The Empty Border

Private Erwin Klein stood guard at the border between the Moskau Reichskommissariat and the Holy Russian Empire. Across the border now were no Russian soldiers. No Russian vehicles. The entire Russian garrison had simply packed up and left one day. Now, the Russian firebase sat derelict, a lonely gold and black Imperial flag still flying. Klein couldn't recall seeing a single living thing over the border in at least three weeks.

He remembered when mobs of Russian refugees had begun to flee their own country, fleeing to the German-held Moskau. These waves of broken people were as ghosts; men, women, and children alike wore a singular mask of terror. They spoke of horrific atrocities on a mass scale. They spoke of roving murder squads that wiped out entire villages, leaving none alive before moving on to the next. They spoke of people simply disappearing in the night, their spouses awaking in the morning to find them gone. They spoke of chemical weapons being unleashed on cities and forests. Klein, an 18 year old farm boy from Plochingen, was rather frightened by the whole thing.

Then one day, the refugees had slowed. Then slower. Then slower, until one day, none came. And no more would. Eventually, he noticed that he hadn't even seen a bird. Across the border, nothing moved but the leaves in the wind and the Imperial flag.

Then came the transmission. An unhinged mantra of madness endlessly repeating over every Russian government and military channel.

"Remain calm. The Regent endures. Alexei lives. The Holy Russian Empire shall endure. There is much to be done."

Over. And over. And over again. Eventually, the Abwehr colonel over the signals department had banned the field troops from monitoring Russian radio traffic; if anything changed, signals would pass it on. That decision had been reached two months ago. Klein still shuddered to think of those words.

Finally, it seemed that Berlin could no longer ignore this great unknown to the east, as Luftwaffe scouting planes began to fly east from Moskau. Klein had been on duty when the SS battalion arrived from the Reich. These were hard men, veterans of countless campaigns. Each had a look of steel determination as they departed, vanishing into the Russian void. For 12 days, Klein stood by his post. For 12 days, he saw nothing.

On the 13th day, just as the sun began to wane over the western sky, the SS men returned. Gone were the Fuhrer's proud warriors who had left that day. In their place were pale imitations. Klein realized that they wore that same look of utter horror as those refugees all those months ago. He had been intimidated by these men less than two weeks ago. Now, the Third Reich's greatest soldiers looked fragile and small, and the night closing in on the Russian landscape seemed very dark indeed.

A major had met the SS commander near Klein's post. The young private could not help but listen in.

"Just what the hell is going on in Russia?" the major asked.

The SS lieutenant colonel's face was pale as he answered slowly, as if he did not trust his own voice. "There is no Russia. There's nothing. Everything is dead."

Klein didn't get much sleep that night. The next day, he returned to his post, staring out into the emptiness that was once Russia.

*Author: u/ApexHolly*