Risen from the Ruins: An East German ISOT TL

Prologue - A Brave New World

KitFisto1997

Pull my Devil Trigger, He-Man!
Location
Mango Country, Central Queensland
OPS-7 (Salyut 7)
Somewhere in Low Earth Orbit.

March 1984 A.D.
-
"We're currently three minutes from the observation point, Baikonur. The cameras and other sensory equipment are primed and ready to use, at your command, over."

"Roger that, Almaz Two. Your trajectory readings indicate that you're on course for a full spectrum analysis, over."

"We're coming over our glorious Fatherland now, Baikonur. Permission to engage in rigorous scientific experimentation, over?"

"Permission granted. Start taking those pictures…"

---

Somewhere underneath East Berlin.
German Democratic Republic (GDR)

Three minutes earlier…
-
♪"...Hast du etwas Zeit für mich
Dann singe ich ein Lied für dich
Von 99 Luftballons
Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont…
Denkst du vielleicht grad an mich
Dann singe ich ein Lied für dich
Von 99 Luftballons
Und, dass so was von so was kommt…"♪


"Will you turn that Western shit off? We're going to get a knock on the door from State Security if you keep playing it this loud…"

"Oh, just relax, will you? We've be granted carte blanche by those slimy bastards to do whatever we want, as long as it's in the service of the Fatherland."

"Tearing open holes in the fabric of reality, while listening to decadent Western pop, you say? If that's the best example of serving the Fatherland, then I may as well be in the running for General Secretary."

"Just start the damned experiment. Our comrades in Salyut 7 are waiting for us…"

OPS-7 (Salyut 7)
-
"Holy shit! Baikonur, are you seeing this?"

"What is it, Almaz Two? What are you seeing?"

"Some sort of light show, like an aurora, has encompassed the entirety of our glorious Democratic Republic, Baikonur. It seems to follow the borders and coastline of our nation quite clearly, as if it's containing the Republic in an invisible bubble…"

"This isn't the experiment, Almaz Two. This must be a weapon of the capitalist West…"

"Baikonur, do we have permission to continue our analysis, over?"

"No, our spy satellite array will take care of any further analysis of the ongoing situation in Europe. Stay safe, Almaz."

"Baikonur? Baikonur, do you read me?"

"Baikonur…?"
-
An extract from 'The Time That Never Was: A Secret History of the German Democratic Republic' Second Ed.
Pacific Publishing, Los Angeles, CO. United States of America.
First published in 1960. Rewritten, updated and republished in 1975.


Even to this very day, nobody knows what exactly bought the 'German Democratic Republic' to our world. Despite having over a hundred years' worth of information, from both within and without the Republic, the theories that seek to prove how a 20th​ century-bound, 16 million-strong dictatorship was unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the 19th​ century, are all a jumbled mess of 'almost theres', conspiracy theories and legitimate attempts at scientific inquiry that always fall into the pit of explaining how one could move an entire landmass across time and space.

Many on the hard-left attribute the arrival of the GDR to 1848 to the work of brilliant German scientists, who were working on a project that would help their military project socialism all over the world via the mysterious science of 'teleportation'. Those of a more religious bent continue to speak of Germany's presence as that of a divine punishment from God, one that was meant to punish the nascent liberal regimes of Europe with an unstoppable force from the far-flung future, a future that will never come to pass.

Despite the fact that the Western Hemisphere has felt very little impact from what has since been referred to as 'The Arrival' or 'The Displacement', the subtle influence of the GDR can be felt in almost every corner of the world. Examples of this influence can be seen in the lush, tropical beaches of Ernst Thälmann Island, to the growing 'External Territory of New Swabia' in Honecker Crater, the ever-present 'European Brutalism' or 'Socialist Realism' in the arts, to the high technology that has slowly been integrated into our daily lives, which includes the surveillance equipment, firearms and new modes of transport…

 
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Chapter 1 - Crazy Noisy Bizarre Town
Schloss Niederschönhausen
Pankow, East Berlin. German Democratic Republic.

21st​ of March 1984/1848 A.D.
11.00 am (GMT +1 - CEST).
1 hour post-Transition.

-
The tension in the air was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, then again, so was the cigar smoke, not to mention the added stench of alcohol and body odour.

The members of the hastily-called 'Roundtable Conference', one that included all the Council of Ministers and the various heads of the Armed Forces, all turned their eyes toward a bespectacled man, who was reading from what seemed to be a hastily typewritten pile of notes.

"Judging by the positions of the stars, the lack of external radio and television signals, the surrounding architecture outside of the Wall and the very clothing and mannerisms of its inhabitants, I do believe that we've suddenly found ourselves in the mid-19th​ century. The exact date, however, is currently unknown to us."

General Secretary Erich Honecker patted his sweat-laden brow as he digested the news. One minute he was on the verge of prosecuting a potential Third World War, now he was dealing with the potential fallout from the so-called 'Transition', which had dumped the German Democratic Republic into the revolutionary chaos of mid-19th​ century Europe.

The Minister of Science and Technology, one Herbert Weiz, continued to waffle on for a few minutes, mostly about the potential reasons for why they'd found themselves little over a century in the past, but it was clear that a definitive reason had since failed to materialise.

Honecker looked toward his military aides with the look that a commanding officer would give to their subordinate. The head of the Border Troops and National People's Army sat up and adjusted their uniforms the moment the General Secretary laid eyes on them.

"Order every single Grenztruppen outpost to turn away any curious locals. Double, no, triple the security presence at the Wall. Deploy what members of the Kampfgruppen we can scrounge up from the streets. Apart from any conscripted civilians and any other essential service personnel, nobody and I mean nobody leaves this nation without my explicit say so!"

"General Secretary Honecker, Sir…" Generaloberst Klaus-Dieter Baumgarten, Head of the Grenztruppen spoke aloud, carefully choosing his words as to avoid enraging the already stressed-out Honecker. He was certainly no Stalin, or Hitler for that matter, but he knew what it was like to deal with a room filled with nervous, easily-flappable men.

"I'm afraid that keeping anyone away from the Wall, let alone the internal border, is going to be easier said than done…"

---

Spandau
Brandenburg, Kingdom of Prussia

21st​ of March 1984/1848 A.D.
11.00 am (GMT +1 - CEST).

-
From the tallest rampart of Spandau's famous Citadel, Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia stood aghast as he stared through a telescope at the strange structures that were a few miles off in the distance. This wasn't the Berlin, or rather, the portion of Berlin that he knew of. He had a feeling that everything he knew of beyond that ugly concrete barrier, one that separated the two halves of the city, was now gone, washed away by the will of the Almighty.

"This must be the work of devils…" one of his guards offhandedly mused. "Look at that great metal spire in the distance," the man gestured toward it with his free hand. "…it's as if the Lord put it and those other buildings here to show us what we've become…"

What was once a low, quiet rumble, that was far off into the distance, soon turned into an almighty roar as a strange, box-shaped contraption, rumbled down the cobble streets of the old Brandenburger town.

Friedrich turned his attention away from the heavily guarded wall and toward that infernal thing that eventually pulled up a few metres outside of the Citadel. To his surprise, a small number of men, who were wearing identical tan-coloured uniforms, which seemed to be festooned with many belts, patches and other strange items, hopped out of the back of the large, thundering vehicle, which had since gone silent.

One of those strange, uniformed men looked up to the tower of the Citadel and waved to the wary mob of uniformed officers. The King and a small number of his men reluctantly waved back.

Perhaps this strange group of men were a military delegation of some kind, perhaps they were here to parlay a treaty. Either way, they seemed to require his services. The monarch ordered a small group of his men, which was to be further bolstered by the local law enforcement, to meet him down in the Citadel's courtyard.

"Well…" Friedrich uttered to his men as he slowly descended the staircase. "It seems that we're taking the diplomatic route…"
 
YES KIT YES!!!!


Hey are you gonna post Rev! here too? Or the Iran TL?

Rev! is here. King of Kings is dead. I lost interest.

Glad to see that you're interested in the TL! Soon we shall see the Red Flag of German Communism™ spread across Europe and even further still! :p

Well, at least it gives me an excuse to re-purpose some old Prussian-era bourgeois songs for the needs of the proletariat.

*bass boosted rendition of 'Auferstanden aus Ruinen' plays in the background*
 
Chapter 2 - Close Encounters
Border Checkpoint Helmstedt–Marienborn
Marienborn, Bezirk Magdeburg. German Democratic Republic.

21st​ of March 1984/1848 A.D.
11.40 am (GMT +1 - CEST).
1 hour and 40 minutes post-Transition.

-
"Why in the world are we getting all of this extra armour?" Hans Fischer asked to one of his fellow officers, shifting his gaze over toward an older Russian-speaking fellow.

From the vantage point of the observation tower, the small number of Grenztruppen that were present could see a large gathering of NVA personnel carriers and armoured cars, which were taking up what was once the carpark of some West German rest stop. Not only that, but in an adjacent carpark, this time on the Eastern side of the crossing, there were a smaller number of 'conscripted' civilian vehicles, namely a few motorbikes and a smattering of Trabants and BMWs, which were presumably abandoned by their occupants, either the moment that crazy lightshow had started, or they were forced to by the more zealous members of the Grenztruppen.

"What does it look like?" the Russian almost snorted with laughter upon hearing that asinine comment. "We're protecting your Fatherland from anyone that dares to come or go, be it a mob of farmers or some poor soldiers. Unless you want some horrifying medieval disease to attack this bastion of international socialism, then I suggest you don't question any orders from now on…"

"Protecting our borders from our fellow Germans… What rubbish." Fischer mused to himself, his rational side still refusing to believe what the rest of him was seeing. There were no NATO divisions or any recognisable West German towns on the other side of the border, just rural farmlands that were on the outskirts of either small villages, larger towns and cities. Every now and then, he'd hear the soft 'thump thump' coming from the rotors of a Mi-24, which seemed to be performing a series of reconnaissance flights across the border.

"It's been almost two hours since everything west of the border has been replaced... This definitely is no illusion…"

The Border Guard peered through his binoculars, taking in the distant sight of what had once been a bustling West German border city. Helmstedt was once a small, but important city nonetheless, mostly due to its proximity to the border checkpoint that shared its name. Now, it was looking like something from an old painting, with the cobblestone streets, townhouses, farms and cathedral spires being mostly visible.

Whoever had decided to move the entirety of the East German state into what seemed to be the Biedermeier period, was clearly smart enough to cut off the autobahn a few metres over the border, if only to preserve the Inter-German checkpoints in their entirety. What were once the heavily-paved autobahns, that served as the only physical connections between East and West, now ended in either rural dirt tracks or some form of paved or cobblestone roads.

"Hauptmann Fischer… I repeat, Hauptmann Fischer?"

Fischer was torn out of his reverie by the frenzied chatter that had suddenly erupted over his two-way.

"This is Fischer, what do you want, over?"

One of the higher-ranked guardsmen, located on the ground, was frantically waving at the man. Upon noticing the rather erratic fellow, Fischer was pointed to a small horse-drawn convoy that was approaching from the West German side of the border. The men wore uniforms out of an old re-enactment, namely the famous uniforms of Napoleon's Black Brunswickers, who were also armed with a mix of breech-loaded rifles and some older flintlocks.

"You might want to see this…" the guardsmen said, just before cutting off the call.

This was no longer some sort of illusion. Despite it now being made painfully clear, almost all the Grenztruppen present were surprised that none of the locals had dared to approach them earlier.

Fischer rushed down the staircase and quickly found himself at ground level in under a minute. Even though he wasn't the highest ranked of individuals at the border crossing, his knack for calm negotiations had turned him into the unofficial peacemaker of the East German side of the crossing.

One of the more well-dressed men hopped off his horse, about ten metres or so away from the official border. Fischer was now standing directly in front of him, with a small contingent of well-armed and somewhat jumpy guardsmen having his back. The black clad-infantryman performed a flourished salute, showing an equally confused, if wary look as he scanned the mysterious concrete structures, the suit-like uniforms of the men and their equally odd weapons and vehicles.

"I, Oberst Hans Augustus, come in the name of the Mayor of Helmstedt." The fifty-something man articulated, just as Fischer saluted in kind. "It seems that our territories in Calvorde, not to mention the lands of our Prussian neighbours, have been… replaced… I demand an explanation as to who you are and what business your government has on our territory."

A look of melancholic despair seemed to wash over Hans' face, but his staunch professionalism swiftly returned in an instant.

"I take it that I'm talking to an officer, one that is near or of my own standing?"

"Nein." Fischer said simply, turning to a member of his fellow Grenztruppen, it was the Russian commander from earlier. "I, however, can act as the translator for our Sov-, I mean, Russian commanding officer…"

"I apologise if I misheard you…" Hans almost spluttered, attempting to hide a shocked expression with a raised eyebrow and a bemused stare.

"Did you just say Russian?"
-
An excerpt from 'The Little Red Book on Mainland European Art – 3rd​ Edition'. Published by the Pan-European Committee on Approved Literature. Berlin, GDR. 1940.

TITLE: 'The Meeting at Marienborn'
Alt title: "The Blacks and Tans"
ARTIST: John Everett Millais
YEAR: 1862
MEDIUM: Oil on canvas
SCHOOL: Pre-Revolutionary Realism
LOCATION: Museo del Prado, Madrid. Kingdom of Spain.

NOTE: The description of the painting has been changed for an international release. The original description is located on the following page, translated from German at the behest of the British Embassy.

'The Meeting at Marienborn' depicts the fateful meeting between Oberst Hans Augustus of the Brunswicker 'Black Army' and Hauptmann Hans Fischer of the German Democratic Republic's 'Grenztruppen' (Border Guards) in early 1848, mere hours after the famous 'Transition'. Oberst Augustus is situated on the left-hand side of the painting, flanked by a small number of similarly dressed men on horseback, some of whom have artillery pieces towed behind their steeds. Hauptmann Fischer, meanwhile, is flanked by a similar number of his own men on the right-hand side, decked out in the ceremonial dress uniforms of the Grenztruppen, with a small number of BRDM-2 patrol cars sitting in a carpark behind them.

The painting shows the jarring divide between the 20th​ century that the GDR had supposedly once inhabited, and the 19th​ century that it had arrived in. The countryside of Brunswick is shown as a peaceful, yet underdeveloped area that lacks the awe-inspiring industrial potential of the GDR, which is depicted as a cold, grey and unknown land, yet it also has a strange feeling of optimism about it, mostly due to the great technological divide between the two nations.
 
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Interlude I - Cleaning House
Hohenschönhausen Prison.
Hohenschönhausen, East Berlin, German Democratic Republic.
21st of March 1984/1848 A.D.
4.00 pm (GMT +1 - CEST).
7 hours post-Transition.
-
"Alright gentlemen… You have your orders, from the very top, no less."

Those words seemed to stick in the backs of the minds of the men that heard them. The rather impromptu meeting, one that was hastily assembled in the cramped office of the prison warden, was all that was needed to bring even the most doubtful employee of the Stasi into line.

The orders were as clear as the warden had stated them mere minutes ago.

They were to clean house, if only to make room for the new arrivals.

Some of the rumours that had been flying around since their earlier lunch break was that there there were some members of honest-to-God royalty, who were only mere hours away from arriving at the prison.

However, those same rumours spoke of the rather light touch that was to be afforded to these new guests. Supposedly they were only keeping them there temporarily, until more adequate housing could be found. However, the more permanent inmates were just more of the same.

They were dissidents, failed defectors, capitalists, unpatriotic citizens and anybody else that fit the broad descriptor of 'traitor'. Additional rumours spoke of the more 'conventional' prisoners in prisons across the Demokratische Republik were being given similar treatment, but that was only for reasons of 'civil stability' all in the name of the supposed 'health of the nation' and for the 'flourishing of international socialism'.

The various members of the Stasi, be they men or women, native Germans or Russian expats, were chosen for their fierce loyalty to the Fatherland. They were chosen to uphold the tenants of the Bolshevik Revolution, to ultimately serve the Party above all else, to secure its rule over all of Germany. It was an invisible, velvet-gloved, but blood-soaked iron fist, one that silently quashed any 'unpatriotic, capitalistic and anti-party thoughts' from the minds of those that dared to question them.

Some of the men and women in these cells were beaten, emaciated and broken beyond repair. Those that dared to beat the system quickly found out that the system would eventually beat them. In fact, many of these people were broken prior to their prison sentences.

The Americans called it 'decomposition', while the Stasi called it Zersetzung. A cold, bureaucratic word, like most terms that were used in the glorious Demokratische Republik. These people would be slowly stripped of their livelihoods. They'd be living in constant fear, not sure who or what was watching them, perhaps their radio was bugged, or their own family members were spying on them. Someone once likened it to 'an assault on the human soul'.

A very apt, simplistic description for such a complex method of breaking a human being.

If the Stasi's ordinary methods were meant to delicately deal with and intimidate society into submission, similar to that of a knife, then the idea of Zersetzung was their hammer, something that the most well-trained operative would break out if it were ever required, just to make things interesting.

The cells were strangely quiet, even at this time of day. Normally one would hear the silent murmurs from the inmates, despite the rigorously enforced bans on communication between one another, barring their state-mandated exercise time.

The doors were swung open, bullets were fired, then the doors were closed again. The bodies were dragged out once each hall was cleared.

Some of these dissidents were fresh meat, only having been in prison for a small number of hours. Some were attempted defectors, those that tried to jump the wall the very day West Berlin was replaced with some Victorian facsimile. Some were rioters, those that were already known to authorities for trying to start trouble.

BLAM.

A young woman, suspected anarchist. Imprisoned for setting a few police cars on fire during the Wall Protests.

BLAM.

An older man. Scaled the Wall to address the confused crowds about how the Almighty had given the downtrodden people a chance to rebel. He was shot down before he could even deliver half of his message.

BLAM.

Another young lady. A university student that got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would later be noted that her Party connections were practically unblemished, but that's what happens when you attend a riot. Accidents happened.

BLAM.

A younger man. Pro-capitalist playright and poet, who wrote of the supposed suffering of the working classes.

Four people, most of whom were trouble makers of one stripe or another, were among the hundreds that were coldly murdered on that dreary, humid spring afternoon.

They all had to go eventually. It just so happened that a crisis of this size had forced them to go so soon. Reports that were slowly filtering in from elsewhere had suggested that the bulk of the sporadic, but still nationwide riots had since subsided, the same could be said for the prisons too.

A few hours and several million rounds of ammunition later, a semblance of normalcy had seemingly returned to the Demokratische Republik. Sure, there were more dissidents to round up, a few more scouting parties to send out, recon flights to manage and governments to contact, but at least the pre-Transition kinks had been smoothed out, all in one swift slice.

Once everything had been said and done. The blood-soaked, gunpowder-smelling execution teams of Hohenschönhausen Prison had one single thought on their minds:

"How do you even treat a King?"
 
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Chapter 3 - To Play the King
Hohenschönhausen Prison.
Hohenschönhausen, East Berlin, German Democratic Republic.

21st of March 1984/1848 A.D.
10.00 pm (GMT +1 - CEST).
12 hours post-Transition.

-
Friedrich Wilhelm IV, by the Grace of God, King of Prussia and a few dozen other subsidiary titles, was now a prisoner in what was once his own nation. His country was now considered to be de-facto territory of this new 'Deutsche Demokratische Republik', both by right of conquest and that of its supposedly preceding territorial claims.

The last King of Prussia sat alone in his rather well-furnished cell, trying to block out the muffled screams of anguish and cries for help from the surrounding cells. Despite being no longer a King politically, he was still treated like one in deference. His food was freshly cooked, his clothes were quite comfortable and his treatment, compared to those around him, was relatively lenient.

Despite having been treated with such leniency by the beaucracy-obsessed, efficient and heavily centralised government, something that the King admittedly admired from whatever short glimpses he'd been given, he still sat aghast at what had become of his people and their nation. The dreary buildings, nervous citizenry and the ever-present cameras and other such foreign devices, the hundreds of soldiers, policemen and conscripted officers unnerved him to a great degree. A certain Austrian Foreign Minister would be jumping around with glee if he had access to that sort of technology.

He reflected on what had happened to him some mere hours ago. The guards whom he'd met in Spandau were both standoffish and curious in equal measure. They were as equally as curious as to who he was and where and when they'd supposedly 'landed'. Their orders were to both explore and round up anyone who was of importance in what they'd termed 'West Berlin', as if there was already a supposed 'East'.

After having been grilled for his identity, status and an innumerable amount of other personal details, Friedrich had since been temporarily thrown into a cell, albeit one that was stocked with a pile of Party-approved literature. The subjects were mostly that of the history of Europe since 1848, leading up to the East German calendar year of 1984 A.D. He'd read through a great deal of these works, taking note of the heavily ideological slant that were contained within. They stunk of the liberal rot that had infested his portion of Europe, one that intended to destroy the delicate balance that was laid out at Vienna, almost thirty years prior.

However, as the King read further and further into his assigned literature, he found that this sort of ideology was something else entirely. It was one that would most likely lead to the English Chartists and the Austrian Reactionaries shaking hands and making alliances, if only to provide an unassailable bulwark against the horrors of what had come from Marx's recently-published manifesto. A sudden feeling of dread washed over his silent, aristocratic frame. He realised that he had no power to affect what was to come. For ever how long he was to live in this accursed cell, he was to potentially see the Congress of Vienna be torn asunder by the will of these well-trained, well-armed and well-planned men.

It was as if this nation was the vengeful, Germanic lovechild of Marx and Napoleon, one that was prepared to spread an ideology by both military conquest and political subversion. The ideas that both the late French Emperor and the contemporary Austrian Chancellor wished to both spread and maintain were to soon come up against an unstoppable menace of large proportions.

A confused, revolting patchwork of states were far from ready to face it.

A sudden knock on the cell's door snapped the King from his thoughts.

"Lights out, Your Majesty." The voice said, adding a smug emphasis onto the latter half of his order.

King Friedrich Wilhelm complied with that request, finishing off a sentence in one of the books before the lights went out, plunging the small cell into darkness.
 
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In the next few chapters, I hope to move on from this sort-of 'prologue' to what will become the inevitable international reaction to the DDR's arrival. So, to that end, I'd like to take some advice from my readers.

Which country/countries should I focus on next, in terms of their reaction to the DDR's sudden appearance and the ongoing political upheavals of the Springtime of Nations? Also, how should I write it? In a narrative format, or like that of a report?
 
In the next few chapters, I hope to move on from this sort-of 'prologue' to what will become the inevitable international reaction to the DDR's arrival. So, to that end, I'd like to take some advice from my readers.

Which country/countries should I focus on next, in terms of their reaction to the DDR's sudden appearance and the ongoing political upheavals of the Springtime of Nations? Also, how should I write it? In a narrative format, or like that of a report?
Being from the Netherlands I would like to see that country and how it's survives it new neighbor.
 
One of the other germanies would make sense, Baden or Hanover or something. Or Austria.
 
This is gonna end up some dystopian hellhole with East Germany controlling half of Europe and spreading its vile ways across the rest of the world, isn't it? Oh boy are we in for a ride...
 
Or without the risk of soviet intervention we might see a successfl revolution.
Afterall imagine how the Czech and Hungrain ones would have gone if it hadn't been for the USSR.
 
This is gonna end up some dystopian hellhole with East Germany controlling half of Europe and spreading its vile ways across the rest of the world, isn't it? Oh boy are we in for a ride...



Well, at the very least, the leadership of the DDR are far from Stalinists. If I wanted a truly dystopian shithole, a Stasi/NVA coup is just mere keyboard strokes away. :p

I plan to have the Germans mellow out and eventually adopt some Chinese-style reforms, which includes things like their new 'Social Credit' system. Not only that, but I'll probably have some analogues to the 'One Belt, One Road' initiative, Beijing's economic investment of Africa and some other Soviet-centric ideas that were floated back in the 90s.

If Europe is fucked at the very least, it's certainly going to give both the Americans and the other major states in Africa and the Far East a leg up.

Speaking of Europe, I might focus on what happens to the embassies that were located in East Berlin...
 
Or without the risk of soviet intervention we might see a successfl revolution.
Afterall imagine how the Czech and Hungrain ones would have gone if it hadn't been for the USSR.

The East Germans are definitely going to intervene in the Hungarian Revolution. I'll have to read up on the Czech insurrections that took place during the Springtime of Nations, so I'll get back to you on that one.
 
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