Chapter 364 - 9: History’s Critical Point

Chapter 364: Chapter 9: History’s Critical Point

The sound grew louder and clearer, echoing in the night sky.

Werner stood up and walked to the far end of the study.

He opened a hidden safe. Inside were some emergency supplies—tens of thousands of West German Marks in cash, two spare passports, a list of encrypted phone numbers for important contacts, and copies of several key documents. These things could be abandoned at a moment’s notice. They weren’t his core assets, merely a contingency for an emergency that required him to leave East Berlin immediately.

His truly important assets—the Swiss Bank accounts, West German company shares, property deeds, and gold reserves—were all stored safely in a safe deposit box at the Zurich Bank.

Twice a year, Werner would go to Switzerland on a "business trip." Nominally, he was there to discuss business, but in reality, he was checking on those assets. That was the true fortune he had accumulated over the past twenty-eight years.

But Werner knew that these assets alone weren’t enough. His real trump card was another set of documents, also hidden in the Zurich safe deposit box—evidence of bribery involving West German officials.

Over so many years of trading political prisoners, who knew how many West German officials had profited from it.

Several minister-level figures from the Federal Republic of Germany that Werner knew had relatives listed as employees of shell companies, drawing "consulting fees" of hundreds of thousands of Marks each year. Then there were the state parliamentarians who facilitated the prisoner exchanges and received huge kickbacks in return.

Werner had records of every single transaction.

Account statements, contract documents, audio tapes, photographs, and even several signed secret agreements.

This evidence was Werner’s true ace in the hole. Those West German politicians knew better than anyone that if these scandals were exposed, their political careers would be over. So, after unification, they would do everything in their power to protect Werner and ensure he wouldn’t be prosecuted. They would use all their influence to exonerate him, even casting him as a "hero who advanced a humanitarian cause."

Everything was in place.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

Wait for the day the Berlin Wall would fall.

Wait for the moment the East German regime would end.

Wait for the final Chapter of his twenty-eight-year-long adventure.

***************

「October 9, 1989, on a train from East Berlin to Leipzig」

Werner sat in the corner of a first-class carriage, holding a copy of the New German Newspaper. His eyes, however, weren’t on the paper at all.

The scenery flashed past the window—gray factories, dilapidated apartment buildings, desolate fields.

The carriage was quiet. A few passengers conversed in low voices, casting wary glances around from time to time.

Werner knew this atmosphere. When an entire country was on the brink of turmoil, people spoke carefully, afraid of being watched by plainclothes police.

The events of the National Day celebration two days prior, on October 7th, were still vivid in his mind.

Werner knew the East German regime was already on the edge of a cliff. And today, Leipzig would decide whether it would pull back from the brink or plunge into the abyss.

As a Transmigrator, Werner wanted to witness this moment with his own eyes.

The train’s announcement system crackled to life. "Dear passengers, we are now arriving at Leipzig Central Station. Please prepare to disembark."

Werner folded his newspaper and stood up.

He wore a plain gray jacket and a flat cap, looking like any one of the thousands of East Germans.

Today, he wasn’t the deputy director of Koko, not a Stasi informant, not a Black Market kingpin.

Today, he was just an ordinary man, a bystander to history.

Or rather, a witness to it.

**************

「Leipzig Central Station, 3:00 PM.」

As Werner walked out of the station, he immediately felt the tense atmosphere of the city.

Police and soldiers were everywhere on the streets. Armored vehicles were parked at intersections, with soldiers standing beside them, submachine guns at the ready, their wary eyes scanning the crowds. Several fire trucks were also parked nearby, high-pressure water cannons mounted on top. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance as police cars sped past one after another.

But there were far more ordinary people. Hundreds, thousands of Leipzig citizens walked the streets, gathering in twos and threes, talking in low voices. Their expressions were a mixture of nervousness and excitement, their eyes flickering with a kind of anticipation and unease.

Werner saw a young woman clutching her boyfriend’s hand tightly, her eyes red-rimmed. An old man sat on a bench, holding a crucifix, his lips trembling nonstop as if in prayer.

"What do you think will happen today?" Werner overheard a middle-aged man ask his companion in a hushed voice.

"I don’t know." The companion shook his head. "I heard the government brought in several thousand police officers, and armored vehicles too. If they really make a move..."

"Don’t say it," the middle-aged man cut him off, his voice trembling.

Werner walked past them, heading toward Saint Nicholas’ Church.

That was the starting point for today’s demonstration. As was tradition, the peace prayer would be held at Saint Nicholas’ Church at five o’clock every Monday afternoon, after which people would leave the church and march through the city.

In recent weeks, the number of participants in the marches had been growing steadily. Last week, there were fifty thousand. How many would there be this week? Seventy thousand? A hundred thousand?

Werner didn’t know. But he knew that today was the tipping point.

If the government opened fire today, East Germany would enter a cycle of bloody suppression, just like in 1953.

But if the government backed down today, the regime’s authority would completely crumble. The people would no longer be afraid, and everything would rapidly collapse.

It was a zero-sum game. After today, either the people would win, or the government would win. There was no middle ground.

***********

「Near Saint Nicholas’ Church, 4:00 PM.」

Werner stood on the street corner opposite the church and lit a cigarette.

Saint Nicholas’ Church was a Baroque-style building, its white facade appearing solemn and dignified in the autumn sunlight. Several hundred people had already gathered at the church entrance, queuing quietly to get inside. More people stood in the square, holding candles and conversing in low voices.

The church was surrounded by rings of police officers. They wore uniforms and helmets, holding batons and shields. Werner did a rough count—at least a thousand of them. Farther away, armored vehicles and military trucks were lined up neatly, with soldiers sitting in them, their faces expressionless.

The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.

"Hey man, got a smoke?" a young man said, walking up to Werner.

Werner glanced at him.

He was a young man in his early twenties, wearing a denim jacket. His hair was a bit messy, and his eyes held a defiant glint.

"Here." Werner handed him a cigarette.

"Thanks." The young man lit it, took a deep drag, and then looked toward the church. "You here for the prayer meeting too?"

"Something like that," Werner said.

"Name’s Thomas," the young man said, extending his hand.

Werner shook it.

Thomas smiled, revealing a set of white teeth. "You know, our generation grew up being told that East Germany was the best country in the world. But now? You can’t even find bread in the shops, wages haven’t gone up in decades, and wanting to travel abroad is next to impossible."

He took another harsh drag from his cigarette and continued, "My parents’ generation resigned themselves to it. They think protesting is useless, that it only causes trouble. But I’m different. I’ve had enough of this life."

Werner looked at the young man, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him. ’I wonder how many people in East Germany feel like Thomas does.’

"You’re very brave," Werner said.

Thomas shook his head. "You know, last week my mom cried and begged me not to come. She said that back in 1953, her father—my grandfather—also joined a protest and was beaten to death by the police. She’s afraid I’ll..."

He couldn’t finish, looking down and taking a drag from his cigarette.

Werner clapped him on the shoulder. "That won’t happen today."

"How do you know?"

"Because today isn’t 1953," Werner said. "Back then, the Soviet Union would have sent in troops. They won’t now."

Thomas looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "You mean... Gorbachev?"

"Right." Werner nodded. "Gorbachev won’t let Anger open fire. The Soviet Union is carrying out its own reforms. Why would it support a crackdown in East Germany?"

Thomas was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly grinned. "You sure know a lot about politics."

Just then, the church bells began to ring. Five chimes, distant and heavy.

"It’s five o’clock." Thomas stubbed out his cigarette. "The prayer meeting is about to start. Coming in?"

Werner shook his head. "I’ll wait out here."

"All right." Thomas waved. "See you at the march later, then."

He turned and walked toward the church, his back disappearing into the crowd.

Werner lit another cigarette and leaned against the wall. In the distance, the engines of the armored vehicles began to roar. Soldiers jumped down from the trucks and started to assemble. The police officers raised their shields, gripping their batons tightly.

The storm was about to break.