I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Werner understood at once. "Your mother has bought fashion magazines from me."

"That’s right!" Martin’s eyes lit up. "I snuck a look at the magazines you brought my mother last time. The stuff inside is fascinating!"

Fatty Wolf took the hint and stepped away, giving them space to talk privately.

"What do you want?" Werner asked directly.

Martin glanced around and lowered his voice. "Could you get... some Western magazines for young people? Like music magazines? My friends and I all love music from the United States, but you can’t buy any magazines about it here."

A flicker of interest showed in Werner’s eyes. "Music magazines? What kind of music do you like?"

"Rock and roll, jazz!" Martin said excitedly. "Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard! We want to know all the latest news about them and see their pictures!"

"Hmm..." Werner looked thoughtful. "That is a bit complicated. Those kinds of magazines are banned here..."

"I know it’s risky," Martin said hurriedly. "But Mr. Betelich, we young people need to know about the outside world, too! We have money. I’ve been saving my allowance for a long time."

Werner looked at the young man’s desperate gaze, his mind calculating the business opportunity.

In this strictly controlled society, the youth’s longing for Western culture was as scorching as magma beneath the earth. If he could satisfy that demand...

"I can consider the magazines," Werner said. "But I have something even better. Would you be interested in... a radio that can pick up Western stations?"

Martin’s eyes went wide. "Really? The kind that can pick up the RIAS Radio Station?"

"American-made, with crystal-clear sound quality," Werner nodded. "I know a merchant in West Berlin. I can get my hands on one."

"That’s fantastic!" Martin was so excited he nearly jumped for joy. "Mr. Betelich, once you get the radio, please bring it straight to my house."

"No problem," Werner said, pleased. "Remember, this stays strictly between us."

"I swear!" Martin promised solemnly.

Werner was in a good mood as he watched the boy leave excitedly.

This wasn’t just a single deal; it was a door to a much larger market.

As evening fell, Werner and Eva met at a small tavern.

"How did it go?" Eva asked.

"Very well," Werner said, pleased. "The lipsticks sold for 120 Marks each, and the perfume for 200 Marks a bottle. We invested 200 foreign exchange coupons, and I expect a return of 2,160 Marks."

Eva’s eyes widened. "It’s that profitable?"

"That’s the value of an information gap," Werner said, raising his beer mug. "You were a huge help. As we agreed, 20% of the profit is yours."

"Twenty percent?" Eva was surprised. "Isn’t... isn’t that too much?"

"Not at all. Without your help, I would have attracted suspicion going into the foreign trade store alone," Werner said. "That’s about 230 Marks. Enough for you and Hans to live on for a while."

An excited gleam shone in Eva’s eyes. "With this money, I can save up a bit more. Maybe someday I can take Hans to see West Berlin."

Werner’s heart sank when he heard that.

As a Transmigrator, he knew the cruel truth: in just a few months, the Berlin Wall would go up. Once that happened, you couldn’t escape, no matter how much money you had.

"Eva," he said, choosing his words carefully, "if you’re serious about that, you might want to start preparing soon."

"Why?" Eva asked, puzzled.

"I’ve heard the government is going to get stricter with border controls," Werner said vaguely. "Who knows what will happen down the line. You should make your decision while it’s still relatively easy to cross."

Eva nodded thoughtfully. "You’re right. I’ll think about it."

Just then, a news broadcast came over the tavern’s radio:

"...According to statistics, over 200 more citizens have left for West Berlin this month. The government urges all people to remain firm in their socialist convictions..."

The atmosphere in the tavern grew heavy.

Werner looked at Eva, thinking, ’If she really wants to go, she’d better decide before August.’

If Werner remembered correctly, the Berlin Wall would go up on August 13th.

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

「A few days later.」

Werner sat in a corner of the Red Bull Tavern with a cup of lousy coffee. His eyes were on his newspaper, but his ears were pricked, listening to the conversations around him.

The paint might be peeling from the walls and the air thick with smoke, but it was a good place to gather information.

East Berlin’s dockworkers, stevedores, and truck drivers all liked to drink and chat here, inadvertently letting slip a great deal of valuable information.

"Have you heard? They held some kind of summit over in Moscow. Prices for goods are about to go up," a scruffy-bearded stevedore said in a low voice.

"What summit?" his buddy next to him asked.

"A trade summit, of course. The bigwigs in the Soviet Union are tightening our supply of goods. Said something about ’strengthening the management of the planned economy,’" the stevedore said, taking a swig of beer. "Our pier’s getting a huge shipment next week. All canned food from the Soviet Union. Five whole freight cars."

"Five freight cars? That’s quite a lot."

"Yeah, but I heard from the warehouse manager that the seal on one of the cars is the wrong color. It probably won’t pass inspection."

Just then, a notification from the system sounded in his mind:

[Tomorrow at 14:30, Spree River Pier. Anomaly with Soviet freight car seal. Recommend observation.]

Werner’s hand paused for a fraction of a second. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

He took out a West German cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag, his mind racing.

’Tomorrow, 14:30, Spree River Pier, Soviet freight car, seal anomaly...’

Werner replayed the stevedore’s words in his head: five freight cars of Soviet canned goods, and one of them had a problem with its seal.

According to East German import regulations, any cargo with a non-standard seal couldn’t pass inspection through the usual channels. It would have to be processed as "defective goods."

And Werner knew exactly how "defective goods" were handled: they were either returned to their point of origin or auctioned off cheaply to a scrap yard. But returning them to the Soviet Union would be too expensive, and since the cargo was food, time was of the essence. They would most likely opt for a cheap and quick disposal.

’This is a business opportunity!’

’A trade summit? The Soviet Union tightening its supply of goods?’

’That’s all just a smokescreen.’

Werner knew the real reason all too well. In a few months, the Berlin Wall would be built. When that happened, East and West Berlin would be completely cut off from each other. Smuggling would become exponentially more difficult, and Black Market goods would become extremely scarce.

Now was the perfect time to stockpile.

But before that, he needed to verify the system’s tip. He also needed to give Fatty Wolf a valuable piece of intelligence in exchange for his help.

Werner paid his bill, left the tavern, and headed straight for the Spree River Pier.

The Spree River Pier was East Berlin’s largest cargo distribution hub. Giant cranes swung their steel arms under a gray sky as trucks and trains converged, ready to transport goods from the Soviet Union and other Eastern Europe countries to all corners of East Germany.

Werner circled the perimeter of the pier and quickly found his target: a row of parked Soviet freight cars.

The cars had Russian labels, and from the looks of them, they were indeed specialized vehicles for transporting canned goods.

He pulled out a pack of West German cigarettes and walked over to several stevedores who were on a smoke break.

"Brothers, got a light?" Werner said, offering them a cigarette.