkness.

Instinctively, he crawled towards it, only to find himself blinded by the overwhelming illumination of the outside world. Or was it something else? Either way, he had no idea where he was or what was happening. His only hint was the voice of a man in the background. 

"It's a boy! Congratulations my lady…"

Without any control over himself, Karl was soon given to his mother after his umbilical cord was cut. He could barely make out her facial features as his new mother clutched him to her chest with a warm and loving smile on her wary face.

It was only after experiencing this jarring sensation that Karl came to the realization that he had been well and truly reborn. 

Perhaps if he had a proper clarity of vision, then Karl would notice that things were not as he expected them to be. He was not in a hospital, as he was experiencing a rebirth. But rather a luxurious bedroom of what was clearly a residence.

Not only that, but the décor was antiquated. It would have been fashionable a hundred years ago, or perhaps longer, but not in the modern day. And then there was the staff.

Nurses and maids attended to the Lady of the House and her newborn son. They did not look like they themselves were dressed appropriately for the 21st century, which he had died in.

Just what was going on? Then the mother forced Karl to look her in the eyes. She was tired, obviously so having just been through labor pains for several hours. But she gave the boy a name before being carried off to be taken care of by his wet nurse.

"My son… From this day forth you shall carry your father's name, Bruno…"

Karl, or Bruno as he was now known, was carried off as his mother drifted into sleep. Without his father in sight. He was soon taken to rest in a crib, where a pretty young woman spoke to him. Her words were the last thing he would remember of his rebirth before he himself lost his consciousness.

"Young master Bruno, you have been afforded the highest honor of being born the 9th son of the von Zehntner family. Having been named after your esteemed father, I have no doubt you will accomplish great things in life… Rest now…"