alternatehistory.com

The city was a half-ruin and even weeks after the battle that had unfolded the efforts of Hamburg’s citizens were still aimed towards recovery. In this regard they were being assisted by many former Reichswehr soldiers. Many of those who had been captured during the advances of the People’s Guard were being made to work to repair the damage their comrades had caused.

Such was the official line, the great fires that engulfed Hamburg’s docks and subsequently spread to much of the city centre were the cause of the Reichsmarine; a petulant and spiteful atrocity brought about by them burning their own ships in the face of being driven back by the workers of Hamburg and finding themselves trapped up river. It was a fascinating story but if one were to ponder some of its finer points, or indeed speak to anyone directly involved, the details became hazy. The surviving Reichsmarine and Reichsheer personnel working on the repairs didn’t want to talk about it at all.

Many Reichswehr personnel had been brought to Hamburg to help in the repairs, an initiative which seemed to deliver a certain catharsis for the civilian population who had survived the attack and the resultant fires. Others, however, were here of their own volition, trying to make amends and to find a place for themselves in the new reality while doing so

Peter Klompf leant on the shovel as he wiped his brow, despite the temperature and how many layers he was wearing the exertion was still causing him to sweat. He had been provided with civilian clothes and a heavy coat when he first arrived in Hamburg and had to acquire more since. His boots were the only thing retained from his old Reichswehr uniform and he was happy for them, standing in several inches of mud and clay amidst a shallow trench. Repairing the water supply had been made the top priority of those involved in the rebuilding of the city. People were still having to queue with buckets in the freezing cold at pump hydrants. Whilst they waited they could at least look upon the Reichswehr personnel working at the problem and satisfy themselves that someone had it worse.

These former soldiers were being kept in the Fuhlsbuettel prison which despite having had many of its former anarchist and communist inhabitants released in the opening days of the city’s takeover was now reportedly cramped far beyond capacity. Johann didn’t want to dwell on it too much. Rehousing was a problem for thousands in the aftermath of the fires and the requisitioning of many bourgeois properties that had previously been left alone had reminded Peter of what happened to his own family during the Bavarian Soviet when he was just a child. His own present situation could have been worse, Klaus’ story of them both being diehard communists with links to Soviet intelligence had paid off and in return for their information on Reichswehr troop movements and armoured warfare they were instead being billeted in a cosy guesthouse within the city.

They had continued their reading group with just the two of them when they could and Klaus had been insistent on them both officially joining the Communist Party at the first opportunity. Peter had done so gladly, even if there was something off about the General Secretary that he couldn’t quite place. It had felt like a release after warily reading left-wing literature under the noses of their superiors in the tank school. Now, to be amongst Hamburg’s citizenry who were sticking together in the face of adversity and building a better society amongst them; it seemed the world envisioned by the texts they were reading was unfolding in front of them.

Klaus had gone a step further, agreeing to record radio broadcasts and write leaflets for the United Front’s elaborate propaganda network and to involve himself ever more closely with the People’s Guard. In this Peter wasn’t too happy to play along, he wasn’t sure if he’d been built to be a soldier and wasn’t the best suited to speeches either. He preferred to work in a way his upbringing hadn’t allowed him to do, a proper day's work in rebuilding the city where he could rest easy at the end of the day having made a positive material difference in front of him. Propaganda and military staff work were far more ephemeral and in regards to the latter, he would have been terrified of his parents finding out.

Peter’s parents had despised Communists ever since they had forced them to have destitute people sleep in their home during the tense time of the Bavarian Soviet. It seemed they were safe from a similar fate for now; the nearest People’s Guard units were still only at the outskirts of Bavaria but he was sure they would be panicking already without having to know their son had joined the expropriators.

That said, the news of the blackshirts turning on Von Schleicher made him more confident in justifying his decision to them when the time came. He had been fighting for the wrong cause and if they thought otherwise he could point to the fact that this way he was liable to have influence on whoever might want to have their house occupied or his father's business seized. That was if the business, and the house still existed when this was all over.

He put such thoughts out of his mind and got ready to return to the laying of new water pipes.

“That’s no job for an officer.” Peter looked up to face the heckler.

His friend Klaus stood there decked out in his new People’s Guard uniform. Has clearly quite chuffed with himself. He did seem to look the part with his muscled figure, angular face and straight jaw even if his untidy mop of brown hair looked more like it would fitting on a Marxist academic. The combination of the uniform from the world war and the republican armband made Peter think back once again to the militias of the Bavarian Soviet who had used troops who had returned from Belgium to move down and outs into his family home.

“Pretty good, eh?”

“Not bad, here’s hoping you aren’t wearing this one the next time you decide to burst into flames.” Peter jeered back.

“Very good...” Klaus responded absentmindedly, perhaps trying to put the thought of what had happened in Lehrte out of his mind.

“You’re from Munich right?”

“Born and bred, how come?” Peter wondered if Klaus had somehow read his mind.

“There’s something you’re going to want to hear,” Without explaining further Klaus beckoned Peter to a cafe that was still barely standing. No drinks were being served but it still had a radio set and provided an outlet for workers to rest amidst the rebuilding. However all of them were now gathered around the radio attentively. Peter gathered that whatever was on must have been important but as Klaus and he nestled themselves amongst the group it quickly became clear they weren’t listening to Radio Einheitsfront. If anything it seemed to be the reverse.

A regal albeit grizzled voice was decrying the United Front, condemning their contempt for the existing legal procedures and harkening back to the Bavarian Soviet Republic and similar revolts, casting allusions to the Soviet Union.

“Have you ever heard of Crown Prince Rupprecht?” Klaus murmured.

“Of course, he was the son of the last King of Bavaria, is that him speaking?”

Peter had vague memories of being taken to the King’s funeral when he was a boy. He had never seen the streets of Munich so crowded. At the time he hadn’t really understood why there couldn’t be a new King to replace him. Wasn’t there a Prince? His father had blamed Communists for this as he was wont to do but also explained that although there was a Prince he didn’t want to become King just now but that was alright because he was also a war hero and had a lot of work to do.

“Apparently so,”

“I thought using the radio for propaganda was only a United Front thing?”

“Not anymore it seems, he said he’s broadcasting from your hometown. He’s really letting us have it.”

Us, the assumed identity of a revolutionary republican was still somewhat jarring to Peter, particularly when he knew his father would undoubtedly be applauding the Crown Prince’s speech if he were listening

“What did you expect?” Peter responded indifferently, trying to cover his anxiety with disinterest.

“No, that’s not the point, he’s letting Hohenzollern have it too,” Peter raised an eyebrow and continued the listen, understanding why Klaus had been so intrigued. The condemnation of the United Front continued for a while but then the Crown Prince did indeed start rallying against what he was decrying as ‘Prussian chauvinism:’



“The empire of Bismarck was one of allied states and therein lay its strength. The attempt of a Prussian monarch to impose his authority over the Bavarian state represents the same tyrannical encroachment coming from Hamburg.

We are Bavarians, we are accustomed to think in centuries of our history and act in the interests of the Bavarian people. That means acting also in resisting the imposition of the foreign yoke of ephemeral ideals upon the Bavarian soil. We are opposed to the centralising tyrannies of Berlin and Hamburg and thus we elect to disassociate ourselves from both of these states.”



“What the hell is he banging on about?” One of those sat around the radio set complained. Others began to agree before being shushed by Klaus, his uniform helping to impose silence.



“On behalf of the Bavarian people, in accordance with the stated will of their representatives in the Bavarian Landtag and of the Bavarian Minister-President, I am announcing today the reestablishment of the Kingdom of Bavaria with myself as regent until such a time, God willing, sanity returns to our German brothers. Until that time I implore all Bavarians to pledge their loyalty to their homeland and take up arms only in its defence.

This is indeed a moment anchored in our history. Today, we look forward to the time when this moment will be seen as a turning point: the day when democracy was renewed in Bavaria, when we revitalised our Kingdom.”



“Did he just say Bavaria was leaving Germany?” The man who had been complaining about the Crown Prince’s vague language seemed to have cottoned to what he was saying.

“Good riddance,” another of the group sneered, “bunch of bumpkins and papists. They might not want a German Mussolini but they don’t seem to mind taking orders from Rome.”

Whether it was the anxiety of his thoughts of home, or the confusion of what the Crown Prince had said, Peter grabbed the man from the back of his collar and grabbed him up off of his seat near the radio. Before the man could react Peter had him slammed against the doorway.

“I’m as German as you are my friend but if you have such a distaste for Catholics I’d advise you get back to work.” With that Peter shoved him out of the door. The man nearly lost his balance but recovered it and glared for a moment but then sheepishly went back to the trench. Peter stepped back in to see Kalus had already taken the man’s seat.

“It’s a bluff.” his friend remarked whilst passing around a pack of cigarettes to the assembled listeners, the Crown Prince having now been replaced with a choral version of the Bayernhymne on the radio. “There’s been chaos in Baden ever since Hohezollern’s coup, and things aren’t much better in Thuringia. We’re on the march in both directions and the more chaos he sows in front of Bavaria the more he can disrupt our advance to buy him time.”

“Time for what?” The confused man from before now asked.

“Who knows, a settlement between ourselves and the Reichswehr? More autonomy after the revolution? Maybe he even wants to replace Hohenzollern. His ancestors have been kings of Germany beyond just Bavaria before. All I know is, it’s a play, “this momentous time in history” is just the usual royal self-indulgence.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Well, that means Klompf here could be arrested on suspicion of being a foreign agent after all.” The listeners turned to laugh and Peter was relieved to see it was more jovial than the contempt the man he had escorted outside had displayed. Peter smiled and took a cigarette.

Inside any certainties he had reached were currently unravelling.

All this time he had worried of being disowned by his family, now his homeland had done it for them.


---



The painting is The Soldier Drinks by Marc Chagall