Kraus stumbled out of the wreckage of dieZeitmaschine, disoriented and alone.
The bunker was long gone, replaced by a gleaming modern city that bore little resemblance to the remains of the Berlin he knew. The streets were clean, the buildings were standing tall, and strange vehicles zipped by silently.
His heart raced as he wandered through the city, trying to make sense of what had happened. He found himself drawn to a large department store with rows of televisions in the window. On every screen, a news broadcast played, showing an attack against Kursk in Russia. The familiar German black cross was still emblazoned on tanks, but the uniforms were different—sleek, modern. And soldiers spoke a language that he didn’t understand. Aren’t they German? He was confused.
And then he saw him: Panzergeneral Freuding, analyzing the battle with calm authority. His sharply ironed grey uniform offering a familiar sight. Kraus’s heart leaped. The Reich was still fighting. The war was still on. But… how?
He stepped closer to the screens, trying to understand the reports. The news anchor spoke of a war that had begun in 2022, of a Russian invasion repelled, a brave Ukraine pushing the enemy back into their territory. Kraus’s mind reeled. This wasn’t the war he remembered. This wasn’t 1945.
But perhaps… perhaps they had succeeded. Look at this city, more modern and beautiful than he ever remembered. And the German tanks rolling over the steppe, filling him with pride. Perhaps they had somehow altered history with the time machine, and shifted the tide in their favor?
Kraus straightened, a grim smile spreading across his face. He was the only one left, the last survivor of the old war, but it didn’t matter. His sacrifice had not been in vain. The Reich could be victorious after all. As he stood there, watching the tanks on the screen, he felt a new sense of purpose washing over him. “Für das Vaterland,” he whispered to himself, and walked over to the train station to find the first wagon going to the Eastern front.