Since Hobelhouse has decided to put "Franz Ferdinand Had A Much Better Day" on ice, and as MrP has also put "Pour le Coeur" on hiatus, I guess I may as well try my own hand at a "Franz Ferdinand lives" TL. I'm going to need a good deal of help as things go along; I may try "plausibility checks" similar to what acgoldis is doing on his "Hogwarts Exposed Timeline" in the ASB section. So, here goes...
JUNE 28, 1914
SUNDAY MORNING
THE INTERSECTION OF FRANZ-JOSEF STREET AND APPEL QUAY
SARAJEVO, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA, AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN EMPIRE
Gavrilo Princip could hardly believe his luck. He'd been standing disconsolately outside a tavern next to a big cardboard cutout of a liqueur bottle when the motorcade carrying the Thronfolger, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, rattled by. One of his confederates, Nedjelko Cabrinovic, had thrown a bomb at the Archduke's car, but as far as Princip could tell, it had had no result, and the rest of his wretched "Young Bosnia" associates had literally done nothing. He had been glumly wondering if he should just step inside the bar and get drunk while trying to figure out how to avoid the police...
To his delight, the big motorcar carrying the Archduke, the military governor of the province, and several others, suddenly turned onto Franz-Josef Street, following the car carrying the mayor of Sarajevo. The governor - General Oskar Potoriek, the conspiracy's #2 target - was yelling something at the chauffeur about going the wrong way. The fellow stopped the car right in front of Princip, who saw his golden opportunity and grabbed for his Belgian-made Browning automatic.
As he looked for a clear field of fire, the would-be assassin found himself looking straight into the puzzled dark eyes of Sophie, the Duchess of Hohenberg, Franz Ferdinand's wife. Princip, rattled by the unexpected sight, hesitated for a moment, warring with his residual chivalric inclinations...and you know what they say about those who hesitate.
As Princip steadied himself and took aim, a plainclothes detective who had been standing a few feet behind him grabbed the young man. The detective, in turn, was kneed in the groin by another "Young Bosnia" supporter (not in on Princip's group, incidentally). The policeman grunted in pain and fell heavily against Gavrilo Princip just as, with his face averted, he fired his pistol.
Two shots cracked.
Silence for a brief instant, and then a cacophony of shouts and screams. General Potoriek doubled over in agony, clutching at his left side, and the chauffeur (one Leopold Loyka) yelled as well, grabbing at his right arm. Sophie barely had time to gasp before Franz Ferdinand grabbed her, covering her with his own body and shouting to his suite in the motorcars just behind his for help. Count Harrach, who as it happened owned the car and who had been standing on the running board next to the Archduke to provide some bodily shielding, clambered back into the car and gently eased the wounded Loyka aside, as Franz Ferdinand's chamberlain, Baron Morsey, and several others clustered around General Potoriek. Harrach looked back at the Archduke. "We're getting out of here, Your Highness!" he shouted, working the vehicle's gears frantically.
"Good, good - get us back to the Konak, right now! We have wounded!" barked Franz Ferdinand, still cradling his frightened wife protectively. He looked down at the Duchess and spared a brief tender moment. "Are you all right, Sopherl?" he asked softly. Sophie nodded, a bit shakily. "I feel faint but I'll be all right, Franzi. What in heaven's name happened?" The Archduke shook his head grimly. "More fanatics. I knew I should have followed my first idea and wrapped up the tour last night." He snorted a brief burst of sardonic laughter. "At this rate, we really are going to end up with a bomb on the Viribus Unitis on the way home!"
Harrach got the car into gear after what seemed an eternity but was really only a few seconds, and the motorcade rattled hurriedly across the Latein Bridge, making for the Konak with its precious - and living - cargo. Behind it, chaos reigned at the intersection as police, soldiers and civilians milled around, some of them trying to beat Princip up while others tried to arrest him and yet others tried to restore order among the frightened spectators...
JUNE 28, 1914
SUNDAY MORNING
THE INTERSECTION OF FRANZ-JOSEF STREET AND APPEL QUAY
SARAJEVO, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA, AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN EMPIRE
Gavrilo Princip could hardly believe his luck. He'd been standing disconsolately outside a tavern next to a big cardboard cutout of a liqueur bottle when the motorcade carrying the Thronfolger, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, rattled by. One of his confederates, Nedjelko Cabrinovic, had thrown a bomb at the Archduke's car, but as far as Princip could tell, it had had no result, and the rest of his wretched "Young Bosnia" associates had literally done nothing. He had been glumly wondering if he should just step inside the bar and get drunk while trying to figure out how to avoid the police...
To his delight, the big motorcar carrying the Archduke, the military governor of the province, and several others, suddenly turned onto Franz-Josef Street, following the car carrying the mayor of Sarajevo. The governor - General Oskar Potoriek, the conspiracy's #2 target - was yelling something at the chauffeur about going the wrong way. The fellow stopped the car right in front of Princip, who saw his golden opportunity and grabbed for his Belgian-made Browning automatic.
As he looked for a clear field of fire, the would-be assassin found himself looking straight into the puzzled dark eyes of Sophie, the Duchess of Hohenberg, Franz Ferdinand's wife. Princip, rattled by the unexpected sight, hesitated for a moment, warring with his residual chivalric inclinations...and you know what they say about those who hesitate.
As Princip steadied himself and took aim, a plainclothes detective who had been standing a few feet behind him grabbed the young man. The detective, in turn, was kneed in the groin by another "Young Bosnia" supporter (not in on Princip's group, incidentally). The policeman grunted in pain and fell heavily against Gavrilo Princip just as, with his face averted, he fired his pistol.
Two shots cracked.
Silence for a brief instant, and then a cacophony of shouts and screams. General Potoriek doubled over in agony, clutching at his left side, and the chauffeur (one Leopold Loyka) yelled as well, grabbing at his right arm. Sophie barely had time to gasp before Franz Ferdinand grabbed her, covering her with his own body and shouting to his suite in the motorcars just behind his for help. Count Harrach, who as it happened owned the car and who had been standing on the running board next to the Archduke to provide some bodily shielding, clambered back into the car and gently eased the wounded Loyka aside, as Franz Ferdinand's chamberlain, Baron Morsey, and several others clustered around General Potoriek. Harrach looked back at the Archduke. "We're getting out of here, Your Highness!" he shouted, working the vehicle's gears frantically.
"Good, good - get us back to the Konak, right now! We have wounded!" barked Franz Ferdinand, still cradling his frightened wife protectively. He looked down at the Duchess and spared a brief tender moment. "Are you all right, Sopherl?" he asked softly. Sophie nodded, a bit shakily. "I feel faint but I'll be all right, Franzi. What in heaven's name happened?" The Archduke shook his head grimly. "More fanatics. I knew I should have followed my first idea and wrapped up the tour last night." He snorted a brief burst of sardonic laughter. "At this rate, we really are going to end up with a bomb on the Viribus Unitis on the way home!"
Harrach got the car into gear after what seemed an eternity but was really only a few seconds, and the motorcade rattled hurriedly across the Latein Bridge, making for the Konak with its precious - and living - cargo. Behind it, chaos reigned at the intersection as police, soldiers and civilians milled around, some of them trying to beat Princip up while others tried to arrest him and yet others tried to restore order among the frightened spectators...
