March 11, 1960, Kosakenstadt (Engels City), Volga Commissionerate District
In the heart of the Volga Commissariat, Volga City stood as a testament to Deutsch ambition. Its sprawling metropolis, with towering buildings and a bustling populace, hummed with life. Among the many immigrants who had made Kosakenstadt their home was Aadalbert Aansorge, a welder who had arrived from Austria several years prior. His modest apartment complex on the city's outskirts provided a refuge from the urban chaos.
On this fateful night, Aadalbert's plans for rest were abruptly shattered by a loud, insistent knocking at his door. Startled awake, heart racing, he stumbled out of bed, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. The city's security, even in the divided commissionerate areas, remained chaotic. As a foreigner, Aadalbert was confined to the residential zone, where German immigrants held precarious residence permits. Fear gnawed at him—opening the door directly could invite local gangsters, intent on robbery, violence, or worse.
"Who is it?" Aadalbert's voice trembled as he faced the door.
"We are the local police and the secret police," a deep male voice replied. "Open the door."
His hands shaking, Aadalbert turned the handle. Before him stood two figures, clad in black uniforms. The taller man's dark hair was slicked back, his gaze intense. Beside him, the shorter figure's piercing blue eyes bore into Aadalbert.
"Aadalbert Aansorge?" The taller man's question hung heavy in the air.
"Yes," Aadalbert stammered, his mind racing. "Have I committed a crime?"
"No," the taller man replied. Aadalbert was relieved. "But, you are not a good citizen. Are you married or single?"
"I'm single. My parents and sisters are still in Germany."
"So you're an immigrant?"
"Yes, I came here three years ago, but I'm not married. And I'm only 21. I want to go back to my country, my home. Please don't take me away!"
"You are a citizen of Kosakenstadt, and you have the right to enjoy the same benefits and privileges as all citizens. And you are a German immigrant. This does not require our review. Come to the Department of Ethnicity and Immigration tomorrow for a blind date. If you don't come, you will be taken away by the police."
"I will."
The taller man nodded. "Good, have a good night."
With that, the men turned and left, their footsteps fading into the night. Aadalbert closed the door, his heart racing. He was not a bad citizen. He paid his taxes and followed the law. But, he knew that the system was broken, and that the authorities did not care about him. They only cared about having 4 to 6 children in every family, especially the Eastern immigrants.
The next day, Aadalbert arrived at the Department of Ethnicity and Immigration, his nerves fraught. The building was large and imposing, and he felt dwarfed by its size. He approached the reception desk, his hands trembling. He also doesn't know why NSDAP wants to build all government buildings very tall. "I'm here for a blind date," he stated.
The receptionist nodded, her face devoid of emotion. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a few moments, she motioned for Aadalbert to follow her. She led him down a dimly lit corridor, the walls adorned with Nazi Party banners.
Aadalbert stepped into the cavernous room, its walls adorned with faded tapestries. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of aged wood and secrets. A cluster of women sat in a semi-circle, their eyes flickering like candle flames. The receptionist's voice echoed, introducing him with a formality that belied the room's mysterious aura. Then, as if summoned by an unseen force, she retreated, leaving him alone with the enigmatic assembly.
His gaze swept over the women. They were a tapestry of life, each thread woven with care and time. Most bore the marks of experience etched into their faces—lines like ancient runes, stories whispered by the wind. Their eyes held secrets, and Aadalbert wondered what they had witnessed in their years on this earth.
The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to speak. Aadalbert cleared his throat, his voice a hesitant melody. "Ladies," he began, "I am honored to be in your presence." His words hung in the air, fragile as spider silk. "May I inquire about your purpose here?"
Their responses were as varied as the seasons. Some smiled, their eyes crinkling at the corners. Others regarded him with a quiet intensity, as if weighing his worth. A few remained silent, their gazes distant, lost in memories that stretched beyond the room's walls.
And then he noticed it—the common thread that bound them all. Most were between the ages of 35 and 50, a bridge between youth and wisdom. Their stories, like the room itself, were layered and complex. Aadalbert wondered what tales they held close, what dreams had slipped through their fingers like sand.
As he stood there, a mere mortal among these ageless women, he realized that this room was more than a physical space. It was a threshold—a place where past and present converged, where the weight of years settled like dust on forgotten manuscripts. And Aadalbert, with his ink-stained fingers and restless heart, was about to add his own chapter to their collective narrative.
"I am Aadalbert," he began. "I am an Austrian, born and raised. I came to Kosakenstadt because my parents wanted to make a better life for us. I work as a welder, and I like to read and write."
As he spoke, the room seemed to shift and shimmer. The tapestries gained color, their threads pulsing with life. The candles flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The women's eyes sparkled, reflecting Aadalbert's story like polished mirrors. Some flying leaves left the blind date room with the sound of rustling pages, carrying Aadalbert's hopes and fears into the world beyond.
The women listened intently, their expressions betraying nothing. Aadalbert's words faded into the ether, the silence enveloping them once again. The room held its breath, waiting for something—a revelation, perhaps. "So, does anyone want to go to the talk room with me?" Aadalbert asked nervously.
One woman rose to her feet, her movements graceful despite her advanced age. "I will go with you, Aadalbert," she said. Aadalbert swallowed hard, his heart racing. He was unsure of what to expect. He followed Hilde into the conversation room, the walls adorned with Nazi propaganda posters. The air was thick with tension, and he struggled to keep his composure.
Aadalbert took a seat, his gaze never leaving the woman. "I'm 21, single, and I came from Austria."
"I'm Hilde," she replied. "I'm 47, married, and I came from Poland. I have six children, all girls." Her voice was laced with sadness, and Aadalbert felt a pang of empathy.
"Of course, but I don't understand. It's my first time on a blind date, why aren't I the same age?"
"Are you a sociopath? If not, then why are you complaining about the matchmaking program arranged by the SS?" Hilde's face darkened, her gaze intense. Aadalbert squirmed under her scrutiny, his palms sweating. "I can see that you're different from the other Eastern immigrants, so I'll give you some advice. In life, there are always things that we cannot change, no matter how much we want to."
"I see, but there's our age gap. I don't know what to do."
Hilde sighed. "Aadalbert, you must accept the situation. You are young and single, while I am older and married. However, we are both German immigrants. Our values are the same, and we share a common goal—to create a strong and prosperous Germany."
"I'm a welder at the Volga tractor factory. I know, but why aren't there young girls?"
"There are younger women, but you would not be matched with them. Your social status is too low, and you don't have enough money."
"It's not fair! I'm German, just like you!"
"Life isn't fair, Aadalbert. We must learn to adapt and make the best of what we have. There are many single Eastern immigrants who are desperate for a partner." Hilde shook her head. "You are a good citizen. Let's get to know each other, and then I will introduce you to my children." Hilde took his hand. "This is party science. The desires of men and women are different at different ages, so men who must be between 15 and 30 years old can only date women between 35 and 50 years old."
Aadalbert nodded, his thoughts racing. He was caught in a system that valued youth over experience, conformity over individuality. "But I need to get married within 30 days. You are 47 years old and can be my mother."
"You can't marry a foreigner," Hilde replied. "Only a German immigrant like you can be your wife. I'm married to a German immigrant named Karl. We have been married for 29 years. He had recently died in a guerrilla attack on the Eastern Front. I was devastated, but I had to be strong for my children. Now, I'm looking for a new partner to help me raise my daughters."
Aadalbert was silent, his emotions warring within him. On one hand, he yearned for love and companionship, but on the other hand, he feared the unknown. Was Hilde right? Could they forge a connection despite their age difference and cultural divide? "I should go on a blind date with your daughter."
"My eldest daughter, Johanna, is 22 years old. She works as a nurse at the hospital. She is smart and beautiful, and I think you two would be a good match." Hilde smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "But she is already married to a 40-year-old officer. If you think I am old, then you can only marry an inferior race."
"I understand. I just want to get married and have children, but I'm afraid that I won't be able to fulfill my duty as a German immigrant." Aadalbert's voice wavered, his uncertainty palpable.
"You can only fulfill your duty if you are a good citizen. You have to obey the rules of the German immigrant society." Hilde reached out and took Aadalbert's hand. "You are young and have your whole life ahead of you. So, what are you looking for in a wife?"
"Someone who can cook and take care of the children. I quite like your feeling, your mature temperament." Aadalbert looked at Hilde. "I want someone who will support me, who will be my partner in life."
"I can be that person, Aadalbert. I may be older, but I have much to offer. I am a good homemaker and a devoted mother. I am also a survivor—I have endured hardships and challenges, and I am not easily discouraged. I am a fighter, and I will fight for you." Hilde gazed into Aadalbert's eyes, her expression earnest. "I know this is not what you imagined for your future, but I believe we can make this work. I promise to be a good wife and mother to you."
Aadalbert swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He was torn—between what he wanted and what he knew he needed. His heart yearned for a young bride, but his mind told him otherwise. "I want kids!" Aadalbert sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"Oh, really?" Hilde's eyes narrowed. "And how many children do you want?"
"Two or three is enough for me. I'm not greedy."
Hilde laughed, her eyes sparkling. "You are a funny person. Tell me, what is your greatest wish?"
"To go back to my country."
Hilde frowned. "You can't. You're an immigrant, and the law states that you can only go back when your 50th birthday. What do you do on the weekends?"
"I hang out with friends, and sometimes I go to the cinema. What is your hobby?"
"I like to sew and crochet, and I love spending time with my children. At this point, we were both happy with each other and the only problem was another one."
"What is the problem?"
"Well, my family is poor and needs money. You have a good job, and the family is poor. If we get married, the children and I will be supported by the government, and we can save money. What is your annual income?"
"1,000 marks. Is it too low?" He pulled a business card out of his jacket like a dead fish. "This is my landline."
"I think it's enough," Hilde replied, taking the card. "I have 6 daughters."
Aadalbert's mind raced as he considered the implications of Hilde's words. Marriage meant responsibility, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for such a commitment. "How many of your kids are still underage?"
"All of them are under 20. I have three more daughters in Austria."
"I'll ask my parents' opinion."
"That's a good idea." Hilde rose to her feet. "This is my family's address. I hope to see you again. You can go back and rest. Tomorrow we can have a second date."
Aadalbert returned home, his thoughts swirling like a maelstrom. "I've always had a question as to why I've never seen an SS matchmaking event with someone 15 years younger than my age difference?"
"I don't know, but I guess it's because the SS has a policy of only matching people with similar social statuses. You're a welder, and I am a housewife. We have the same social status."
——
March 12, 1960, Kosakenstadt (Engels City), Volga Commissionerate District
At a local cinema in Kosakenstadt, Volga Commissariat district, Aadalbert Aansorge watched the latest James Bond movie, From Moskowien With Love, with his new girlfriend, Hilde. Aadalbert was a fan of the popular franchise, and he enjoyed the action and suspense.
"Sometimes you have to admit these Englishmen are still good writers." Aadalbert mused.
"Yes, but they're not as good as German writers. Have you read any Goethe or Schiller?" Hilde replied.
"No, I'm a welder, not a poet." Aadalbert chuckled. "By the way, where did you study German literature?"
"I didn't go to school, but I read books. I've always loved reading, and it helps me escape from the realities of life." Hilde's voice was wistful, and Aadalbert could tell she was passionate about literature.
As the movie credits rolled, Aadalbert turned to Hilde. "Shall we go for a walk?"
They exited the cinema, the cool night air enveloping them. They strolled through the streets, their footsteps echoing in the silence. In the heart of the bustling city, where the echoes of history blend with the cacophony of modern life, stands the Victory War Monument. Its imposing figure dominates the square, a silent sentinel commemorating the valor and sacrifice of those who faced the tempest of war.
Carved from stone, the monument portrays a Nordic-style Valkyrie—a mythical warrior maiden who guides fallen heroes to the afterlife. Her stern countenance reflects both determination and sorrow, as if she bears witness to the tumultuous past. Her eyes, etched with ancient wisdom, pierce through time, connecting the present to the battles of yore.
In her right hand, the Valkyrie performs a solemn salute—a gesture that once echoed across the battlefields. It is the infamous Nazi salute, known as the Sieg Heil, a rallying cry that once reverberated through the ranks of the Third Reich. The Valkyrie's arm extends upward, straight and unwavering, a tribute to the fallen and a reminder of the cost of conflict.
Her left hand clasps a metal flag, its edges worn by the winds of history. This flag, tattered and battle-scarred, bears the weight of memory. It was the first to capture the war a relic from the Sixth Army under General Paulus. In the frozen wastelands of Hitlerstadt, where hope dwindled like a dying flame, this flag fluttered defiantly. It symbolized both defiance and despair, a testament to the human spirit amidst the chaos of war. As the sun sets, casting long shadows upon the cobblestones, the Valkyrie seems to whisper forgotten tales.
Aadalbert gazed at Hilde, her features illuminated by the pale moonlight. She was a study in contrasts—a paradox of strength and fragility, of resilience and vulnerability. Her eyes, clouded by ghosts from the past, held a silent plea for understanding. "Do you want to go for a walk in the park?" Aadalbert asked.
They strolled through the park, the sounds of nature filling the air. Hilde's voice, soft yet steady, broke the silence. "I lost my husband in the war. He was a soldier, and he died protecting our country." Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with grief.
"I see. Do you miss him?"
Hilde nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Every day, I think about him and what he sacrificed for us. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve to die." A typical pre-war woman, Aadalbert thought, but Hilde continued. "He was my everything, and I feel like a part of me died with him."
Aadalbert reached out, placing a gentle hand on Hilde's shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss. We will remember it together."
They stood in silence, the weight of Hilde's words settling like snowflakes upon the earth. The moon cast its silver glow upon the scene, a shimmering veil that shrouded them in solitude. The park is lined with stone helmets with Nazi cross monuments, which bear witness to the turbulent past of Kosakenstadt.
As Aadalbert and Hilde walked among the monuments, their hands entwined, he felt a sense of kinship with the woman beside him. An attachment that is witnessed together. The rows of silent Nazi crosses face uniformly in the direction of Berlin. "We're almost at the Jewish Bolshevik Massacre Memorial." Aadalbert turned to Hilde, his expression somber. "Do you want to pay your respects?"
"Yes." Hilde's voice was barely a whisper, but Aadalbert heard the pain that laced her words. They approached the memorial, the stark white marble a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. As they stood before the imposing structure, Aadalbert felt Hilde's grip tighten around his hand. Her emotions were palpable, a raw wound that refused to heal.
The monument is inscribed with a poem that commemorates the victims of the massacre. The Jewish Bolsheviks massacred thousands of Volga German in Engels in 1942 and 1943. Aadalbert read the words aloud, his voice echoing into the night. "This is a place of remembrance, a reminder of the suffering and sacrifice of those who lost their lives to the merciless hands of the Jewish Bolsheviks."
As he finished reading, Aadalbert felt Hilde's shoulders tremble. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, her grief a tangible presence. "I lost my parents and sisters here. They were killed by the Jewish Bolsheviks, and I was the only survivor."
In 1942, with the Soviet Union doomed in the war, the NKVD, fearing that the Volga Germans would support the Nazis, mass-murdered them, and in 1943, as in other occupied territories, Nazi Germany re-exhumed their bones and filmed a documentary and built a memorial to the Jewish Bolsheviks. Such memorials to the Jewish Bolsheviks can be found all over Eastern Europe.
Aadalbert wrapped his arms around Hilde, offering her comfort and solace. The shadows seemed to deepen, enveloping them in a cocoon of darkness. "I'm so sorry, Hilde. Words cannot express the depth of my sorrow for you."
The Holocaust Memorial Museum contains evidence of Soviet crimes against ethnic minorities. It includes photographs, documents, and artifacts that document the brutal treatment of the Volga German, Slavs, and other ethnic groups. Hilde sniffled, her voice a tremulous whisper. Aadalbert didn't hear it, but he was focused on the photo frame where the photos were arranged for display.
The images depicted the horrors of the Jewish Bolshevik atrocities. The corpses of Volga German women and children lay strewn about the streets, their bodies twisted and broken. Starving Ukrainians in the Great Famine of 1932, the millions of Poles massacred in Katyn, and other scenes of brutality and death permeated the space. The message was clear—the Jewish Bolsheviks were ruthless and merciless enemies of humanity.
He then also saw the museum's exhibit regulations, which for the most part were the normal application regulations, with only one line bolded in red. 'It is forbidden for anyone to submit to the museum any historical documents that defame the Greater German State and glorify the crimes against humanity of the Jewish Bolsheviks.'
The regulation reminded Aadalbert of the power of censorship, and how even museums can be used as tools to manipulate history. He felt a deep sense of sadness, knowing that the truth about the Jewish Bolshevik atrocities will be forever hidden from the world. Which ones are real? Which ones are fake?