Location: Institute of Optics and Imaging, New Berlin – One Week Before the March
The building stood like a bunker — concrete walls, steel rafters, blackout shutters sealed tight over every window. A bronze plaque hung above the entrance, freshly bolted into the stone:
Reichsinstitut für Bildübertragung
Inside, the air smelled of iron, oil, and burned cloth. Sparks hissed from a corner welder. Engineers moved between cluttered benches, hunched over lenses, brass casings, coiled wires, and stacks of charcoal-sketched diagrams.
Dr. Albrecht stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, watching a group of apprentices examine the blueprint spread across the main worktable.
Not a smudge. Not a missed angle.
The drawing was hand-rendered, with every part labeled in exact millimeters. Rotating shutter. Gear track. Aperture dial. Copper casing. Pressure guides.
It bore no name.
Only one thing marked the paper: a wax seal.
The Führer's Personal Mark.
Albrecht tapped the parchment.
"He drew this," he said quietly.
Franz, a blond-haired engineer not older than twenty, blinked. "Drew it… from memory?"
Albrecht nodded. "Said it came to him like a vision."
"It looks like something from another century," said Dieter, leaning over the rotating gear assembly.
"From another world," Albrecht replied. "His world."
They stared at the shutter mechanism — a wheel of fine-toothed brass interlocked with a sliding gate. The film holder looked like it used some kind of cellulose strip, detailed with measurements none of them recognized.
"He even wrote the lens instructions," Albrecht muttered, pointing to a side note. "Said we'd need to coat it with fused minerals and polish the glass with sheep's wool."
Franz gave a skeptical grunt. "And we're supposed to just build it? Off one drawing?"
"We already did," said another technician, lifting a half-assembled frame. "Prototype's nearly complete."
Albrecht turned on his heel. "Good. Get the shutter assembled and test the lever arm. I want it snapping cleanly before dusk."
Dieter raised his voice. "We're low on copper. Film cassettes need twenty more plates."
"Requisition them," Albrecht replied. "Start machining if you must. No delays."
Suddenly, the side door burst open. A courier entered, gasping for breath, holding out a sealed letter.
"From the Reichskanzlei!"
Albrecht broke the wax and read aloud:
"To the Institute for Optics. Approval of mass production for photographic devices authorized by direct order of the Reichskanzlei für Medienkontrolle. Immediate funding allocated. All units to report progress weekly. First shipment to be distributed to journalist agencies and frontline field reporters."
He lowered the letter.
A grin crept across his face.
"We're official."
The engineers cheered.
Franz slammed his fist on the bench. "We're going to make history!"
"No," Albrecht said with a small smile. "We're going to record it."
Later That Night – Testing Chamber
A velvet cloth covered the center bench. The camera rested atop it like a crown jewel.
Compact. Dense. Beautiful.
Brass body, lens tube polished to a mirror shine. Adjustable aperture dial. A leather-wrapped grip. Etched above the viewfinder:
Modell 1 — Reichskamera
Franz stood behind it, trembling slightly as he loaded the film strip into the rear chamber. The latch clicked shut.
Albrecht handed him a glass plate.
"Take a picture of the team."
The engineers stood beneath soft yellow light — sleeves rolled up, grease on their knuckles, wide-eyed with exhaustion and pride.
Franz adjusted the focus. Just like the blueprint said.
Click.
The shutter snapped.
No one moved.
They rushed the film into the darkroom and dipped it in solution. The image surfaced slowly under the red light — shadows and shapes, then edges, then clarity.
A perfect still frame.
Every face. Every wrinkle. Even the solder smoke behind them.
Albrecht stared at the print.
"Begin reproduction," he said. "Posters. Manuals. Booklets. Get this into the hands of every journalist."
"Should we notify the Reichsmedienamt?" Dieter asked.
Albrecht nodded. "Tonight. Tell them we'll deliver the first batch in three days."
Next Morning – Assembly Hall
A banner now hung above the production floor:
DIE KAMERA IST DAS AUGE DES REICHSThe Camera Is the Eye of the Reich
The prototype sat in a glass case under armed guard.
Work had already begun on mass production. Dozens of apprentices moved in formation, following etched metal templates to cut brass plates, set rivets, and polish lenses. Copper gears were sorted into trays. Film drums were stamped with serial numbers.
Every part matched the Führer's specifications exactly.
In the administrative wing, Albrecht stood by the window with a cup of steaming black coffee.
The Director of Media Expansion stood beside him — a tall man with silver eyes and a black coat pinned with the insignia of the Reichsmedienamt.
"You've been assigned three major partners," the Director said. "The Stimme des Volkes. Radio Einheit. And the Vision der Ordnung archives."
Albrecht sipped his coffee. "We'll have them equipped before the march begins."
"Good," the man replied. "Our reporters are sketching battles by hand. But with this camera—" he nodded toward the production floor, "—we'll never need to guess again."
A pause.
Albrecht's voice was quiet.
"We're not just making a machine."
The Director turned to him.
"We're making memory."
Just then, a young engineer stepped through the doorway holding a clipboard.
"Sir. The second prototype passed inspection."
Albrecht nodded once.
"Start full production."
He stepped into the hallway, where his team waited in silence.
Behind him, the emblem of the Reichsmedienamt gleamed on the wall.
He pointed toward the journalist logos displayed on the bulletin board.
"Get them ready," he said. "We have work to do."
A pause. Then a grin.
"We have money to make."