I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

August 12th, 19:30.

Time until the border between East and West Germany is sealed: 4.5 hours

Soviet Army Headquarters, East Berlin.

Ivanov sat in the officers’ mess, a glass of vodka in hand, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any activity.

Something was off today.

At noon, the major general had suddenly summoned all officers at the rank of battalion commander and above for a meeting.

The meeting lasted only ten minutes, but everyone’s expression had changed when they came out.

In the afternoon, all leave was canceled, and the soldiers were ordered to take inventory of their equipment.

The strangest part was that the armory had been inventoried three times.

"Ivanov," Major Popov, who was at the same table, nudged his arm. "What do you think the higher-ups are planning?"

Ivanov took a sip of his drink. "I don’t know, but it’s definitely not a drill. A drill wouldn’t be this secretive."

"I heard they’ve increased the border patrols, too," Popov said in a low voice. "And they’ve brought in the engineering corps."

"The engineering corps?" Ivanov narrowed his eyes.

’The engineering corps... that means they’re building something, or... blocking something.’

Just then, a communications soldier approached them. "Major Ivanov, the major general wants to see you."

Ivanov’s heart tightened. ’The major general summoning me can’t be good news.’

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

August 12th, 20:00

Time until the border between East and West Germany is sealed: 4 hours

Schiller was in his office, toying with the Leica camera Werner had given him. It was a "friendship gift" from last month.

On his desk also sat several bottles of French perfume and some Swiss chocolate, all from Werner.

’That Werner... he can always get his hands on the best Western goods.’

"Schiller." A colleague of Schiller’s knocked and entered. "Still haven’t left work?"

"Just have a little more work to finish up. I’ll be done soon." Schiller discreetly slid the Leica camera into his drawer.

"I feel like the atmosphere on the streets today... is a little strange," his colleague said.

"Strange how?" Schiller looked up.

"There are so many military vehicles, and a lot of construction crews. I heard from colleagues in the building that there’s some unusual activity within certain departments, too." The colleague hesitated. "But nobody knows what it is exactly."

Schiller frowned.

As a low-level clerk in the Foreign Trade Department, he hadn’t received any special notices.

But this city-wide state of alert was indeed unsettling.

"Well, whatever the higher-ups are doing, we just need to do our own jobs." Schiller packed up his desk, stood up, and prepared to go home.

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

August 12th, 21:00

Time until the border between East and West Germany is sealed: 3 hours

Border Checkpoint Reserve Unit.

Mathias Bauer was on the night shift. Beside him, the old veteran Erich was smoking a cigarette.

"Mathias, don’t you feel like something’s not right tonight?" Erich tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his boot. "The commander held three meetings this afternoon, all of them urgent."

Mathias felt for the Swiss watch in his pocket, a gift from Werner. "I think it’s strange, too. And look, the construction crew is still over there digging holes."

"They say they’re repairing streetlights, but..." Erich pointed at the workers. "Who repairs streetlights in the middle of the night?"

Just then, a man in an officer’s uniform walked over.

"Mathias Bauer, tomorrow morning you’re being transferred to the Friedrichstrasse border checkpoint."

Mathias was stunned. "Sir, I just transferred here not long ago. Why am I being transferred again? What is this Friedrichstrasse checkpoint? I’ve never heard of it."

The officer stopped and sized up Mathias, his tone softening slightly. "It’s newly established. Bauer, didn’t you request a transfer to the border checkpoint reserve unit yourself? Your performance has been excellent recently, and the higher-ups are very pleased with you."

He paused, then lowered his voice. "So, they’ve decided to make you the squad leader of the Friedrichstrasse border checkpoint. Do a good job. It’s going to be an important post."

"But sir, where exactly is this checkpoint—"

"You’ll be relieved at 03:00. Someone will take you there then." The officer clapped Mathias on the shoulder and walked away.

The old veteran, Erich, leaned in and whispered, "The Friedrichstrasse border checkpoint? Never heard of it. No idea what that’s about. Looks like you’re off to a mysterious place, Mathias."

But Mathias had a bad feeling about this.

He remembered what Werner had told him some time ago: "Mathias, you might just find yourself standing at a crossroads of history."

’What did he mean by that?’

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

August 12th, 21:30

Time until the border between East and West Germany is sealed: 2.5 hours

On the top floor of an apartment building in East Berlin, a few officials’ wives were having their regular weekly tea party.

Mrs. Schmidt, holding a coffee cup, sat with Mrs. Fisher, the wife of a department head in the Ministry of Construction.

"How has your husband been lately, Mrs. Fisher?" Mrs. Schmidt asked.

Mrs. Fisher’s expression was a little strange. "He... he’s been coming home very late these past few days. Says he’s working on an important project."

"What kind of project?"

Mrs. Fisher glanced around and lowered her voice. "I shouldn’t say, but... it seems to be related to urban construction. Last night, he was in his study poring over a map of Berlin, making dense markings all over it."

"A map?" Mrs. Schmidt’s interest was piqued. "Marking what?"

"I... I can’t say." Mrs. Fisher shook her head. "He warned me not to talk too much."

Another official’s wife chimed in, "My husband’s the same, so secretive these past few days. Yesterday he was even saying something like ’a historic moment is upon us.’"

The women looked at each other, all feeling a hint of unease.

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

August 12th, 23:00

Time until the border between East and West Germany is sealed: 1 hour

The old veteran Andrew was pushing his handcart home, loaded with old military supplies he hadn’t managed to sell today.

When he reached Bellauer Street, he noticed a strange sight.

Several soldiers were digging holes in the middle of the street and placing thick wooden posts in them. The posts were thick and long, the holes were deep, and the spacing was regular, as if they were building some kind of permanent barrier.

"Hey, buddy," Andrew called out to a soldier. "What are you guys doing?"

The soldier wiped his sweat. "Repairing streetlights."

"Repairing streetlights in the middle of the night?" Andrew glanced at the posts. "Those don’t look like streetlight poles."

"Why do you care so much?" the soldier waved his hand impatiently, a hint of wariness in his tone.

Andrew kept walking, pushing his cart, but he felt increasingly uneasy. He had been in the army for ten years; he knew what "abnormal" looked like.

Soldiers repairing streetlights? At midnight? The story just didn’t hold water.

Several military vehicles were also parked on both sides of the street, their engines still running, clearly ready to move at a moment’s notice.

As he passed a military truck, he peered through a gap in the canvas cover and saw that it wasn’t loaded with ordinary construction materials.

It was barbed wire.

Roll after roll of barbed wire.

Andrew’s heart began to race.