In the waning weeks of 1949, the world was in one hell of a mess. The entirety of World War 2 had come to a rather abrupt halt some weeks prior, after the internationally appointed referee team from the League of Nations redcarded Nazi Germany’s Wehrmacht Weetbix team one too many times, due to them refusing to take to the field unless the refs were all members of the Black Panthers. The ref team therefore disqualified every last member, and ordered Germany to return the territories it’d so enthusiastically conquered in Mexico, Venezuela, the Oval Office, Bermuda, Gondor, Madagascar, Burma, Narnia, Mayfair and Hawaii back to their original owners.
2-nil down in the best-of-five World War series, what few territories Germany still possessed went into a raging panic, desperate to somehow avoid being thrashed in the deciding match, scheduled to be played in another twenty-odd years. With a spirit of grim determination, Hitler … er, invited some five million of his closest friends to join him in fleeing to one of these few overseas possessions, and ideally one of the most remote parts of the entire Earth, to set up undisturbed Nazi shop once more, and to be sure of absolutely nailing the decider.
Some days later, a vast armada of two hundred thousand hydrogen peroxide blonde submarines therefore embarked from the south Baltic coastilne, and hit the beach, some weeks later, at Fiordland. The Nazi refugees/immigrants/invaders/gatecrashers/pubcrawlers had considered the Moon, and for a while were attracted by the fact that Moon bases are pretty damn cool, but they decided the Moon just doesn’t offer the sort of nightlife and booming cafe culture that Fiordland does, so they landed at Fiordland. Obvious choice.
They immediately hopped off their thousands of subs and began laying the foundations for a Glorious Return To The World Stage. Surveyors and explorers shot up and down the length of Fiordland, mapping and surveying like mad, getting the lay of the land and figuring out what’s what, and soon Hitler himself announced the grand opening of the Fourth Reich.
Nazi influence spread inland, and within a month of the first landing, the mighty city of Fuhrerstown was founded by bold and daring pioneers, determined to stamp Germanic superiority into the land pretty damn pronto. A month of feverish building and construction followed, and the Nazi high command directed several million slave labourers to begin reshaping the very heart of this new land, to impose their relentless and unyielding cold will on the landscape. Hitler was rather fond of high-altitude alpine lakes, so to celebrate his 16th birthday, the Nazi high command ordered an entirely new lake to be dug on the outskirts of Fuhrerstown, in the shape of a giant swastika some 200km wide, so that Fuhrerstown would be daintily perched on its sunny shores.
Midway through construction and excavation, various subgroups and factions of the embryonic Fourth Reich immediately started bitching about exactly what this new lake should symbolise. To mollify the crack SS divisions, always rumbling that the Fourth Reich just didn’t have that old-school Nazi flava, Hitler proclaimed that this semi-completed swastika was also the first half of the SS logo. To pacify the gnarly rocker dude subculture within Naziism, such a powerful driving force behind the conquest of Europe, Hitler also hinted that the lake was the middle bit of the AC/DC logo. And finally, to satisfy the rabid Potter Fanfic crowd, so much a cornerstone of stern, authoritative Prussian culture, he also shouted from the rooftops that this lake was obviously based on the shape of Harry Potter’s forehead scar.
Unfortunately this latest transgression got the attention of the local sandfly population, the sandflies of course being notorious Twilight enthusiasts. The Nazis soon found the hard way that the sandflies there are the size of labradors, and can carry off entire tanks. They also can break the sound barrier, are extremely stroppy, and are quite aggressively Jewish. Wave after wave of sandflies immediately attacked Nazi towns and bases all over Fiordland, with buzzy sandfly cries of “Die Potter scum this is for Bella!!!11!1”. The Nazi zigzag lake defenders, in response, quickly built and brandished massive fly-swats, and soon found that hitting the very tip of the predominantly female sandfly proboscis caused them to careen out of control and splat entertainingly on the ground. Competitions sprang up around the Fuhrerstown defenders, and talented sandfly swatter soldiers, amid cheers and applause, would whack the crap out of them, to audience cries of “Whack ‘er tip! Ooooh!” The name stuck, and the lake became known as Lake Wakatipu.
Nevertheless, the Nazis were tens of thousands, but the sandflies were billions, and eventually caused vast amounts of damage to the Fourth Reich. The survivors huddled in their partially completed bunkers and ruined cities over the summer of 1950, emerged in late autumn, and tried to restart things, with a Fifth Reich, aided by the submarine-based Nazi cloning vats. Their population rocketed to several million before the next summer hit, and the sandflies, now the side of Minis after the previous year’s Nazi-feasting, returned.
At the height of the second sandfly invasion, Hitler called a grand council of his most senior Fifth Reich advisers, and before them, announced a Dramatic Scooby-Doo Style Unmasking, performed it, and revealed himself to be the Queen of England. She whipped out a forest of machine guns from beneath her dress, assassinated half the Council, performed a daring escape to the local sub pens, commandeered a suitably sweet ride, and charged back to the Mother Country at breakneck speed. The surviving Council angrily renamed Fuhrerstown to Queenstown.
Ever since then, Fiordland has been locked in an annual cycle of millions of Nazi clones of Reich n swarming the lands over winter, then being eaten by vast predatory airborne squadrons of sandflies over summer, with the survivors starting Reich n+1 upon autumn, and repopulating once again. Lake swastika construction has ground to a halt, of course, and after feasting on Nazi blood, each year the sandflies are slightly bigger. This latest batch, feasting on Reich 65, are now larger than most villages, and have become so specialised and adapted to their new diet that they starve if fed any soldiers with a rank lower than Sergeant Major.
Eventually, the southward march of colonists and settlers radiating from the great empires and nations of the North Island intersected and coalesced with the Nazi remnant, and even today, as anyone can see for themselves in the bars and pubs of Queenstown, the indomitable stroppy Nazi spirit lives on.