c2: A Flawed Theory of Race

Hearing that name, Akado had two subconscious reactions. The first was to reach for the bayonet at his waist with his right hand. The second was to rip off his gas mask with his still-aching left hand and turn around.

Kill this damn bastard right here! That was the first thought that flashed through Akado’s mind. He knew who the man behind him was, and he knew what he would do in the future. This was the perfect opportunity to solve everything, to nip it all in the bud. That was the best solution.

For a moment, Akado even felt that he had been deliberately sent to this specific time and place for this very mission. His destiny was to assassinate Hitler, right here, right now.

His hand was already touching the bayonet. The gas mask was off, clutched in his left hand. But Akado didn’t turn around. He continued walking forward, step by step. The fresh air entering his lungs felt like being brought back to life. After a brief internal struggle, Akado completely abandoned the idea of killing the man behind him.

Come on, he thought. This is a chaotic era, an age that gives birth to heroes and unleashes demons. My hopes of survival, my chance to build a legacy, my opportunity to make my mark on the world—it’s all tied to the man behind me. If I kill him, I’ll probably just die an anonymous death somewhere in the First World War. What kind of fool would do that?

As for saving humanity or rescuing the Jewish people, Akado felt no personal connection to that cause. If the man behind him had been Okamura Yasuji or the Emperor of Japan, Akado would have spun around and delivered the killing blow without hesitation. But when it came to Hitler, he held no deep-seated, unforgettable grudge.

Just as Western scholars were indifferent to the casualties of Chinese soldiers on the Asian front and dismissive of the suffering of Chinese civilians, Akado, as a Chinese scholar, viewed the chaos and slaughter in Europe with an attitude of “if it doesn’t concern me, it’s not my problem.”

Hitler, behind him, clutched Akado’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the greatcoat. From the sheer force of his grip, Akado could tell his eyes must be burning with excruciating pain. Akado relaxed his right hand, letting go of the bayonet’s hilt. With his less-than-nimble left hand, he folded the gas mask and put it back in its canister.

“Hold on! I need to stop for a second!” he called out to everyone behind him. He then gently tapped Hitler’s fingers. “Let go for a moment, I need to squat down and tie my shoelace.”

His movements were gentle, afraid of causing pain to the back of Hitler’s hands, which had likely been exposed to the gas. Hitler nodded gratefully and released his tight grip. Akado’s greatcoat was wrinkled on the shoulder, a testament to how forcefully Hitler had been holding on.

Of course, Akado wasn’t tying his shoelace. He was picking up a rifle from a corpse on the side of the path. God only knew if an officer would have him hanged for losing his rifle. Besides, in Akado’s view, carrying a rifle would make it look like he was retreating to help a wounded comrade, not deserting.

After slinging the rifle over his shoulder, grabbing two grenades and a few dozen rounds of ammunition from the corpse, Akado had re-armed himself. Only then did he get his “army of the blind” back on the road, looking the part once more.

After walking for more than ten minutes, this army of the disabled finally found their regimental headquarters. It wasn’t because Akado was lucky or had some protagonist’s halo—any sane person who came across more than thirty scattered friendly soldiers would know to follow them.

“Akado, you’re from the 3rd Company?” In the regimental field hospital, Hitler, who had been bandaged up, had finally calmed down and began talking to Akado incessantly. Akado had just discovered one of Hitler’s bad habits—he talked an incredible amount.

But it made sense. How could someone who wasn’t a great talker move so many people with speeches? He had no other weapon but his mouth. With that invincible tongue, he convinced everyone he met, and a terrifying party was reorganized and consolidated by him, becoming the entity so familiar to the world.

However, Akado really wanted to slap the Hitler in front of him a couple of times just to get some peace and quiet. He had so much to process, so many things he needed to figure out.

In a daze, Akado eventually fell asleep. He was also a victim of the gas attack, so he had every right to sleep on the floor of the regimental field hospital. The beds were for the severely wounded; his injuries didn’t even warrant a stretcher, so the floor it was.

The morning in a military camp was never pleasant. Akado, now a soldier in the German Army, struggled to put on his old greatcoat with his right hand while grimly listening to the ramblings of his new friend.

“The Jews! I’ve been thinking about it for a long time in the reserve army! It’s the Jews! It’s those parasites who caused our defeat! Mr. Akado! They should all be hanged!” Hitler was an early riser, his eyes were still blind and burning with pain. The agony made him grit his teeth, and his face became even more ferocious when he mentioned the Jews.

Akado glanced at Hitler, coughed, and said, “Hitler, you know what? You’re too narrow-minded! It’s true that some Jews are evil, but some are useful to us. We should hire them at high salaries to contribute to our nation!”

“Nonsense!” Akado’s words sent Hitler into a near-hysterical state. He said angrily, “All Jews are pathetic and insignificant! They cannot be trusted! They are sucking the lifeblood of our nation! You understand? They should all go to hell!”

“Hitler! You need to understand that many of the weapons we use for war are made by Jewish people from our fatherland. Many are funded by donations from Jewish people of our fatherland. In fact, our goal isn’t to kill all the Jews, but to make people believe that there are no such thing as Jews in this world!” Akado stared at Hitler with his distinctively blue eyes and delivered his statement.

Hitler was bewildered. At this point in his life, he couldn’t fully grasp Akado’s meaning. “Make people believe Jews don’t exist? Isn’t that the same as killing them all and destroying everything they are?”

“No! No, no! My dear Hitler, those are two completely different things! I have a theory, and this theory is called the ‘Pan-German People Theory’!” Akado brought out a concept of ethnic classification that would only appear in China many years later. In that timeline, it had another name: the “Theory of the Chinese Nation (Zhonghua Minzu).”

“You’ve completely confused me. You want to eliminate the Jewish people by relying on a strange theory?” Hitler stared at Akado, his face a mask of doubt.

Akado nodded. He had to convince Hitler to accept his broader theory of national identity now, in order to curb Hitler’s future extremism. “Yes! All who love the great German Empire are Pan-Germans. As for those selfish, despicable, cowardly dregs—even if they are pure-blooded Aryans, they are no part of the great German people!”

“Then what method do we use to distinguish them?” Hitler was lost. His immature racial theories were being completely shattered by this man named Akado. He felt that what Akado was saying made sense, yet he still wanted to cling to his own views.

There’s no way I’m letting you drive out all the useful Jews, Akado thought. At the very least, you’re not driving that fellow named Einstein to America. He steeled his resolve and continued to persuade Hitler: “By their contribution! If a Jewish engineer can produce tanks for the Empire, then he is a patriot! But if a man does nothing but loaf around and harass women on the street after eating his fill, then he is a parasite!”

“I still maintain that most of those Jews are parasites!” Hitler was wavering, but his words remained stubborn.

Akado put an arm around Hitler’s shoulders, helped him to his feet, and walked him step by step outside the tent. While breathing the fresh air, he coaxed him gently, “My dear Mr. Hitler, that is another topic entirely. It relates to analyzing problems based on facts. That is the truth. Everything must be judged by facts, correct?…”

The two of them talked for the entire day. As wounded soldiers, they sat in the distance and watched the battle intensify into a fever pitch. The rumble of artillery was constant, and terrifying black pillars of smoke scarred the horizon. The earth trembled with every large-caliber shell that fell.

Hitler listened intently to Akado’s explanations. For the first time, he felt he had found a kindred spirit. His own vague nationalistic ideas were being perfectly supplemented by his new friend, Akado. Although there were some deviations from what Hitler himself believed, what Akado said seemed very correct. Extremely correct.

Hitler loved this country with a fanatical, bone-deep passion. Therefore, he strongly agreed with Akado’s idea that anyone who could contribute to the nation was a good person.

As his own theory was gradually dismantled and reshaped, Hitler finally played one of his core arguments: “But why is my superior officer, a Jew, so shameless and vile? He is nothing but a disgusting, filthy bug!”

“Therefore, people like that, who do nothing productive and always do infuriating things at the most critical moments—we must round them up and throw them into a mustard gas chamber!” Akado felt that if Hitler’s commanding officer had just given him the Iron Cross he was owed, humanity could have been spared at least three years of war.

“Thank you! You are right!” Hitler said while touching the gauze over his eyes, which still burned with pain. He greatly admired Akado’s ruthlessness, especially the phrase: “Round them up and throw them into a mustard gas chamber!”

That sentence was very much to Hitler’s taste.

“You are truly a knowledgeable man,” Hitler said that night to Akado, who was lying on the floor next to his sickbed. “It is a very good thing to have met you.”

After a full day of conversation, Akado had finally figured out the current time and place. Hitler had been wounded by gas during a famous historical battle, just a few days before the Austrian 16th Infantry Corps was about to be withdrawn from the front line.

The next morning, the Austrian 16th Infantry Corps began an organized evacuation of the wounded. A batch of severely injured soldiers was carried onto a train by medics. They were to be transferred to the rear to recover. As for whether they would ever see the battlefield again, only God knew.