Chapter Seventeen
The End Heralds the Beginning
Western Ukraine
Ukrainian People’s Republic
November 1918
Adolf Hitler downed another shot of slivovitz, the plum brandy burning his throat on its way to the stomach where it exploded in temporary warmth. It was his fifth such shot of the night… or was it the sixth? Hitler was not a happy man, more so than usual, fuming as more and more terrible news reached brigade headquarters, stoking the simmering coals of anger inside him. Everything was falling apart. After weeks of receiving reports of killing blow after killing blow laid against Austro-Hungary the deathblow had finally come. It was finally happening. After decades of mismanagement and four years in the greatest war the world had seen it was at long last coming to pass.
The Austro-Hungarian Empire was collapsing.
Yet it was not by external enemies dismantling it at the negotiations table after a secured victory, but by internal factors seeking national self-determination. Nonsense the lot of it. Poison spread by the American President Woodrow Wilson.
Those people who yearned to be separate from Austria wouldn’t know what to do with independence. They would squander it or leave themselves vulnerable to foreign influence or the malignant Judeo-Bolshevism.
Their cowardice and selfishness had destroyed the Empire, had crippled Austria in its greatest time of need. They were traitors and backstabbers who should be rounded up and shot.
Hungary had been the first to break away following the anti-imperial Aster Revolution. It’s new Prime Minister, Mihály Károlyi, had severed Hapsburg rule over Hungary that had existed for centuries.
It was the first, but not the last, dismemberment of the once-great Empire.
The Czechs and the Slovaks followed next, creating the secessionist Czechoslovakia state. The next day on the 29th of October the State of Slovenes, Croats and Serbs declared independence. Then came the declaration of the West Ukrainian People’s Republic on November 1st. All that remained of the Empire were German-speaking Danubian and Alpine provinces, the last bastions of loyalty and duty.
There was a sort of cathartic finality to it all, the frail giant of the Balkans gasping its last breaths as it died, but it was a bitter finality. Some treasonously muttered it as an inevitability, which smacked of defeatism to the
Landswehr First Sergeant, but it could have all been avoided if the General Staff had not wasted so many years on fruitless campaigns where the veteran and elite military units were wasted away until it became a war of attrition, and though Hitler was an ardent Austrian patriot, a far cry from his youth that still surprised him, he knew Austria could never win a war of attrition against so many enemies. A short victorious war would have solved the Empire’s woes by securing Austrian dominance not only over the Balkans and Russia but also over its multi-ethnic populace, reminding them of Austrian power and prestige and why it was those of German blood who should forever rule Europe. But alas the Great War had not been short nor had it been victorious and now Austro-Hungary was all but dead, dissected by its own people.
He blamed many for how things developed, how the fortunes of the Empire soured. Notably those highborn generals who had not seen the blood and toil that the common soldier experienced in this war, the good men of Austrian German blood who fought for race and nation and not simply to retain privileges or what they demanded was their birthright, were only part of the problem, a lesser of the evils that plagued Austria.
The greater issue, the greater threat, were the insidious sub-humans within the Empire’s ranks. The Serbs had started the war with their cowardly murder of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and they had proven to be a sharp thorn in the Empire’s underbelly during the crucial years of 1914 and 1915, costing Austro-Hungary thousands of precious manpower who died there that could have been elsewhere.
The Romanians were ill-better, those backstabbers who spat on their word and commitments, switching sides like the opportunistic traitors they were. Hitler’s anger started to go from a simmer to a raging fire. If they were the thorn, then it was the Jews who were the parasite, sapping the strength and triumphant will of the Austrian people while getting rich off the war as the common law-abiding citizens starved and suffered. He could see it now, the Rothschilds counting their money in their banks and mansions, smoking cigars and drinking expensive champagne as Austrian men and women hungered and shivered in the cold streets.
It was outrageous!
“Adi,” came the slurred voice of Olbrecht. Hitler’s vision, which had been red and black with fury, faded to reveal his commanding officer sitting across from him in Olbrecht’s office. Olbrecht eyed him warily, the lieutenant colonel lounging in his chair, his feet on the wooden table. The commander’s boots had mud on them, falling onto the desk but Olbrecht didn’t seem to care.
It was then Hitler noticed his hand on the table, the bottom white and quickly turning red from slamming it down so hard. He blinked in surprise at that. He hadn’t even realized he had done that. Shaking his head, he poured another shot into the glass and downed it in two gulps.
“I know you don’t drink a lot but you’re going to have to pace yourself if you want to walk to your quarters later. Otherwise you'll blackout on the way. The floor is not as comfortable, especially when you wake up in the morning with a pounding headache.” Olbrecht’s words were meant to be helpful and playfully chiding but the humor in them bounced off the armor of Hitler’s fury.
“We were so close,” he muttered, wiping his moustache of some liquor that lingered there. “So close to outlasting our enemies. The Empire would have survived-”
“I doubt it would have survived, Adi," the lieutenant colonel interrupted, "We already had issues before the war. The past four years just merely exacerbated matters.”
“We would have won if not for the traitors, backstabbers and parasites. We would have triumphed over them all!”
“Hmm?” Olbrecht, who was more somber, lifted an eyebrow quizzically. Hitler should have stopped there but the alcohol had gone to his head. And he found himself not caring what he said, not watching what slipped past his loosened lips.
“It is their fault! The damn aristocrats who have done nothing but lift their pinky at us, who never sacrificed like us, who sat comfortably far behind the battlefields in their gilded halls and palaces. While we have starved fighting for our nation they have feasted off its corpse. Executing them would be a kindness, far better than they deserve. You are an exception, Franz, a good man, a dependable patriot. I won’t hold your birth against you. And Romanians and Serbs… they will be dealt with one way or another. But the Jews… the architects of all the suffering the world has suffered, the manipulators that created this war. The Jews and their Communist puppets! The world would be better if they never existed, they are a canker within Mankind. They shall pay, they shall all pay!” he slammed both fists down, head swimming as he did so.
Hitler stopped, belatedly realizing that he wasn’t talking to Lutjens or another sympathetic NCO or trooper but his commanding officer, a member of the aristocracy he had just said should be shot. Gulping, he had even used Olbrecht’s first name, an act of familiarity he had never done before.
Curse the damn alcohol loosening his tongue like that. If he survived, he swore never to drink so much again.
Olbrecht stared icily at him before looking out over the room outside his office. It was quiet, no one was there. After learning of the disastrous conclusion to the Battle of Vittorio Veneto and the subsequent armistice being declared between Austro-Hungary and the Entente, Olbrecht had dismissed his staff. Many were getting drunk in their quarters or in the bars in the nearby city, many of whom would likely visit the brothels afterwards.
“I appreciate that you wouldn’t want me shot,” Olbrecht said. “I don’t disagree with you, Adi, but you need to keep that damn mouth of yours shut. If someone else had heard you and it was reported to anyone a higher rank than myself than it would have been you shot for treason.” Olbrecht leaned over and took Hitler’s glass and bottle away. “No more of that now.”
Hitler leaned back in the chair, face flushed with emotion and drink.
“You can rail against what has happened, Adi, but that doesn’t change the fact that they happened. We lost, the Empire is finished.” Olbrecht sipped his own glass of slivovitz. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens now.”
“Perhaps,” Hitler said. “The war was difficult but I expect the peace to be harder. There’s no telling what kind of retribution the Entente will pursue.” Hitler nodded to himself. “Once we see where the pieces lay then we can assess the situation. The Empire is dead, but… it might be the beginning of something else. Austria will need men like us, men of fortitude and sense of duty to rebuild it.”
“You want to be a deputy? A minister of the Kaiser even?” Judging by Olbrecht's tone, he wasn't serious but it stirred something inside Hitler.
He didn’t know if it was the drunkenness or some ambition he never realized he had, awoken by the defeat laid against Austria, but Hitler didn’t want to be someone’s mouthpiece or lackey. Those were stepping stones to greater power but not what he desired. Austria needed strong men to lead it, men like him. He aspired for more.
Not not more.
All of it.