Location: Bavarian Liberation Front Time: 22:13 Status: Complicated.
Comrades,
history will judge this day, but rest assured: it will do so in German. Since the great demographic miracle – which raised us from nothing – our barracks have been bursting at the seams. We are no longer an army, we are a force of nature. We are a perfectly organised, tax-evading fist that is just about to strike the table of world politics.
When the order to liberate beautiful Bavaria crackled over the radio tonight, we looked south. The enemy? Liechtenstein. The balance of power? Well, let's put it this way: it was less a battle than a lawful, notarised eviction by 284 heavily armed Germans against a handful of brave potters.
The attack began and ended the war in the same breath. Our proud middle class brought out everything that has chains: the family-owned Rheinmetall and VEB Rostblech presented their works of art. The artillery transformed the horizon from black to red to gold. A relentless hail of steel that simply buried the Liechtenstein Alpine fortresses beneath it.
And on the other side? Silence. Emptiness. Only the echo of our own cannons.
And there, in the midst of the smoke of total domination, it came over me. The historical imperative. You know the legend of 1866. You know that the Liechtenstein army never suffers losses, but grows even in total defeat. Someone has to be the Amico. The legendary ‘81st man’ who leads the frightened Liechtensteiners safely home.
While my left hand threw thousands of points into the balance for Germany, my right index finger twitched. A touch of pity. I took aim. I hesitated, but then remembered the chaos. I fired, and very poorly at that: 65 damage. For Liechtenstein. It wasn't an attack, it was a warning shot made of cotton wool. A diplomatic handshake with ammunition.
For quite a while, I was Liechtenstein's army, the best soldier, the only soldier, and I didn't even hit anything.
Now several hours have passed. The rest of the resurrected giant also shows pity and waits until Liechtenstein stops twitching.
The absurd thing about wars is not the noise, but the statistics. Since Liechtenstein's resistance was virtually non-existent, my petty betrayal immediately catapulted me into the enemy's hall of fame (chamber).
Rank 6: 3Dcut.
I was officially one of the top defenders of the nation I was currently trampling into the ground alongside the eagle. Where's my medal?!
The radio call didn't take long. ‘We have a traitor!’ shouted the trenches. ‘Friendly fire!’ cried the others. But Comrade Biele, a man of culture and foresight, immediately recognised the situation, picked up the phone and radioed the sentence that would become the title of the first chapter of the new Germany:
An appeal to reason (and your wallet):
The sun that rises over Bavaria tomorrow morning will be drunk and wearing sandals. Order has been restored. But wars are expensive, and emotional conflicts even more so.
I bled for Germany and slapped myself for Liechtenstein. I am the only soldier who embodies peace by shooting at everyone. No matter which side you are on – whether you want to celebrate the glorious German victory or honour Liechtenstein's brave 65-point resistance:
Throw a coin into the pot of chaos. Donations to the ‘Fund for the resocialisation of confused front-line soldiers’ (i.e. me) are gratefully accepted with immediate effect.
Donate for Liechtenstein, donate for Germany, donate against Belgium!
For the fatherland, for the principality, for democracy, for tax cuts.
Friendship!
(translated by trained rats, that are bad with markdown)