I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

At 8:00 AM, Werner arrived at Alexanderplatz Subway Station, carrying a modified suitcase.

It was one of the busiest subway stations in East Berlin.

The worn, tiled walls were plastered with propaganda posters: "Work for the happiness of the people!" "Socialist Berlin, home of the people!" The red slogans were particularly striking under the dim lights.

Fatty Wolf Wolfgang was already waiting on the platform, also holding an ordinary-looking black leather suitcase.

"Right on time. Good." Fatty Wolf clapped Werner on the shoulder. "Remember, once we’re over there, talk less and observe more."

The platform was crowded with people. These were the "cross-district workers."

A few workers in heavy, gray overalls were talking in low voices. They clutched aluminum lunchboxes, their faces weary but determined—these were the people who took the subway to factories in West Berlin every day, where the wages were more than double those in East Berlin.

A middle-aged man with glasses clutched a briefcase under his arm, looking like a technician or an engineer.

He glanced around nervously, clearly worried about being watched by the Stasi—professionals like him working in West Berlin were the most likely to arouse the authorities’ suspicion.

Several young people carried heavy canvas bookbags stuffed with books and notes. They were students on their way to university in West Berlin, where higher education was freer and academic resources more plentiful.

But their expressions were all complicated, a mixture of a thirst for knowledge and anxiety about an uncertain future.

There were also two or three middle-aged women, not going to work, but carrying grocery baskets, ready to go shopping in West Berlin.

Food rations in East Berlin were limited and monotonous, while the shops in West Berlin had everything, albeit at higher prices. They were careful budgeters, knowing which items were worth buying and which weren’t.

In fact, not many East Germans dared to go to West Berlin to buy daily necessities like this.

Because in East Germany at this time, "political loyalty" was paramount.

Frequent trips to West Berlin for shopping, or even just visiting relatives, could be recorded by the Stasi and affect your file. Worse... if the Stasi suspected you of "intent to defect," you would face endless interrogations.

It was this environment that gave rise to East Berlin’s active Black Market.

Werner soon noticed something unusual about the subway station.

At each end of the platform stood two East German People’s Police officers. They wore grass-green uniforms, with the East German national emblem—a hammer and compass—pinned to their chests.

One of the officers was carefully scrutinizing every passenger, especially those with large pieces of luggage.

"What are they looking for?" Werner asked in a low voice.

"Defectors." Fatty Wolf lit a cigarette, feigning nonchalance. "Dozens of people have been escaping to West Berlin through the subway every day recently. The government’s getting desperate, so they’ve started tightening inspections."

The roar of an approaching subway train echoed through the station. An old train slowly pulled to a stop, its doors opened, and passengers began to board.

Just then, Werner saw the observing officer walking toward them.

The officer was in his thirties, with gaunt cheeks and sharp eyes.

He stared at Fatty Wolf’s suitcase for a few seconds before turning to Werner.

"Comrades, where are you headed?"

Fatty Wolf immediately broke into a harmless smile. "Just going to the West District to see a friend, Comrade Officer."

"A friend?" The officer frowned. "What friend?"

"My cousin. He works at a machinery plant over there." Fatty Wolf pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Have one? I brought these back from Moscow last time."

The officer glanced at the Cyrillic letters on the pack, hesitated for a moment, but took the cigarette.

"And you?" The officer turned to Werner. "Are you also going to see a friend?"

This was the critical moment. Werner felt his heart race, but he kept his composure on the surface.

"Yes, Comrade Officer. I’m going with Uncle Wolfgang." He deliberately called Fatty Wolf "Uncle," implying he was a junior to appear less threatening.

"What’s in the suitcase?"

Werner set the suitcase down and calmly unzipped it. On top were a few changes of clothes and a copy of *How the Steel Was Tempered*.

"Just some spare clothes, and this book." Werner picked up the book. "I wanted to discuss the revolutionary spirit of Paul Korchagin with my friend."

The officer’s expression immediately softened.

*How the Steel Was Tempered* was a classic Soviet novel, highly esteemed in East Germany and taught in every school. Anyone carrying this book was considered politically sound.

"A very good book." The officer nodded. "The spirit of Comrade Paul is something we should all learn from."

"Yes, especially his line, ’Man’s dearest possession is life, and it is given to him to live but once.’ I find it inspiring every time I read it." Werner deliberately quoted a famous line from the book.

Just then, a cry of alarm came from nearby.

The other officer was inspecting a young man’s luggage. The man was in his early twenties, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly.

The officer pulled a stack of West German Marks from the bottom of his suitcase.

"What is this?" the officer demanded harshly.

"I... I don’t know..." the young man’s voice trembled.

"You don’t know? Did the West German Marks just run into your suitcase on their own?"

The surrounding passengers began to whisper among themselves. Some shook their heads and sighed, while others quickly looked away, afraid of getting involved.

The young man was hauled away by the two officers, his suitcase confiscated. As he was led away, he cast a desperate look back at the waiting subway train.

This scene made the atmosphere on the platform even more tense.

The officer inspecting Werner was also distracted by the commotion. He gave Fatty Wolf’s suitcase a cursory glance; inside were also a few clothes and some other normal-looking items.

"All right, you can go." The officer waved them on. "Remember, once you’re in the West District, don’t be fooled by capitalism’s sugar-coated bullets."

"Of course not, Comrade Officer. We are conscious socialist youths," Fatty Wolf replied with a perfectly straight face.

The two of them picked up their suitcases and boarded the subway.

The car was crowded, the air thick with the smell of coal smoke and sweat. Most of the passengers were silent, only the CLACK-CLACK of the wheels against the rails echoing through the car.

"You handled that well back there," Fatty Wolf said in a low voice. "That book was a smart choice."

Werner nodded, but his heart ached for the young man from before.

’Where is that person now? What will they do to him?’

The subway traveled through the dark tunnel. Through the window, he could occasionally see slogans plastered on the tunnel walls: "Long live the German Democratic Republic!" "Unite around the Socialist Unity Party!"

About fifteen minutes later, the train began to slow down.

"Next stop is West Berlin." Fatty Wolf stood up. "Little Werner, get ready to see the real Western world."

Werner tightened his grip on the suitcase. The hidden compartments in his shoe heels and the suitcase’s lining gave him a sense of security, but more importantly, he was about to step into a completely different world.

The train slowed to a halt. Through the window, Werner could see a sign on the platform written in German, English, and French: "Welcome to West Berlin."

The train stopped. The doors opened.