Going All In (2)
"Kids, Daddy's home!"
"D-Dad...? Father?"
"Honey!"
"Surprised? I should have let you know I was coming."
A wide, beaming smile stretched across the face of the father who had returned alive from the battlefield. But the expressions of his children and his wife were far from joyful. They covered their gaping mouths with both hands, their eyes pooling with heavy tears of shock.
"Why the long faces? Did you start a new family while I was gone or something?"
The father tried to ignore their expressions, tossing out a terrible joke, but his lightheartedness only made his family's tears fall faster and thicker.
"F-Father..."
"H-Honey...!"
"Oh, come on. This is a happy occasion. Can't you just welcome me with a smile?"
"I-It's not that... Y-Your leg!"
War birthed countless tragedies. Was the war over? Hardly. For them, the real battle was only just beginning.
While the economy across Europe surged back to life and the streets buzzed with energy, the disabled veterans were left in the cold.
"H-Hieee! The Russians are coming!"
"Father, please! Calm down!"
"W-Who are you? Don't touch me!"
"Dad!"
"G-Get me... get me some Pervitin...!"
Losing a limb was actually considered lucky. There were many who had lost their very souls. Of course, such tragedies were limited to France, Russia, and Britain.
"Greek! Looking for anyone who can speak Greek!"
"I learned Ancient Greek back at the Gymnasium, but..."
"Oh, heavens, sir! Would you have any interest in traveling to Athens?"
"But my leg is in this state, you see."
"Who cares about your leg? As long as you can read and write, that's all that matters!"
Shtal had been absorbing permanently disabled veterans through the SFW Chemical Company, the Agricultural Cooperative, and now, the Warsaw Treaty Organization. Due to budget and financial constraints, it was impossible to pay pensions to every single soldier. Even the United States couldn't pull that off. The only thing Shtal could offer those who had fought for their country was employment.
"Vice Chairman Shtal! No matter how much manpower European reconstruction requires, employing all these disabled veterans is simply too costly!"
"It doesn't matter. Haven't we been doing this since the very moment the war began? In fact, this will be far more beneficial to our finances in the long run. If they all degenerate into anti-social elements, imagine how much higher the societal cost would be."
"But countries all over Europe are screaming at us to stop sending disabled people!"
"If they complain that much, we can always send them to Vietnam. Isn't Vietnam currently in dire need of administrative personnel?"
Thus, the Warsaw Treaty Organization became a massive engine for absorbing surplus labor. They couldn't control the supply and demand of toothpaste, chocolate, beer, and razors. Naturally, the demand for automobiles, engines, and airplanes wasn't easily controlled either. But labor—labor was the one thing that had to be controlled at all costs.
"We must maintain full employment by any means necessary. It might look like reckless spending right now, but in the long run, it will stimulate the economy by creating demand."
"But if we do this... there will inevitably be areas with a surplus of labor."
"Then we launch large-scale civil engineering projects. If even that isn't feasible, we can simply reduce working hours. Though honestly, I doubt we'll need to resort to shortening work hours for at least the next twenty years."
Thus, seeing people missing fingers, legs, or arms in factories became a common sight. Of course, Joseph Goebbels was also one of the primary beneficiaries of Shtal's welfare policies. Goebbels, who had always harbored a deep complex about his limp, still struggled to carry himself with confidence.
"Aren't you Marketing Team Leader Goebbels? It's a pleasure to meet you!"
"Pleasure."
"By the way, uh... which front did you serve on?"
"...Excuse me?"
"I fought in the Imperial Army myself. I was deployed to the Italian front. Seeing your leg... you must have been on one of the more brutal fronts, like Russia or the Balkans!"
"Sigh... It's classified."
"P-Pardon? Classified?"
"What does it matter to you whether I went to the battlefield or not?"
There are those who harbor an exceptionally intense desire for the things they do not possess. Goebbels's longing was never quenched. If anything, it only grew larger. Watching others proudly display their physical disabilities as badges of honor from the war made Goebbels shrink back in shame. There was no way this yearning would ever be satisfied. And so, Goebbels worked and worked. He honed his abilities to the absolute limit, desperate for people to notice his name rather than his leg.
"Don't you think Team Leader Goebbels is going to be promoted to executive soon?"
"He's still a bit young, so it might be tough... but then again, if not him, who else would they promote?"
Leveraging his natural talents, Goebbels was practically running SFW Chemical Company's marketing department single-handedly. And then, an opportunity found him. He was summoned by the supreme ruler of Europe!
My first impression of Goebbels... was exactly as I had imagined. Since falling into the past, I had encountered countless geniuses. And generally speaking, geniuses always had a slightly unhinged look in their eyes. Erich Ludendorff had been like that at first. Adolf Hitler and Leon Trotsky went without saying.
Ugh, goosebumps.
Geniuses like them practically shot lasers out of their eyeballs. Maybe it was just my own bias, but looking into their eyes for too long made me feel like I was going crazy myself. Anyway...
I cut straight to the chase with Goebbels.
"...And so, our company is planning to draw in investment capital from New York."
"Indeed. New York investors are currently sticking their hands into every new technology they can find. But which product are you planning to focus your promotion on?"
"I'm not sure if this will work. It's a recently discovered phenomenon called 'nuclear fission'..."
So far, I had launched three major hit products: Penicillin, synthetic ammonia, and airplanes. All of them were world-shaking discoveries, which was why they had received such an overwhelming response from investors. But... wasn't nuclear fission a bit different?
Goebbels stroked his smooth chin, falling into deep thought.
"It certainly... won't be an easy task."
Having come from the future, I knew exactly how monumental this product was. Nuclear weapons went without saying, and nuclear power was an incredible innovation. But from the perspective of the people of this era, it would be a different story. It was the equivalent of trying to attract investors for a Mars colonization project.
"To be frank, it will sound like a scam, Vice Chairman."
"Exactly. And I dread to think what the physicists will say..."
"Ah, you don't need to worry about the physicists."
Goebbels smirked as he continued.
"Does it really matter what the physicists say?"
"Excuse me?"
"We don't need to care how they try to refute us. It will take those academics ages to formulate a proper rebuttal anyway."
Goebbels continued his explanation, his eyes gleaming with an eerie light. People often praised Hitler's oratorical skills, but even he couldn't match Goebbels. Hitler might have led Goebbels in the original timeline, but perhaps Goebbels was the one who truly made Hitler.
"Think about it, Vice Chairman. While the physicists are busy gathering their boring academic papers to publish in newspapers, we will have already raked in astronomical sums of money. By the time they finally publish their counter-arguments and articles, our financial backers will have already bought up massive amounts of the relevant stock."
"And?"
"They will have already sold their very souls to our propaganda. And along with their souls, they will have sunk in something far more important: their money."
My jaw dropped at Goebbels's bizarre yet brilliant logic. Of course. The investors who were heavily trapped in our stock. No matter how close to the truth the physicists' words were, those investors would perceive them as an 'attack' on their livelihood. Why? Because they were locked in, body, soul, and wallet.
"I must say, I am surprised. I thought this would be child's play for someone of your caliber, Vice Chairman Shtal."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Humans are creatures who will gladly discard their souls for the sake of profit. Gathering the souls of political supporters is far more difficult than gathering investment capital."
Suppose someone raises a rational counter-argument against a certain political ideology. If the counter-argument is logical, one might easily abandon their original political beliefs. But... when money is involved, it's a different story. What if they realize, too late, that they invested in a pipe dream? What if the losses are so massive that they can't pull their money out? Victims of Ponzi schemes often continue to voice their trust in the swindler even after he goes to prison. Even if he is a certified fraud, they must deny it. At least until they get their money back!
Goebbels's lips curled upward, stretching into a grotesque, wide grin that reached his cheekbones.
"Even if they don't want to believe it, they have to. What other choice do they have?"
"Ha... But still, isn't this essentially a scam?"
"A scam? Vice Chairman Shtal, were you planning to run away with the investors' money?"
"...Haha, of course not."
Goebbels's tone returned to its usual calm register.
"Looking at how Wall Street operates, this doesn't even qualify as a scam. There are all sorts of bizarre companies over there."
"Oh, really?"
"They talk about installing radios in every combat tractor, putting refrigerators and telephones in every household... It's utterly preposterous."
"...Ha, haha."
"If they can sell nonsense like that, why shouldn't we be able to sell physics?"
In any case, Goebbels was set to depart for our New York branch, carrying our hopes and dreams. The rhetoric was grand, but the real question was whether he could actually pull it off. But if it was Goebbels, it was entirely possible. After all, if people in my past life could sell Bitcoin—something with absolutely no physical substance—what could possibly go wrong?
"More importantly, I understand you were heavily involved in writing the screenplay for the movie Paths of Glory. Is that correct?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Regrettably, I lack artistic talent. I would love to have your assistance on this front, if you don't mind."
Ever since the war, Austria's cultural industry had experienced explosive growth. Propaganda, first and foremost, had to be entertaining! Not just movies, but comics, novels, plays... This cultural wave was actively making inroads, particularly in the United States. Aside from blockbusters like Paths of Glory, most movies were screened across the Warsaw Treaty Organization for next to nothing. In reality, the only market where this business generated massive profits was America. And...
"Hey, have you read that comic? Nuclear Assassin!"
"Every newspaper I open has that comic in it. My kids absolutely love it. Personally, I find comics too childish to read."
"Then try the novel version. My god, I've never read anything so thrilling. I went out and bought all the paperbacks immediately."
This was the dawn of pulp fiction, an era before even Superman had made his debut. The premise of generating immense energy by triggering mass defects in a simple pebble and using atomic energy to defeat villains was nothing short of revolutionary. Of course, looking at it objectively, it was incredibly cheesy! No matter how groundbreaking, to Americans raised on hardboiled detective stories and Westerns, it was bound to feel a bit too juvenile. Yet, the reason this comic and novel series took the nation by storm in an instant was twofold.
First, the creative work was originally designed solely to attract investors. Therefore, with zero expectations of turning a profit, they flooded every single magazine with the novel and comic. They even handed out free paperbacks on the streets. Naturally, anyone looking to kill time ended up picking up Nuclear Assassin.
Second.
"...Wait, this is actually pretty good."
"Argh! What happens in the next chapter?!"
"They're ending it on a cliffhanger here?! So is the fight between Nuclide and Dojo-Truman just going to end like this?!"
Nuclide, the protagonist of Nuclear Assassin, possessed a level of charisma that rivaled Sherlock Holmes. On top of that, any premise that might have seemed childish was grounded by rigorous scientific accuracy and a serious, gripping narrative style. Nuclear Assassin rapidly transformed into a full-blown cultural phenomenon.
"Vice Chairman Shtal! Nuclear Assassin is achieving colossal success!"
"...Well, the tail is wagging the dog now. We should look into acquiring a toy company."
To begin with, explaining nuclear fission to investors was a monumental task. Explaining that the speed of light is constant, therefore time is relative, and deriving an equation showing that mass can be converted into energy... What investor would sit through such a tedious lecture? We'd be lucky if they didn't fall asleep.
"That fellow Goebbels really used his head. He lowered the barrier to entry perfectly."
But now, there wasn't a single idle American who didn't know E=mc². The hard-to-believe concept that even a tiny pebble, when multiplied by the speed of light squared, could unleash a colossal amount of energy had merged with an even more unbelievable novel and comic. Now, Americans had naturally absorbed the concepts of special relativity and nuclear fission.
"W-Wait a minute... this was real science?"
"Is something that sounds so fictional actually possible in reality?"
"Haha. Come on, how can a person walk on walls with their bare feet?"
"No, not that part! According to the equation E=mc²... it's entirely possible! It means just one gram of a pebble can produce the same energy as thousands of tons of coal!"
'Strictly speaking,' it wasn't wrong. It was a scientific fact that one gram of mass yielded the energy equivalent of 21,500 tons of TNT. Of course, if one considered the full context, such energy efficiency was impossible even with modern science. But would people who learned physics from a comic book care about context? Having learned that this mind-boggling equation could manifest in reality through nuclear fission, the investors were hooked. They poured astronomical sums of investment capital into the nuclear-related stock of SFW Chemical Company.