Here is my discussion page for my novel, an alternate history which asks the simple what-if question: What if America's 1919 Red Summer revolution succeeded?
The year is 1936. Communist Party president-elect FDR is launching a Socialist New Deal across the United Socialist States of America, the Leader Jacques Doriot rules a French Popular Party-controlled imperialist France bent on conquering a Red Germany, while Fascist Black Shirts clamor for power in Great Britain under Oswald Mosley. Soon, war clouds will blanket the whole Earth, with great calamity, death, and destruction about to befall the U.S.S.A and her allies.
Beneath the Crimson Banner: What if America Went Red in 1919?
A Novel of Alternate History
For Surely, who willed it
For God, who inspired it
–
“For since the beginning of the world men have not heard, nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, O God, beside thee, what he hath prepared for him that waiteth for him.”
–The Book of the Prophet Isaiah
And all this assembly shall know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give you into our hands.
–The First Book of Samuel, Otherwise called the First Book of the Kings
“If we have once seen, ‘the day is ours, and what the day has shown.’”
–Helen Keller
–
Prologue
–
October 20th, 1936
–
“It is not Teacher! it is not Teacher!” The cry, mechanic but no less emotional, had escaped from Helen Keller’s mouth as she stood at Teacher Annie Sullivan’s bedside in the rented seaside Greenport, Long Island cottage Polly and she had taken Teacher to. Helen gripped at Teacher’s now lifeless hand, tight.
It would never be Teacher ever again.
Teacher was so happy, so joyous, so … alive.
The Angel of Death had finally come for her, as Teacher had feared would happen and had constantly talked about during her last few, hellish moments on Earth.
“I am trying so hard to live for you.” Teacher had spelled out into her hand several days ago using the manual alphabet.
Now, now she was dead.
Helen let her hand ungrasp Teacher’s cold, pale, deathly hand, tears streaming down her face and dropping onto her dark blue dress.
Polly!
Polly was watching from the other room and had come in to comfort her.
“It’s okay, Helen. I’ll call the coroner.” She spelled into Helen’s hand.
After Polly called the coroner, it was awhile before he finally arrived at the cottage in a somber black horse-and-buggy.
Polly said, “The coroner is finally here.”
The coroner took Teacher’s lifeless body, whisking it away into a large, oaken coffin before driving off.
Now, now, being bed-time she knew from what Polly had said to her and, feeling intensely sleepy, she went to bed. Helen and Polly slept in the bedroom Teacher had died in on two separate beds, the third one on which the dying Teacher had been placed left empty, cold.
“Goodnight, Polly.” Helen said softly.
Tossing-and-turning, awake, sleep at long last came to her weary eyes.
–
I
–
June 22nd, 1941
–
Heaven. Teacher Anne Sullivan’s soul had flooded out of her body. She remembered the sweet, painless feeling of death slowly taking her.
Her eyes finally, at long last, had shut automatically.
Now, in Heaven, she walked about paradise. Gardens, gardens, vast Gardens of Eden every which way and without end!
Home. She felt herself walking over to a large, spacious building and, quickly opening the door, she at one entered into a big, wide-ceilinged bedroom.
She was finally in her true home again!
She lay down on the bed situated in the furthermost, left-hand corner of the bedroom.
I want to read “The Story of My Life” by my beloved pupil! With that sole thought, just then, the momentous work appeared before her in all of its glorious splendor. She started from the beginning, reading the great book once again.
Oh, how much joy it brought her to hear Helen’s account of being taught by Anne to spell her very first, “water.”
“W–a–t–e–r. Water.” She had spelled into the pretty, young, deaf and blind girl’s hand.
And the trip to Boston!
Bunker Hill. She read the passage describing her pupil’s guided walk up the monument’s vast steps with relish.
She read, and read, and read for many hours, knowing no fatigue, hunger, or thirst, until she eventually was done with the entire autobiography.
Getting up off the bed and, simply wishing the book away, she swiftly felt deep emotional pain hit the very center of her spiritual being. She could now see the Earth below her via a wide, circular opening that had suddenly appeared in the very center of her heavenly home.
It was no longer October 20th, 1936.
It was now June 22nd, 1941, she knew from hearing the Holy Spirit softly tell her the date.
“Anne,” it said, “watch.” She saw and also heard British and Canadian tanks rush across the Dominion of Canada’s border with the United Socialist States of America in a surprise attack, seeing lines of infantry march not far behind the advance guard. “It’s a lightening war.”
The USSA’s Red Army was powerless to stop the initial assault, losing ground, numerous cities, towns, and hamlets to the dual British and Canadian invasion force. “Now, observe Belgium and Germany.”
Through the massive opening she could see French troops disguised as Belgian soldiers venture quick past the Belgium border, cutting down Belgium’s surprised border guards with ease, French tanks shooting deep into the heart of the neutral nation.
Rapes and murders of defenseless civilians followed in any place that had fallen under occupation. Jews found themselves slaughtered by mobile “killing units” made up of elite Armed-Protection Squadron men dedicated wholly to finding and eliminating any Jew they found.
Before long, the French Army was deep within “Judeo-Bolshevik Germany,” cleansing occupied territory of any Jews, Afro-Germans, Socialists, and Communists that they found. The handful of “sub-humans” that they didn’t shoot wound up on huge ships bound for the French Colony of Madagascar, to either be worked to death or gassed outright in horrible, murderous gas chambers.
The opening stages of what the Spirit called “the Second Great War” she saw with total, perfect clarity.
How awful, how ugly, how unnecessary and pointless the new global conflict was!
Helen!
With that alarmed thought she just then saw Helen Keller residing safely in the USSA, writing and speechifying across the unoccupied parts of the country in defense of her homeland.
“She will live to a ripe old age.” God’s Spirit said quietly.
With those words the centrally placed rift disappeared.
Going back over to her bed, she lay down in it once more. She thought all about the ghastly horrors that she had only moments ago witnessed, thinking on and on and on in eternity.
–
November 12th, 1936
–
“Your dress is pretty.” Polly spelled out the sentence with a cold hand into Helen’s equally chilly hand. Cold because brisk, wet November wind washed over her and Helen Keller as they stood on the damp wooden deck of the SS Rosa Luxemburg.
Helen’s dress was blood-red, with a smattering of colorful white dots running throughout. Those clear, bright blue eyes of hers shone brighter still, an effect produced by sunlight glinting off of them.
They’d boarded the SS Rosa Luxemburg in New York City, headed to the old German port city of Kiel. From there, they’d go by train to Berlin, capital of the United Socialist Republic of Germany.
Polly had seen a close friend off with a warm hug, which had warmed her body rendered cold by the icy winter wind.
Right now, the large passenger ship was headed through the English Channel. Beyond the narrow body of water, she’d been told by Captain Friedel, were the snow-white beaches of Normandy.
Great Britain was under a British Union of Fascists–Conservative Party coalition government, while France was led by the Leader Jacques Doriot and his racist, imperialist French Popular Party. Oh, how the two women both equally loathed British and French Fascism with a fiery, burning passion!
Choppy, gray waters crashed into the SS Rosa Luxemburg, the fog that surrounded them pasting their skin and clothes with moisture.
“Umbrella.” Polly had just then spelled the word into the Caesar of a woman’s hand, for she felt raindrops hit hard against her dark blue bonnet before dripping down her face and chin and then onto the already damp deck rendered damper still.
The sun, as it stood, was fast becoming obscured by rain clouds. How fitting, she thought, given that war clouds were slowly, ominously, and surely gathering over Europe and North America.
Getting the umbrella for them both out of their cabin, Polly and Helen, standing suddenly underneath an unpleasant downpour, decided to go into the ship’s small cafeteria-of-sorts to get some food.
Inside now, drenched in rainwater, they sat down next to Captain Friedel who offered them plates of bratwurst and beans.
The two close friends, one disabled and the other a caretaker, began to eat while the old captain told them all about his exploits fighting the British at Kiel during the Great War, Polly spelling the story out to Helen as they ate.
“The damned Capitalist German regime got us into one hell of a fight! Our ships were no match for the Royal Navy.” He said at the conclusion of his tale.
Finishing their food and, seeing the aged captain off, they retired to their cabin.
Getting into nightgowns, for it was very late, the two best friends lay on two separate beds. Helen, getting up out of bed and, taking her translation of the Good Samaritan contained on a small gray notebook written in braille over to her, began to spell into Polly’s hand Luke 10:25-37:
And look, indeed, a well-read expert got up, testing him by saying, “Master, how can we come to possess eternal life?” Then he said to him, “What is written in the law? In what way do you read it?” He responded by saying, “Devote yourself to God who is our master out of your total love for Him, and out of your total understanding, and out of your whole will, out of your very firm closeness to Him.” And he said to him, “Your response is correct: Do this and live.” But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And now who is my neighbor?” Then Jesus, taking up the question, said, “A certain person was traveling down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the clutches of bandits, who proceeded to rob him in this way, wounding him freely after beating him, before they departed, leaving him half-dead and abandoned. It happened that someone was traveling by the same way along the self-same road, and, looking at him, he simply passed him by. And similarly, a Levite neared the spot where he lay and observing him, merely passed him by. But then someone who was a native of Samaria, traveling along the same road, went over near him and, looking at him, was moved to compassion towards him. Approaching closer to the wounded man, he bound up his wounds, pouring olive oil and wine over them before binding them up, and putting him upon his own horse, he rode him to an inn and restored him to health there, and gave two denarii the following day to the person who ran the inn and said, ‘Put him under your care, and whatsoever you need in payment I will pay out over and above. I will return with more money to give to you.’ Which of these three, do you think, was the neighbor of the man whom bandits fell upon?” Then he said, “That who showed compassion on him.” And then Jesus said to him, “Go, and you should do similarly.”
Helen Keller said softly, “I still believe, even with Jacques Doriot in power in France and Oswald Mosley threatening Ireland with invasion, that good people will triumph over evil.”
“Me too, Helen, me too.”
“God is watching over the good people as well as the evil ones.” With those words, she went back over to her bed to get some sleep.
In time Polly, too, got some rest. Tomorrow, Captain Friedel had said, they would be in Germany, docking at the port city of Kiel. Oh, how exciting! With that thought, she fell completely asleep.
-
December 2nd, 1936
–
Le leader Jacques Doriot spoke to throngs of French citizens beneath the Eiffel Tower in Parisian French, gripping the masses with his powerful words:
“The white race stands, here, united against Jewish Bolshevism! Red Jewry reigns in Germany, Italy, Portugal, Hungary, China, in America and in Russia!
Our French Popular Party is the vanguard of the National Socialist French Workers’ Revolution! We are the phalanx, the spearhead to the throat of our inferior enemies! Our enemies are ever numerous, a cancerous tumor on the face of the whole world. We say to the whole world: Enough with international Jewry! Enough with its conspiracies! Enough with its global domination! The time will soon come when we must fight the Jews abroad. We have already crippled Judah in France. Let’s never let up the fightback!
Today, legislators duly assembled in our illustrious parliament have produced a new set of racial laws, laws which will finally, truly define Jewishness, defining it so that we might all the more fight Jewishness! The laws have my final seal of approval.
The Red Jews here in this mighty nation of ours thought they could trifle with us, thought they could fight us, thought they could defeat the great white race, but they thought wrong!
This has been your Leader, Jacques Doriot, speaking. Until we meet again … onwards to victory!”
“Hail my Leader Doriot!” The masses of people standing beneath the Eiffel Tower shouted in perfect unison, giving off the Roman salute. “Hail my Leader Doriot!” The crowd of flag-waving citizens said again, their collective, singular voice shattering the sunny, calm and chilly morning air. “Hail my Leader Doriot!” They said again, proudly displaying French flags bearing the French Popular Party’s insignia in the middle, waving them, waving them, waving them on and on and on. “Hail my Leader Doriot!”
Jacques Doriot was whisked away by guards into a black car while the masses continued to shout and cheer, the driver driving it to the Leader’s massive palace situated just east of the towering Arch of Triumph.
To build it, a children’s hospital, a sanatorium, and a slew of houses had to be demolished. All for his sake, no, all for the French people’s sake!
Getting out of the car, guards escorted him inside. “Gabriel,” he said to one of his uniformed Party guards, “get me one of the fine young women from the Paris Party dance troupe!”
“yes, my Leader.”
Guards escorted him into his massive, ornate bed room. A woman dancer shortly entered after about an hour of anxious waiting. Taking off his suit-and-tie, shirt, and pants, he led the woman to the queen bed gently by the hand.
“My Leader,” she said softly, “your touch is so light.”
“It is, indeed, my love!” He said before thrusting into her blue silken person that he had thrown fiercely onto the bed. He thrusted and thrusted and thrusted into her before exploding. She orgasmed while he moaned.
“Oh, my Leader.” She said quietly as he rolled away from atop her dainty frame. “That was wonderful.”
Knock on the door.
“Yes?” He said.
“My Leader, it’s your doctor. We have the anti-gas pills and your morphine injection ready.”
“Come in.” He said aloud. The door promptly swung open. Beside his doctor were several guards and a nurse, pills and needle arrayed on a small silver tray which the pretty brunette nurse wheeled over to his bedside. Getting up, and sending the dancing woman off, he had a guard drink the water to make sure it wasn’t poisoned before putting the two anti-gas pills into his mouth and swallowing them with a drink of water. The nurse then carefully injected the needle into his arm, sending him to sleep, heavily sedated. Le leader Doriot slept, dreaming about righteous racial warfare waged against France’s ancestral Jewish, Marxian Red German foe.
–
December 2nd, 1936
The year is 1936. Communist Party president-elect FDR is launching a Socialist New Deal across the United Socialist States of America, the Leader Jacques Doriot rules a French Popular Party-controlled imperialist France bent on conquering a Red Germany, while Fascist Black Shirts clamor for power in Great Britain under Oswald Mosley. Soon, war clouds will blanket the whole Earth, with great calamity, death, and destruction about to befall the U.S.S.A and her allies.
Beneath the Crimson Banner: What if America Went Red in 1919?
A Novel of Alternate History
For Surely, who willed it
For God, who inspired it
–
“For since the beginning of the world men have not heard, nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, O God, beside thee, what he hath prepared for him that waiteth for him.”
–The Book of the Prophet Isaiah
And all this assembly shall know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give you into our hands.
–The First Book of Samuel, Otherwise called the First Book of the Kings
“If we have once seen, ‘the day is ours, and what the day has shown.’”
–Helen Keller
–
Prologue
–
October 20th, 1936
–
“It is not Teacher! it is not Teacher!” The cry, mechanic but no less emotional, had escaped from Helen Keller’s mouth as she stood at Teacher Annie Sullivan’s bedside in the rented seaside Greenport, Long Island cottage Polly and she had taken Teacher to. Helen gripped at Teacher’s now lifeless hand, tight.
It would never be Teacher ever again.
Teacher was so happy, so joyous, so … alive.
The Angel of Death had finally come for her, as Teacher had feared would happen and had constantly talked about during her last few, hellish moments on Earth.
“I am trying so hard to live for you.” Teacher had spelled out into her hand several days ago using the manual alphabet.
Now, now she was dead.
Helen let her hand ungrasp Teacher’s cold, pale, deathly hand, tears streaming down her face and dropping onto her dark blue dress.
Polly!
Polly was watching from the other room and had come in to comfort her.
“It’s okay, Helen. I’ll call the coroner.” She spelled into Helen’s hand.
After Polly called the coroner, it was awhile before he finally arrived at the cottage in a somber black horse-and-buggy.
Polly said, “The coroner is finally here.”
The coroner took Teacher’s lifeless body, whisking it away into a large, oaken coffin before driving off.
Now, now, being bed-time she knew from what Polly had said to her and, feeling intensely sleepy, she went to bed. Helen and Polly slept in the bedroom Teacher had died in on two separate beds, the third one on which the dying Teacher had been placed left empty, cold.
“Goodnight, Polly.” Helen said softly.
Tossing-and-turning, awake, sleep at long last came to her weary eyes.
–
I
–
June 22nd, 1941
–
Heaven. Teacher Anne Sullivan’s soul had flooded out of her body. She remembered the sweet, painless feeling of death slowly taking her.
Her eyes finally, at long last, had shut automatically.
Now, in Heaven, she walked about paradise. Gardens, gardens, vast Gardens of Eden every which way and without end!
Home. She felt herself walking over to a large, spacious building and, quickly opening the door, she at one entered into a big, wide-ceilinged bedroom.
She was finally in her true home again!
She lay down on the bed situated in the furthermost, left-hand corner of the bedroom.
I want to read “The Story of My Life” by my beloved pupil! With that sole thought, just then, the momentous work appeared before her in all of its glorious splendor. She started from the beginning, reading the great book once again.
Oh, how much joy it brought her to hear Helen’s account of being taught by Anne to spell her very first, “water.”
“W–a–t–e–r. Water.” She had spelled into the pretty, young, deaf and blind girl’s hand.
And the trip to Boston!
Bunker Hill. She read the passage describing her pupil’s guided walk up the monument’s vast steps with relish.
She read, and read, and read for many hours, knowing no fatigue, hunger, or thirst, until she eventually was done with the entire autobiography.
Getting up off the bed and, simply wishing the book away, she swiftly felt deep emotional pain hit the very center of her spiritual being. She could now see the Earth below her via a wide, circular opening that had suddenly appeared in the very center of her heavenly home.
It was no longer October 20th, 1936.
It was now June 22nd, 1941, she knew from hearing the Holy Spirit softly tell her the date.
“Anne,” it said, “watch.” She saw and also heard British and Canadian tanks rush across the Dominion of Canada’s border with the United Socialist States of America in a surprise attack, seeing lines of infantry march not far behind the advance guard. “It’s a lightening war.”
The USSA’s Red Army was powerless to stop the initial assault, losing ground, numerous cities, towns, and hamlets to the dual British and Canadian invasion force. “Now, observe Belgium and Germany.”
Through the massive opening she could see French troops disguised as Belgian soldiers venture quick past the Belgium border, cutting down Belgium’s surprised border guards with ease, French tanks shooting deep into the heart of the neutral nation.
Rapes and murders of defenseless civilians followed in any place that had fallen under occupation. Jews found themselves slaughtered by mobile “killing units” made up of elite Armed-Protection Squadron men dedicated wholly to finding and eliminating any Jew they found.
Before long, the French Army was deep within “Judeo-Bolshevik Germany,” cleansing occupied territory of any Jews, Afro-Germans, Socialists, and Communists that they found. The handful of “sub-humans” that they didn’t shoot wound up on huge ships bound for the French Colony of Madagascar, to either be worked to death or gassed outright in horrible, murderous gas chambers.
The opening stages of what the Spirit called “the Second Great War” she saw with total, perfect clarity.
How awful, how ugly, how unnecessary and pointless the new global conflict was!
Helen!
With that alarmed thought she just then saw Helen Keller residing safely in the USSA, writing and speechifying across the unoccupied parts of the country in defense of her homeland.
“She will live to a ripe old age.” God’s Spirit said quietly.
With those words the centrally placed rift disappeared.
Going back over to her bed, she lay down in it once more. She thought all about the ghastly horrors that she had only moments ago witnessed, thinking on and on and on in eternity.
–
November 12th, 1936
–
“Your dress is pretty.” Polly spelled out the sentence with a cold hand into Helen’s equally chilly hand. Cold because brisk, wet November wind washed over her and Helen Keller as they stood on the damp wooden deck of the SS Rosa Luxemburg.
Helen’s dress was blood-red, with a smattering of colorful white dots running throughout. Those clear, bright blue eyes of hers shone brighter still, an effect produced by sunlight glinting off of them.
They’d boarded the SS Rosa Luxemburg in New York City, headed to the old German port city of Kiel. From there, they’d go by train to Berlin, capital of the United Socialist Republic of Germany.
Polly had seen a close friend off with a warm hug, which had warmed her body rendered cold by the icy winter wind.
Right now, the large passenger ship was headed through the English Channel. Beyond the narrow body of water, she’d been told by Captain Friedel, were the snow-white beaches of Normandy.
Great Britain was under a British Union of Fascists–Conservative Party coalition government, while France was led by the Leader Jacques Doriot and his racist, imperialist French Popular Party. Oh, how the two women both equally loathed British and French Fascism with a fiery, burning passion!
Choppy, gray waters crashed into the SS Rosa Luxemburg, the fog that surrounded them pasting their skin and clothes with moisture.
“Umbrella.” Polly had just then spelled the word into the Caesar of a woman’s hand, for she felt raindrops hit hard against her dark blue bonnet before dripping down her face and chin and then onto the already damp deck rendered damper still.
The sun, as it stood, was fast becoming obscured by rain clouds. How fitting, she thought, given that war clouds were slowly, ominously, and surely gathering over Europe and North America.
Getting the umbrella for them both out of their cabin, Polly and Helen, standing suddenly underneath an unpleasant downpour, decided to go into the ship’s small cafeteria-of-sorts to get some food.
Inside now, drenched in rainwater, they sat down next to Captain Friedel who offered them plates of bratwurst and beans.
The two close friends, one disabled and the other a caretaker, began to eat while the old captain told them all about his exploits fighting the British at Kiel during the Great War, Polly spelling the story out to Helen as they ate.
“The damned Capitalist German regime got us into one hell of a fight! Our ships were no match for the Royal Navy.” He said at the conclusion of his tale.
Finishing their food and, seeing the aged captain off, they retired to their cabin.
Getting into nightgowns, for it was very late, the two best friends lay on two separate beds. Helen, getting up out of bed and, taking her translation of the Good Samaritan contained on a small gray notebook written in braille over to her, began to spell into Polly’s hand Luke 10:25-37:
And look, indeed, a well-read expert got up, testing him by saying, “Master, how can we come to possess eternal life?” Then he said to him, “What is written in the law? In what way do you read it?” He responded by saying, “Devote yourself to God who is our master out of your total love for Him, and out of your total understanding, and out of your whole will, out of your very firm closeness to Him.” And he said to him, “Your response is correct: Do this and live.” But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And now who is my neighbor?” Then Jesus, taking up the question, said, “A certain person was traveling down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the clutches of bandits, who proceeded to rob him in this way, wounding him freely after beating him, before they departed, leaving him half-dead and abandoned. It happened that someone was traveling by the same way along the self-same road, and, looking at him, he simply passed him by. And similarly, a Levite neared the spot where he lay and observing him, merely passed him by. But then someone who was a native of Samaria, traveling along the same road, went over near him and, looking at him, was moved to compassion towards him. Approaching closer to the wounded man, he bound up his wounds, pouring olive oil and wine over them before binding them up, and putting him upon his own horse, he rode him to an inn and restored him to health there, and gave two denarii the following day to the person who ran the inn and said, ‘Put him under your care, and whatsoever you need in payment I will pay out over and above. I will return with more money to give to you.’ Which of these three, do you think, was the neighbor of the man whom bandits fell upon?” Then he said, “That who showed compassion on him.” And then Jesus said to him, “Go, and you should do similarly.”
Helen Keller said softly, “I still believe, even with Jacques Doriot in power in France and Oswald Mosley threatening Ireland with invasion, that good people will triumph over evil.”
“Me too, Helen, me too.”
“God is watching over the good people as well as the evil ones.” With those words, she went back over to her bed to get some sleep.
In time Polly, too, got some rest. Tomorrow, Captain Friedel had said, they would be in Germany, docking at the port city of Kiel. Oh, how exciting! With that thought, she fell completely asleep.
-
December 2nd, 1936
–
Le leader Jacques Doriot spoke to throngs of French citizens beneath the Eiffel Tower in Parisian French, gripping the masses with his powerful words:
“The white race stands, here, united against Jewish Bolshevism! Red Jewry reigns in Germany, Italy, Portugal, Hungary, China, in America and in Russia!
Our French Popular Party is the vanguard of the National Socialist French Workers’ Revolution! We are the phalanx, the spearhead to the throat of our inferior enemies! Our enemies are ever numerous, a cancerous tumor on the face of the whole world. We say to the whole world: Enough with international Jewry! Enough with its conspiracies! Enough with its global domination! The time will soon come when we must fight the Jews abroad. We have already crippled Judah in France. Let’s never let up the fightback!
Today, legislators duly assembled in our illustrious parliament have produced a new set of racial laws, laws which will finally, truly define Jewishness, defining it so that we might all the more fight Jewishness! The laws have my final seal of approval.
The Red Jews here in this mighty nation of ours thought they could trifle with us, thought they could fight us, thought they could defeat the great white race, but they thought wrong!
This has been your Leader, Jacques Doriot, speaking. Until we meet again … onwards to victory!”
“Hail my Leader Doriot!” The masses of people standing beneath the Eiffel Tower shouted in perfect unison, giving off the Roman salute. “Hail my Leader Doriot!” The crowd of flag-waving citizens said again, their collective, singular voice shattering the sunny, calm and chilly morning air. “Hail my Leader Doriot!” They said again, proudly displaying French flags bearing the French Popular Party’s insignia in the middle, waving them, waving them, waving them on and on and on. “Hail my Leader Doriot!”
Jacques Doriot was whisked away by guards into a black car while the masses continued to shout and cheer, the driver driving it to the Leader’s massive palace situated just east of the towering Arch of Triumph.
To build it, a children’s hospital, a sanatorium, and a slew of houses had to be demolished. All for his sake, no, all for the French people’s sake!
Getting out of the car, guards escorted him inside. “Gabriel,” he said to one of his uniformed Party guards, “get me one of the fine young women from the Paris Party dance troupe!”
“yes, my Leader.”
Guards escorted him into his massive, ornate bed room. A woman dancer shortly entered after about an hour of anxious waiting. Taking off his suit-and-tie, shirt, and pants, he led the woman to the queen bed gently by the hand.
“My Leader,” she said softly, “your touch is so light.”
“It is, indeed, my love!” He said before thrusting into her blue silken person that he had thrown fiercely onto the bed. He thrusted and thrusted and thrusted into her before exploding. She orgasmed while he moaned.
“Oh, my Leader.” She said quietly as he rolled away from atop her dainty frame. “That was wonderful.”
Knock on the door.
“Yes?” He said.
“My Leader, it’s your doctor. We have the anti-gas pills and your morphine injection ready.”
“Come in.” He said aloud. The door promptly swung open. Beside his doctor were several guards and a nurse, pills and needle arrayed on a small silver tray which the pretty brunette nurse wheeled over to his bedside. Getting up, and sending the dancing woman off, he had a guard drink the water to make sure it wasn’t poisoned before putting the two anti-gas pills into his mouth and swallowing them with a drink of water. The nurse then carefully injected the needle into his arm, sending him to sleep, heavily sedated. Le leader Doriot slept, dreaming about righteous racial warfare waged against France’s ancestral Jewish, Marxian Red German foe.
–
December 2nd, 1936
