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Authors: G. T. Almasi
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Cyrus, “Why are they still calling my dad the Beast?” Cyrus opens his mouth, but the answer comes from the other end of the table.
“Because they’re still angry!” It’s Fredericks. His colorless face can’t seem to decide which expression to wear.It begins with surprise, slides over to confusion, and then makes a brief stop at terror before starting over again.
He continues, “The German press labeled him the Beast of Berlin because of his foolhardy conduct during the oil embargo crisis.”
Cyrus’s voice resonates more deeply than normal. “Philip was under
your
supervision at the time, Director.”
Fredericks explodes. “I never told him to kidnap women and children, dammit!”
Oh, Christ, not this old argument
.
The German oil embargo began as a pissing match between Washington and Berlin. It eventually escalated into one of the worst diplomatic crises of the last forty years. Greater Germany got ticked off about the way American officials were haranguing them for enslaving Europe’s Jewish population after the war. So the German Foreign Trade Ministry shut off our supply of petroleum from the German half of the Middle East. The Russians, who own the other half, sure as shit weren’t gonna sell us any. The U.S. had to get by on reserves and whatever we could suck out of Texas and Alaska. But that wouldn’t last forever.
President Nixon told the CIA to end the embargo by any means necessary. The CIA unleashed ExOps, and it wasn’t long before things went crazy. German officials got snatched, and German buildings got bombed. Then the Gestapo retaliated and started doing the same things to us. Not to be outdone, a senior ExOps field agent launched a kidnapping campaign against the families of German politicians and high-ranking civil servants. That ExOps agent was my dad.
One of the abductions was interrupted by the Berlin police, and during the confrontation a young girl was badly hurt. This triggered a huge anti-American protest, which turned into a riot and then became the storming of the American embassy in Berlin. The entire embassystaff was taken hostage. Dad took part in the rescue attempt, which failed, but its spectacular violence shocked the German administration. The situation was spiraling out of control.
The chancellor’s office secretly reached out to Washington and hastily negotiated a truce. The CIA withdrew all American agents, including those from ExOps. The kidnapped families were sent home. In exchange for signing a gag order they received financial compensation that was discreetly distributed from a numbered account in Zurich. The American hostages were released. The oil started flowing again, and American politicians stopped crabbing about the enslaved Jews.
Meanwhile that young girl lingered in the hospital for over four years before she died. The German press and public had followed her progress all those years, and her passing sparked a new round of cries for revenge on the Beast. They were still pretty mad.
That happened in an election year, and the resurrected crisis nearly wrecked Nixon’s campaign. In the summer, my dad left on a mission. That November, the Germans announced that they had captured and executed the Beast of Berlin. The diplomatic situation settled down and everyone went back to being self-serving dickwads.
But Cleo and I were left devastated. To add insult to injury, some Washington bean counter denied us Dad’s death benefits because no one ever actually produced his body. Mom went to see Jakob Fredericks for help, but they got into a big fight instead. Fredericks drummed my mother out of his office, shouting that his career had been ruined by her husband’s recklessness and that he wouldn’t help us if hell froze over.
Fortunately, Dad’s best friend was a Level 18 Vindicator. This best friend paid that narrow-minded bean counter a visit. At midnight. In bed.
We got our first check the next day.
You’d never think someone Cyrus’s size
“Because they’re still angry!” It’s Fredericks. His colorless face can’t seem to decide which expression to wear.It begins with surprise, slides over to confusion, and then makes a brief stop at terror before starting over again.
He continues, “The German press labeled him the Beast of Berlin because of his foolhardy conduct during the oil embargo crisis.”
Cyrus’s voice resonates more deeply than normal. “Philip was under
your
supervision at the time, Director.”
Fredericks explodes. “I never told him to kidnap women and children, dammit!”
Oh, Christ, not this old argument
.
The German oil embargo began as a pissing match between Washington and Berlin. It eventually escalated into one of the worst diplomatic crises of the last forty years. Greater Germany got ticked off about the way American officials were haranguing them for enslaving Europe’s Jewish population after the war. So the German Foreign Trade Ministry shut off our supply of petroleum from the German half of the Middle East. The Russians, who own the other half, sure as shit weren’t gonna sell us any. The U.S. had to get by on reserves and whatever we could suck out of Texas and Alaska. But that wouldn’t last forever.
President Nixon told the CIA to end the embargo by any means necessary. The CIA unleashed ExOps, and it wasn’t long before things went crazy. German officials got snatched, and German buildings got bombed. Then the Gestapo retaliated and started doing the same things to us. Not to be outdone, a senior ExOps field agent launched a kidnapping campaign against the families of German politicians and high-ranking civil servants. That ExOps agent was my dad.
One of the abductions was interrupted by the Berlin police, and during the confrontation a young girl was badly hurt. This triggered a huge anti-American protest, which turned into a riot and then became the storming of the American embassy in Berlin. The entire embassystaff was taken hostage. Dad took part in the rescue attempt, which failed, but its spectacular violence shocked the German administration. The situation was spiraling out of control.
The chancellor’s office secretly reached out to Washington and hastily negotiated a truce. The CIA withdrew all American agents, including those from ExOps. The kidnapped families were sent home. In exchange for signing a gag order they received financial compensation that was discreetly distributed from a numbered account in Zurich. The American hostages were released. The oil started flowing again, and American politicians stopped crabbing about the enslaved Jews.
Meanwhile that young girl lingered in the hospital for over four years before she died. The German press and public had followed her progress all those years, and her passing sparked a new round of cries for revenge on the Beast. They were still pretty mad.
That happened in an election year, and the resurrected crisis nearly wrecked Nixon’s campaign. In the summer, my dad left on a mission. That November, the Germans announced that they had captured and executed the Beast of Berlin. The diplomatic situation settled down and everyone went back to being self-serving dickwads.
But Cleo and I were left devastated. To add insult to injury, some Washington bean counter denied us Dad’s death benefits because no one ever actually produced his body. Mom went to see Jakob Fredericks for help, but they got into a big fight instead. Fredericks drummed my mother out of his office, shouting that his career had been ruined by her husband’s recklessness and that he wouldn’t help us if hell froze over.
Fortunately, Dad’s best friend was a Level 18 Vindicator. This best friend paid that narrow-minded bean counter a visit. At midnight. In bed.
We got our first check the next day.
You’d never think someone Cyrus’s size
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