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Adolf Hitler exhaled deeply as he observed the car carrying Gerda driving off from the window of Johann’s flat

“We’ll need to keep a close eye on her, even if she does have enough brains to realise that my plan is the only chance we have.”

“At this rate we’re going to have to keep a close eye on more people than we have eyes to see with.” Johann remarked, as he picked up a crushed cigarette from his desk and tried to wipe away the dent it had made. Hitler laughed with a wheezy bark.

“Well that won’t do, will it? That’s why tomorrow we’re going to move on every Thalmann associate we know and have them expelled from the party.”

“But you don’t control the Zentrale yet.”

“I will remove the members of the Zentrale who cannot prove their loyalty to the German worker. Yes, and I’ll speak with that Bulgarian lackey of Moscow Dimitrov as well, he’ll be put in his place!”

“Be careful with him, he’s very intelligent by all accounts.”

“Yes, too intelligent to believe the audacity of what I’m planning. Thalmann has the gall to tell him I’m deranged?! I’ll boil up a stew for them that they won’t soon forget!”

Johann recognised the man who had ordered him to burn Castle Wetter to the ground, and for a moment it felt as if the General Secretary was back there with him in that guerilla war.

“I am grateful that you have allowed me to use your apartment for this affair, it’s important that we throw off any potential traitors who may be trying to discern our whereabouts.”

Johann waved the thanks off bashfully, it was about as good a compliment his leader had given him and he wasn’t sure how to react other than with modesty.

“I suppose I wouldn’t be in Berlin if it wasn’t for you.” He finally blurted out

“Yes, I still remember those days in the Ruhr. With us and the French. You were one of the first.” The contemplation seemed to give Hitler a sense of renewed optimism, and he smiled a savage grin that reminded Johann of the one he used to reserve for dying French soldiers.

“I realise that this is not your natural environment but those times will soon change. You used to fly didn’t you?”

“Not for years,” Johann laughed, “There isn’t much call for a Red Front air wing.”

“Soon there will be!” Hitler announced with great relish, “And it will have to be far larger than anything you might have contemplated when you were flying against bands of Freikorps!”

“Soon?” Johann asked with some scepticism.

“Sooner than you might think,” Hitler replied, the calm returning to his voice.

“But first, we need to clear house. Be ready for the call.”

“Always.” Johann raised his fist, but Hitler didn’t return the salute.

“Always?”

“Always, Leader!” Johann shouted out of embarrassment, he still hadn’t got used to that.

Hitler smiled and left with a reminder to be ready for what was to come.

Alone now, Johann returned to what he had been working on the night before. A letter to the journalist he had met at the riot, she had seemed keen to see him again and had given him her name, Eva Braun, an address, and a telephone number of all things. He hadn’t been sure what to do with the phone number but had begun composing a letter in earnest. It had helped to take his mind off events before, but now they seemed to be interfering with his writing skills.

Holding the half-finished letter in his right hand, and the phone number she had given him for her newspaper in the other, Johann suddenly laughed before he headed out towards the telephone kiosk across the street from his flat. What he had to tell her could no longer wait.


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A blonde woman typed away at the proceedings, Dimitrov seemed to recognise her but if she was aware of it she knowed no emotion, merely typing away as the denunciations of the “Thalmann gang” were read out aloud by the stable but seething General Secretary.


Eva focused her eye on the scene in front of her and took the shot, her heart stirred slightly as the camera clicked. She thought about the chance of exclusivity in being able to take pictures of what seemed to be some sort of abortive coup taking place in the Communist Party of Germany. Unlike the previous oustings of party members this coup seemed to be as much about patriotism as it was about ideology, although she was sure that, as with most of these matters, personality was the real motivating factor.

“Ernst Thalmann’s associations with Moscow have attempted to turn this party into nothing more but a branch of the Comintern, an organisation the Communist Party of Germany admires but does not need to be ruled by, hence he is no longer a member of this party, nor are his associates.”

These condemnations were being read out aloud to Georgi Dimitrov, who sat and took the rant in an affected but distant manner, in the same way a man in terrible debt might listen to a friend complain about how they stubbed their toe.

“This does feel like a rather reckless decision Comrade General Secretary, and this public venue makes it seem especially rash, there are reporters here!”

“Only socialist journalists, I’ve been assured.” Eva felt Hitler’s eyes fall on her and she shuddered involuntarily, looking instead at the blonde woman who continued to gaze at Dimitrov with the same curious, dispassionate look. Her eyes met Johann’s and he gave a supportive smile, before continuing to tear possessions out of a set of desk drawers.

“All the same, this matter of links to the Social Democratic Party is rather embarrassing for you, I thought you might wish to have a tad more discretion when explaining yourself.”

Hitler shook his head.

“I’m more than happy to explain myself,” he replied coolly.

“Our concern is the German worker, and whilst we stand in solidarity with the international working class it must be remembered that our goal is to bring the German worker to power, not to act in the interests of Moscow.”

“That is the concern of the Comintern as a whole Comrade Hitler, as you should well know.”

Dimitrov reminded him with a frustrated tone.

“But the Comintern is no longer fit for purpose!”

Dimitrov, who had been almost sedate beforehand, now stirred with an exasperation that matched the scene.

“This is Trotskyism, Social Fascism!” Dimitrov barked back, having seemingly lost his cool at last and compensating for it with an indignant rage.

“This is patriotism! Love of our country and love of the German worker, as Marx intended for it to be! If the Comintern stands in the way of that, then the Communist Party of Germany will no longer associate itself with such agents of obstruction!”

There was an audible gasp at Hitler’s declaration, causing even some of the Red Front members raking through the desks of pro-Thalmann party members to stop momentarily. Eva couldn’t help but feel it was a perfect moment for another photo but before she could get in focus Dimitrov was already up on his feet, and it looked as if the two men might be about to get into a brawl, before the Bulgarian picked up his papers.

“This is insanity.” He muttered audibly, before leaving alongside those Thalmann supporters who had already been ejected from the KPD’s offices.

Hitler stood in silent contemplation for a moment, waiting for silence as his Red Front leapt to attention.

“Comrades, this has been a day of great anguish I admit, but it has been a reckoning that will see our party grow stronger than ever. No longer yoked to the incompetent and out of touch directives from Moscow we shall forge our own path, one in which we shall lead the German worker to triumph!”

There was a cheer that reverberated around the room as Hitler’s momentary rage now became the bombastic joy of a man who had not only survived, but appeared to be redeemed. Eva took another picture of the grinning, leering face and wondered how this would be presented to the outside world.

If the triumph of the German workers was truly beckoning, there would be more than a few people who would take heed of Hitler’s words as a sign that they had to act to put a stop to it.



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Near Brenner, The Future,



Rosa focused her eye on the scene in front of her but in the end she decided not to take the shot. She trusted the sight on her rifle and her own aim, but it was better not to let the Italians know that a German could get this close to them, at least until it was too late.

After all, she was there to survey, not to hunt.

Having taken a few more notes on the Italian position she decided that it was dark enough to slip away, something that was hard to do without attracting attention to herself even with her assorted costume of camouflage and foliage. She had been stuck observing in the same position for several hours and her sudden movements caused to back to give her sharp pains and relief at the same time in an odd mix of protest and satisfaction. Rosa simply ignored the sensations, they were always the same, and worming her way through the clay and mud of the mountain springtime was her sole focus until she could be sure she was out of sight of the enemy that the Rote Armee had been sharing these Alps with for far too long.

There would be a reckoning soon, she assured herself, comforted that she had managed to slide down a ravine without breaking anything. Finally able to stand on two feet without becoming a target, she jogged back towards the German line as quietly as she hoped was possible without having to ditch her cumbersome Vollmer machine gun.

After the strain of returning to her comrades, the red banner of the Hammer, Rifle, and Star was always a comforting sight. Shouting out her allotted codeword she was called over and given a curt nod by the sentry instead of a salute, she might have scolded him for it if they weren’t both aware that salutes were excellent sniper bait. Rosa’s Stabsgefreiter rank allowed her that privilege even if she had heard that to achieve it all you had to do was learn the words to the national anthem.

She had always laughed at such jokes, it meant she wouldn’t have to admit that she tended to hum along when it came to singing Dem Morgenrot Entgegen.

All the same, she had been through her Heeresbergführer training as part of one of the first all-woman classes and at the end she had come out with a rank and an allocated task, one that allowed her to be as close to the frontline as possible even if she would be restricted in what she could actually do to land a blow directly against the International Financier Plot. Scouts carried rifles, even if they weren’t supposed to shoot them. That had been good enough for her.

Walking through the German encampment to make her report she approached a welcoming glow and noticed an artillery crew had made a fire to try and ward off the cold. Their scarlet insignias matched her faces as they tried to keep warm.

“Fanatical or not they’re doomed all the same, when we hit them they’ll either run or get caught up in our barrage and we’ll be in Rome in no time, just wait and see.” One of the artillerywomen was announcing to her comrades with a reassuring optimism. Apparently they had been discussing the rumours that there were Italian mountaineering troops nearby, the dreaded Alpini.

“It’s Milan for me,” one said in a more sing song voice, “wine and risotto in Milan, I’ve been dreaming of that ever since we first reached this muddy wasteland.”

“Milan will be much the same by the time we get there, another complained, the whole country’s falling to bits if the radio is to be believed, and by the time we’ve fought over it we’ll have a crisis on our hands. No Italian waiters to serve you Risotto, just millions of starving people who we’ll need to look after.”

“You’re a bit of a pessimist for a volunteer aren’t you?” Rosa shouted, causing them all to turn suddenly as if the Volksfuhrer himself had suddenly appeared. The Rote Armee was keen to get as many women as possible into roles that would free up men for the front but the law stipulated that they still had to volunteers. It had led to many awkward conversations between devoted patriots and their parents, Rosa’s mother had certainly been one of them, but it usually meant that there was at least good morale when they reached the front.

“I’m not pessimistic Comrade,” She replied with some hesitation, “It’s just that...this war was inevitable, the fascists and imperialists brought us into it, as the Volksfuhrer said they would, and we need to fight it. But that doesn’t mean I have to like war or buy the claptrap that it’s somehow glorious or an opportunity for tourism.” She sought a look at the Milan enthusiast who merely shrugged in response.

“We all have our ways of getting through this war, Comrade.” Rosa retorted wearily as she took off her camouflaged stahlhelm. “We don’t have to pretend we like war but we can take pride in what we’re fighting for. And I have heard that Milan is beautiful.”

“It will be a worker’s city soon!” The initial optimist added.

“And I doubt you’ll get to see it unless you get this fire out right away, remember you’re at the front now. Mosquitoes come at night.” Rosa shifted to her authoritative Not-Quite-NCO tone and one of the artillerywomen reluctantly threw a bucket of dirt over the once-thriving fire.

Soon it was dark and cold once more, the only brightness coming from the headlights of the Kombinant trucks approaching the encampment on their way to the front. Rosa’s fellow Gerbigsjager happily sang Wenn Wir Marschieren in good cheer as they went off to face the enemy in their mechanised flotilla.

Rosa wondered how many of them would be in good spirits after their first round with the Alpini, yet she envied them all the same.


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The painting is The Breakup by Brittni Emery.

I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas!