Chapter Twenty Three: Integration

…

Exhaling his cigarette, Otto Skorzeny opened his palm to check the pocket watch he could not exactly attach to his armour.

Sitting next to him was the alien Mala'Hautar. Her helmet off and she was keeping busy by grinding the dry blood off the end of her combat knife. Her one bright eye, one dulled occasionally glanced at him, or at Heydrich, who had about thirty more minutes before his extension ended and she would kill him herself. Whether her threat to kill him as well was up in the air still, but Otto's sidearm was ready to stop her. He wasn't unconscious like Reinhard Heydrich was. She would have to risk her life if she meant to kill him.

Other than the threats against his life, she wasn't particularly bad… for a quarian at least. She didn't seem to live by high minded ideals like the rest of them. She seemed to have known just how far her people would have to go to survive, and wasn't that she was not afraid to get her hands dirty for their benefit. He could respect that in all honesty. Still, she served to further the interests of the alien bastard Zorah; and he was not about to forget that so easily.

"You're running out of time."

Skorzeny looked up and found the quarian staring at him. Her expression remained neutral, as though she hadn't made the comment in the first place. She was a cold hearted bitch who did not mince her words. Skorzeny found the trait somewhat admirable.

He was spared a response as she winced slightly and turned away. Silently her hand reached up and disconnected the armour of her right armour, allowing it to slide off, leaving Skorzeny shocked that there was no flesh underneath the gear, just most metal and plastics. The sound of metal grinding against metal sent a shiver up his spine.

As she fiddled with the prosthesis, she grumbled to herself, her teeth gritted together. This perhaps was the least professional he had seen her. It became quite clear that she was in a significant about of physical discomfort. For a second, Skorzeny found himself sympathizing with her.

A low, painful sounding groan echoed and caught their attention. Reinhard Heydrich was stirring back to a state of consciousness. Both Hautar and Skorzeny looked up and found that the man had rolled his head from one shoulder to the next. Forgetting her pain in the machine arm, Hautar was the first to stand up. She removed her pistol from her magnetic strip and pointed it at the captured man.

Shaking the thoughts of his wife out of his head, Skorzeny stood up next. He too drew his pistol, but kept it at his side. He walked over to where Heydrich was stirring back to consciousness. He was strapped to the front of a ton and a half Opel Blitz supply truck that Hautar and he hijacked while in route to Wolfsberg, Austria.

Otto remained silent as Heydrich's dazed expression widened in shock as he realized he was being held against his will.

"I see you're awake… very good…" Skorzeny spoke to the man. "Can you understand me?"

Heydrich twisted his head and looked at Skorzeny. His expression flashed to one of shock. It was an understandable reaction to his precarious situation. Not many men woke up with their legs bound to the grill and their arms tied to the sides of an engine hood of an Opal Blitz truck. No matter how much Heydrich struggled, he was not about to break out of snow chains.

Now only a metre or so away from Heydrich, Otto paused and looked into the wide eyes of his wife's murderer. Then, the strangest, most unimaginable thing he could have done happened…

He laughed. God forgive him, but he actually found it in himself to laugh.

It was enough to make the stoic quarian tilt her head in surprise. It did not laugh long. The laughter masked the urge to break down and cry. It took all of his efforts, but Otto managed to do it as he turned to meet Heydrich in the eye.

"You killed my wife, Heydrich. You hung my child and left her to die," Skorzeny addressed the bastard. "Whether or not it was by your hand or on the orders of other makes no difference to me; both of these acts are unspeakable, and you will not live for much longer. However I'm not without mercy. You can still determine the way you want to die…"

Skorzeny leaned forward as he stared at Heydrich.

"There is the easy way, in which I shoot you through the heart," he said as he showed Heydrich his pistol. The barrel of the weapon touching against the battered uniform Reinhard was wearing. "This is only possible if you confess right now and atone for your grievances. Believe it or not, but I'm a good Christian; I can find it in myself to forgive your actions against me if you can account for them. It will be just enough forgiveness to give you a clean, respectable death."

Setting his pistol back into his holster, Otto grabbed Heydrich by his head and wrenched it to stare down in the direction the front was pointed at. Through the tree line at the bottom of the valley was Stalag XVII-A.

"Or you can deny it, and you will die the way that I want… with you strapped to the front of a two ton truck going 80 kilometres an hour down a hill, through those barbed wire and electric fences and through that cheap pine building," Skorzeny continued, pointing out at the lone structure designed for one special prisoner to be housed. "You will be shredded apart in a rather ghastly manner… and if you somehow survive that, I shoot you through the back of your skull with a rifle."

As Skorzeny leaned against the hood of the truck next to the condemned man, he reached into his jacket to find himself another cigarette.

"It's really your prerogative of course – dead is dead - after all," Skorzeny spoke as he lit his cigarette. "At this point, you should think about your family and whether or not they'll have an open or closed casket funeral for their beloved husband and father."

Exhaling a mouthful of smoke, the commando leaned forward. His scared face twisted up as he grinned at Heydrich

"I'd say beloved brother as well, but considering how adamant Heinz Heydrich insisted he helped me get you, I imagine that wouldn't be the truth, right?" Otto mocked, grinning down on the helpless man. "So much for the loyalty of family I suppose."

Skorzeny chuckled again as he pulled back to inhale his cigarette yet again. He watched in mild amusement as Heydrich struggled against the chains. The betrayal of his brother was delicious to say the least. Heinz must have really driven him insane over the course of the civil war. Not bad for a writer he supposed.

The chains fell silent as Heydrich ended his pointless struggle. It appeared as though he was finally coming to terms with his own mortality and that everything was about to end for him. The panic and fury washed off his face as he slowly turned his head to face Skorzeny. He even had enough balls to allow a small smile to cross his mouth.

"I don't suppose there is any way out of this?" he finally rasped out. There was almost a trace of humour in the son of bitch's voice.

Skorzeny tapped the ash off the end of his cigarettes, and onto Heydrich's boots. He shook his head in mild disgust and pushed himself off of the truck he was leaning against.

"No... No, not this time… you haven't any resources left to protect you," Skorzeny spoke as he turned back to Heydrich. Gesturing to Hautar, he added. "You see the alien? She has one singular goal: To make sure you die. In the off chance I give mercy, she'll kill the two of us… isn't that right Major Hautar?"

The quarian did not reply. She instead glared at the man who ordered the attack that killed hundreds of her people months ago. She wanted his blood spilled nearly as much as Otto had.

"You were willing to step on the faces of your allies in order to advance your own career," Skorzeny reminded Heydrich, his voice struggling to remain level. "Tell the truth and make your last act an honest one. I think you owe that to yourself."

Heydrich did not blink, did not breath, and did not wince. He held his eyes on Skorzeny, still smiling like he had nothing to fear. Skorzeny knew better than that. He knew this was a mask.

"Tell the truth?" Heydrich repeated, rolling his head to one shoulder. "I got the order from Himmler that your loyalty was questionable at best. That you were infected by that demented lawyer Kaltenbrunner. But if you knew anything about me, then you should know that I did not have the time or desire to go out of my way just to kill your wife and child on the order of the Reichsführer. You were not worth an iota of my effort."

Skorzeny's fist tightened. This was not what he wanted to hear…

"You received the orders and carried then you carried them out, my wife was killed in the exact same fashion you had others killed," Otto repeated like a machine. "One more time: confess and I will make this easy for you. I want to hear you say the words. I refused the chemical weapons deployment and you had others murder her, and nearly killed my child before Kaltenbrunner intervened… admit it and you die painlessly."

There was no response from Heydrich. His twisted face, damaged by the cybernetic implantation rejection grinned at him like he had done no wrong. Loosening his hands from the fists that had formed in the wake of Heydrich's defiance, Skorzeny instead wrapped them tight around man's neck. Behind him Hautar stiffened up. It was an expression of anticipation…

"SAY IT!" Skorzeny roared out at the bastard.

Reinhard's eyes bulged as Skorzeny continued to choke him. He swayed back and forth. It was all that he could do to resist. Skorzeny held the pressure. He did not add anymore, but he certainly didn't relax it. He needed Heydrich in pain but conscious. He needed to know who killed him.

"You think I wanted to stoop to a vendetta against someone as insignificant as Joachim Hoch? That I planned out the museum operation? That I killed and raped and played mind games all out of spite?" Heydrich gasped out finally. "I was laid up in a hospital. It was Kaltenbrunner who orchestrated the attack weeks before that bastard Hoch abducted the Führer. It was always Kaltenbrunner's doing…"

The words did not ease Otto's pressure on Heydrich's throat. The accusations against Kaltenbrunner were simply too unbelievable for Skorzeny to accept on the word of a bastard like Heydrich. Most men in the shadow of their own death would be honest. Not Heydrich. Heydrich lived to sow discourse in his enemies. If he could shake Skorzeny's confidence in Kaltenbrunner, then the fuck would go to his grave with a win.

"Kaltenbrunner… that petty, conniving snake… he convinced me that if I was to be seen as a credible successor to the Führer over Himmler, I had to be the one to take charge and do the deed on his behalf. That I had to lead the reprisals and instil discipline over the country!" Heydrich struggled out as Skorzeny squeezed his throat. "I never intended on being a marked man! I had my own problems without having Hoch and his inquisition regiment or you hunting me down!"

Growling, Otto reached out and pulled Heydrich's head up by his hair. Gripping the barrel of his pistol, he began the process of bringing justice to Heydrich by smashing his face in with the pistol grip. This was slander, pure and simple, and he wasn't about to abide it. What he was suggestion was impossible. It was the teachings that Himmler instilled in his circle about Kaltenbrunner.

"Kaltenbrunner is loyal to me! He loved Emmi and Waltraut! What you're saying are impossible LIES!" Skorzeny screamed right back at Heydrich, spittle flying in the face of the mangled Reinhard Heydrich.

All Heydrich could do was cough and laugh in the face of the Austrian. His bleeding, twisted face formed a rictus grin, mocking Skorzeny for his apparent foolishness.

"If you think love is enough to keep Ernst from taking advantage of an opportunity to keep you at his side, then you are a far greater fool than I suspected!" Heydrich managed to cough out. "Himmler's signed order was all it took to play that hand… all it took for him to kill your wife. So Kaltenbrunner killed the bitch to keep her from influencing you any further, and spared the child… no… saved the child to buy your gratitude and loyalty. You're a dog, serving your master blindly. That's all you've ever been. A tool to advance his own caree-"

He could not complete his lunatic ravings about Ernst; Heydrich shrieked as Mala'Hautar stepped forward and plunged her knife between the man's ribcage and begun to twist. Otto could hear bone twist and break from the blade. The quarian remained motionless as she stared into Heydrich's panicked eyes. She pulled the blade out, the dark blood hitting her torso.

As Heydrich's blood came bubbling through his orifices, Hautar stepped back and turned back to the human standing next to her. Otto's eyes were wide in stunned shock as he watched the man he hated so much begin to die before his eyes.

"No more insults and mind games… you humans are worse than children," she said as she wiped the blood off her knife on his uniform and sheathed it. "Finish it now."

Looking at the convulsing, dying, former head of the RSHA, Otto nodded and moved around the truck cab. Prying open the door, he climbed into the driver's seat. He waited only a moment longer as Mala'Hautar did the same. As soon as she slammed the door shut, he turned the keys, roaring the engine to life. It was time to execute phase two of his plan.

The rumbling of the truck brought Heydrich's focus back, but it was nothing compared to as Skorzeny stepped onto the accelerator. The truck jerked and begun rolling over the side of the hillside and down towards Stalag XVII-A. Both Hautar and Otto ignored the screams of Heydrich as the truck picked up more and more speed as it closed.

The screaming quickly ended as the truck hit through the first line of chain link fencing, then the barbed wire. Skorzeny tightened his grip around steering wheel. He lowered his head as bullets blasted through the window shield. Then came the shuddering thump as the truck slammed right through the cheap pine walls of the prisoner barrack.

Kicking open the door, he climbed out with his rifle at the ready. He took aim at the MG-34 post on his left and fired a burst through the sandbags. He turned and found Hautar firing an explosive round from the underslung grenade launcher she had had attached to her weapon on the flight over. The grenade exploded the top of the watchtower into a haze of blue death.

"Secure the perimeter," was all Otto had to say to her.

Nodding, Hautar pulled on her helmet, activated her shielding and bolted to the back of the truck to lay down fire on the Luftwaffe troops pouring into the main yard to investigate the firefight. Skorzeny slung his rifle back up to his shoulder and worked his way back inside of the building.

He paused as he reached the cab and looked at the limp Heydrich. Torn to shreds, his body impaled with wood, his body was tangled up in barbed wire. It was not nearly as satisfying a sight as Skorzeny thought it would have been on his way over. It was not that he felt it had been too much… it was just… unsatisfying. Perhaps it was Heydrich's final words that got to him…

For now that did not matter. Shoving aside his disappointment, he pushed past the truck and entered the barrack, where he quickly found the reason why he chose this place in particular for his means to execute Heydrich… the liberation of Colonel 'Mad' Jack Churchill.

Skorzeny could not help but roar out in laughter at the sight of his former enemy. The Englishman was laying chained to the lone bed in the barrack and was gagged and stripped stark naked. Apparently the tricky bastard was attempting night escapes from the Stalag, and the commandant was understandably furious and not about to give the commando means to conceal weapons. Currently Churchill was wide eyed and in a state of shock at the sudden explosion that rocked his barrack.

Still grinning despite everything, Skorzeny climbed over the wood debris and nearly marched his way to the Englishman. He raised his rifle and shot the chains latched to the floor off their hinges. As Churchill struggled to loosen the chains wrapped around him, Otto knelt down by the bed side and pulled the gag from out of Churchill's mouth.

"I suppose you didn't heed my advice about behaving," Skorzeny mused as he helped Jack up. He looked exhausted, like the guards put him through rigorous work outs to keep his body exhausted. It was what Skorzeny would have done if he had someone as odd as Churchill in his custody.

"Skorzeny…" he moaned as he rubbed his pockmarked chest caused by the rubbing of the iron chains. "Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?"

As Skorzeny stood up to exit the barrack, Churchill did the same. He was not bashful in the slightest by his nudity as he trailed behind the Austrian with a serious limp.

"The war is over, Jack," Skorzeny announced to the Englishman behind him. "National Socialism in Germany is dead and your side has been more or less subjugated at least on this front. It does not take a genius to know that your liberation will take quite some time to process. I figured you would like to get out now."

The two men stopped in front of what remained of the smoking Opel Blitz truck. Skorzeny turned back to Churchill and found the man was pulling Heydrich's hair up so he could take a good, hard look at the face of the man. Jack's mouth twisted up into an expression of disbelief.

"Is that… Is that Reinhard Heydrich, Otto?" Churchill finally spoke in disbelief. "You just had to one up me didn't you? You even used my trick!"

Skorzeny did not reply to the backhanded praise. He pushed Jack's hand out of the way, raised his rifle at the dead man and shot the corpse through the back of the head. The exit wound absolutely catastrophic, it did enough damage to splatter most of his face clean off his body. It was enough to make Churchill step back in shock as he watched the Austrian desecrate the corpse.

Together the two men stepped out into the yard and towards the source of the gunfire. Waiting for the two of them was Major Hautar. She did not need any assistance in holding off the security detail of the Stalag. As her shielding flared from the projectiles hitting her, Otto turned back to Jack and threw the man his pistol belt before raising his own weapon to assist the Major.

"And just what the hell is that thing?!" he heard Churchill shout over the gunfire. The pistol in his hand was raised as he returned fire in the buff.

"The secret your team had to die for last year," Skorzeny shouted back to him as he pushed Churchill in between Hautar and himself. "I'm taking you to Calais… do you have any objections, or shall I leave you here?"

Receiving no disagreement with Skorzeny's intention to escort him out of mainland Europe, Churchill followed Skorzeny and Hautar out of the Stalag at a mad dash away from the swarms of Luftwaffe troops. They had a shuttle to catch.

…

…

At a grand total of three days, Erich von Manstein found that this had to have been the shortest campaign he ever had to command.

Resistance in the so-called 'Fortress' Berlin crumbled quickly the moment the quarians dropped Special Forces teams into the city. With the confirmation that Heydrich was dead, Thousands of officers begun the process of surrendering their troops to the encroaching Army Group Berlin. Now that it was all just a process of sorting out who would be sent to the east and who would be sent to prison, Manstein was packing his bags and heading back to Army Group South. The Soviets had made a renewed push in the Caucasus. He had to respond to it as soon as possible.

In the meantime, while he waited for his train and flight plan to be drawn up, Von Manstein found himself lacking in a little entertainment. So in order to relieve his own boredom, he had his men summon none other than Alfred Jodl and Wilhelm Keitel to his command center. There both men were gagged and tied upside down to loose hanging ropes. Sort of a human piñata he supposed. It was rather nice to see to the two traitors to the Heer in a position of abuse. They were avid followers of Hitler; especially Keitel who destroyed many good, honest men to get his position.

Erich did not speak to them, he did not hit them, he did not so much as look at the two of them. They were no longer regarded to as human beings by him. Neither of them were worthy of his contempt, nor his pity. Instead they would do for him as they did for Adolf Hitler over the course of the war: They would serve as room decoration to take no notice of, and nothing more.

"Herr Generalfeldmarschall, may I have a moment of your time?"

Slamming his suitcase close, Von Manstein turned to the source of the low growling voice. Sure enough it was none other than Oberst Joachim Hoch standing in the room. Dressed in state-of-the-art quarian armour, he was not in a state of attention. His eyes were instead trained on both Keitel and Jodl. Erich hoped the young man was at least amused by it as he had been. A good portion of the blame for fighting his fellow Germans all these months rested on the shoulders of Jodl and Keitel.

"Hoch, come in and have a seat," The Generalfeldmarschall invited the Oberst in. "I have real coffee if you would like some."

The young officer did not reply to the offer. He walked into the room, his eyes held on the two generals held upside down and obviously against their will. It was clear that he was confused by what he had walked into, but he was not about to voice it openly.

"Sort of a joke between old colleagues; it is a political matter that men in the mid ranks are fortunate enough to largely avoid," Manstein explained to Hoch as he took a seat behind his desk and collected his after action reports. "Jodl and Keitel had the power to suppress the loyalists from fighting. They likely added months of resistance to the rebellion. Now look at them, they have destroyed their own names for a dead cause. This is what you get when you place bumpkins into positions of supreme leadership."

Manstein paused as Hoch turned back to him. Okay, perhaps a man in the same position as Hoch had been for the past half a year or so knew the politics behind war all too well. Still, most men in his position had the enviable task of not having to clash with personalities of your supposed kameraden rather than the enemy. Whenever Keitel was within 50 kilometres of him, Manstein wanted nothing more than to be sent to the front line in an under armed, highly suicidal Strafbattlion then deal with him.

"I was under the impression that loyalty was a Prussian virtue," Hoch spoke finally as he turned his back to the two disgraced General officers.

Manstein grimaced at the comment. It was still a surprise just how quickly his opinion on coups changed. That he stood against the government he swore to swear faithfully. If he was conflicted, he could not help but imagine the struggle it had to have been for SS men like Hoch to shift their perceptions on the man they swore to serve unto death.

Still, here Hoch stood. He survived the struggle to shake off the shackles of his masters. He battled and killed his compatriots' and more than proved his loyalty to the new Reich; but still the mental… hesitations would remain for quite some time. Hopefully he would survive the coming years.

"Yes, loyalty is certainly one of the Prussian virtues of old," Manstein addressed Hoch as he joined him. However there are occasions when the virtue can be bent, and a potentially hostile alien force with a thirty five thousand ship armada and a hatred for Hitler counts as one of those occasions."

Hoch did not reply to the humoured remark. His grimy face was extraordinarily grim as he stared ahead at Manstein without blinking.

"I received confirmation from Admiral Zorah that both Reinhard Heydrich and Ferdinand Schörner are dead and that Oskar Dirlewanger has been taken into custody," Manstein changed the subject for the Oberst, his hands lacing together on the top of the table. "Fine work, you should be commended for your deeds. You spared the city a long, brutal siege. The people will be grateful of your acti-"

"They used child soldiers as a line of defense against my team… girls were not spared from the draft," Hoch suddenly snapped out, the praise clearly bothering him. "So many misguided people died defending a maniac, so many civilians died trying to resist. There is nothing to be commended by you; we did the assignment as ordered. That is not why I am here."

Pushing his seat back, Hoch stood up in place. His arms and legs snapped together as he stood at attention before the Generalfeldmarschall, who was staring up at the young, wide eyed Oberst curiously.

"I do not mean to be curt with you, Herr Generalfeldmarschall," Hoch spoke again, this time more steadily. "It's just that not so long ago you said that we were friends, and that friends do things for each other. You wanted Hitler trialed, so I followed your route. I need a favour from you now..."

Erich looked at Joachim Hoch in the eye. The young man stiffened back up into a state of attention. It did not take a tactical genius to see Joachim's intentions a thousand kilometres away. Still… that did not mean that Erich was about to ignore whatever he had to say. Hoch had followed his instructions to the letter and lost quite a bit for it as a result.

Hoch reached into his armour and produced a rather crumpled up envelope. He leaned forward to set it on the table in front of Erich and returned back into a state of attention.

"I want you to sign off on a deactivation order on medical and/or psychological grounds," Hoch requested carefully, his words slow as though prodding to make sure what he wanted was a discussable subject. "I want to be assigned to the officer pool for no less than one year; I want the back pay I am owed since January."

Manstein stared at the young soldier incredulously. The Oberst wanted out of the war that badly? Surely the man knew that he was on the cusp of true greatness. Another three years of service and tutelage under the severely underappreciated Hass von Manteuffel, or perhaps Walter Model and Manstein could see Hoch reaching Generalmajor. It would be an honour that he truly deserved. It just seemed like such a shame that he was settling for a pittance…

Beating back an exacerbated sigh, Manstein leaned further back into his seat.

"I can get you reimbursed for lost wages and compensated for properties and finances stolen in the wake of your mission to abduct Hitler, but we're still in a war, Hoch," Erich finally responded, deciding to reason with the reluctant soldier. "I shall need solid men in the field, men such as you in the coming months... I cannot lose you now."

There was no change in the demeanour of the Oberst. He did seem a little surprised that Manstein permitted himself to actually beg, but it was just not enough to change his mind. After a good moment, he bowed his head.

"I recognize that there is a long war ahead, which is why I only ask for a year off rather than issue my complete resignation and intention to move to the quarian Mandate," Hoch said stiffly in an attempt not to buckle under the implied authority that the Generalfeldmarschall had over him. "I will not be of any use to you in the short term until I am granted enough leave until I have recuperated both physically and mentally. I don't have it in me to lead men into combat… and allow me make it quite clear, I hate Jewish-Bolshe-"

Hoch slammed his mouth shut. His Party lingo was still an ever present ghost in him. His expression turned one into self-loathing as he broke his rigid stance and slumped down into his seat. Erich watched the still very much indoctrinated Ex-Waffen-SS man rub his face. His expression collapsed into a look of misery.

"Bolshevism," he finally amended in a weak voice. "But… I cannot work against it in this current state. The war in the east cannot be won through ideological hatred. The only way to beat the Russian communist is to show the common citizen that we are the better, more moral, men… no matter how impossible that may seem."

Manstein slammed his fist on the desk.

"You know I should have you tried for cowardice?" Manstein growled at the Oberst finally. "While we speak millions of men are on the Russian frontier fighting and dying. Millions of more men are being redeployed to the east without no choice, and you have the gall to sit there and demand time off?!"

The statement stunned the Oberst. Clearly he hadn't exactly put a lot of what shirking his duties meant…

Standing up, Manstein paused in front of Keitel and Jodl. Glaring at the two yes-men Von Manstein pushed Generalfeldmarschall Keitel and watched as both he and Jodl begun to rotate on the ropes they were dangling from. The two men cried out though their gags for what likely was a demand to cease the motion. Manstein ignored it and took a seat on the edge of the desk next to Hoch, who was sitting at a state of attention.

"You know, you're lucky that the courts will be packed tight with Nazi criminals, or I would have you trialed as soon as I can," The Generalfeldmarschall pressed on sternly. "As such, it will be up to me to dispense your punishment in a prompt and summary matter."

Reaching behind him, he grabbed a pen and the temporary medical discharge paper Hoch had given him. As he begun the process of signing all the blank marks, he paid no attention to Hoch's eyes widening as he realized that Manstein was working the angles. Things had to be said to get the actions done.

"You may consider yourself suspended from active service with pay, back pay and benefits for no more or less than one year," Manstein spoke again as he dropped the pen, folded the official order and handed it to Hoch. "We will discuss your case on a future date. Am I understood?"

He tried not to grin as he looked into Joachim Hoch's stupefied expression as he read the signatures that would mark his freedom for a full year. This was a long time coming for the man. It still bothered Manstein that he wanted out of the war so eagerly, but the boy was not wrong. Mental health had to factor in to a good command leadership; and the only one who truly knew what was going on in Hoch's head was himself and the doctor he would need to help him cope.

Giving him another moment to himself, Manstein cleared his throat.

"What in the hell are you still sitting in my chair for?" he snapped for good measure.

Barely able to contain his own glee, Joachim Hoch stumbled out of his seat and retreated quickly from Manstein's command centre, leaving the Generalfeldmarschall alone with his two prisoners. Grabbing his cup of coffee, he turned back to face the two yes-men and sipped his drink in silence.

"As for you two, I'm going to see you're both hung for your actions," Erich curtly informed the two men. "Only next time you both will be wishing it was for my amusement."

…

…

The protests were very nearly deafening. It took a volley of rifle fire to shut up the four hundred ministers, representatives, district leaders, lawyers, bureaucrats and general staff personnel who were gathered in front of the Reichstag, which was surrounded by the whole of the 6th Infantry and 19th Panzer Divisions.

Naturally it had been the politicians and the civilians who were protesting what was occurring the most. They were the most vocal of the sixty thousand prisoners being sorted out. Most of the captured in this district were the loyalists Heer units that were being sorted through, pulled from the ranks of the captured and prepared for reenlistment into the Rebels… well, the now official Wehrmacht. It would not belong until they found themselves paying for their loyalty through front line service in Russia again. In a war such as this, culpability of criminality had to be vague

On the other hand, Allgemeine-SS and Waffen-SS men were being led off to the camps for detainment. Most would likely never see service again. Not as the Berlin Army Group entered the city and found the tens of thousands of Berliners who either resisted or were in the wrong place at the wrong time, rounded up and executed. Von Manstein made it very clear that if the Fatherland was ever in danger and they needed all the manpower they could get, the men of the 36 Waffen-SS Division's only use would be as target designators for the artillery.

Another rifle volley fired into the air, making Leutnant Erich Christmann flinch slightly. He wasn't exactly a front line soldier himself. He was a part of Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt's clerical staff. A former prosecutor in Weimer Republic, He was assigned to the 51st Feldgendarmerie detachment, which was assigned to 6th Infantry Division. Naturally the Feldgendarmerie was called on three reasons: First to keep the peace between the bitter victors and losers, second, to re-establish a police presence in Berlin and third, begin the process of disarming Vampyr resistance group.

"CEASE YOUR CHATTERING THIS INSTANT!"

The voice belonged to Oberst Lobeck, commandant of the detachment. Like Christmann, he too was a lawyer in the days before. He had made it all the way to judge by 1933 until he was kicked out for having questionable Party loyalties. Now he was standing before the men who more or less destroyed his political ambitions, his grim old face looked almost satisfied as he stared down on the silencing gathering from behind his bullhorn.

"You have been detained for a variety of reasons; there are far too many charges for me to list out at the moment. So for reason of expediency and for your safety, you will all be transported to Stalag-III-A, 53 kilometres south of Berlin until further notice," the Oberst spoke over the horn. "You will not be in contact with the outside world until we begin the process of sorting out your crimes against the State. I have been informed by Herr Generalfeldmarschall's Gerd von Rundstedt and Erich von Manstein that once the charges are filed, you will be granted the right to representation… More than most of you would give to us if the positions had been reversed… or to any of the tens of thousands of Berliners you likely would have executed without as much as a trial..."

Taking a deep breath, he pressed on.

"Behave for the duration of your imprisonment and you will be treated fairly and humanely. Resistance and subversion to our control shall be met with extreme persecution!"

The Oberst gestured to a dozen former colleagues of theirs. Most notable of them all was Baldur von Schirach, the former head of the Hitlerjugend and now former Gauleiter of Vienna. Considering his active deployment of German children into battle to fill the void left by the rebelling Wehrmacht and the near death worship of the children he nurtured into ideological soldiers, his hanging was bound to happen sooner or later. It would not at all come to Christmann that the order had been predetermined by the Wehrmacht Council. So much for their assurances of a fair trial; no matter how vile his actions were, the man should have been afforded a chance to defend himself from the accusations. Instead he screamed as a pig as the Feldgendarmerie strung him up to the lamp post as thousands of Berliners had been before him.

"Look who's is here," he heard one of his men call out. "It's the new masters. Should we bow, or grovel at their feet?"

Looking away from the swinging corpse of the Youth Leader, the Leutnant looked up and found that there was indeed a gathering of suited quarians. They were following one quarian in what appeared to be their version of a uniform. He appeared to be addressing the quarians, his hand was pointing to the gathering of criminals politicians.

As they made their way over, Christmann found himself confused. He had been under the impression that the quarians would perhaps be monstrous beasts, not so. They almost… almost looked human. They certainly did not come across as world conquerors. There was almost something…Technocratic about them. They were the National Socialists, which the actual National Socialists dreamed to be. They did not act as a blunt instrument. Instead of using force and risking their people's lives, they risked other lives instead… German lives.

If Christmann hadn't been a German himself, he would have found it admirable. Instead he was disturbed by the implications. Would this be forever the fate of Germany, and eventually the whole of Mankind: Salvation from itself in return for slavery at the hands of the quarians?

The leader of quarians stopped in front of Oberst Lobeck and addressed him in its alien tongue. Lobeck nodded, apparently able to understand what the being was saying. He turned to Christmann as quarians returned back to their public, but untranslatable conversation without any concern of the humans nearby.

"Major, I want your men to gather the last batch," Lobeck commanded in a short bark, his temper at a breaking point apparently. "The Reichstag is now under temporary control of the Quarian Admiralty Board, Enclave and the Wehrmacht Council until further notice. They would prefer the filth removed before they set up."

Breaking his stare away from the aliens, Christmann ignored the urge to point out how wrong it was for these beings to assume control of the Reichstag and instead clicked his heels together for the Oberst and turned away. With a wave of his hand, he directed his platoon of military police back up the stairs. He trudged behind them, muttering under his breath as he entered the blown open front doors.

The building was in ruins like the rest of the country. It had never been fully repaired in the wake of the Reichstag fire, but the fire was nothing compared to the initial storming of the building by Vampyr. It was a brutal firefight that left many on both sides dead until the leading units of the Rebellion pushed by the resistance, instantly forcing the defenders to surrender. That must have probably been a purposeful action. The guard knew better than to surrender to maundering bandits.

As another group of prisoners was led down the hallways of the Reichstag, Christmann paused at the doors of one office, left closed and undisturbed by the ruckus caused by the panic. Erich turned back and waved two soldiers over, both of them patrolling the hallways. As they joined his side, the Leutnant turned back to the door and knocked hard.

"Come in."

The voice was casual, almost inviting. Christmann frowned, unbuckled his pistol holster and turned the doorknob. Silently he entered the room and sure enough found the man he was looking for: Minister of Armaments Albert Speer. He was hutched over his desk, deep in paperwork, clearly unaware or uncaring to the events occurring just outside his door.

Christmann and his men stepped forward and came to a full stop in front of the desk.

"Visitors," Speer spoke almost cheerfully as he set down his pen and looked up. "May I be of assistance in some way? Would you like a drink, perhaps?"

His mouth forming a quizzical expression by the sheer casualness of Speer's nature, Christmann shook his head.

"No… no thank you, Minister Speer," he refused the offer as he opened his briefcase. "I am Leutnant Erich Christmann of the have come with a declaration seven of the Wehrmacht Council. All members of the National Socialist Party are to be detained until further notice."

Removing a copy of the summons he was to present to the Minister, Christmann placed it on the Minister's desk and snapped to a state of attention out of respect. The men at each of his sides did the same as well. Erich stared ahead, trying not to pay attention as Speer reached over the table and slid the document in his direction for a closer look. For the first time, Speer's good nature vanished.

Minister Speer finally looked up to Christmann finally.

"I understand Leutnant, and I appreciate the amount of work you have ahead of you," the Minister addressed gravely. "However, before you detain me, could you pick up that phone?"

Minister Speer gestured to the phone on the desk. It was not hung up, but instead just sitting on the desk as though waiting just for him. Christmann narrowed his eyes at the Minister. After a good moment and careful debate on whether or not to trust a noted National Socialist like Speer, he stepped forward closer still and kicked up the receiver, pressing it to his ear.

"Yes?" he spoke through the line.

There was only a moment of silence on the other end.

"Leutnant Christmann," a grave old voice spoke on the other end of the line. "This is Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt."

Christmann's eye's bulged out as the gravelly tone of the Prussian Generalfeldmarschall and virtually the head of the Wehrmacht Council was taking time out to personally address the glorified police officer such as him. The old man sounded distracted and reaching his own exhaustion point. Understandable considering that despite pushing 70, he was more or less running the entire civil war from the beginning.

"Minister Albert Speer has been exempted from the detention of the National Socialist government," Von Rundstedt bluntly pressed on, his voice hard and grim. "As Armaments Minister, I am sure you understand why he is exempted from answering slave labour charge; however our situation demands we show him mercy."

The words the Generalfeldmarschall bothered Christmann to an unimaginable extent. How could it be possible for a man put in the position to rehabilitate National Socialist Germany to condone the actions of Albert Speer? There was no regret for his actions, no attempt to seek repentance of any sorts. He was acting as though all of this had already been predetermined a long time prior to this…

Of course…

This was not some new deal Speer made. Minister Speer was a part of the early conspiracy. Not that that likely would have mattered. Since Speer took over the Armaments ministry position production levels were on the constant increase through the use of voluntary and forced labour programs. In a Total war such as this, the hardened generals of the Wehrmacht were not about to complain about how they got their equipment, so long as they got it out into the field. They would not prosecute the man… at least not until the war against the Bolsheviks ended in a victory.

Still, he was bothered by the logic behind the move. Looking into Minister Speer's neutral expression certainly did nothing to help that.

"Yes Herr Generalfeldmarschall, I understand…" Christmann reluctantly confirmed. "But for the record, I must protest this… Minister Speer ought to be locked u-"

There was no reply or confirmation that he got the protest. Instead Von Rundstedt slammed the phone on the hook, disconnecting the Leutnant from the Generalfeldmarschall. It took all of Christmann's efforts not to mutter profanities at the now absent Von Rundstedt.

"If it makes you feel any better, we are in agreement," Minister Speer confessed to the Leutnant. "I have had to do things to keep the Reich from collapsing that I am not proud of... In some ways, my continued service is my criminal sentence."

"Yeah?" Christmann snapped back to the Minister. "Tell that to that millions of slaves working for you."

The retort was left unanswered from the Armament's Minister. A knock on the door caught the attention of all four men in the office, keeping a morality debate from breaking out between the former prosecutor and the architect. They turned and found a lanky, older civilian standing in the doorway. He looked worn out, but somewhat ecstatic. Like this was something he had been waiting for quite some time.

"Doctor Kritzinger?" Albert Speer called out to the man in question.

Christmann narrowed his eyes at the newcomer's name. This was Kritzinger?

"I noticed that you were the next in line to be dragged out here," the newcomer spoke to the Minister rather nastily. "I figured I would bid you a fond farewell."

Speer merely smiled, unbothered by the blatant malice in the voice of Kritzinger.

"Not anymore," Speer reassured the older man. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Disturbed that the minister was getting away from any criminal charges, Kritzinger looked away from Speer and stepped towards Leutnant Christmann, who could not help but be bewildered by the presence of the old government official.

Christmann already knew this man. Doctor Friedrich Kritzinger was to be remanded into special custody. According to the confession of the recently captured Dr. Roland Frieser, he had been involved in the 1942 Wannsee Conference. Headed by Reinhard Heydrich, they detailed out the extermination program –more or less enacting the slaughter of millions in one luncheon. Honestly, the Leutnant had expected one of the three reactions typical of National Socialists: resistance, flee, or commit suicide.

Instead of doing what most National Socialists did, Friedrich Kritzinger was doing the opposite. Here he stood before the three military policemen that had been given full reign to deal summary executions, and all he was doing was wearing an expression of resignation and relief. It was as though the arrest would have been a heavy burden lifted off his shoulders.

"I wish to be remanded into your custody on friendly grounds," he spoke quietly to the Heer officers. "I shall gladly answer to any charge I am to be charged with here and now."

Christmann could not help but frown at the forthcoming nature of the Government official. Was it a trick? Did he not understand the gravity of his situation? The man had some serious charges levelled against him –much more serious than most men in his mid-rank position.

"You are being charged with the complicity to planning systematic extermination of the Jewish race across continental Europe and Russia," Christmann explained to the man," Christmann decided to inform Kritzinger. His tone level as he stared at the older man. "You were involved in a conference in Wannsee in the winter of 1941/1942. Considering your forthcoming attitude, I would advise you to find yourself a lawyer before you continue."

Kritzinger shook his head right away.

"I am a lawyer and I wish to wave my right to representation. I have been sitting on the evils of Wannsee for quite long enough. It has left me sick for so long. Now I finally can speak of it openly," Kritzinger waved off without so much as a pause to consider what Christmann had advised. "As the… well, the former Deputy Chief of the Reich Chancellery, it is my duty to assist you in any possible way. As a human being who knows he has done great wrong, it is also my duty to plead guilty to any and all crimes I know which I have been complicit with. Starting with that ghastly, orderly meeting in which we decided to exterminate a race and I as a member did not stand up against until after the fact."

As Christmann nodded, Minister Speer stood up from his desk. He appeared oddly sympathetic to the words being spoken.

"You would not have lasted long, Friedrich," Speer reminded the Deputy Chief neutrally. "You could bet that Himmler and Heydrich would have seen to that."

Kritzinger rounded back to Speer. It was clear that he did not share the same sort of value in self-preservation as the Minister had.

"It should not have mattered whether I survived or not!" Friedrich suddenly exploded, breaking his monotonous tone for the first time. "I should have stood up, I should have said something. Many people in Germany should have done the same. How foolish could we have been?"

He paused as he turned to Christmann.

"Leutnant, lead me away in irons, but first permit me to give your men every file I have on the matter first!" he asked the man.

As the former deputy chief of the Reich Chancellery fell silent, he extended his hands out to Christmann, as though he was waiting to be officially detained by the soldiers. Christmann frowned at the lawyer and shook his head. He could not help but feel a respect towards this man. For the first time that day it appeared that at least one man in the Reichstag was still somewhat guided by a conscious. He might not have listened to it at the time of the meeting, but it still existed. It still nagged at him to do the right thing…

Christmann supposed that was better than nothing.

"There will be no shackles on you, Herr Doctor," he reassured Kritzinger with as much respect as he could summon for the one honest Party member. "There is a special holding place for repentant and forthcoming National Socialist detainees located in Königsberg for direct contact with the council. I shall see to it as soon as soon as you take my men to collect your files."

Kritzinger appeared dazed by the response. Surely he had been expecting to be meeting his end today like Baldur von Schirach, or begin the next phase of his life locked up in a camp where he would await trial. Instead he would be sent east to a posh hotel where he would be lightly interrogated and treated well until he stood before the judge.

Bowing his head in soft respect, Kritzinger turned and left. The two soldiers followed closely behind him, leaving Speer and Christmann behind. Both men silent as the Leutnant closed his briefcase and fastened his pistol holster once again.

"Tell me, Leutnant," Speer spoke as he sat back down behind his desk. "Just how many repentant and forthcoming National Socialist leaders have you found thus far?"

Christmann looked up to the Minister. He could not help but chuckle at the bad joke that Speer accidentally told.

"Just this one," he returned as he turned to leave the offices of the exempted man.

…

…

For the first time since before the outbreak of the war, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris felt somewhat at ease.

National Socialism was dead, his spy networks were reinforced with alien technology, and he was undisputedly the invisible hand of the Fourth Reich at least for the time being. He had no oversight, no opposition, and no rivals. For the first time ever he would have free reign over the fledgling Reich and there would be nothing substantial to stand in his way.

So it was strange that in his triumph, he wanted nothing more than simple things for the time being. Today he was touring Essen. Relatively unaffected by the civil war, Canaris found himself doing old man activities -wandering the streets of the city until he got to the town square. There he had begun feeding the birds. He was doing his utmost to remain casual. Perhaps he was a little too causal.

While his powerbase was now unopposed by anyone other than outside foreign military powers, he still had to remain on his guard for lone wolfs. At the moment there was one who had been stalking him for about a week now. He was one of those annoyances that would be handled one way or another. Having him killed would be such a waste, hence why Canaris was standing out in the middle of the town's square. Why he kept his back turned to the solitary uniformed armed man walking towards him briskly.

"I wouldn't be very good at my job if didn't keep a tab on every men who wanted me dead," Canaris spoke as the boots behind him stopped. "I can't say I'm not particularly surprised that it would be you. Was this on Otto Skorzeny's orders?"

As Canaris finally turned around, he found the young former Brandenburger Commando Adrian von Fölkersam. His arms behind his back as he watched the naval officer feed scratch to the birds. He looked dead exhausted, his camouflage fatigues were a fluttered as he stared dead eyed at the Admiral. His hands fell to his side and gripped the strap of the assault rifle on his shoulder.

As nerve wrecking as it may have been that an angered, trained killer was staring him down, Canaris kept control and continued his focus on the birds. He certainly wasn't foolish enough to be without his protection detail. It was not overt like many men in his position would want. They came in the form of snipers in the adjacent buildings around the square he was standing alone in.

Fölkersam was not a foolish man. He likely knew as well. All of this was posturing, the games played by men driven to the brink, and Adrian was a man driven to the brink. He spent months under the nose of the SS and their insanity, even worse, in the pocket of Otto Skorzeny – a known egomaniac - who wanted nothing more than to have his barely German blood recognized in the pantheon of Germanic heroes.

Reluctantly Adrian came somewhat back to his senses. His hand fell off the strap of his weapon. His eyes were wide as he stared at the Admiral.

"You were Skorzeny's source, weren't you?" he breathed as he stepped forwards to join the Chief of the Abwehr. "You were the one who helped him attack the Kareon? We all were so sure that it was a disgruntled quarian. But no, it had to have been you. There are only maybe four or five men in your position who have been to the Kareon… You were the only one clever enough to make the quarians do your dirty work for you… You figured out their systems, tactics, procedures and technology… you sent transmissions…"

Canaris remained silent as he continued to spread another hand full of seed. Inwardly, however, he could not help but swell up with pride. He had been toe to toe with quarian and SS spy chief's, convinced Wilhelm Bittrich to send Fölkersam to Skorzeny, and the only one to realize what occurred was Adrian von Fölkersam -a simple soldier who figured it out before the likes of the wily Heydrich or the mastermind Halid'Zorah himself. A young man trained by the combat arm of the Abwehr.

Yes… there certainly was a sense of pride in that.

"But quarian technology is a nightmare to understand at my advanced age," the Admiral decided to string the young man along, just because he could. "How I possibly figure that out and hatch a plot to convince SS men that it was a genuine source?"

Adrian did not reply. He held his stern eyes hard on the elder Admiral as though he was scolding him from a deeply disturbing crime. Deciding enough was enough; Canaris stood up straight and pocketed his bag of seed. He finally turned around to face the Waffen-SS man, whose hand had fallen to his pistol belt this time. Still he remained silent, allowing his victorious expression cross from behind his stoic shield.

He watched as Von Fölkersam blanched.

"Hitler had no business standing trial," Canaris verbalized his victory to the soldier. "It did not take a master of perception to see that if someone bloodied the nose of quarians, they would react with overwhelming force. This civil war would have been avoided altogether if they took an active role at the beginning. We needed one final moment of chaos, and then calm as the aliens stepped up. So at the expense of dozens of quarians, I did the only right thing: Force the spiders to stop playing with its meal and take action."

Canaris gestured to the young man to follow. Staring at the Admiral for a moment, Adrian nodded and together the two men started walking.

"And what happens now?" he demanded to know.

"We have done all that we possibly can do for the moment. Now we sit back and allow the consequences of our actions to play out," Canaris returned as they walked. "We are resilient, we will make it through the rocky years ahead of us; and I am confident that no serious loose end has been left to cause us any headache."

Next to him, the young man frowned. It was clear that the former Brandenburger wasn't exactly inclined to believe what the Abwehr chief was telling him.

"What about Skorzeny and Kaltenbrunner? They are certainly loose ends. They will cause immense problems in the future," Adrian pointed out to Canaris, his tone rough. "I've heard… talk… that Kaltenbrunner has smuggled billions out of the country. More than enough to finance private wars pro bono for the next few decades…"

Canaris nodded. Yes, Kaltenbrunner was a problem that would have to be closely monitored by everyone. However even problems like him could make themselves useful, and Canaris intended on making that mass murderer as useful as possible before the inevitable termination of the contract made between Kaltenbrunner and Admiral Zorah.

"They will only be trouble should we not pay a close eye on them. Kaltenbrunner and Skorzeny still have their uses; it is better to dirty their hands than ours. And if something goes wrong, thankfully Kaltenbrunner inadvertently created the perfect kill switch if they get out of hand and begin working against our interests…"

Adrian stopped moving. His eyes were wide. The young man was quick to comprehend just what the Admiral was talking about. Canaris could not help but smirk as he too stopped and turned back to face the young soldier, stunned by the implication. Kaltenbrunner's killing of Emmi Skorzeny not a state secret to Canaris. It did not take a genius to know that Kaltenbrunner thought he had pulled off a masterstroke by murdering her and nearly the child. It was sloppy work and such a calling card for Kaltenbrunner to do.

Still, Canaris was not about to argue. It made Skorzeny active in the death of the Reich and would make him a useful pawn in the next few years. For now stringing along Skorzeny was the best course. Once the so-called 'Paladin Group' outlived its usefulness, it would not take much to reveal the truth to Skorzeny, who would inevitable burn the organization to the ground and kill Kaltenbrunner on the Abwehr's behalf. It was pure genius, really...

"Are the quarians in on this?"

Canaris glanced back to the inquisitive stare of Adrian von Fölkersam. He appeared to be utterly disturbed. The Admiral smiled and shook his head.

"No," he stated. "They may be our new friends, but since when has spies openly trusted unusually generous benefactors?"

Just behind him Canaris heard boots come to a standstill. The Admiral walked several more paces before he too came to a halt. He did not turn around right away.

"All of this is well and good, but you have forgotten one thing already: I don't have a future anymore," Adrian spoke up. His voice was strained with a burden of hopelessness. "I can kill you right now, and then you don't have one as well. I don't think that was exactly something you planned on either."

Sighing, Wilhelm Canaris turned back and found the Waffen-SS man was once again gripping his rifle. Canaris knew better than to disbelieve the commitment of the radicalized former Brandenburger. Everything he did over the past few months. The quarian he had to torture, the lies he partook in. All of it was dedicated to save Adolf Hitler. All that work was undone in a day.

"Quit being so dramatic," Canaris chastised him abruptly, startling the young man. "Life is full of disappointment, but you will get over it and find a new cause. You have served your part well, but it does not have to end like this."

"I did it for the Führer, for the Fatherland's honour," Fölkersam argued back viciously. "I didn't do it for you or your game."

Canaris groaned as his hand pressed against his face. National Socialists would have been comically deluded if they hadn't caused so much death over the past ten years.

"But you did do it for me. You convinced Dalad'Voar to ultimately help me, you took intuitive and helped convince Skorzeny not to gas the Kareon again for me, you even made sure those quarian prisoners captured were treated with dignity," Canaris reminded the young man softly. "Adrian, you were a cog –an important cog - but still just a cog. This game was never about you, and you were a bit player at best."

"But do remember, Fölkersam," he tacked on hastily as the fire grew in Adrian's eyes. "A bit player can always improve his own standing; and I always remember those who help me. The way that I see it, there are two… well, three options you can take."

Canaris' comment was enough to relax Adrian. Slowly the commando let go of the strap of his rifle once again and forced himself to calm and listen to what the Admiral had to say. It was just enough of an opening for Canaris to use. He stepped forward and placed his hand on his shoulder. Like a Father comforting a son. The young man likely saw through it, but it did not bother Canaris.

"First: You can be reinstated back into the Brandenburgers and the Heer if you'd like," Canaris spoke up again. "Erich von Manstein will need special operations forces behind the Soviet lines in 1944, and who better than you leading the charge? You will have a distinguished military career, full of honours and promotions –but ultimately your mission successes will likely never be considered tactical necessity. Your glory will be as hollow as the glory in the British Dunkirk evacuation or Rommel's taking of Tobruk. Because in the end, the coming 1944/45 offensives will not fail because the quarians will not allow their training operation to fail…"

Canaris let go of Adrian's shoulder.

"Of course there is more pressing campaign which you could take up…" he silkily pressed on. "The thing is it would be a long term investment: You will follow Skorzeny and Kaltenbrunner to Spain in order to keep a close eye on them for us... You will have a career truly defending Germany from long term threats, but you will likely never be acknowledged for it, you will never see Germany again and it will kill you in the end…"

Canaris stepped backwards and raised one hand over his head. A crack from a rifle rang out; the round slamming into the ground between Canaris and Fölkersam. The young man jumped back in shock, his eyes darted to the many windows in which the shot may have come from.

"Or you can raise that gun at me, take a chance at killing me, but either way my sniper teams take you out here and now," Canaris continued without a hint of malice to his voice "You'll be remembered as another fanatical SS man who assassinated a good man. I will be made a martyr for this new Reich, and you will be forgotten like the others… You will be just another faceless, twisted fool following National Socialism's death knell."

Canaris fell silent and waited until Fölkersam managed to tear his eyes from the buildings around him. Slowly the Admiral pulled his hand back down to his side as the man realized that there was nothing that stood between him and his own premature demise now.

"So, Adrian…?" Canaris finished with a smile as soon as the young man looked at him once again. "What will it be?"

…

…

For the first time in nearly ten years Joachim found himself in a position where he was virtually a civilian again. To say it was a weird feeling would have been a massive understatement.

Within an hour of leaving Manstein's command centre, he found himself in the company of a liaison officer of Manstein and a banker. Both men informed him that an account in his name was in need of a signature. In the account was a grand total of 142,960.80 Reichsmarks –his missing Heer and Waffen-SS pay for 8 months, the pay he accumulated before his accounts were drained and frozen, the loss of property in Kiel and Potsdam, and a sixty thousand Reichsmarks bonus. This was on top of an allowance of 243 Reichsmarks a month as a designated reservist. It was more money than Joachim could have ever imagined he would have.

Money in hand so to speak he caught the next shuttle he could find and went directly back home to Kiel. First he had to hand over his command to the next in command Oberst Claus von Stauffenberg, then he would head to the hotel he and Hanala were keeping Saleb at for the time being. He could not wait to tell Hanala about it. This was everything they had been hoping for since her decision to begin including Joachim into her new phase in life.

It was a conversation that was put on hold for the time being. By the time he concluded his business with Claus von Stauffenberg gave his troops a farewell and got back to the temporary residence of Hanala and him, he found himself in the midst of a gathering. Visiting Hanala and Saleb was Alaan and Galina. All of them appeared to be cooking… well… whatever it was that quarians ate outside of their suits.

As dinner progress, every now and then Joachim found himself in a state of relaxation he only ever really felt in the presence of the Langer's. Perhaps at long last, the Jarva's (or rather Alaan and Galina) did not view him as some sort of entity to be mistrusted or the source of curiosity and amusement. Perhaps for the first time they finally saw the human as an extension to their own family. That was a nice thought, but unlikely. Joachim would settle for 'tolerated' at the moment. He did not want to push it too much. Still, he was rather relieved that the strain appeared to have been waning.

At the moment, the three politicians in the room: Hanala, Galina and Alaan, who were deep in a conversation about the new geopolitical situation that would inevitably occur when quarians were settled in. Quarians, as it turned out, were not an amalgamated state like Joachim assumed. They had their regions and countries back on Rannoch. Descendants of those nationalities would have to decide whether or not to continue that once the cities were constructed, or wait until the liberation of Rannoch. The longer they lived on earth, the more complicated it might become. The people of Rannoch might get restless and split up the unified front they would attempt to hold in the face of their new human neighbours. The last thing Earth needed was a quarian war….

Whatever the case, the conversation was rather boring and held no talking points for Hoch to chime in on, even if he wanted to. It did not matter. He focused on his own dinner and light conversation with Saleb, who told him about spending the day with Hanala, Magda Goebbels and her children. That she was being taught the game of football. It was a topic infinitely more interesting. It had been his own sport of choice before he enlisted, and considering how agile quarians were, football would inevitable find themselves facing a team full of quarians for the World Cup…. Should it ever be restored of course… or opened to German and quarian participation ever again…

On occasion in the lull in conversation with the Saleb, Joachim would look up and found Hanala across the table, smiling. It was clear that she was enjoying his new position as a… stay-at-home guardian. It was a title that was already bothering him ten hours into his leave of absence. It felt wrong for him not to have anything to do other than tend to the needs of a child rather than the needs of thousands of fighting men.

He supposed he would have things to do while Hanala was busy. Joachim had his back pay and reimbursements sitting in a bank account in Königsberg. He supposed it would be time to look into property; a real home somewhere warm or temperate. He doubted very much about the durability of desert dwelling quarians living in the chilly German winters. Hanala might have managed it, but a child? Joachim wasn't sure he wanted to subject her to that.

A knock on the door caught everyone's attention right away. Glancing to Alaan and Hanala for a moment, Joachim pushed back his seat and stepped out of the dining room of the vacant hotel and opened the door. Standing there was one of the guards assigned to him. As the guard attempted to start, Joachim held up his hand and closed the door first, so that there would be no disturbance to the other.

"Yes?" he finally spoke aloud to the sentry.

"Herr Oberst, you have a visitor at the door," he informed the off-duty officer. "She claims to be your Mother."

Joachim froze up, his eyes widened at the sentry. What.

This couldn't be… No, it had to be impossible. Surely she was smart enough to know not to come within a kilometre of him…

"I asked for her identification, but she refused to comply, she wanted to be rejected by you personally," the Sentry tacked on. Joachim growled under his breath.

That certainly sounded like Mother to him.

Scowling, Joachim pushed by the soldier, stamping down the marble floor towards the front doors. This was not happening... this could not have been happening. His Mother swore up and down that they would never see each other again. Joachim was perfectly fine with that. He was done trying to get her to love him, or respect him, or even so much as acknowledge his existence.

It did not take long to find her. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with two guards in the main lobby. It did not give him any time to take a moment and think about what he was going to say with her. So instead he chose to forgo niceties and civility. She had her chance to make amends. She decided to flee instead. The link was cut. There could not be a means to repair it.

"You two back to your post," Joachim ordered the two sentries. He stood still in front of Mother and waited until the two men exited the hotel.

As the doors closed behind them, Joachim crossed his arms together.

"What are you doing here?"

There was a good, long silence between the estranged family left in the wake of Joachim's rather pointed remark. Quietly Marta rubbed her arm, her eyes averted away from her son.

"I wish I knew why," she mumbled, most of her boisterous voice subdued now. "I just felt… compelled to see you before I left the country."

Staring at Marta for a moment, Joachim waved her off and turned his back, his boots stomping back in the direction of where he had left the Jarva's. He had no time for this. He had this conversation some time ago. He was not a goddamn masochist He was not about to subject himself to anymore grief then he already had to deal with. He was done with her. It was time for him to move on to –depressingly enough- his third family.

"Joachim…" he heard called out behind him. "I wanted to apologize to you."

Just keep walking he told himself. He had no obligations to sate her thirst to quest for a personal redemption. She did not deserve another moments worth of attention from him.

"You are my son and it is my obligation to make the first move. I failed last time; your presence was unsettling and I just… forgot to be your Mother. You sought me out and tried to find a way to make peace, but I refused it. Please grant me this chance to correct that."

Joachim found himself no longer walking away from Marta. No, no, no… for Christ's sake, this was exactly what he did not want to happen -slippery words and a half confession, and that was just enough to convince that he was obligated to hear her out. Was he really that naïve enough to believe this awful creature again?

Groaning as he turned around, apparently he was that naïve.

"I was under the impression you were leaving," Joachim finally addressed her as he focused in on her. "Why haven't you yet? Why are you bothering me?"

Taking an unsteady breath, Marta slowly shuffled over towards her son. Joachim remained perfectly still until she got a little too close for his comfort. He took as he a stride back; Marta took a hint and came to a stop. She tilted her head to one side as she looked at her scarred son properly. Her eyes fell and took notice to the rolled up sleeve, revealing his artificial limb. Marta bit her lip and tore her eyes away from the familiar sight and focused on her son yet again.

"Your Ukrainian friend dropped by when I was packing up," Marta confessed to Joachim, her voice almost shy. "She told me just about everything she knew about you. She said that I needed to take a closer look at you myself. She also said you would send her back east, please do not do that. She's a nice girl."

Joachim glowered at the confession. Tatiyana Andrusiv had gave her word that she would not make mention of anything she bore witness to. What in the hell was up with that girl and needing to stick her nose into other people's business? Was it a woman thing? She was nearly as bad as Hanala; except Tatiyana never got his arm blown off.

Muttering furiously at the treachery of that Slav he took pity on, he rubbed his forehead. There was a strange, nostalgic smile that crossed Marta's mouth as she watched him.

"You know… you're a lot more like your Father than I realized... I mean… before he lost himself," Marta spoke again. "There is an innate desire in you to want to do good by others, and I can admire that strength you have. It could be such a source for change… and considering that National Socialism has collapsed and the world has… well… changed. I suppose I believe that now… now that I know what you have done."

Marta rubbed her mouth. Her eyes were downcast, apparently too ashamed to meet her son's expression. Joachim could not blame her. His anger was already seething.

"You followed down a terrible path, but it was I who freely allowed you to do in a drunken haze," Marta continued in a low tone. "The only thing that numbed the pain of losing your brothers and Father was by drinking. I should have done more for you. I should have taken a more proactive role in your life. I could have taught you better. I should have taken the time to care for you… I was just s-"

"Oh, would just shut up?!" Joachim roared at the woman.

The buzzing of conversation coming from the Jarva family went dead silent at the screaming which echoed throughout the abandoned hotel. Joachim couldn't care less that he exploded. He watched as his mother nearly jumped at the statement. With good reason too considering their last encounter ended not much better than this encounter.

"This is the best you can do?" he hissed at her, his face contorted into an expression of bubbling rage. "You're interrupting my first genuine family gathering in fifteen years and that was all you had to say? A pitiful lament about how things were so terrible for you?"

He took a step back and grinned rather viciously at the woman, who was staring at Joachim in a state of stunned silence. Apparently the mention of a family caught her completely off guard. He had made mention that he wanted her to meet someone important to him during their last encounter, but only now did she seem to register the extent of what that had meant.

Marta returned to a state of silence as she her eyes lingered on her son.

"I have friends in Great Britain, who I was trying to get in contact in 1939 before the war broke out," Marta finally spoke to her son, her voice was shaking as the admissions he made started to settle into her mind. "I… I was thinking about moving to the French coast while I wait on my immigration papers to get through. I just… thought you ought to know… in case you wanted to talk again."

Joachim rolled his eyes. Marta had a lot left to learn.

"You're delusional if you actually believe Great Britain will permit migration from Germany after what High Command intends on punishing them with," Joachim muttered back to her.

There was no anger in his voice, or agitation. He was just so suddenly tired.

"Joachim," he heard called behind him. "Who is this?"

Joachim stiffened right up and turned back. Standing there behind him about five or so metres was Hanala, a curious smile on her pale face. As Joachim looked from Hanala, back to Marta who was staring horrifyingly transfixed on the quarian like it was some sort of monster. Hanala, to her credit did not appear to be bothered by it. Staring would be a fact of life for the next year or so.

Exhaling, Joachim stepped out of their field of view so they could get a proper look at each other. The two women looked at each other once again.

"Hanala'Jarva, this is my Mother, Marta. It turns out she's far less dead than I was informed," he introduced Hanala to Marta. He turned to his mother and, gesturing to Hanala, added. "Marta Hoch, this is Hanala'Jarva. I hope you like the quarians because you have four of them in your family now."

The introduction made, Joachim turned to leave, brushing by Hanala as he did so. It did not take long before Hanala broke out of her stupor long enough to turn around and grab Joachim by the arm, pulling him with all her weight until he came to a stop almost a half a metre. Her feet literally slid across the marble.

"I thought she was dead!" she breathed, her eyes wide with astounded surprise.

Joachim glanced back to his mother, who stood there nervously now that she was in the presence of a quarian. He snorted and then pressed his lips against her forehead… partly out of affection… partly just to see mother's face tighten up in apparent disgust with the sight. Well, so much for her apparent tolerance.

"You've been in my companionship for a year and a half. Surely you know that a Hoch's favourite thing to do is fuck with the lives of others," Joachim reminded her in a low murmur. "Do what you will with her, she's said her piece to me."

With that said Joachim left, leaving Hanala gaping at him and standing awkwardly in the company with the woman who birthed him. Considering all the shit Hanala's mother put him through over the course of the year, this somehow felt justifiable.

…

…

It was quite the sight. Watching as the ambitions of the quarian people were finally realized after twenty years of hard work.

Standing in front of her window on the still in construction Pantheon Building – the first apartment high rise built in the new colony- Admiral Utala'Falan watched in stunned silence as the civilian fleet vessels Kalin, Butara and Xanader touched down on the massive spaceport built a kilometre or so outside of the colony walls.

With the arrival of the three ships ten thousand more quarians found themselves as settlers on an already occupied world. Utala could only hope that everything would work out for them. It would be hard work at first. Massive construction efforts would have to be undertaken. The local humans would quickly find themselves being pushed towards the coast or fleeing for Egypt, Tunisia or Algeria as the Mandate grew.

There was simply no room for these local humans to diversify the Mandate. They could not be trusted to live in harmony with the quarian people. There would simply be far too much tension and humanity as a whole was still a very immature, suspicious species. The safety of the few quarians that survived the geth purge would need to be assured, and with unscreened and unselected humans, it became a danger that the people could not be exposed to so freely.

It was a rather xenophobic position being undertaken, yes, but the sad reality was that there was merit to the argument debated before the Conclave. There was a three hundred year technological difference, a thousand year cultural difference and a biological difference that needed to be addressed. Until both sides could begin the process of closing the gap, a sort of segregation had to be enforced. At least until the process of reclaiming the home world was underway. Only then could the opening and eventual land successions of the Mandate could begin to occur.

As she poured herself another brandy in order to forget the xeno-racism that was about to be revealed to the humans, her omni-tool communication frequency lit up to life. It was Kaal'Koris, her aide.

"Admiral, you have a visitor in the lobby."

Frowning, Utala gulped down her drink and poured herself another one for good measure. The glass half filled, she stepped out of the living room and towards the lobby in her penthouse. This was her day off. She hadn't summoned anyone to meet her on her downtime. Whoever it had been, had better have had a very good reason.

As she entered the main lobby, she paused and took a drink as she stared at the side of a face she hadn't seen since January. Standing there, traditionally dusty and unkempt was Erwin Rommel. His eyes were narrowed as he was inspecting the asari art pieces that she picked up over the years. She had expected the man to be uninterested or confused, but he seemed almost receptive. She supposed he could permit himself to look at feminine things without grimacing like his 'sophisticated' Prussian counterparts.

"I got back from escorting what was left of 1st SS Panzer Division 'Leibstandarte' Division back across the Suez," he spoke without turning to face her. "I figured since I was in the neighbourhood, I would check in on you… see just how you were doing. These are exciting times I imagine…"

Utala took another drink. It was the only way she could keep herself from cursing that damn man out. Rommel could be such a pain in the ass. He was a man who seemed to believe firmly in doing things on a whim. She had plenty of things to say to him, but his sudden arrival suddenly made her start to appreciate the plight of poor Harold Alexander and the infamous encirclement of the bulk of the original British 8th Army not so long ago.

"Neighbourhood?" Utala finally repeated incredulously as she pulled the glass off her lips. "The Suez is well over 2000 kilometres from here."

Chuckling to himself, Rommel turned to face Utala. His mouth formed the smallest of smiles.

"With your transportation, just about any location on the planet is within reach. So… as I said, I was in the neighbourhood," he reminded her as though she had forgotten he had access to quarian assets. Looking around at the penthouse again, Rommel added. "May I come in? Or would you prefer if I left."

Utala replied by taking a drink. Reluctantly she stepped out of his way leading further into the home of the Admiral. She supposed a short visit would not be too much of a strain on her nerves.

Taking it as a sign, the Generalfeldmarschall took off his jacket and handed it to Koris and stepped onto the glass floor, his dirt covered boats clicking as his hands rested on his belt. He passed by Utala, once more he was looking around at his surroundings impressively. No small detail seemed to escape his attention.

As Koris hung up the jacket and left the two high ranking military people to their own devices, Rommel turned back to Utala, who was trailing behind the older man.

"You have a nice home, Admiral Falan," he complimented her. "It's rather… futuristic, I suppose."

Utala arched her brow at the remark. Sometimes she forgot that everything the quarians considered mundane would be shiny and new to the eyes of the humans.

"No, it's one of the many styles of our people before our exile nearly fifty years ago," Utala addressed his remark as she began walking side to side with the Generalfeldmarschall. "We have a long way to go before we are back on track and begin advancing our aesthetic tastes."

Next to her, Rommel nodded and fell silent, his head low as they entered the open lounge. Utala slumped down onto the couch; her eyes never left Rommel's back as he went to look out the windows overlooking the vast colony city hub in the midst of construction. Slowly his hands wrapped behind his back. He appeared to be in the midst of a personal debate.

Far too buzzed to make the first move, Utala remained silent. Rommel would voice his issue if he wanted it addressed. It was just how human males seemed to operate. Besides, she was still rather disheartened that he did not once contact her over the course of the past six months. He had every reason to feel guilty, and he was busy, but it was no excuse to ignore her even on a strictly professional basis.

Finishing her drink, Utala set down the glass on the table and glanced up to find Rommel had turned around. Silently he took a seat across from her and crossed one leg over the other.

"I haven't been particularly kind to you as of late," he admitted to her carefully, his words guarded. "You understand why that has been the case, right? It is not an excuse, but rather an explanation. There is a certain amount shame I felt in the wake of… well… her death. To face you… it was a reminder of just how much I failed as a husband to her."

Whatever anger Utala felt for the man vanished quickly; this admittance of his personal shortcomings must have been a hard thing to speak out loud to with her. It was a brave move, even considering who the man was…

Utala reached over the glass table and took one of Rommel's hands.

"You loved her," she reminded him, forcing herself to smile kindly for the man still deep in grief. "We are not perfect. We will make mistakes; but even when we were… you know… I knew you loved her. I knew you wrote to her every day. Infidelity is not a one person crime. I am just as much to blame. Lucie deserved better respect from me as well…"

Rommel's mouth quirked up into a faint smile at her words, slowly he squeezed her hand back. After a moment or so he let go of her hand and stood up from his seat once again. He moved around the table and slumped down into the seat next to her.

"You are not at fault… I have had a long history of infidelity, particularly in my youth. I… ruined the life of my first fiancée in order to get Lucie. Walburga – the woman I was supposed to marry… she loved me, but I did not – It was an obligation. She never recovered… eventually she took her life," Rommel went on, his confession still apparently not done with. Rubbing his mouth, he looked up to suddenly horrified Utala.

"I am not proud of it, nor will I apologize for it," Rommel murmured. "My infidelity eventually gave me my son. It does not justify it, of course… but it certainly makes my condemnation of it that much harder…"

As the man fell silent, Utala looked on the still grieving father and widower. She knew better than to attempt to console him. The last thing he likely wanted to hear was the platitudes of the woman who more or less instigated the affair herself. Rommel was simply too noble (or perhaps a little chauvinistic) to place the blame where it rightfully deserved to be place.

"I have been thinking about Admiral Jalina'Calis lately," Rommel admitted as Utala leaned forward to pour herself another drink. "She seemed like a good woman in the few minutes I knew her… but all things considered; she certainly fouled her research up, didn't she?"

The comment was enough to break the demure setting between the two of them. Utala could not help but break out into a hard laugh at the remark of the Generalfeldmarschall's remark. Yes… Admiral Jalina'Calis had certainly underestimated the extent of which the hell that National Socialism had been. So many lives were lost in an attempt to rectify her jumping onto a side…

"I think she may have made a rush to judgement in putting her faith in National Socialism…" Utala agreed as she swallowed her drink. "But I also suppose that in her twilight, she wanted nothing better than to see our people making our first steps on this planet… like you, she was not perfect either…"

Rommel chuckled and nodded.

"No… but she was right about one thing," Rommel mused to her, offering the Admiral a sideways glance. "I think that the relationship between human and quarian will be long and prosperous one… if it survives the first decades."

As she set the glass of brandy in her lap, Utala shifted around in her seat in order to face Erwin properly.

"It will," she reassured him kindly. "No doubt that it will be messy, but we will stumble into cohesion. We will find a way to make it work. We are now Sarethu now. Cousins… family… "

Swirling her drink back and forth, Utala leaned back into her seat.

"When the Grand Crusade across the Veil begins, the galaxy will tremble at our union, and not just the geth… but everyone who crosses our path with ill intent in their heart," she concluded, not paying attention to Rommel's leery stare. "That is our promise to our ancestors and that is the guarantee of our descendants to us…"

Rommel simply did not have the words to reply to the dark plans on Utala's drunken mind. He chose instead to remain silent and watch as the civilian frigates burn back up into the atmosphere.

…

…

Marta Hoch was… well… a rather frightening woman for a civilian.

She may have been sixty, but she certainly didn't look it. It was absolutely fascinating to see just how similar they looked. Hanala always imagined he had looked like his Father, but it was clearly Marta whom he took all of her traits from. Icy blue eyes, a sharp, angular face, and the stern, sour expression they shared even when they were relatively relaxed.

She made no interactions with anyone. She did not look at, or acknowledge Mother or Father, who tersely greeted her; she did not acknowledge Saleb, who was far more polite to her than she was to Joachim during their first encounter. She did not accept anything that Joachim had made for his dinner; she simply took a seat, crossed her hands together in her lap and remained silent for the past hour.

Without so much as a warning, Hanala found herself in a position where she would have to be a peacekeeper. It was an annoying position to be in and made her start to appreciate her late brother's tenacities to make common ground. As such, Hanala decided against harassing Joachim about the subject. Joachim was barely holding it together as it was. There was a seething malice for his mother that he was keeping suppressed for the sake of civility for the rest of the Jarva clan.

Joachim wasn't the only one to be like this. Marta also clearly resented her son as well. His choices ran parallel to hers. She might have been attempting to offer a truce for their feud, but she appeared close to losing control herself. The Hoch family was filled to the brim with bad blood, and it was unlikely to ever be fully rectified.

Hanala attempted anything she possible could to keep the woman comforted. Keelah, she went so far as to break out the German she had been teaching herself over the past few years. She was very proud of how much she had learned, as had Joachim. Marta was not impressed in the slightest. The moment communication seemed possible, the woman switched to English, which Hanala's translation device could pick up. When she realized she had been deciphered, Marta then switched immediate to what Hanala assumed was French - a language her software program hadn't identified yet.

Joachim, as it turned out, was right. Marta was a stone cold bitch.

After about forty five minutes of attempted small talk with Joachim's mother, Marta Hoch was quick to excuse herself. She took off with only the briefest of farewell's and left Hanala standing there still holding the tea she went out of the way to make for her. Clearly Marta was also the source of Joachim's nerve…

As she said farewell to Mother and Father, who wanted to head to the Mandate and begin the process of a land claim, Hanala wandered through the halls of the hotel; searching for signs of life.

She was quick to find it. Through the hallways bolted Joachim and Saleb. Joachim was kicking some sort of ball, with Saleb hot on his trail, screaming excitedly as she knocked over a light table and continued her chase. As soon as Saleb jumped on him, Joachim twisted his foot out and kicked it hard; past Hanala's head and hit the framed picture of Adolf Hitler hanging on the wall. The glass smashed as the portrait smashed to the ground.

Joachim fell to his knees and slid on the hardwood floor. He threw his arms in the air and hooted out a victory cry.

"And the Führer is toast!" Joachim announced rather dramatically. He twisted back to Saleb to add. "Victory for Team Hoch… better luck next time Team Jarva!"

Straightening herself out from her defensive stance, Hanala could not help but smile as she watched Saleb push Joachim against the wall. Hoch cackled and directed his attention to Hanala. Exhaling, he forced himself back up to his feet. He scooped up the ball and tossed it to Saleb, who caught it and tucked it under her arm like she was already some sort of expert.

"The boss is here," Joachim spoke ominously. "Practice your dribbling in the main lobby. If you need a practice partner, enlist one of the soldiers at the door, okay?"

Saleb nodded, and shooting one last smile to her aunt, she bolted by her, leaving Joachim and her alone. Joachim groaned as he stretched out. Even from where she stood he could hear him pop the joint in his shoulder. Hanala stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"You seem to be in a better mood," she could not help but openly observe. She grinned ads Joachim wrapped his arm around her shoulder as well. Slowly he nodded. He seemed relaxed, all things considered.

"Yeah, I had a cigarette, found a football and decided that my Mother was not worth having an aneurysm over," Joachim replied gaily. As he slowly guided Hanala down the path Saleb took, he added. "If she wants to leave, that is her prerogative. I'm not going to grieve over someone who doesn't want me in her life. I get that now. It's time to move on to better things."

Better things…

She truly did like the sound of that. With Joachim now a permanent fixture in her life for at least a year, things between Saleb, Joachim and her could finally start to advance. Joachim would no longer be called away for service; Hanala would not have to return back to the fleet back and forth every day. At long last a sense of stability could be achieved. Something Saleb would desperately need in the coming months.

Almost bouncing on the tips of her toes in anticipation for what the future held, she turned and found Joachim looking down on her in a rather curious fashion. Like it had been the first time he met her or something ridiculous like that. Hanala dropped her grip on Joachim, slipped out of his arms and stepped back from him. Her smile broke into a confused smile for him.

"Better things… and what is that, exactly?" Hanala finally inquired, crossing her arms over her chest. "Plotting out another adventure where we get ourselves in a heap of trouble?"

Joachim cracked a grin at the remark.

"No…that is your expertise," he reminded her as the grin relaxed into a sweeter expression. "I was thinking we should get married."

Hanala's eyes bulged as she heard the suggestion uttered by Joachim so casually.

Married… he wanted to get married…

Hanala expected this day would happen, where they would settle down. Make the relationship as official as it could possibly get and begin a life truly together in every possible way. But only hours into his medical leave and Joachim was already looking for a commitment from her? What exactly was going on in that head of his?

It wasn't that she wasn't flattered. She was just… confused by the rush.

"And what makes you say that?" Hanala breathed, her head tilted as she stared up into his gaze.

The sweet smile he wore vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Joachim could only really shrug. It was clear that he had expected her to jump up and down screaming yes the moment he uttered the words. It must have been a human thing – spontaneous declarations of lifelong bonds.

"I'm not sure, for a moment I thought you would welcome it. We have this thing going on now. It should be official, I suppose," Joachim hastily defended his stance. "I wouldn't want people to think of the relationship as…well…"

He trailed off and waved his arms as though that meant something to her. Hanala squinted at him. So… he wanted to marry her because it was expected out of him now that he was involved in Saleb's life? She wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted by that. Commitment ceremonies were sort of an important thing to her people. She narrowed her eyes at Joachim as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

That was when she paused and came to a startling realization: The great Joachim Hoch was actually nervous! Keelah… this was an extraordinarily rare event to behold. It was an event that Hanala just had to tease him for. You simply could not pass up moments such as these…

"Oh Keelah…you are such a romantic, Joachim!" she cried out, her hands coming together as though she was swooning. "It's just sooo awe inspiring how passionate you are!"

Hanala exploded into a merciless cackle. Joachim glared at her and it only made Hanala's howling at his expensive increase in volume.

"Well… whatever…" Joachim mumbled as the laughter made him increasingly more irritable by her teasing. "I do mean it; I want to marry you, Hanala... if you'd have me, of course."

Hanala decided enough was enough. As her laughter subsided, a kind look crossed over her expression. She stepped forward to close the gap between Joachim and her. Her fingers reached out, grazing against his chin as she smiled sweetly up to him. It was enough to relax Joachim's worried expression.

"It's a nice thought… marriage… Keelah, you're not the only one with it on the mind," Hanala finally admitted to him, her fingers touching against his scar tissue. "However, we can't legally get married. It's going to be a while before any sort of laws regarding mixed species marriage becomes signed, until then, we should take some time. We will need to sort out a few things first before we make such a commitment…"

She paused for a moment before she too shrugged and grinned.

"Not to mention we're quite explosive together," she tacked on. "We both have our problems, which you and I have to address for the sake of Saleb and… well… any others we somehow bring into the picture."

Joachim arched his brow at the remark she let slip.

"Others we somehow bring into the picture?"

Slowly, Hanala nodded her head. She found herself broaching a subject she was both shy and uncomfortable with. Her fertility problems would be a massive issue they would have to address. For now… she supposed that it would be alright to dream…

"Well… yes. One day when we mellow down," Hanala's shyness crossed over into her voice as she replied. "I'm frightened about how much we'll scar Saleb as it is. Bringing more into the picture becomes so much more mortifying…"

As Joachim laughed finally and nodded in complete understanding, Hanala stepped forward once again in order to wrap her arms around his neck, her height shifted as she stood on the tips of her toes in order to press her lips out against to his. Joachim was quick to return it. It wasn't exactly a proposal, and it certainly wasn't an official commitment either… but it would be enough for now.

"Besides," Hanala spoke as she pulled herself back and let go of him. "Even if we could get married tomorrow, I very much doubt that you are good marriage material for me yet."

The words, used once by Joachim in order to tease her from a time which felt like years ago, had been long remembered by Hanala. It made Joachim freeze up in shock. Hanala broke down into a fit of laughter, but quickly came back to her senses as she yelped and bolted away from the furious Joachim Hoch, who was intending on making her pay for her words. He chased her all the way back to where Saleb would be practicing football. From there the child would most certainly stop the marauding human.

Although the union between man and quarian was founded upon a future war, even though deadly total war continued to be waged unchecked, terrible crimes remained unpunished and evil men managed to talk their way out of answering for their actions, the future still seemed so much brighter than Joachim and Hanala possibly could have imagined.

For the first time they dared to hope that perhaps they would make it through after all.

The End

…

...

Changes: Clean up

So ends the clean-up effort for the Uplifted series. I might have to go back to Uplifted and Intervention and do another scan through, but that will be a later date. Thanks for being patient with me. I just needed a window of time to focus on it and November turned out to be it.

I will not claim that this is a perfect editing. But I am satisfied with it for the time being. The re-examination of this series really highlighted some of the glaring weaknesses I had and perhaps still have. Most notably how fucking chatty Joachim Hoch was… I mean, the guy basically spilled his guts on every random fucking person. Every moment he could have to brood, it was seized. I did my best to reduce it and in general, the need to explain things in greater detail than necessary.

And Jesus... the Edge... My only excuse seems to be it was the first serious series I sat down wrote and completed.

As I mentioned earlier, I will not just start dumping the next story right away. I am reworking it to be focused the second and generation Hoch family as well as a quarian outside of the family. Right now I am deciding the fate of Daelia'Vael and Adam Ackerson. I like them as characters, but not as mains. If you are an old reader who knew them, let me know your opinion.

Other than that, thanks for reading