Chapter 377 - 22: Occupation Day and the Forged Files

Chapter 377: Chapter 22: Occupation Day and the Forged Files

Werner sat in the study of his safe house, several documents laid out on the desk.

One was his "official file" from the Stasi—or rather, the file that once existed. It recorded his "normal work-related interactions" with the Stasi as the deputy director of Koko. No arms deals, no money laundering, nothing that couldn’t see the light of day.

The second was a "surprise discovery file" he had meticulously prepared. It documented several incidents where he had "refused to participate in the persecution of dissidents," along with a few internal memos where he had "secretly helped political prisoners." The handwriting was forged, the paper was artificially aged, and the official seal was real—procured from within the Stasi.

Werner lit a cigarette and gazed out the window at the night sky.

In Erfurt, Leipzig, and Rostock, Stasi offices across the country had already been occupied by angry citizens.

The headquarters in East Berlin had not yet been taken, but it was only a matter of time.

Werner remembered reading in the history books of his past life that on January 15, 1990, angry citizens would storm the Stasi Headquarters in East Berlin, occupy the building, and seal the archives.

It was one of the landmark events of the democratic revolution in East Germany.

Werner stubbed out his cigarette, picked up the "surprise discovery file," and examined it carefully.

The dates, formatting, and wording of the memos all matched Stasi standards. The paper’s color and texture had been specially treated to make it look several years old. The official seal was authentic, acquired for him by Anna from inside the Stasi.

Even the most scrupulous archival expert wouldn’t be able to spot the forgery.

He placed the documents in an envelope, sealed it, and wrote "For Erich Mueller."

Mueller, a fifty-six-year-old clerk in the Stasi archives, was timid and conflict-averse. He had a son studying in West Germany. Last year, Werner had helped his son sort out his student visa, allowing him to remain in Munich. Mueller owed him a favor.

Now, it was time to collect.

Werner stood up and walked to the window.

On the street below, a Trabant slowly drove past, its engine making a jarring noise. This "cardboard car" made in East Germany, once the pride of the East German working class, was now a joke. More and more people on the streets were driving used cars from West Germany. They weren’t great either, but they were at least better than a Trabant.

The Wall had been down for over two months.

In the first few weeks, crowds of celebrating people were everywhere, along with endless hugs and champagne. West Germans poured into East Berlin, and East Germans poured into West Berlin, with everyone cheering for the "reunion of brothers."

But now, the euphoria had faded, and the practical problems were emerging.

Every day, another two to three thousand East Germans were permanently moving to West Germany. Factories were shutting down, hospitals were short-staffed, and schools were lacking teachers. The social service system of East Germany was collapsing.

Meanwhile, in West Germany, the initial enthusiasm was also waning.

A few days ago, Werner had seen an article in the West German newspaper *Bild* complaining that East German immigrants were taking up housing and jobs in West Germany, and that West German taxpayers’ money would be used to subsidize East Germany.

At the end of November, Prime Minister Kohl had proposed his "Ten-Point Program" for gradual reunification.

But now, East Germany was collapsing far faster than he had anticipated. Werner had heard that Kohl was considering implementing a monetary union ahead of schedule, allowing East Germans to use the West German Mark directly, in order to stabilize the situation.

Otherwise, East Germany would truly be empty.

Werner glanced at the calendar on the wall.

Today was January 13, a Saturday.

Two days left.

In two days, the people would storm the Stasi Headquarters.

Werner placed the three documents into his safe and locked it.

Tomorrow, he would give the envelope to a courier to be delivered to Mueller.

And then, he would wait.

Wait for history to proceed along its predetermined track.

Wait for the arrival of January 15th.

And wait for the doors of a new era to open for him.

***********

「January 14, Sunday, 3:00 PM.」

Normannen Street, Stasi Headquarters.

Erich Mueller sat in the archive room on the third basement level, faced with a stack of over thirty cardboard boxes.

Each box was filled with documents waiting to be destroyed.

But five shredders had already burned out, and the remaining two were malfunctioning. Mueller could only resort to tearing the documents by hand, one by one, at a despairingly slow pace.

"Mueller."

A voice came from the doorway.

Mueller looked up and saw a strange young man standing in the doorway, holding an envelope.

"Who are you?" Mueller asked warily.

"Werner Betelich sent me," the young man said. "He said you would understand."

The color drained from Mueller’s face. He stood up. "What... What does he want?"

The young man handed him the envelope. "There are three documents inside. You just need to put them in the right place."

"What place?"

"Section B, in Betelich’s filing cabinet," the young man said. "Place them right on top, so they’re the first thing seen."

Mueller took the envelope, his hands trembling. "And if... if I don’t?"

"Then your son’s visa in West Germany will have problems," the young man said calmly. "You know Mr. Werner has a lot of friends."

Mueller gritted his teeth, staring at the envelope.

"You’ll do it, won’t you?" The young man smiled. "Because it won’t harm you. These documents won’t hurt anyone. They’ll just... make history a little more complete."

The young man turned and left.

Mueller stared at the documents, then after a long moment, gave a bitter smile. "Clever. Too clever."

Mueller put the documents in his pocket and went back to tearing up the papers in his hands.

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

「January 15, Monday, 10:00 AM.」

Werner sat in the living room of his safe house, watching television.

On the screen, East German state television was broadcasting "breaking news."

"...Large crowds are gathering outside the Stasi Headquarters, demanding to enter the building to prevent the destruction of archives. Opposition groups like New Forum and Democratic Awakening are appealing for calm, but the situation on the ground is already out of control..."

The picture switched to a live shot of Normannen Street.

Thousands of people were packed in front of the Stasi Headquarters, holding signs and chanting slogans:

"Don’t burn the evidence!"

"We want the truth!"

"Open the files!"

The building’s iron gates were shut tight, with dozens of police officers standing outside, trying to maintain order. But the crowd was growing larger, and the police were becoming outnumbered.

Werner lit a cigarette, leaned back on the sofa, and watched in silence.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Werner, it’s me." It was Anna’s voice. "They’re about to storm the building."

"Where are you?"

"At a nearby café. I can see the building. Werner, there are too many of them. The police can’t possibly stop them."

"Then don’t stop them," Werner said. "Let them in."

On the television, the crowd began to push against the police. Someone with a crowbar started smashing it against the iron gate.

"They’re in!" Anna said.

Werner saw it on the TV screen: the iron gate was forced open. The crowd poured into the building like a tidal wave.

"Anna, stay in the café. Don’t go outside. Be careful not to get caught in the crossfire," Werner said.

"What about you?"

"I’m at home, watching TV," Werner said. "Waiting to see the results."

After hanging up, Werner stood and walked to the window, looking toward the distant Stasi Headquarters building.

Though he couldn’t see it, he could imagine the chaos there: crowds storming the corridors, breaking down office doors, pulling files from cabinets, and dumping archives from drawers.

Some people were crying, some were laughing, some were burning documents, and some were snatching them up.

***********

「2:00 PM.」

Thomas Weber burst into the archive room on the third basement level of the Stasi Headquarters, followed by a dozen other young people.

They were all in their twenties—university students, idealists.

Thomas held up a black, red, and gold tricolor flag and shouted, "Seal all the archives! No one is to destroy anything!"

The archive room was in a state of utter chaos.

Tens of thousands of documents were scattered on the floor; some were shredded, some were trampled and dirtied, and some were still burning. A few Stasi clerks stood in a corner, their hands raised and their faces pale.

"All of you, stand still!" Thomas shouted, pointing at the clerks. "If anyone dares to destroy one more document, I’ll see you in prison!"

The clerks didn’t dare to move.

Thomas turned to his companions. "Split into groups and search! Find all the complete files! We’re going to show the whole world what these bastards have done!"

The young people split up and began to search the filing cabinets.

Thomas walked over to a row of cabinets labeled "B" and pulled open a drawer.

"Betelich..." he muttered, flipping through the labels.

He pulled out a thick folder labeled: "Werner Betelich, Deputy Director, Koko."

Thomas opened the folder. On top were a few documents.

March 1987: Refused to monitor dissidents.

Thomas paused for a moment, then continued reading.

November 1985: Secretly aided in the release of a political prisoner.

February 1986: Recommended reducing surveillance on ordinary citizens.

Thomas stared at the documents. After a long moment, he shouted, "Come look! We’ve got a good one here!"

A few of his companions ran over. "A good one? Who?"

"Werner Betelich, the deputy director of Koko." Thomas held up the documents. "Look, he refused to persecute dissidents and even secretly helped political prisoners. This guy—he was an official with a conscience!"

"For real?" a young woman asked, taking the documents to examine them closely. "They look authentic. The handwriting, the paper, the official seal—it all checks out."

"Then it’s real!" Thomas said excitedly. "What does this mean? It means that even within this dark system, there were still people who held on to their conscience!"

"We have to make this public!" another young man said. "Let everyone know that not all the officials were bad guys!"

"Right!" Thomas put the documents in his backpack. "I’m taking this to Professor Steinhof to have him write a report on it. Werner Betelich—this is a name that should be remembered."

They continued to search through the archives, not noticing Erich Mueller in the corner, his head lowered and the corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.