Artam: One Reich, One Race, a Tenth Leader

ARTAM:

One Reich, One Race, a Tenth Leader

Written by

Volkmar Weiss

Translated by

Tanya Fox

German original © 2007

Volkmar Weiss • http://www.v-weiss.de

English translation © 2014

Tanya Fox • teedee10@hotmail.com

Cover illustration and design © 2014

Lorena Guerra • www.ellohdesign.com

Ebook formatting

Maureen Cutajar • www.gopublished.com

Published by Tanya Fox at Smashwords, 2014

This is an English translation of the original German edition Das Reich Artam: Die alternative Geschichte [The Reich Artam: The Alternative History] by Volkmar Weiss (Leipzig: Engelsdorfer Verlag, 2007).

The second German edition of the book was released under a different title, Das Tausendjährige Reich Artam: Die alternative Geschichte, 1941–2099 [The Thousand-Year Reich Artam: The Alternative History, 1941–2099] (Neustadt an der Orla: Arnshaugk: 2011), and is available for purchase at most online retailers.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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CONTENTS

PART ONE

Part 1, Chapter 1

Part 1, Chapter 2

Part 1, Chapter 3

Part 1, Chapter 4

Part 1, Chapter 5

Part 1, Chapter 6

Part 1, Chapter 7

Part 1, Chapter 8

PART TWO

Part 2, Chapter 1

Part 2, Chapter 2

Part 2, Chapter 3

Part 2, Chapter 4

Part 2, Chapter 5

Part 2, Chapter 6

Part 2, Chapter 7

Part 2, Chapter 8

Part 2, Chapter 9

PART THREE

Part 3, Chapter 1

Part 3, Chapter 2

Part 3, Chapter 3

Part 3, Chapter 4

Part 3, Chapter 5

Part 3, Chapter 6

Timeline of Events

About the Author

About the Translator

PART ONE

Part 1, Chapter 1

A chivalric German military order on German soil—I call it Artam.

Willibald Hentschel (1923)

It was a cold, dull October morning in the year 2084, and the guards were just changing at the memorial. Adrian Schwarz passed through the iron gate of his housing development—after having his DNA code automatically verified and after the guard had searched his car, looking for some obscure reason to delay him. Whenever he searched a vehicle, the guard would follow a particular routine that was rather superfluous given the state of current technology. Eventually, he would salute, click his heels together, and say, Goodbye Senior Storm Unit Leader.

The end of the avenue disappeared in the fog that had climbed up from the river. Glistening light was still flooding from the street lights, but it could only be a matter of minutes before they switched over to daytime. Adrian’s car stereo broadcast the Morning Prayer on a constant loop, but he was not consciously listening to each word for he was lost in his own thoughts. And now let us pray for the power and glory of our Reich for all eternity… Eternal power, may we protect our children and our children’s children from death and disaster, as we have protected ourselves… Give us confidence in ourselves as you gave it to our fathers. May we destroy our enemies. Lead us to eternal light and our enemies to darkness. We are the arrows of longing for the other shore, a rope tied between animal and superhuman. Ours is the power and the glory for all eternity. We are the first race of a new kind, driven to a different goal. Begotten from the race, living for the race, transforming into another species. Artam. After this began the broadcast of the Muslim service, and Adrian switched off the radio.

Adrian, who was thirty-nine and who had sprained his foot at the last military exercise, stepped on the gas, for he still had to drive about 8 kilometers to reach his home, number 81C.

Like every other house, his stood behind a wall peppered with electronic devises. Even the properties belonging to those of lower ranks that Adrian passed along the way did not differ in their external appearance from the properties of higher-ranked individuals. Approximately five out of every six entryways were identified with a rune, a coat of arms, and a number. Scattered at random intervals, about every sixth house had a Handschar and a number by its entrance. Behind each wall was a long and very thick hedge, impassable even to children. Except for one woman wearing a chador, who was pushing twins in a stroller past number 30C, the sidewalks were deserted.

There was an intermediary gate after 5 kilometers, which required another brief stop. To open the gate and the garage door at number 81C Adrian would have to speak the words, Hail the Clan into which we are born, so that his voice could be electronically identified. The elevator went straight from the garage into the hall. The door to the hall required further proof of identification before it would open. The large screen in their hall displayed an image of a deserted steppe. Adrian adjusted the picture so that it became smaller and dim, but it could not be turned off altogether. He stood by the window. A powerful figure, he looked even more imposing in his custom-made black uniform. His hair was quite blond, his eyes blue, and his face bronzed by the sun.

Even through the vast window, the world outside looked cold. Farther down the avenue, the wind sent poplar leaves spiraling upward, and although the sun shone and the sky was a deep blue, the fog had still not lifted from the lower-lying areas of the development. The hedges and trees had begun to lose their leaves, making the high walls around each house more prominent than in the summer. Even higher than the other walls, the intermediary wall surrounding all 10 square kilometers of Section C was hard to overlook. In the distance a helicopter patrolled the outer wall. As it approached, Adrian recognized the Handschar next to the Sig runes.

So it is true, thought Adrian, now they have taken over the air patrols as well.

For a moment it appeared that the helicopter considered changing direction, as though it had received an order perhaps, but then it swung back to its original course. The threat of the Red Hand’s terror groups was real, although not ubiquitous. Only the Department of Central Conscience was ubiquitous. Also ubiquitous were the minute delayed-action weapons, which could still explode after all those years, spreading poisons and viruses, infesting children like ticks, interfering with electronic devises, and bringing down helicopters. Behind Adrian the screen had switched itself to the news. Following the fanfare and military marches, a female voice reported that the third quarter had brought an increase in the birthrate among the Handschar and that the Mormons had successfully cultivated a new variety of fruit.

The screen was capable of both transmitting and receiving data. Each noise and every movement in the hall not only registered on the screen, but was also recorded and saved for several decades. There was an assumption that, for an unspecified period of time, it was possible to determine who had been present in the hall or who had passed through a doorway on either of the floors at any particular minute, second, and tenth of a second. How effective this automatic data analysis was and whether it even existed at all was a matter of sheer speculation. It was indeed conceivable that everything was analyzed by the Department of Central Conscience. Thus, one was forced to live—and one did so out of a habit instilled since childhood—under the assumption that every interaction and every movement in the hall was being filmed and saved, even in the darkness by way of infrared technology. Adrian turned his back to the screen. He preferred it that way, even though he realized that his posture alone could be revealing.

Meanwhile, the fog had lifted in the west, and about 12 kilometers away the square, monolithic building that was his workplace, the Reich Settlement Headquarters, was difficult to overlook. There it was, he thought with vague sense of trepidation, that was Reichsburg, the most important stable city in Artam and the capital city of the Gau Heartland. He tried to recall an old photograph he had once seen at an exhibition; it reminded him of the city that had been here 150 years prior. Apparently it had been called Kiev. On construction sites one would occasionally come upon the ruins of walls that must have stemmed from the earlier settlements. More than 100 years ago, the land had been carpeted with people’s fields and gardens, where once Ukrainian villages had stood. It was, however, in vain, and nobody could even imagine this scene anymore. While the Old World fell and perished during the Great Chaos, Artam did falter but managed to endure.

The Reich Settlement Headquarters—RSHQ—differed markedly from everything else one could see. A square, windowless building made of reinforced concrete and layered with marble, it rose up 100 meters into the air. Architecturally, a honeycomb design and vertical ribbing and gave it an unmistakable appearance. From where Adrian stood, he could easily make out the massive likeness of a naked warrior, his sword raised in a form of greeting, and his other hand holding a shield by his side. When Adrian had been at the office this morning—his presence had been requested at an unusually early and quite pointless meeting, although he had not been sure why—he had paused in front of the building. Looking up, it had appeared to him that each of the statue’s testicles was as big as the drive train of a small rocket.

The RSHQ had—nobody knew the exact number—about a thousand above-ground rooms, and an even larger number under the ground in various constellations; they were all protected by reinforced concrete ceilings meant to withstand nuclear attack. In Reichsburg there were three other buildings similar in appearance and proportion—all the way down to their underground capacity. These four buildings, symmetrically arranged along Reich Parade Street, housed the headquarters of the four divisions which ran and monitored Artam: first there was the Leader’s Headquarters; second the Department of Central Conscience, which was responsible for monitoring all data and for intellectual order; third the above-mentioned Reich Settlement Headquarters, which attended to the number, distribution, and quality of the populations; and fourth there was the Reich Spear Office, which was responsible for matters related to the economy and which had been named after a legendary leader of armament from the time of the Great Fatherland War. And then there was the mosque, built only ten years ago, whose minaret was as tall as the other buildings. (When it was being built there were many rumors about a dispute behind the scenes over how tall the minaret was allowed to be.)

The Department of Central Conscience was by far the most impressive of all. It had been said that there were no windows looking out onto the inner courtyard. Adrian had never been inside the Department of Central Conscience, nor had he had any direct interactions with this office. He did not even know anybody who had ever set foot in this building. It was strictly forbidden for those who worked there to disclose their actual place of work. They each purported to be employees of other offices and departments. Surrounding the building for security were several walls and electronic locks. One could assume, however, that the actual electronic brain was located below the ground, backed up in the layers of granite and underground rooms beneath the Ural, in which the foundations for the Reich Vril were forged. The Sixth Leader had prophesied that the Reich Vril would supersede Artam at the end of this cycle of the world’s history.

Adrian turned around abruptly. He passed through the hall to the kitchen, which was very well equipped. The kitchen robot informed him in Godela’s voice that she had taken the children to the large indoor swimming pool. In the refrigerator and the freezer there were at least twenty meals that the robot only had to heat up in the microwave. But Adrian had retained some habits from his years at war and was satisfied with an apple and some dry bread. The bread caught in his throat, and he had to wash it down with some water. He had aged since his time at war. He went back through the hall and up the stairs to his office on the top floor. From the top shelf, out of the children’s reach, he took down three volumes of Our Struggle in order to reach a thick book in the back row.

The screen in the hall was installed so that it could watch each doorway but did not have a view inside the private rooms. In the private rooms, one could do whatever one wished without fear of being heard or filmed. There was only a smoke detector in each room.

The book he had just taken out was an heirloom that had been in his family for generations; it was a photo album from the middle of the previous century. These were no longer being made in the age of digital photography. It originated from Adrian’s great great grandfather, Heinz Schwarz, who had been a Youth Leader somewhere in the Old Reich and had later fought on various fronts as an officer. The album contained photographs from youth group trips to the Alps and to East Prussia with tents and a campfire. There was a card with the words to the song Torch high, torch high! There were photos of Heinz Schwarz working with the Reich Labor Service, and photos of him holding a shovel at the Nuremberg Rally, but they were mostly of him during war times and in uniform. For each photograph, the place, date, and names of the people were recorded; for some of the loose photos tucked between the pages, this information had been recorded on the back. But there were also some unlabeled photographs, mostly of women, fully dressed or wearing bathing suits. Two of them were shown naked in one of the pictures. They both had good figures but were not of the Atlantic race; their given names were French. According to the oral history shared among the adult men of the family, these had been his lovers. Adrian remembered when he was still a child someone had tried to make him believe something from contemporary magazines about reproduction.

Now that he had this quiet time Adrian wanted to take another look at some pictures that were hidden between the back pages of the album. Only an expert could have known that these were modern photographs produced using an old technique. This way, should anyone else happen to get his or her hands on the album, these photos would not stand out—or so one would assume. Private offices such as this one were not off limits to family members; secret employees of the Department of Central Conscience could gain entry anywhere they wished.

Adrian was holding the photograph he had been looking for. It was not labeled, but he knew he had acquired it in Gotenbad on the Krim on May 23, 2078 and that it had been taken that same spring. A tall woman with black hair, she wore a close-fitting dress that accentuated her figure; she was Eurasian with a pronounced East Asian, slant-eyed look: Ludmila.

He was thirty-two and had long been happily married when Ludmila came into his life. It all began with an enquiring glance; neither of them knew that it would not end at this. At the time he had estimated her to be eight or ten years younger than he. His office had sent him to Gotenbad for a symposium that November. Often these symposia and conferences were attended by employees of companies and institutions not belonging to the Black Corps and the Clan; some participants even came from other countries. Everybody knew that these sorts of conferences—as with all personal interactions—were being monitored by the Department of Central Conscience.

But still, she had captured his attention. He caught the scent of a perfume, which somehow managed to arouse him. At this point she was standing with her back to him. Her elegant clothing hung over her broad hips, and her hair was concealed beneath her headscarf. As she turned around she realized he had been watching her. Their eyes met. He looked away, directing his eyes to a poster. As he casually returned his gaze to her, he met her dark eyes; this time it was she who looked away.

He once had a female classmate in high school tell him, Whenever you look at me, it makes me feel as though you are undressing me. Two other girls, standing nearby, had nodded in agreement. Her comment was not inaccurate: it was sort of a habit of his; he was barely even aware of it. So he did not attach much importance to this exchange of glances with this woman. Relationships with women who were not in the Stud Book were considered miscegenation and were therefore not something he had ever considered. This was also true for women who wear headscarves: having contact with married men, not to mention with non-Muslims, was like playing with fire.

Unexpectedly, during the next break, a question was directed at him. This was, of course, the reason for these scientific conferences: asking and answering questions. Even in a personal interaction, this was nothing unusual. But this question came from the tall woman with the slanted eyes. He noticed they were not actual slant eyes but that her face had a strong Asian influence and prominent cheekbones. The content of her question was purely professional, and Adrian answered it to the best of his knowledge. She had asked him about the accuracy of a new process intended to isolate proteins. The woman claimed she was interested because she was employed by the Institute for Horticultural Research, which deals with the breeding of fruits and vegetables. As Adrian’s answer did not fully satisfy her question, she added in passing, I am hoping to gather some useful information from Dr. Süssmilch’s presentation.

When will that be?

Tomorrow, the second evening. And that was the extent of their very first conversation.

He spent the first night of the conference alone in his room. After having sat through hours of presentations and discussion, he had no desire to participate in further professional interactions. There was nothing on the television that interested him. Normally, he had at least an hour or two each day to exercise; here he had not found the time. He was also used to having the sisters take turns waiting up for him, as he was now of the age that he needed to have sex in order to be able to fall asleep, just like a child needs a bottle. He lay awake for a long time, trying in vain to recall the smell of the mysterious woman’s perfume, stroking himself between his anus and his scrotum, which did not help. He thought for a moment about jerking off, but then he did manage to fall asleep.

He could not recall anything that happened at the conference the next day. He remembered being bored during dinner at a table full of strangers, and then for some reason he had gone to the presentation the half-Asian woman had mentioned. As soon as he walked in he noticed her black headscarf; he found a seat two rows behind her. She noticed him too and shot him a short but friendly smile. He knew such behavior went against the Islamic code of ethics. Again he noticed her perfume; it seemed like a mixture of musk and amber with several other unknown scents. He had little experience in this domain, as women of his race consider perfume to be unseemly.

Once the presentation was over, he planned his exit so that they would meet in the doorway. They exchanged a few words of recognition and talked briefly about the presentation, the content of which Adrian had not really understood.

We could talk some more about this. Adrian suggested.

Where?

There is a café across the street. There were always establishments such as this, even though it was not considered appropriate to drink coffee. She agreed to go with him. Before they went inside, she removed her headscarf. Her long, black hair fell around her shoulders.

For Adrian this was not a particularly safe undertaking, as they were being recorded by surveillance cameras. But it was important not to exaggerate one’s fear: Business was business and science science. He only wanted to engage in a rich conversation; he wanted a change from his everyday life in Reichsburg. His knowledge of and contact with the world beyond was rather sparse. She introduced herself as Ludmila Scharapowa and raved about her institute in Odessa and about the well-equipped laboratory in which she worked.

I studied fruit-growing at a technical college in Odessa. Then I volunteered as an intern at the institute and started working there when I was twenty.

She had never before sat at a table with a man in a black uniform. She appreciated the lure of this situation but did not underestimate the danger. She did not yet have children or a family, which was not true for Adrian. After all, he was wearing a conspicuously broad wedding band, which had been in fashion the year of his first marriage. For attractive women of his race, it was safe to assume that men were no mystery, but Adrian had never come across an unmarried Muslim woman like this.

She even mentioned in passing, It would be nice to have a steady partner, but I don’t have one.

Adrian ordered a bottle of Pinot Blanc and afterwards they each ordered a coffee. When it came time to leave, they each knew they could never set foot in the other’s room. It was true that the cameras did not monitor the rooms themselves, but they did monitor all halls and doorways. As it was easy to identify each of them by race, and as she was Muslim, the automatic classification algorithm would raise an alarm should they enter the same room, together or separately—especially now after such a lengthy exchange— and they might even end up with employees from the Department of Central Conscience knocking on their door. So they parted with an apparent aloofness and walked away from the table in opposite directions. They had made arrangements to meet on the beach about 200 meters from the hotel. It was midnight, and the beach was deserted. It was quite cold, and the wind from the sea not only carried off the attractive scent of her perfume, it was also downright unpleasant, despite his long black coat. As they walked from the hotel along the beach they found an abandoned beach basket. Adrian was quite surprised: Ludmila (the full impact of her perfume at close range almost anaesthetized him) kissed him without hesitation, her mouth open and her tongue twisting back and forth. But the air was cold, and it detracted from their enjoyment.

Disappointed, she said, One really needs a warm and private room.

Adrian was silent. They barely spoke to each other on the way back to the hotel; they parted ways before coming into sight of the building without making plans to meet again. But he knew her name and the location of her institute.

His memories of this first encounter were somewhat vague, but there was a certain scent that was unforgettable. Did that alone constitute miscegenation? Nothing had even happened. And there could not be a second time—that night he had been sure of that.

It happened yesterday at the office.

A special flag ceremony had been arranged at eleven o’clock for all employees of the Reich Genealogy Office, the branch of the RSHQ where Adrian worked. Flag ceremonies proceeded according to a strict ritual: first came the announcement, then the raising of the flag, then came a military song (yesterday it had been: Soldiers cannot be enlisted, they are ahead of their time. In life they are ready for dying, for life in eternity. Then came any special reports or announcements, including the recognition of individual employees’ achievements, and on special holidays—of which there were many—medals and awards were bestowed, and then there was a closing song. Yesterday, however, one of the employees was expelled from the Black Corps for miscegenation. And this was not just a one-time offense—usually one was kind enough to turn a blind eye to one-time offenders, unless there was a higher-ranking official wanting to rid himself of a lower-ranking official or vice versa—no, this had been a case of incessant, repeated miscegenation. Usually one did not hear the particulars, only rumors. But this time, the accused was made to step forward and, in front of all the assembled staff, they tore off his epaulet and his Reich’s emblem, rendering his dog tags useless. Just like that, he had become an unperson and would be taken immediately to a concentration camp. Seldom did anybody ever return from Workuta and never to the Black Corps. This case of miscegenation must have been particularly heinous. Maybe it was repeated sexual relations with a minor combined with the use of alcohol and drugs or homosexual contact with a member of a foreign race; he was not even given the choice to volunteer for a special combat mission, from which there is also no return but which helps to preserve one’s honor. The Handschar units did not recognize actual miscegenation as a crime, but they did enact the same punishments for the other crimes, and so it came to be that sexual abuse, drug abuse, adultery, and homosexuality came under the legal definition of miscegenation, even though these offenses have nothing to do with race.

The shock of this experience had a profound effect on Adrian. He felt quite dizzy but managed to prevent himself from fainting. He had received an email from Ludmila that very morning to let him know that she had once again been approved to attend the annual symposium in Gotenbad in November. It was true that he alone could infer the hidden meaning from her email about the conference schedule, but he always feared that the frequency of these emails, combined with surveillance data collected through various means, would spark suspicion in some surveillance program, which would then precipitate a more thorough investigation. He knew he could not hide from this forever. But he had always been of the opinion that this was not an ongoing thing with Ludmila, and he was man enough to be able to end it at any time. But as the ceremony ended with everybody singing the song To the Land in the East goes our ride … in our veins the blood is pounding, Adrian was not exactly in good spirits.

His other cause for concern was Haakon Reitmeier, an old acquaintance who had recently been transferred to the RSHQ and whom he ran across regularly in the dining hall. Regiment Leader Reitmeier was exactly what one would imagine a man of the Atlantic race to be. A tall, wiry man with waxy blond hair, blue eyes the color of water, and the build of a fencer. A good companion, a good singer, a passionate dancer, and a ladies’ man, but also someone who is appreciated among his comrades for his sense of humor. It was said that there was even an imam of the Handschar among his circle of friends. Reitmeier had four wives, who had borne him quite a number of children. His original fourth wife was killed in a terror attack by the Red Hand, but soon after that he married the niece of his oldest wife, bringing his number of wives back up to the legal limit.

Twenty years ago he and Adrian had hidden out together for a few weeks in a small fort by the Lena River after their group had advanced there. The airlifted rations had been insufficient and they were attacked several times by the East Asian partisans. Reitmeier lost two toes to frostbite. In the end they were all relieved to learn that they had been ordered to vacate their post. This was how they knew each other, even though their contact since then had been sparse.

Once when they chanced to meet, however, Ludmila had been standing right next to Adrian and had not been wearing her headscarf. This situation three years ago had been completely harmless; on that occasion there had been several mixed-race couples talking to each other for professional reasons, but it was the way in which Reitmeier had nodded his head and given a mischievous smile as he said hello that Adrian always recalled with a feeling of disquiet.

And now the ladies’ man was his colleague here in the office. Just yesterday he had come to Adrian in his usual cheery way and suggested they get together with their families and do something fun together. Adrian had managed to duck out of it, saying he had already made plans, but he could not put it off indefinitely. As soon as Godela and Gundula hear of Reitmeier’s kind offer, which they would inevitably do during some chance meeting at the gym, and once they found out he had made the offer some time ago, they would surely be angry.

You don’t pay enough attention to us or to the children. Adrian was familiar with the constant litany from his two wives, even though he did not see any reason to feel guilty about it. Maybe that was just the way wives were. It is a good thing he only had two of them. Adrian had the impression that things worked out better for the Handschar since those women did not have as much freedom and not as many quirks.

Just as he ran into Reitmeier two days ago at lunch, the screen in the dining hall, which almost takes up one entire wall, started a broadcast. The Leader spoke. Even as his speech was being heralded by the Leader’s Fanfare, Salute the flag, salute the emblem, salute the Leader who created them, the people fell silent. Those present quickly sought out a good spot and all eyes turned to a single place. The Leader, Hans Kliensmann, both in his role as the voice of the Council of Leaders and as Our Father, was a 50-year-old man known to all. People did not necessarily know him personally; they knew him as a public figure. From humble beginnings—although his father (Heiner Kliensmann, Iron Cross, First Class), his maternal grandfather (Siegfried Beckenbauer, Silver Close Combat Badge) and his forefathers from earlier generations (including Friedrich Walter, Tank Annihilation Badge) had been highly decorated with war honors, even though these were mainly the more commonly awarded ones—Hans Kliensmann worked his way up through the middle ranks of Gau leadership and on into the Council of Leaders, which elected him eight years ago to replace the Ninth Leader (since the First and Greatest Helmsman of All Time), who had stepped down due to old age. Kliensmann, the Tenth Leader— and this was only mentioned in official texts and omitted elsewhere—was not the ideal Atlantic type; instead he had a rather small build and dark hair. Adrian still remembered seeing in his file—before access to his data had been restricted by the Department of Central Conscience, which was typical for a member of the Council of Leaders—that the breeding value of his family had not been particularly high. And the fact that he only lived with one wife, even though he was popular with women, and only had two children seemed to validate this data. There was no official reason or explanation for this, only rumors. The Leader was not from one of these large families like Gebbels, Heinrich, Jordan, Bachmann and others whose descendants had dominated the Council of Leaders in the five generations since the Great Fatherland War. But in the midst of crisis, in the midst of the worldwide upheaval during which he had come to power, it had been his rather reserved manner, coupled with his expertise and his knowledge of human nature, that were deemed not only by the Council of Leaders but also by the people to be qualities in urgent demand. One of his first orders of business as Leader was to call for more Handschar Brigade Leaders to be on the Council of Leaders, apparently with the intention of reducing tension among the troops.

When the Tenth Leader spoke there was no trace of the same charisma of previous great Leaders or of the three avatars below, men against their time who had made history; instead, his speeches had an intensity that was unavoidable. Whenever Adrian saw the Leader and heard him speak, he was filled with a sense of confidence and trust.

The Leader had the face and the demeanor of a man who knew about life and who did not make empty promises: Comrades, comrades in arms, women and men of the Reich Artam, to whom I speak today: You all know that there are powers, and not only in Old Europe, that have still learned nothing from the Great Chaos. You also know that these powers, in their stubbornness and incredible ignorance, insist on not only upholding but even tightening sanctions against us, against Artam. As you can all imagine, this is sure to result in repercussions for our economy and our powers of defense. Diminishing our strength in this way has always been the hidden agenda of these sanctions; it is why they were originally imposed and it is why they continue to be upheld despite all reason. We can only expect further painful restrictions on our standard of living. In one respect we will leave no room for doubt among those who have been pointing their fingers at us for generations: They can impose all the sanctions they want; we will make no changes to our domestic policy—not in the past, not today, and not in the future. As long as Artam exists it will never—never—implement universal suffrage. Artam has placed its destiny in the hands of the Atlantic race, and I will lead Artam to a future that Europe and the rest of the world have spoiled for themselves, having learned nothing from the Great Chaos, which they deserved and whose consequences they must now suffer. Nothing and nobody can stand in our way, not in the past, not today, and not in the future: Artam will build new nuclear power stations—indeed several new ones. We will continue to protect our Reich with the fettered and frightful elemental force of nuclear weapons, for by possessing and by improving these, and through our courage, we have guaranteed the existence of our Reich for the past 150 years, as well as the existence of the Reich Vril that is to follow us. As he spoke these final words, the Leader’s voice became charged with emotion and he ended with the sacrosanct phrase: Begotten from the race, living for the race, transforming into another species within a more powerful Reich. Artam.

The Leader had finished his speech. Adrian and his colleagues stood up from their seats, raised their arms in a Roman salute, and after chanting a hearty Hail! Hail! Hail! they sang the ancient battle song, Millions look to the swastika full of hope. That was the antiquated song of an elite who had long ago left behind the ethnic community from which they had grown. But singing it altogether like this created a delightful feeling of nostalgia. Even the Handschar—here in the RSHQ that was only about one in every twelve employees—were singing along, although they lacked the same enthusiasm.

Adrian found it difficult to avoid the discussions that ensued at the tables, even though he had no interest in contributing. A tall woman with strawberry blonde hair at his table had gotten herself quite worked up: Those ungrateful Europeans! For five generations now our sons have been shedding blood on the Asiatic front. In each generation, one, two, or even three out of every four men have fallen. Last month my nephew met his death somewhere beyond the Ural. At the mention of this, she could no longer hold back her tears; in fact she proceeded to lose all self-control and had to be escorted out.

Everyone knew that relations with Europe and the state of affairs in the Near East had continued to worsen for the past century now and that Artam’s foreign policy and security situation had become increasingly challenging, even though in recent years there had appeared to be some somewhat inconsistent evidence suggesting that tensions had eased and that the worst was over. Ever since the Great Fatherland War, Artam had not managed to establish ongoing peace in the regions east of the Ural. For centuries Russia had provided a barrier for Christian Europe against Asia, but ever since it ceased to exist, the Reich had been forced to fill this void, and Artam was its armed branch. At first the dispersed Bolshevists and their successors were supported in a covert way, later more and more openly, by the East Asian Empire, which had emerged from the Japanese Empire after it integrated China and Korea.

The entire Near and Middle East had remained a region of unrest, at war over oil. The interests of North America, Europe, Aryavarta, and East Asia conflicted with those of Arabs, Persians, and Jews, resulting in constantly changing coalitions and endless wars. In order to avoid at all costs making an enemy of North America, Artam had at times, and purely for strategic reasons, coordinated its combat operations with those of the Jewish, Armenian, Chaldean, and Maronite coalition forces. These forces, with the support of North America, controlled small, insular regions throughout the Near East but, unlike Artam, had failed to establish an actual state in this region that was consistently secure. It was Islam, driven by its population pressure, that at first had unrelentingly recovered ground and then proceeded to gain new ground. The Jewish combat units had predominantly emerged from the settlers who, starting in 1943, had been forcibly dissipated from all over Europe into the regions southeast of the Ural. A second wave of immigrants had arrived in Palestine from overseas. Both groups gave rise to a Supreme Command