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The studio executives office was large but the gathering of so many people within it had made it a claustrophobic and stuffy experience. It would have been worse if it weren’t for the dark December night outside. One person received the gathering’s attention, he who had extra space behind the executive's desk and one of the few chairs in the room, playing with a radio nestled around several awards that didn’t belong to him.


“This is the voice of free Germany, bringing you the news from the fronts in the fight against tyranny.

After several weeks of fighting, Leipzig has been liberated and its workers and citizens now celebrate. Earlier this morning the fascist forces were driven from the eastern outskirts of the city in flight at the victorious march of the People’s Guard whose troops comprise many of the city’s inhabitants. From Hamburg, Chief of the Workers and Citizens Defence Council Hans Kahle announced that the final victory in Leipzig belonged to its people, much as the final victory over the tyranny of the so-called Third Reich shall soo-”

The bullish, defiant declarations were brought to an end by the Crown Prince turning off the radio, leaving a troubled silence amongst his would-be court.
“That message, gentlemen, has been playing hourly since this afternoon.”

“Surely we can’t trust Bolshevik propaganda, Excellency?” Hermann Goering spluttered.

“I’ve been listening to the Bolsheviks in Hamburg for some weeks now Goering, and though they dress everything up they’ve never lied about a specific military matter. Neither does Von Schleicher I suppose, he merely keeps us in the dark.”

“The Chancellor certainly does seem to have retreated into his own world lately,” Mused Alfred Von Hugenburg, who owned the Babelsberg film studio in which this meeting of minds was now gathered. Hugenburg’s German National People’s Party had been more tangentially involved in Von Schleicher’s coup than the Crown Prince and his Volkisch Bund but their Stahlhelm militia had fought alongside the Blackshirts in pacifying the Marxist parties all the same. With all filming at the studios postponed amidst the ongoing conflict the studio made a handy barracks for both parties and a place on the outskirts of Berlin for the party leaders to meet away from prying eyes.

“Perhaps we help remind him of the promises he made to our parties,” Goering grumbled frustratedly, rubbing his fingers over the scars of his previously burst knuckles, “liven up the streets a bit like we did in the Summer, show him we’re still here and we mean business.”

“No we tried the show of strength approach before and it only caused Von Schleicher to try and curry favour with the foreign embassies and pursue quick victory strategies. And where has that gotten our cause? The Reicshmarine devastated, our enemy consolidated and strengthened, he burned the best Reichswehr divisions in trying to regain control of our railways and wherever they were victorious they had to retreat due to these new enemy advances!”

The Crown Prince smacked the radio sending it flying off the desk.The assorted figures gathered around the desk flinched to avoid the lumpy box flying onto the floor. He was breathing heavily and saw the alarm caused by his lack of restraint, even in the faces of his adherents.

He closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, repeating a mantra to himself internally.

Calm, composed, regal.

He opened his eyes again.

“It is increasingly clear to me,” He went on, his usual tranquil manner having returned, “that Von Schleicher never intended to make me anything more than a figurehead and he likely would have dispensed with the Volkisch Bund altogether in order to appease the progressive and Jewish elements. At any rate he is now leading us down to the road to defeat. By sticking with him we are rallying our banners to a lost cause.”

“It is a grim picture you paint, excellency.” Goering's gaunt face sulked, his sharp features now casting shadows.

“Yes but one of opportunity,” The Crown Prince now beamed, “we have word that Von Schleicher is preparing to send the majority of Reichswehr troops stationed in Berlin out of the city to help shore up the disintegrating front in Thuringia. I have told him we will gather our own Blackshirts so they can also be deployed as auxiliary units to hold the line. We can use these activities to mask a consolidation of our forces and then march on Berlin after there is only a skeleton force left to oppose us. I will then declare my accession to the throne and you men shall at last join me in saving Germany.”

“But Von Schleicher already suspects you are plotting against him.” Hugenberg argued. The Crown Prince shuddered at the thought, perhaps the theatrics outside of the Reichstag hadn’t been a good idea, “Surely he wouldn’t allow such a force to march anywhere other than where he expressly wants it to go?”

“That is correct Hugenberg but consider this; he genuinely believes the Reichswehr is the basis for the Germany he wants to build and the Volkisch Bund units must be under Reichswehr control and supervision. But Von Schleicher does not micromanage the institution he adores like he perhaps should have. For he is not the only Reichswehr man I chose to rely upon.”

The Crown Prince looked through the gathering.

“Isn’t that correct Generalmajor Waegner?”

Generalmajor Otto Waegner emerged from the crowd of blackshirts in civilian dress but with an equally determined look on his face.

“You are at my Command excellency, as it was with your father. I can assure you that you can rely on the support of many within the Black Reichswehr.”

For the last decade the Black Reichswehr had been the trick up the German sleeve, a secret army that circumvented the limitations imposed on Germany by the Treaty of Versailles. It was almost three times as large as the official number of Reichswehr troops and had finally been unleashed in the opening stages of the civil war. It officially did not exist but its size had made it hard to keep hidden and so it had remained an open secret amongst the German establishment with the acknowledgement that any journalist or left-wing politician who called too much attention to it in public would be made an example of to anyone else thinking about changing the status quo. This secrecy and subterfuge had helped the organisation to maintain the reactionary fervour of its Freikorps forebears and Waegner was an excellent testament to that. He had drifted away from the drunken brawling of the original Volkisch Bund to pursue real change in the Black Reichswehr and now he was perfectly placed to facilitate such action. The Crown Prince didn’t have much time for the man’s bizarre economic theories but he knew he could count on his loyalty.

“The Generalmajor can arrange himself to be responsible for the transfer, the Black Reichswehr was always an ugly secret even to those who held it dearly. Von Schleicher doesn’t suspect him and will leave the matter in his hands. He will lead our march into Berlin alongside Chancellor Goering and myself. Of course I shall need a Minister President of the Prussian state, Hugenberg, and if you accept you will march at my side also.”

Hugenberg did not immediately react, he was a businessman and used to such negotiations.

“It is not just a matter of my loyalty excellency, even if you were to secure Berlin, the Stahlhelm and your Blackshirts cannot defeat the People’s Guard and the Reichswehr on their own. Even if we presume the Generalmajor can bring the Black Reichswehr over to our side, I can’t help but fear this plan leaves Von Schleicher and ourselves weakening each other with the Bolsheviks slaughtering whichever of us is left.”

The Crown Prince disdained Hugenberg's cynicism but it was to be expected, such men loved only money and though they might mould their politics to suit it, at the end of the day they believed in nothing other than what they could see in their balance book. Of course the plan seemed a suicidal move to such a man but vanity, vanity was universal. And who better to manipulate a man’s vanity than a royal?

“Your loyalty is paramount!” The Crown Prince exclaimed jovillay. “My father caused much consternation when he first became Emperor but he resolved that with three letters. One each to the army and the navy and one to the Prussian people. Now Hugenberg, your media empire, if I can update those letters to the Reichswehr and Reichsmarine, and the German people, we can carry out the same effect. Wouldn’t that be correct? I don’t have much understanding of these matters, only that you and your peers would be capable of such a thing.”

The media mogul smiled at the thought.

“Well the logistics of such an operation would be difficult but, then again, we wouldn’t have Von Schleicher to constrain us at the very least.” Hugenberg thought out loud, “with all my resources I suppose it could convince the Reichswehr to come over en masse to us. Perhaps even gain us some funding from monarchists and conservatives who have erstwhile been wary of Von Schleicher’s rule. However-”

The plea to the main’s ego was working, the Crown Prince wouldn’t allow it to slip now.

“We have no other choice, Hugenberg, this is our only option now. We need the Stahlhelm to stand with us and we need your media control. If you think it is doable then you are indeed essential and the decision rests in your hands. Will you see us defeated? Led astray by Von Schleicher and eventually delivered up to the Bolsheviks and their fellow tribespeople? Or will you let your belief and love of your nation guide you? For what it once was, and what it can be again, what say you Hugenberg?”

The portly man raised himself out of the disgustingly modernist Wassily chair and raised his right hand towards the darkened sky.

“Hoch der Kaiser!”

The men gathered around him followed.

“Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!”


The Crown Prince sat back and revelled in the moment. The court was established and all his at last.


“Gentlemen, the time has come to put heaven and hell in motion.”


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The photomontage is War and corpses - The last hope of the rich by John Heartfield