The nicest thing about the year 1934? Of course, it was the Soviet T-34 tank which just got invented and promptly stolen by the Network.

Sure, this was not the nice T-34-85 that won the war in the other timeline, but anything was better than no tanks at all. We did lose all tanks in Yugoslavia, and the old F-17s were scraped while the turrets were used for pillboxes.

A single Ferdinand tank line still worked full time to provide cheap training tanks and a few more for armored recon and such boring roles. The new Ferdinands were slightly improved by now, with 25 mm of armor and speed limiters to increase their lifetime.

We called the new T-34 tank the Grey Wolf, being painted grey and a few white teeth on the lower plate to act as wire cutters.

Some crews went further to paint red eyes and such, on their vehicles, but it was not required. We did have the nice French 65 mm gun to mount in the turret, and the front armor was also increased to 65mm at 65 degrees angle, making it immune to anything the Soviets had now, or in the near future.

The Dacian Wall continued to grow, gaining a second line of defense and more anti-air guns, plus a network of trenches and supply bunkers.

A small fort line also began to appear on the Austrian, Polish and Slovak border, merely a trenchline and a few pillboxes for now.

It wouldn't do if we appear to not defend agaisnt someone, right? It would be quite rude, and perhaps provoke an attack with our openness.

Several Soviet planes tried to flyby over the Dacian Wall and were shot down, causing a minor scuffle with the Soviets, but whatever. They wouldn't survey our defences if they weren't planning to attack, right?

In Germany, Adolf was fuming and sputtering like usual, since the world around him was changing without anyone asking him.

In USSR, Papa Stalin was working hard to take over the Communist Party and the country, mostly by murdering anyone who opposed him.

America was sleeping quietly on the sounds of jazz music, while the British began to have lots of problems in the Middle East, caused by excessive numbers of Jews coming to settle without permission.

I did propose via my British mother an independent Israel state, but I was talking to walls or something.

Oh well, my merchant fleet had grown to include Bulgarian, Greek, Albanian and Montenegrin ships, and happily exporting more well-armed Jews into Palestine from all over Europe.

And while the Ferdinand 2 tanks were kinda crap, the Jews still loved them since they were better than nothing. Not that you actually needed tanks to mow down peasant Arabs, but whatever. They will need plenty of tanks eventually, might as well get trained on tanks and pay me a premium for it.

In Ukraine, people were still starving, which meant I could still export the excess grain and gain various immigrants in return, including skinny women, technical specialists, former farmers and the odd spy. Most of the spies I simply detected by reading the immigrant lists and noting who was a certain enemy, then pointing them to the good Captain for intensive interrogation.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The fleeing Soviet Jews didn't even leave the transport ships, getting sent via the Bosporus towards Palestine, unless they had a secret file or such to leave at the Constanta office of the Siguranta Statului Service. In which case they departed by train to Salonic and then boarded another ship, a bit richer too, depending on the file contents.

My official uniform had began to wear me down, since it now boasted even more medals and chains, from various campaigns, conquered countries or envious rulers from all over the world. Thus, I had to wear a steel plate on my back to keep me up-right, which weighed me down even more.

I might actually sink a small ship by boarding it by surprise.

But that steel plate also saved my life, when a shooter unloaded 6 revolver rounds into my back at the National Opera.

I just turned and grinned at the stupid man staring at his useless pistol. "See, if you were not a coward and tried to fight me like a man, you would not get crucified. Enjoy!"

Next second, a pair of former rugby players tackled the attacker to the ground and bound his limbs in cuffs. "Crucifixion, your Majesty?"

one of them asked a bit confused.

"Of course. He ruined my clothes." I explained in a patient voice.

While the fat lady sang, the game menu opened to show a new random event has popped up. 'A random assassin takes a shot at Carol II of Romania and Greece. He: dies, is wounded, escapes unhurt. Pick one answer.'

Sadly, the first two options were greyed out, so I could only poke the last one and sigh inward. What the Hell game? Show me the menu before I get shot!

My wife Helen pointed at the unopened champagne bottle, sitting on a small table in the Opera loggia. "Need a drink, my love?"

The game menu popped open again. 'A Soviet assassin poisons Carol II of Romania and Greece. He: dies, is crippled, escapes unhurt. Pick one answer.'

I faced palmed loud enough for a bodyguard to check inside the loggia. "Something happened, my King?"

"The bottle is poisoned. Soviets." I muttered as I walked out, before a bomb blew up or something. The first two options greyed out as Helen ran after me.

"Your uniform is full of holes..." she yelled at my back.

I grit my teeth and walked faster, until I reached my car and drew a deep breath. Then the Opera House exploded, prompting another game message.

Helen crawled on all fours until she reached the car and I dragged her inside. Her splinter-vest had protected her from splinters and such, but her fox furcoat was ruined.

"Your fur is full of holes." I observed cogently.

"We should go. There will be multiple attackers, just like Sarajevo." Helen whispered in a tired voice.

I nodded gently and tapped the inner window. "Army headquarters. Run over anyone."

"Of course!" the driver yelled a bit too loud. His eardrums must be busted.

Being a King wasn't so fun sometimes.

My words were printed in bold letters all over the world, beside the photographs of the assailant's last moment on his cross. We fed his corpse to the wolves afterwards, so he could reach Hell in shit shape.

Turns out, the man was a fervent communist and also an opera fan, and simply took an opportunity shot at my back. But I think my response was ever cooler.

Perhaps my uniform wasn't so heavy after all. But also, I could invest in some Albanian silk and make some real body armor, for me and the more valuable people around. Like my sons and wives and a few generals.