Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
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Will be interesting, especially where Hitler will get the various strategies and so on needed. Austria is at a major disadvatange compared to Germany of OTL so it will be interesting to see how this will be done.Constructive criticism is always welcome
The community that follows Der Kampf has been very helpful in terms of ideas, flags and so on. Great group we have here.
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I'm intrigued to see what happens in Asia that leads to the British and Japanese being on warring terms by 1940. So it'll be the Germans with the Chinese. I imagine this will worry the Americans. Soviet approach to Asia will be definitely something to be seen. I imagine Korea wouldn't remain a Japanese colony and when the dust settles from the war. Hence me picturing Korea under the Americans' protection.
Looking forward to seeing this and the various curveballs to be thrown.
I brought up the habsburgs a while ago, maybe Karl could survive ITTL. OTL, he died of pneumonia in the 20's during his exile, he tried to end the war early and is up for a sainthood.
I can’t imagine the Dole Plane Race will be butterflied except in yet more hilarity, but perhaps Lindbergh vanishes and Earhart lives?
Personally I think the Sozinats shoudnt end like the Nazis with a total invasion but instead a coup or civil war by perhaps the Habsburgs. This leads to Sozinatism still remaining viable in the future unlike Fascism
Austria has far less of everything so it has to be very careful and methodical.
I have some plans on how they’ll even things out and not get overstretched (at least initially)
Hmm, I like the idea of Karl staying around. I will say the Hapsburgs will be anti-Sozinat and Hitler is anti-Hapsburg, but he will voice pro-monarchical sentiment if it gets him support but it will be paper thin and if he ever envisioned a return of the Hapsburgs they will be figureheads only.
That would be a nice change of pace for sure. Could be. I do want to spice up the world and give it a different flair and not be the exact same as OTL but do want that progression and development be natural in-universe.
I’ll need to give these a read/watch.
Correct, they will be anti-Sozinat.
That remains to be seen. I have the overarching plan figured out, but as I’ve said feedback and critique can alter that ending slightly.
It will have more members than OTL.
It will have at least 10 members, with other potentials if you include puppet/client states.
That’s gonna be nuts, though Id suspect it’d be mainly Central and Southern Europe for this...
Them being the symbol of resistance movements was brought up in the thread before, maybe have them reside in UK, France or the US, maybe that's how Karl would survive, simply not being in the place where he got pneumonia. The allies use the Habsburgs as propaganda, maybe restoring them after an allied victory to help with stability and denazification, or whatever the term would be ittl.
Here's a video on Otto during ww2, might help with inspiration.
I'd also suggest checking out his War on Humanity series and the biography videos he does on both his ww2 and ww1 channels, might help find interesting figures that you didn't know about.
Correct. And even though more members than OTL doesn’t necessarily mean stronger Axis, just different.
Thank you!
Maybe the Germans will invent a transmission that doesn't just commit suicide and actually works reliably.
Yeah, and I imagine it will be interesting to see the Allies involved, the different USSR tactics and so on in the future.
Same to you! Get some rest and let's make 2021 a better year. Gotta do what we can and then some
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
A Final Breath
Italian Front
Kingdom of Italy
June 1918
A Final Breath
Italian Front
Kingdom of Italy
June 1918
Jakob Kuhr sat there miserable in the morning dark of the 15th of June, waiting. He was cold and hungry. The hundreds of Austro-Hungarian men surrounding him on either side felt the same, voicing their discomfort in a half-dozen languages of which Kuhr only knew German. Yet despite these discomforts, there was a murmur of energy, a fervent, albeit desperate, belief that this offensive would knock Italy out of the war. Kuhr had heard that this all-out frontal assault on the Italian positions along the Piave River was hoped, if proven to be the victory Colonel-General Straußenburg hoped it would be, to be the leverage the Empire would use at the negotiation table when the Great War ended.
It was obvious to nearly all, even Kuhr who privately admitted he was not the most informed of men as he was a mere private, that the war was in its final stage. Germany’s Spring Offensive, once hoped to be the knockout offensive that would end the stalemate on the Western Front and take France out of the war, had bogged down after limited gains, the casualties reaching catastrophic heights. It had become clear to many within the Central Powers that defeat would soon arrive, on the coattails of American troops who were being shipped to Europe in their tens of thousands alongside a truly massive flow of supplies and money to stiffen the resolve of the war-weary Entente nations.
Austro-Hungary, failed by the arrogant Germans, was now at death’s door. It was believed that if there was one grand victory, one final push against the Italian foe, then they would collapse as had several of their governments had since their entry into the war. Austro-Hungarian soldiers would then occupy northeastern Italy and force them to sue for peace. Once the Italians were finished many within the encampment muttered, it was thought this would be enough for a ‘peace with honor’ to be created and signed, ending the war that had cost Austro-Hungary so dearly in treasure and lives.
Personally, Kuhr thought it was all nonsense. The aristocrats and the officers did only what they did to save their own wealth and status, regardless of the cost it had against the common man. His comrades and friends were bleeding and dying in the mountainous geography of the old foe while those who commanded him sipped wine near a warm fireplace. Kuhr was nothing but a number to them, a part of a flag denoting soldiers to be pushed to and fro across a map. He was a faceless soldier, a cog in the machine for their wars.
What was this war fought for? Who was it fought for? Propaganda said it was to avenge the murdered Archduke, but Kuhr remembered few caring about the heir apparent, his ideas of reformation seeming radical. Was it fought for national prestige? Was such an umbrella term worth the millions dead, especially for an empire so divided and lacking in leadership? No, he thought not.
Was it for the everyday man and woman, the children growing up in this confusing world at war? No, it never had been and never will, not so long the bluebloods and their lackeys remained in power.
It had to be for something, Kuhr thought darkly. For if it was all for nothing then all the dead, the dying and the maimed suffered in this war would have done so for nothing.
No, it had to mean something. This war was fought for the people, the Austrian Germans and the lesser races under our protection, he thought. It is for them, Kuhr decided. But not because that’s what the propagandists declared but because it was what he believed.
He had to.
Kuhr looked up at Rudolf. He was an older man, a cobbler from some small village in South Tyrol, just a few kilometers from Kuhr’s own home of Bruneck. The kind man, his mustache going gray, offered a bowl from the steaming pot of soup on the small fire in between them.
“Eat, you’ll need your strength. It’ll start soon,” Rudolf said, referring to the offensive to start in less than an hour.
Kuhr accepted the soup eagerly, spooning it into his mouth quickly.
“What do you think it’ll be like?” Kuhr asked.
“Hmm?”
“Victory. What do you think it’ll feel like?”
Rudolf looked into the fire between them. “You think we’ll win?”
“Of course,” he said immediately, “We have to. For the empire and our people.” All the buried dead should not, would not, have died in useless vain with a victor’s laurels. At least the bitterness would not be as deep.
Rudolf shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter who wins in the end, Jakob. We soldiers are just pawns in the games of others. I just want to go home to my daughter and grandchildren. Rebuild the life I put on hold.”
Kuhr was silent at that. He remembered Rudolf receiving a letter last year from his daughter informing him that his wife, her mother, had died of influenza, her already malnourished body unable to fight off the infection. Later, he learned that his son-in-law died in combat several weeks later in Russia. Now he had a widowed child and a wife who had been buried while he was away at war.
Kuhr remembered Rudolf withdrawing into himself for several weeks, his words few and bitter. He had come out of that depression, but instead of anger at the Italians for keeping him from home, the Russians for killing his son-in-law, or the ineffective imperial government for getting Austro-Hungary entangled in a war it simply was not ready to fight, at least not on the scale the Great War had grown into, he was simply tired, rife with despair.
Rudolf wanted the war to end and go back home. But Kuhr… he had nothing but the Common Army. Before the war he had been a penniless uneducated drifter who moved from job to job in Bruneck, ever restless, much to the annoyance of his family. To Kuhr, the war was both the greatest and worst thing to happen to him. He loved what the Army represented, the camaraderie but he despised the leadership and the defeats and lack of success that had plagued Austria-Hungary since the first shots were fired.
Supposedly a Great Power, Austro-Hungary had proven to the world to be a paper tiger. The Ottomans might have been the sick man of Europe, but Austro-Hungary was the frail giant of the Balkans.
“You’ll see, Rudolf, we’ll win this war. All the lives lost would have meant something. We’ll be the victors, you’ll see.”
“Victor over ashes is no victor at all.”
Kuhr was going to retort but the sound of thunder followed by a piercing wail of incoming artillery shells interrupted him.
“Get down!” Kuhr yelled, echoing what dozens of others were screaming, scrambling for nearby trenches or foxholes placed throughout the camp for defense and to act as some form of protection from artillery bombardments. Kuhr got up but stumbled over his helmet, falling to the ground, hissing in pain at a sprained ankle.
Rudolf grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up, herding him to the nearest trench. Shells were hitting nearby, throwing dirt and bodies into the air.
At the lip of the trench, a shell impacted nearby, throwing dirt and shrapnel over them. Kuhr landed on top of another Common Army trooper, who cursed as Kuhr fell on him.
“Rudolf,” he said, turning onto his back to thank the man who saved his life, “th-“
He stopped. Rudolf’s body laid down on the lip of the trench, his head faced downward onto the ground. The back of his head was a ruined mess, blood and brains leaking out.
“No…” anguish filled his voice. But the sorrow was lost amidst the storm of steel and fire landing amongst them.
It was obvious to nearly all, even Kuhr who privately admitted he was not the most informed of men as he was a mere private, that the war was in its final stage. Germany’s Spring Offensive, once hoped to be the knockout offensive that would end the stalemate on the Western Front and take France out of the war, had bogged down after limited gains, the casualties reaching catastrophic heights. It had become clear to many within the Central Powers that defeat would soon arrive, on the coattails of American troops who were being shipped to Europe in their tens of thousands alongside a truly massive flow of supplies and money to stiffen the resolve of the war-weary Entente nations.
Austro-Hungary, failed by the arrogant Germans, was now at death’s door. It was believed that if there was one grand victory, one final push against the Italian foe, then they would collapse as had several of their governments had since their entry into the war. Austro-Hungarian soldiers would then occupy northeastern Italy and force them to sue for peace. Once the Italians were finished many within the encampment muttered, it was thought this would be enough for a ‘peace with honor’ to be created and signed, ending the war that had cost Austro-Hungary so dearly in treasure and lives.
Personally, Kuhr thought it was all nonsense. The aristocrats and the officers did only what they did to save their own wealth and status, regardless of the cost it had against the common man. His comrades and friends were bleeding and dying in the mountainous geography of the old foe while those who commanded him sipped wine near a warm fireplace. Kuhr was nothing but a number to them, a part of a flag denoting soldiers to be pushed to and fro across a map. He was a faceless soldier, a cog in the machine for their wars.
What was this war fought for? Who was it fought for? Propaganda said it was to avenge the murdered Archduke, but Kuhr remembered few caring about the heir apparent, his ideas of reformation seeming radical. Was it fought for national prestige? Was such an umbrella term worth the millions dead, especially for an empire so divided and lacking in leadership? No, he thought not.
Was it for the everyday man and woman, the children growing up in this confusing world at war? No, it never had been and never will, not so long the bluebloods and their lackeys remained in power.
It had to be for something, Kuhr thought darkly. For if it was all for nothing then all the dead, the dying and the maimed suffered in this war would have done so for nothing.
No, it had to mean something. This war was fought for the people, the Austrian Germans and the lesser races under our protection, he thought. It is for them, Kuhr decided. But not because that’s what the propagandists declared but because it was what he believed.
He had to.
Kuhr looked up at Rudolf. He was an older man, a cobbler from some small village in South Tyrol, just a few kilometers from Kuhr’s own home of Bruneck. The kind man, his mustache going gray, offered a bowl from the steaming pot of soup on the small fire in between them.
“Eat, you’ll need your strength. It’ll start soon,” Rudolf said, referring to the offensive to start in less than an hour.
Kuhr accepted the soup eagerly, spooning it into his mouth quickly.
“What do you think it’ll be like?” Kuhr asked.
“Hmm?”
“Victory. What do you think it’ll feel like?”
Rudolf looked into the fire between them. “You think we’ll win?”
“Of course,” he said immediately, “We have to. For the empire and our people.” All the buried dead should not, would not, have died in useless vain with a victor’s laurels. At least the bitterness would not be as deep.
Rudolf shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter who wins in the end, Jakob. We soldiers are just pawns in the games of others. I just want to go home to my daughter and grandchildren. Rebuild the life I put on hold.”
Kuhr was silent at that. He remembered Rudolf receiving a letter last year from his daughter informing him that his wife, her mother, had died of influenza, her already malnourished body unable to fight off the infection. Later, he learned that his son-in-law died in combat several weeks later in Russia. Now he had a widowed child and a wife who had been buried while he was away at war.
Kuhr remembered Rudolf withdrawing into himself for several weeks, his words few and bitter. He had come out of that depression, but instead of anger at the Italians for keeping him from home, the Russians for killing his son-in-law, or the ineffective imperial government for getting Austro-Hungary entangled in a war it simply was not ready to fight, at least not on the scale the Great War had grown into, he was simply tired, rife with despair.
Rudolf wanted the war to end and go back home. But Kuhr… he had nothing but the Common Army. Before the war he had been a penniless uneducated drifter who moved from job to job in Bruneck, ever restless, much to the annoyance of his family. To Kuhr, the war was both the greatest and worst thing to happen to him. He loved what the Army represented, the camaraderie but he despised the leadership and the defeats and lack of success that had plagued Austria-Hungary since the first shots were fired.
Supposedly a Great Power, Austro-Hungary had proven to the world to be a paper tiger. The Ottomans might have been the sick man of Europe, but Austro-Hungary was the frail giant of the Balkans.
“You’ll see, Rudolf, we’ll win this war. All the lives lost would have meant something. We’ll be the victors, you’ll see.”
“Victor over ashes is no victor at all.”
Kuhr was going to retort but the sound of thunder followed by a piercing wail of incoming artillery shells interrupted him.
“Get down!” Kuhr yelled, echoing what dozens of others were screaming, scrambling for nearby trenches or foxholes placed throughout the camp for defense and to act as some form of protection from artillery bombardments. Kuhr got up but stumbled over his helmet, falling to the ground, hissing in pain at a sprained ankle.
Rudolf grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up, herding him to the nearest trench. Shells were hitting nearby, throwing dirt and bodies into the air.
At the lip of the trench, a shell impacted nearby, throwing dirt and shrapnel over them. Kuhr landed on top of another Common Army trooper, who cursed as Kuhr fell on him.
“Rudolf,” he said, turning onto his back to thank the man who saved his life, “th-“
He stopped. Rudolf’s body laid down on the lip of the trench, his head faced downward onto the ground. The back of his head was a ruined mess, blood and brains leaking out.
“No…” anguish filled his voice. But the sorrow was lost amidst the storm of steel and fire landing amongst them.
+ + +
Romanian Front
Kingdom of Romania
July 1918
Romanian Front
Kingdom of Romania
July 1918
Captain.
It was odd to say.
Captain Tamás Horváth.
His mother and father, they were so proud, their letters to him were full of admiration of his ‘patriotic service to the kingdom and empire.’
Would their letters be the same if they knew what all he had done during the war. Executing guerilla fighters was one thing, but when said irregulars were children or women whose eyes were full of hate or tears… well his actions became less a thing of pride and more akin to that of a monster. Or a criminal.
Was there even a difference?
Horváth watched through the city of Bucharest, a squad of soldiers following as an escort and protection. Romanian guerilla fighters had lessened their anti-Austro-Hungarian activities, particularly those of a violent nature, since the armistice but he hadn’t survived this long fighting to die to some bandit.
Bucharest, like so much of Romania, remained under Central Power occupation, an ad-hoc mix of German, Austro-Hungarian, Bulgarian and a scattering of Ottoman troops garrisoning major cities, key infrastructure and war-vital resource centers, such as the Ploesti Oil Fields which had finally begun to churn out a satisfactory amount once again and the vast fertile fields that had gone to ensuring the populace of Central Power nations were able to wage war and feed their people.
It still wasn’t enough.
The German Spring Offensive had finally ended in complete defeat, the Entente beginning to push the Germans back across their occupied territory, both the new territory seized during the Kaiserschlacht and territory long since conquered in previous campaigns from earlier in the war. Not only was the German outlook looking poor but so too was that of Austro-Hungary. The Second Battle of the Piave River, the offensive to knock Italy out of the war, had failed with over a hundred thousand casualties.
From what his superiors had muttered, either drunk from misery or stiff drinks, the Empire’s manpower reserves were all but depleted and stretched thin, with Austro-Hungary strapped for ammunition and other war material.
It wouldn’t be long now, he thought resignedly.
Walking through the streets of Bucharest, he sighed, the homes on either side of him full of faces staring from their windows, some broken while others remained intact. The streets were lined with ragged groups of local civilians who eyed him as if he were a venomous snake.
“Murderer!” came a call in German, picked up by several others though his squad couldn’t see who said it in particular.
A rock, no more than the size of a large pebble, bounced near the ground at their feet. His shoulders raised their rifles, ready to fire.
“At ease,” he said, arm raised. “They are taunting us. Don’t be goaded. Let them make the first move.”
His soldiers affirmed the order, watching like hawks but fingers off their triggers… for now at least.
They walked through the residential area back to the warehouse his unit used as a base of operations with no further incident.
“Why, sir?” asked one of the troopers with them, a fresh-faced conscript newly arrived from Hungary. “Why go through that neighborhood when they could attack at any moment. We would have been slaughtered if they were determined enough.”
Horváth thought for a moment, weighing his response, before he delivered it.
“You must always know your enemy, both the soldier and the civilian. Know what they will do or have done is the key to survival. I walk through that neighborhood every week to remind them of our occupation, our power, but also to judge their hatred towards us. Some is expected, naturally, while if it becomes too great it can create... unfortunate incidents. Better they be reminded of our power and resolve through peaceful means than violent. Sometimes a show of force is the best deterrent.”
The soldier nodded and went to his next duty. Horváth had told a half-truth. Yes it was to gauge those they occupied but it was also so the Romanians knew of their strength of arms and become hesitant to fight them with outright violence. Horváth couldn’t stomach the idea of shooting another child again.
It was odd to say.
Captain Tamás Horváth.
His mother and father, they were so proud, their letters to him were full of admiration of his ‘patriotic service to the kingdom and empire.’
Would their letters be the same if they knew what all he had done during the war. Executing guerilla fighters was one thing, but when said irregulars were children or women whose eyes were full of hate or tears… well his actions became less a thing of pride and more akin to that of a monster. Or a criminal.
Was there even a difference?
Horváth watched through the city of Bucharest, a squad of soldiers following as an escort and protection. Romanian guerilla fighters had lessened their anti-Austro-Hungarian activities, particularly those of a violent nature, since the armistice but he hadn’t survived this long fighting to die to some bandit.
Bucharest, like so much of Romania, remained under Central Power occupation, an ad-hoc mix of German, Austro-Hungarian, Bulgarian and a scattering of Ottoman troops garrisoning major cities, key infrastructure and war-vital resource centers, such as the Ploesti Oil Fields which had finally begun to churn out a satisfactory amount once again and the vast fertile fields that had gone to ensuring the populace of Central Power nations were able to wage war and feed their people.
It still wasn’t enough.
The German Spring Offensive had finally ended in complete defeat, the Entente beginning to push the Germans back across their occupied territory, both the new territory seized during the Kaiserschlacht and territory long since conquered in previous campaigns from earlier in the war. Not only was the German outlook looking poor but so too was that of Austro-Hungary. The Second Battle of the Piave River, the offensive to knock Italy out of the war, had failed with over a hundred thousand casualties.
From what his superiors had muttered, either drunk from misery or stiff drinks, the Empire’s manpower reserves were all but depleted and stretched thin, with Austro-Hungary strapped for ammunition and other war material.
It wouldn’t be long now, he thought resignedly.
Walking through the streets of Bucharest, he sighed, the homes on either side of him full of faces staring from their windows, some broken while others remained intact. The streets were lined with ragged groups of local civilians who eyed him as if he were a venomous snake.
“Murderer!” came a call in German, picked up by several others though his squad couldn’t see who said it in particular.
A rock, no more than the size of a large pebble, bounced near the ground at their feet. His shoulders raised their rifles, ready to fire.
“At ease,” he said, arm raised. “They are taunting us. Don’t be goaded. Let them make the first move.”
His soldiers affirmed the order, watching like hawks but fingers off their triggers… for now at least.
They walked through the residential area back to the warehouse his unit used as a base of operations with no further incident.
“Why, sir?” asked one of the troopers with them, a fresh-faced conscript newly arrived from Hungary. “Why go through that neighborhood when they could attack at any moment. We would have been slaughtered if they were determined enough.”
Horváth thought for a moment, weighing his response, before he delivered it.
“You must always know your enemy, both the soldier and the civilian. Know what they will do or have done is the key to survival. I walk through that neighborhood every week to remind them of our occupation, our power, but also to judge their hatred towards us. Some is expected, naturally, while if it becomes too great it can create... unfortunate incidents. Better they be reminded of our power and resolve through peaceful means than violent. Sometimes a show of force is the best deterrent.”
The soldier nodded and went to his next duty. Horváth had told a half-truth. Yes it was to gauge those they occupied but it was also so the Romanians knew of their strength of arms and become hesitant to fight them with outright violence. Horváth couldn’t stomach the idea of shooting another child again.
+ + +
Romanian Front
Kingdom of Romania
August 1918
Romanian Front
Kingdom of Romania
August 1918
-don’t worry, father. It won’t be long now until we win the war and can all be together again. Richard gives his regards.
Don’t be angry with us over running away and joining the Army, father. It was our patriotic duty. Besides, we would have been conscripted by now anyway. We are serving the Kaiser and Empire, protecting our family in the process.
We are doing this to ensure the world Felix and Hannah grow up in are safe.
I can hear the sergeants yelling for us to line up. When this is all over, we will laugh about it back home. See you soon!”
Love,
Richard and Abraham
Simon Golmayer breathed a sigh of relief. His boys were doing good, and though he worried for them constantly as they were off in northeastern Italy fighting there, but they were a part of a howitzer company. Not as safe as what Simon himself did, but safer than frontline infantryman in the trenches.
They were, due to the lack of experience and youthful feeling of invincibility, believed the war could be won. That was a fantasy and had been for months.
Simon only prayed to God that they ended up safe.
He pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.
Sons,
I’m not angry with you. I’m worried but what parent wouldn’t be. I admire what you are doing but above all, stay safe!
It won’t be long now, boys, until we can see each other again.
Simon continued to write, finishing at several pages and then wrote several more to his wife. He inquired after the young ones and how things were at home.
From her latest letter, times were lean and food was sparse and expensive. And though she did not come right out and say it, Simon could read between the lines and worried for her safety. It appeared that anti-Semitism was on the rise in Vienna. It was only to be expected. The war was not going well and its people and soldiers were angry. Their anger, as it had been for over a thousand years, turned to the Jews, who were few and far between in Austria barring Vienna itself.
There were protests, a riot, and several Jewish homes, though not his thankfully, had been desecrated with graffiti and bricks through windows.
But Simon was an intelligent man, he knew this would blow over. The anti-Semitism in Vienna was frequent but rarely escalated to dangerous levels seen in places like Russia. Hate rarely overrode logic and education, at least that was Simon’s experience and belief. It might be rough for a few months, perhaps even a year, but Jews in Austria, as long as they integrated themselves into Austrian society, kept their heads down and stayed loyal to the government then they would be safe.
Don’t be angry with us over running away and joining the Army, father. It was our patriotic duty. Besides, we would have been conscripted by now anyway. We are serving the Kaiser and Empire, protecting our family in the process.
We are doing this to ensure the world Felix and Hannah grow up in are safe.
I can hear the sergeants yelling for us to line up. When this is all over, we will laugh about it back home. See you soon!”
Love,
Richard and Abraham
Simon Golmayer breathed a sigh of relief. His boys were doing good, and though he worried for them constantly as they were off in northeastern Italy fighting there, but they were a part of a howitzer company. Not as safe as what Simon himself did, but safer than frontline infantryman in the trenches.
They were, due to the lack of experience and youthful feeling of invincibility, believed the war could be won. That was a fantasy and had been for months.
Simon only prayed to God that they ended up safe.
He pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.
Sons,
I’m not angry with you. I’m worried but what parent wouldn’t be. I admire what you are doing but above all, stay safe!
It won’t be long now, boys, until we can see each other again.
Simon continued to write, finishing at several pages and then wrote several more to his wife. He inquired after the young ones and how things were at home.
From her latest letter, times were lean and food was sparse and expensive. And though she did not come right out and say it, Simon could read between the lines and worried for her safety. It appeared that anti-Semitism was on the rise in Vienna. It was only to be expected. The war was not going well and its people and soldiers were angry. Their anger, as it had been for over a thousand years, turned to the Jews, who were few and far between in Austria barring Vienna itself.
There were protests, a riot, and several Jewish homes, though not his thankfully, had been desecrated with graffiti and bricks through windows.
But Simon was an intelligent man, he knew this would blow over. The anti-Semitism in Vienna was frequent but rarely escalated to dangerous levels seen in places like Russia. Hate rarely overrode logic and education, at least that was Simon’s experience and belief. It might be rough for a few months, perhaps even a year, but Jews in Austria, as long as they integrated themselves into Austrian society, kept their heads down and stayed loyal to the government then they would be safe.
+ + +
Western Ukraine
Ukrainian People’s Republic
September 1918
The trucks halted outside the small farming town Paul Lutjens didn’t bother learning the name of. Four trucks of troops exited at the orders of their sergeants and officers.Western Ukraine
Ukrainian People’s Republic
September 1918
Lutjens, recently promoted to Feldwebel a few months ago, barked at his men to disembark and line up. They did so dutifully and quickly, despite nearly half being made of new conscripts. Many veteran units had been transferred to Italy to stiffen up the forces there. Despite what propaganda said, things were not looking so good over there.
Losing so much of the regiment’s veterans to another frontline would have defanged them for combat duty. But today, as they had several times since the Brest-Litovsk Treaty, were not deploying to secure new ground but to secure shipments of food.
A dozen more trucks followed and lined up at the edge of town, their rear compartments empty. A command car was parked ahead of Lutjens’ squad. He walked up to it, seeing Lieutenant Colonel Olbrecht talking to his adjutant. Adolf Hitler, bearing the new rank markings of a Stabsfeldwebel, pointed at some numbers on the document, something which Olbrecht nodded to.
“We’ll get what was promised. Have no fear, Adi.”
“I have no doubt, sir. If they don’t provide, we’ll take, but I’m more concerned with these Communist terrorists-”
“Ah, Sergeant Lutjens,” Olbrecht said, noticing his approach, interrupting Hitler who snapped his mouth shut and waited, giving a small smile to Lutjens. “Are the troops ready?”
Lutjens snapped off a salute, it was returned, and he responded. “Yes, sir, the men are ready.”
“Good. Send two squads into the village, hold two here in reserve. Make sure your men double-check the amount we are being given. I’d rather us not be gypped by the locals, knowingly or unknowingly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“First Sergeant Hitler will accompany you. He will be my eyes and ears.”
“Jawohl, mein Herr,” Lutjens said, waiting for Hitler to exit the car, checking his rifle as he did so.
“Alright men, let’s do this quickly. First Squad and Fourth Squad, advance into town. Be on the lookout for trouble but don’t threaten. We don’t want complications. Remain in pairs, do not be separated.”
“Yes, sergeant!” they called, fanning out and advancing, each soldier watching out for his fellow. Lutjens’ men had not had any issues with securing food supplies from Ukranian farmers, but other Austro-Hungarian units had, which saw entire villages wiped out in retaliation.
Hitler and Lutjens walked beside each other. Though Hitler had spent most of the year as part of Olbrecht’s staff, his battle-readiness and combat training remained sharp as ever.
“You’ve changed, Adi.”
His friend looked at him, eyebrow arched. “How so?”
“You seem more… composed. More focused.”
“The benefits of seeing things from a different perspective. I’ve learned many things being Olbrecht’s adjutant.”
“Patience?”
Hitler laughed. “Not quite. But I’ve been able to see things from a larger picture.”
“Such as?”
Hitler glanced both ways, checking the nearby soldiers to see if they were close enough to overhear.
“The empire is on the cusp of collapsing. We have been defeated at nearly every turn throughout this war. Yet I have learned something, Paul. It isn’t the lack of bravery or determination on part of the Austrian soldier. It is instead the leadership of the empire that has failed us. The so-called‘highborn’ nobles and their incompetence,” Hitler snarled. “They lost the war for us, not you or me or our brothers on the front, but the aristocrats and the failed generals who earned their rank through birth rather than merit."
"What of the lieutenant colonel? He's noble-born."
"Olbrecht is an exception, as are other blue blooded field commanders like him." Hitler said, annoyed at the interruption, as if what he said should be obvious to all. "He’s a good man, despite his lofty birth.”
Lutjens nodded as they entered the village, the inhabitants and outlying farmers making way for them, not trying to stall them or cause issue. Up ahead was a central courtyard where dozens of wagons full of bags with fruits and vegetables, alongside a few chickens, pigs and cows.
“And it’s not just because of the nobles, Paul,” Hitler said, voice becoming more fervent, more furious, making Lutjens more wary of Hitler’s old obsession “but the Jews and Communists. They are the canker within and without. If Austria had been more firm against them, more proactive in removing or eliminating them then perhaps the war wouldn’t have gotten to this point.”
Lutjens said nothing as they approached three uniformed men standing before the food supplies. He shared Hitler’s anger at their empire’s leaders and its generals, as well as his antipathy towards Communism, but his views towards Jews… it was violently archaic. Anti-Semitism was not some unknown concept to Paul, and he did not personally care for Jews, but he did not blame them for every fault within the empire as many were want to do. It was the one thing his friend was militantly overzealous about and one of the few things they disagreed over.
Three officials representing the Ukrainian People’s Republic awaited them. Hitler, representing the brigade commander and senior to Lutjens, did all the talking. Hitler’s forceful nature and natural charisma ensured the Ukrainians did nothing askew and the excursion to the village ended successfully, twelve cargo trucks full of food driving away back to the Austro-Hungarian military camp.
Lutjens watched Hitler get in the command car, likely talking to the lieutenant colonel about Communist insurgents in the area. The pure hatred in Hitler’s voice when talking about Communists and Jews worried him. His friend’s anger would eat him up from the inside, he decided, or cause hi to do something rash or terrible. It was then, as the truck moved over a bumpy dirt road in the western Ukraine, that Lutjens became worried for his friend. Worried… and a little scared of.
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Yes, correct. That’s what I was going for with Olbrecht but I’ll make that more clear in the text.
Lutjens I would say is your average Austrian man. Conservative, Catholic but not necessarily virulently racist towards Jews and finds Hitler’s increasing anti-Semitism as unsettling.