#post-ww2

[karagin22]

Me262 in US colors. Post WW2.

[goldtracing]

1945 - Potsdam

In nature, it is taken as a given that the large carnivores are territorial in their ways. Strength paired with a healthy amount of cunning equals power, and the position at the top of the pecking order has to be fought for and then defended from contestants. It was also innate that these great beasts don’t like to share the kill.

So why were a lion, a bear and a bald eagle laying the corner stones for the new world order? Granted, all three had learned not to be too hasty, that actually superiority is something that has to be achieved and painstakingly built. However, despite their vying for hegemony, they were being surprising … cordial about the affair.

Schloss Cecilienhof was nevertheless home to one of the most intricate power struggles of the modern world.

This evening, the lion had temporarily retired to tend to his wounds and sooth his bruised pride, so it was only bear and the eagle that were idly chatting at the hearth. They each liquor – finely fermented whisky with crushed ice – in sizable glasses on the table between they; a healthy dose each. As was appropriate when one wadded through politics and all its intricacies. It painted a very homely picture to the onlooker.

Yet, as usual, there was far more to this picture than sight betray. So many nuances and budding possibilities and wilting future lay beneath the surface. It was nearly poetic. Although America was being in a rather poetic mood at the moment.

“It was majestic. The night became day that moment, kinda like how you’d imagine a star going nova. The sand on the desert floor turned into green glass. Radioactive of course, as a few tiny tests concluded”, Alfred waxed.

He had that dream-like quality in his sky-blue eyes, one that Ivan hadn’t seen since the then boy had declared independence against a larger than life empire. One that always had sparked and fizzled with potential when the then colony had spoken of his utopian dreams.

Now reality had been turned upside-down – the splitting of the undividable tasted more of dystopia than it did of paradise. And Alfred was now the budding superpower. Arthur was the crumbling empire, desperately snatching at the smoke.

“Oppenheimer couldn’t have been righter when quoting that Hindu scripture”, Alfred commented with the lax smile of a youth while he lounged in the armchair with the air of a seasoned politician.

“Oh yes, he was. Thousands upon thousands of tons of dynamite, compressed into a single war head. That is some astounding power you have there, Fredka. You should just be sure not to fly so close to the sun”, Russia drolly snipped.

Sculpted muscles twitched underneath a well pressed suit as the undertones poked at still existent insecurities. Yet he didn’t rise to take the bait at the implications of childishness, thus proving his maturity in a small way.

“And you shouldn’t bite of more than you can chew when trying to ascend to the heavens, Ruskie”, America drawled lightly, then taking a sip from his glass and putting it back between them.

The addressed smiled tightly. They had set aside their differences in order to pull the wolves teeth. With that task accomplished and the animal just needing an appropriate leash, the war-time alliances were gradually unravelling.

Ivan remembered a passionate kiss on the banks of the Elbe, when two armies had greeted each other with open arms and affections. The memory of that now was sweet poison on his tongue.

Bitterly, Russia stated: “The gods have long since come down from the stars, and they are no longer kind.”

Alfred exempted from his Simpleton tactics now, clearing understanding what the other nation meant. Indeed, sapience was a gift of the divine, allowing them to transcend while remaining on earth.

Gracefully, America unfurled, looking suddenly out of place as he shifted through the facets of his personality. No longer the sly diplomate, the ruthless general, or the experienced explorer as he lazily slouched in the chair. Rather the renegade youth that chooses to shake at the pillars of the world in all his idealism and nativity.

“Or maybe the pits of hell are empty, and all the demons are here. You’re the one that has such a cynical approach to the world.”

Taking a sizable gulp of his own alcohol, Ivan said: “No, I’ve just learned that it is better to expect the worst and be positively surprised than to expect the best on be depressingly disappointed. Besides, if the demons are here, why should they be allowed to possess the weapons that can take down the gods? They might do that, one day, after this war is over.”

As the rare occurrence of the day, Alfred genuinely frowned. Of course, he didn’t like the implications, but then again, that was the point of passive aggressive spats. It made him smile slightly, the movement made pain in his cheek flair up where a bullet had gazed it a mere week before. There were other wounds hidden under formal clothing. But the bear had always been hardy, with every sustained injury making him more volatile and lethal.

“Then it just has to be ensured that the demons don’t get their hands on it. If I must play the modern-day Prometheus that brings humanity the fire only to be punished for it, then I’ll do it with grace”, came the level answer.

“Don’t act so noble”, Ivan chided, cutting the chase, ”we both know that isn’t the case.”  

“Then tell me what better option there is? You? Not likely. The whole world now looks to America to lead it into a new era of peace and prosperity. Pax Americana.”

I might one day add a second part to this, maybe not. We’ll see what the future holds.

[goldtracing]

Day 7 – Memento / (post-1945)

Once again, I’m a wee bit late. I wanted to present this for Day 6, however family activities interfered. So, I’ve decided to post it for Day 7. Also, I had pieced of this in my WIPS, and therefore I just went ahead, translated it and added.

In lieu of the most devastating war in human history, the once proud nation had been crushed, the confidence in that smile liquidated, the mad glint of fascism eradicated. Something that the fiend had deserved in Denmark’s eyes.

“What else do you want to do to my people?”, Ludwig had rasped, desperate in his question to Matthias, his else collected nature distorted by hopelessness. It had filled Denmark with sadistic glee to see his enemy so vulnerable.

He had played god for so long and he would be a slave all the longer.

The physical wounds the war had inflicted were deep and hurt, but it was the mental injuries that smarted the worst and hauled forth the worst sides of human nature. So, as one of the wronged, the Nordic hadn’t shown any mercy in his next words. Because wasn’t he entitled to revenge, however abstract it was?

“My dear Ludwig, somebody has to clean up the legacy you have left, and who would be better suited than your own children”, he had smugly declared.

Germany had demeaned them, forced them to their knees and humiliated them. He had shot, enslaved, tortured, subjugated and starved them – therefore he deserved nothing less than the unbridled ire of the whole world.

Which was why he couldn’t fully comprehend why Alfred had decided to spare the disgusting sinner, even decided to reconstruct him. “America is still young and foolish and so woefully idealistic”, he had told himself. “One day he shall learn that a tumour can’t be converted – it has to be burned out by a cleansing fire.”

Nevertheless, beneath all his anger, a small fraction of him that was so unchangeable human and sympathetic understood the new-found king, even concurred with his choices when the superpower vaguely explained part of his reasoning. That they should retake the exact path that he lead to the war to begin with. However, it was just a spark of compassion – one that was almost extinguished by years of bloody conflict, like every time order was replaced by chaos and altruism yielded to greed.

However, such memories were irrelevant in face of the present. The war was over and to remain trapped in the past and recollections of it, as well of the self-conflict it brought, was ill-advised. It was the most logical option and as a millennia-old nation it should have been an easy task. Despite having participated in countless wars and having learned to bury loathing – for allies could become enemies overnight and vice versa, leaving little room for permanent grudges – but this time, it was different.

Matthias breathed in deeply, smelling the sea and the sand, holding the air in his lungs for a few moment and then releasing it. The stiff breeze tugged at his tresses, the chill welcome and grounding in reality. He reminded himself that he was free again, free to remould himself to the changing demands of the modern world and choose the path he wished to take.  

Opening his eyes again, staring down at the beach from his perch. It was a windy day, the dully shining through a grey cover of clouds, mirroring the turbulent waves with its froth-crown waves. Drowsy, in a way, like the village to his back.

That couldn’t be said of the boys down on the beach and Denmark made his way down to them, halting at the black flag that had been plunged into the loose ground. Behind that makeshift line, the member of the Hitler Youth, were lying on their stomachs. Their fear was palpable as they poked in the sand, searching for landmines. They were thousands of them buried in this little stretch of land, the legacy of Germany that desperately needed to be removed.

Some of his men had argued that it was inhumane to put children in harms way like this, where one wrong move could be their demise. Other’s argued that they were Germans, and therefore this was only fair.

Either way, this had to be done.

Grimacing, he glanced at the black crude things that had been stacked up. All defused, ready to be stripped for metal and explosives. Yet Denmark considered keeping one, as a crude memento of this wretched century. Something grotesque that would remind him of the atrocities committed, even when the world shall have forgotten about it, every living memory eradicated and the people that had witnessed the battles and bombings and crimes all deceased.

It would fit well in a museum, buildings were artifacts were housed, so many of them souvenirs he, the personification, had gathered on the journey that was called life. Such a mine would be an appropriately grisly warning from a long-gone era in a century or two.

[goldtracing]

1945 (Brussels)

Characters: America, Belgium

It was sickening to watch. Maybe it was just because she was thin to the point that her ribs were showing, maybe it was genuine disgust to the way Alfred was stuffing with one serving of chips after the other. Belgium suspected it was a combination of both. At first, she had thought that the change he had displayed once reuniting after not seeing each other since the 20s was restricted to his personality, but this new development was disturbing.

Beatrix had already eaten as much as she could stomach, which was only a handful of her own helping. After a long and oppressive occupation that included strict rations, she found that she couldn’t bring much down her throat without becoming nauseous. It was already a mistake to have prepared something so fatty, but she had wanted to be polite and serve her guest something other than dry bread and watery soup. For herself it was something akin to a minor celebration to take out the treasure potatoes and oil without having to worry about how she'd get by without the risk of going hungry.

"This is fantastic! You just have to give me the recipe to this", America praised between mouthfuls of food.

"Sure. Thank you…. I'm glad you enjoy it", she responded somewhat wooded, leaving unsaid that maybe he enjoyed the chips a bit too much.

Sure he was a man, one with an evident appetite as well, but this was going a bit to far. Such behaviour was more expected from a growing boy than a responsible adult. She rasped her throat to gain his attention and tried carefully: "Shouldn't you slow down just a little bit?"

"Nah, I'm good", he waved off, scrapping that last bits of brown fried crumbs out of the napkin they had been served on. He wasn't even finished chewing when he began eyeing her unfinished meal gluttonously.

Swallowing, he then pointed a finger at the object of his desire, his tanned skin glistening with grease. Before he could utter his request, she wordlessly relinquished her portion to him and watched him wolf it down with gusto.

"If you keep up at that pace you might suffocate on your food", she warned him which he just shrugged off. At this point she was putting a lot of effort to prevent he eyebrows from disappearing beyond her hairline.

"It's not like they have been starving you", she pointed out, trying to stay polite while simultaneously indicating that his behaviour was inappropriate.

"Not really, it's the constant conferences and negotiations that make me hungry now that the fighting is over."

He was already finished with what he had gotten from her and was licking his finger. In between he asked: "Can I have some more?"

"I'm terribly sorry but you've finished my stock and potatoes are being rationed."

To that Alfred pouted and Beatrix made a mental note not to invite him over to any kind of meal in the foreseeable future. Arthur had had the courtesy to warn her over the telephone and she had believed he had been overexaggerating. Now she had payed dearly.

[karagin22]

Coup somewhere post WW2

[ferdydodo]

My Name is Eva

My Name is Eva

MY NAME IS EVA Book Club Notes

    I hope you and your book club friends have enjoyed reading MY NAME IS EVA, which contains some disturbing themes of love, hatred and revenge. These are all topics which can provoke strong feelings and provide material for intense discussions. So you may like to use the following notes as the basis for an examination of the novel in one of your meetings. Future…

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[ravenmountbookworms]

[paulmalon]

It's A Jeep Woodie! by Paul Malon Via Flickr: Willys Overland Motors, 1946.