Ahh, very true. I’m envisioning the end battle at Saving Private Ryan.
Nacht und Nebel. A key component of Stoßanstürmen (Shocking Attack) this TL’s blitzkrieg equivalent. Love it.
Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
- Thread starter Tanner151
- Start date
Nacht und Nebel. A key component of Stoßanstürmen (Shocking Attack) this TL’s blitzkrieg equivalent. Love it.
Thats true, though Hitler being in Austria is not the only deviation of OTL here
Maybe he could use integralism instead? After all Sozinat could influence them, or Getúlio Vargas himself for that matter
I think Der Kampf sounds better...
... However, a communist regime in Brazil, stable enough to send troops to Spain, sounds too implausible without a previous POV, just like it was mentioned in that thread. OTOH, an unstable Brazilian communist regime could work as a flashpoint that distracts the Allies from tensions and minor conflicts around Austria in the early 30's.
Even IOTL Brazil only sent a few troops to Europe without equipment and adequate clothing for the european weather just as a symbolic move to say to the allies that we were helping. Granted, the troops DID help in taking some important locations in Italy, even went as far as to impress the germans but that's because the americans were supplying the troops and they far exceeded everybody's expectations due to the ferocity of the men that were sent(the "brazilian heroes" story comes to mind)
If Red Brazil did send troops to Spain it'd be exactly like that, a few soldiers without adequate clothes or guns being sent there just to say Brazil helped without any expectation of them being able to do anything and turns out they all act like Rambo.
If Red Brazil did send troops to Spain it'd be exactly like that, a few soldiers without adequate clothes or guns being sent there just to say Brazil helped without any expectation of them being able to do anything and turns out they all act like Rambo.
Last edited:
I am sure Tanner's plans regarding Hungary are already fairly extensive.
A communist Brazil could happen, but America would have to be distracted either by internal strife or matters abroad away from Brazil, maybe an incident happens between Japan and the US that raises tensions but doesn't escalate. And the revolution happens so fast that when America isn't busy that it's too late.
Also keep in mind how isolationist America became after WW1, there simply might not be any public support or political will to get involved in Brazil in the first place.
Also keep in mind how isolationist America became after WW1, there simply might not be any public support or political will to get involved in Brazil in the first place.
Ahh, interesting. If there is a Red Brazil they will at most send a “volunteer” unit to Europe for the war. But that’s down the road, quite a ways.
I have a lot of the big picture stuff figured out, the little details I’m bouncing back and forth between but will be settled the closer I get to that part of the story.
All possible. Just a have to wait and see.
As a notice to everyone: this story has now been up and going for one year now. If I had posted this five days ago it would have been one year exact but I lost track of time.
Thank you to everyone who has read, liked and commented on this story. It means so much to me to have an audience that is entertained, provides feedback and discusses aspects of the story to enrich it.
Here it to another year of Der Kampf!
Next chapter, as per my agreement with my buddy, is to be uploaded no later than September 1st. So expect it towards the end of the month. With school starting the next few months will be chaotic but I’ll be sure to set aside time every night to get some written and maintain a momentum.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
This is My Land…
Northern Hungary
Hungarian Soviet Republic
July 1919
This is My Land…
Northern Hungary
Hungarian Soviet Republic
July 1919
So much had changed in such a short time. The Republic of Hungary was dead, torn asunder by radicals within. Now reigned the Republic of Councils in Hungary, more commonly called the Hungarian Soviet Republic.
It was the second communist state in the world.
And it was on the verge of collapse.
To Major Tamás Horváth, it seemed the world was against Hungary. Czechoslovak, Romanian, French and others clamored at the gates as they had for months but fighting the Romanians and the Czechoslovaks had hampered any stability the various Magyar governments tried to impose since the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Béla Kun, the de facto ruler of Communist Hungary, had inherited the foreign disasters of Károlyi’s government and had further mishandled the situation, throwing coal on the fire. Now Hungary was effectively surrounded on all sides by enemies and were beginning to squeeze the country dry. Recent offensives began with great promise but faltered by the lack of adequate heavy weaponry, low supply of ammunition and fuel, and growing discontent among the soldiery, worsened further by the shaky morale among the populace as a whole.
And now Horváth and nearly two hundred tired and bloodied Hungarian soldiers withdrew down the dirt road, heading towards Budapest in protest of the government’s actions. Though he was a loyal soldier, Horváth would not stomach his beloved homeland being destroyed within like a canker.
By all accounts he was the ranking officer of the column, the others either killed in the battles across Upper Hungary or deserted with their command squads following the fiasco that enveloped the northern front.
Horváth scowled at the thought. The Communists had promised to restore Hungary’s national pride and old borders to garner faith from the nationalists, military and the conservative countryside. They had failed in both regards. Instead of integrating Upper Hungary into the haza, the Communists instead propped up and proclaimed the Slovak Soviet Republic. Alienated, the nationalist elements and veteran career military left the Red Army to its own devices, undermanned and ill-equipped to fend off any potential Entente counterattack.
Even in a clear victory, Béla Kun had led Hungary down a ruinous path, all to appease the Soviet Russians and Lenin. Let Kun reap what he sowed, Horváth thought, each step back to the capital was one of defiance and hope for a better tomorrow.
A man atop a horse came galloping to him, several men halfway raising their rifles until they recognized the uniform.
“Sir,” the scout saluted.
Returning it, Horváth responded. “Report.”
“There’s a small hamlet up ahead, sir, manned by some Lenin Boys. They are refusing us passage.”
“The hell they are,” he muttered. Turning, he looked at a grizzled sergeant by the name of Thuloc. “Tell the men to spread out in a pincer movement. Scattered formation in case they have machine guns. We may have to advance past this hamlet with force.”
“Sir,” the sergeant affirmed before turning and bellowing orders and curses to get the men moving. Almost all had been soldiers during the Great War and responded to Thuloc’s bellows like the battle-hardened veterans they were. Horváth issued more orders to a handful of lieutenants, one to hold five squads as a reserve while the other commanded the cavalry. If need be they would swoop in and cut down the enemy if they retreated. The land here was flat, void of many trees and hills. Perfect for the armed riders.
Horváth then hoisted himself on his own horse, securing his rifle in its holder and buckling the strap on his officer’s pistol.
“Let’s go.”
The scout and Horváth proceeded further south, moving carefully down an inclined road that had turned to a suckling mud following recent rains.
Within a few minutes the hamlet became clear. It had but one tree in front of it, including a small stone well off to the side. The small fields around it were wild with weed and insect-ridden crops. Another farmland abandoned, it’s previous owner either dead, having fled, or fighting somewhere.
Horváth’s column had seen some of these on the march north to Slovakia but following Kun’s idiocy and the disintegration of the Army as a cohesive fighting force the sight had become more and more common. Lawlessness and banditry were on the rise across both city and countryside, with food reserves running low and the cost of everything increasing by the day.
Horváth didn’t know where Hungary would end up once things stabilized but he knew that with a gun in hand and loyal men beside him he would end up surviving. Anything else was secondary.
The hamlet itself was small, with a low set roof. It didn’t look any different than a thousand others in this part of the country. The only difference was the blood red flag flying over it and the men with matching crimson armbands standing about in a haphazard, almost lazy way.
What caught Horváth’s attention was that two of the men standing near the large tree beside the building hefted French-made Chauchat machine rifles. Where they had gotten those, he had no idea but nonetheless was wary. He had heard of their firepower coupled with dependable handling, though admittedly only second hand, but he knew it’s lethality was only negated by its twenty-round magazine size.
An older man, similar to Thuloc, stood at the crossroads where the country road met the hamlet's smaller and less tread dirt path. It was some three hundred to three hundred and fifty metres away from the hamlet.
Far enough away to appear harmless but well within weapons range.
The scout led Horváth up to the gray haired communist.
“Sir, this is Comrade Sima.”
Horváth nodded to the man.
“Comrade Sima, may I ask why you are refusing my men passage?”
The older man scratched at his salt-and-pepper beard.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, ‘You’re going the wrong way.’ The fighting is that way.” The Lenin Boy pointed back from the direction Horváth had come from and where his men were doubtlessly spreading out per his orders, readying to fight if need be.
Horváth’s voice hardened. “We were fighting and dying that way, and for what? Another Soviet state that won’t outlive the month?” He leaned down on his horse. “Allow us passage and there will be no issue. If you deny this,” Horváth’s hand neared his gun, “there will be consequences.”
Sima’s eyes narrowed. “You dare threaten us? We are servants of the proletariat state.”
“And I am a soldier who will not bow to a failing government or it’s lackeys.”
Sima's mouth firmed into a thin line. “We are no mere ‘lackeys’ as you put it. We are the protective detail of a ranking government official. Attacking us will be considered treason, as will your abandonment of the field. You are ordered to go back to Upper Hungary and engage the Czechoslovaks.”
“Who do you have back there, hmm?” Horváth motioned towards the hamlet, curious. “Cserny or possibly Kun himself? Making an escape before our enemies deliver the killing blow?”
Sima took a step back.
“You were warned,” and raised his hand.
A shot rang out and the scout fell, a hole in his forehead. Blood and brain splattered over the horse’s mane. The horse ran away, the scout’s foot catching on the harness and was dragged away.
Sima raised his rifle but Horváth squeezed his legs, causing the horse to gallop forward. It charged into Sima, knocking him into the dirt. One of the horse’s hooves stepped on his chest. The man screamed as the weight of the horse landed fully on his abdomen, breaking skin.
Two of the Lenin Boys, one with a rifle and the other with a Chauchat, opened fire at Horváth. Ducking down, he used the horse as a shield. It whined as bullets slammed into it, slowing it down until it fell across the dirt pathway leading to the hamlet.
Horváth was thrown off, but he quickly crawled to the horse. The animal still breathed for the moment as it lay there, more and more bullets slammed into it.
Horváth had seen, and done, terrible things during the Great War and the wars he was currently embroiled in but the sight of the horse looking him in the eye, panicked and dying, shook him to his core.
Unholstering his pistol he planted it at the horse’s temple.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, firing three shots, ending its misery. The Communist irregulars continued to fire, more of them opening up. A machine gun began to fire in bursts from the building's sole window, tearing up the ground around him and causing multiple thup sounds from the rounds hitting the horse carcass.
Feeling safe from harm for the moment, the carcass acting as a suitable form of cover, he looked behind him, not seeing any of his men.
For a moment he felt his heart sink, fearing they had left him, deciding to go another route around the hamlet, choosing safety over loyalty to their commander.
He was proved wrong, however, as he saw his men spread out for nearly half a kilometre east to west, beginning to advance on the Communist stronghold.
The gunfire seemed to slacken for a moment but increased in fervor after a brief hesitation. A few men fell, though Horváth couldn’t tell if they were hit or diving for over. Some had their trench shovels in hand and were digging foxholes into the earth.
“Stay in cover!” he yelled. “They’ll run out of ammo eventually.”
Eventually the machine gunfire petered out. For a half hour nothing happened. Horváth motioned to two of his nearest troops to advance. They paled and took a moment to do so, but nonetheless followed orders, rising up cautiously and moving toward the farmer hovel.
For a dozen meters nothing happened. No gunfire, no alarm, nothing.
He was about to order more men forward when the machinegun opened fire, cutting them down with murderous ease. They didn’t even have time to scream, their corpses falling to the ground and blood splattering the grass a crimson shade.
After that they were in a deadlock. The Communists couldn’t emerge without getting shot, their hamlet-turned-stronghold was largely made up of brick and thatched wood. It could resist some gunfire but his men were low on ammunition and if they were to defend themselves once they reached the capital they would need every possible round for the battles to come.
The day ended and night reigned, with the Communists occasionally during bursts at what they figured were men sneaking up on them, but Horváth didn’t risk such a move. The moon and stars were blocked by clouds, and there was a likely chance any firefight would cause friendly fire in the pitch black, further decimating his dwindling force.
Horváth slept fitfully that night, but it wasn’t the first time he had done so in the last half-decade. He woke and nibbled on crackers and some canned meat labeled as beef but judging by its gamy texture and lumpy gray-brown mass he had his doubts. Sipping water from a canteen, he was startled by gunfire.
Dropping the canteen, water spilling onto the dirt, he grabbed his rifle, aiming it at the building.
Gunfire was emerging from within but not directed outside.
Several moments passed before the front door opened and a man bearing a white sock on a stick as a form of flag stepped out. He waved it energetically as if his life depended on it, which it certainly did.
One of his soldiers fired a potshot but it missed the mark, the man ducking as a result.
“Hold your fire!” Horváth yelled, the call picked up and repeated by the two lieutenants and the handful of NCOs in the company.
Eventually more men emerged from the hamlet. Four men with guns and six without. The ones with guns held them above their heads, showing they meant no harm.
Barking orders, Horváth and his men moved forward, securing the prisoners. The four with guns stood separate from the others, joining the one with the sock as a flag. Hungarian soldiers were disarming them, taking their weapons.
“Why did you surrender?” Horváth asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
The lead man shrugged. “I don’t want to kill my countrymen anymore. That’s not why I volunteered for service.”
“What’s your name?” Horváth asked.
The man, a few years older than himself, responded. “Gregor Barabás.”
Before he could say anything one of his men shouted out. “Major Horváth!”
“What?” He demanded, moving to the soldier who stood next to an older gentleman whose uniform had seen better days.
“I recognize this man,” the soldier said assuredly.
“You do? Who is he then?”
“Jenö Landler, general of the Red Army and People’s Commissar of Internal Affairs.”
“You’re certain?” Horváth asked skeptically.
“Certain as I can be, sir. My old company marched in parade before Kun and Landler a month ago. He,” gesturing at Landler, “made some big speech and everything.”
Horváth looked toward Barabás who nodded
“Good eye, private. Extra rations for you tonight.”
That elicited a victorious grin and the soldier stepped back, the major replacing him.
“And why is a high ranking government official all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“That is none of your concern.” The man sounded defensive.
“Running away already, I presume? You fail the country and have the gall to run while our countrymen bleed and die for you. You should be ashamed with yourself.”
Landler’s face reddened, either from anger at the accusation or embarrassment from the accuracy.
“I-“ Landler began.
“It doesn’t matter what you say.” Horváth looked at three of his men. “Search them for valuables and gather the weapons and ammo from inside.” The men moved to comply, calling out the two dead bodies inside, killed during Barabás’ little coup.
Looking back at Barabás, he noticed the man stared at Landler with hatred.
“Come here,” he called to the Barabás-led prisoners. They did as he commanded. Horváth pulled out his pistol and held it out to Barabás. “I want you to shoot them. Prove your loyalty to Hungary and kill the bastards.”
He expected hesitation or excuse. Instead the turncoat took the offered pistol, cocked it, and killed all six men without pause. The last two bullets went into Landler’s chest. The People’s Commissar slumped back against the house, his blood marking the brick behind him.
Horváth was surprised, and flirted with the idea of having the five Communist turncoats shot, but… he might need them. More manpower was always welcome, they were adept with firearms, and had proven disgusted with Kun’s government or at least parts of it.
They could prove useful, or at the very least be meat shields or prisoners of war.
“What are you going to do to us?” One of the turncoats asked nervously.
Horváth let the moment stretch, reminding them their fate was in his hands.
“You can come with us, for now. You might prove beneficial to have around.”
Barabás eyed him, likely seeing through his half-truth.
“Very well,” Barabás said, resigned, “onwards to Budapest.”
It was the second communist state in the world.
And it was on the verge of collapse.
To Major Tamás Horváth, it seemed the world was against Hungary. Czechoslovak, Romanian, French and others clamored at the gates as they had for months but fighting the Romanians and the Czechoslovaks had hampered any stability the various Magyar governments tried to impose since the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Béla Kun, the de facto ruler of Communist Hungary, had inherited the foreign disasters of Károlyi’s government and had further mishandled the situation, throwing coal on the fire. Now Hungary was effectively surrounded on all sides by enemies and were beginning to squeeze the country dry. Recent offensives began with great promise but faltered by the lack of adequate heavy weaponry, low supply of ammunition and fuel, and growing discontent among the soldiery, worsened further by the shaky morale among the populace as a whole.
And now Horváth and nearly two hundred tired and bloodied Hungarian soldiers withdrew down the dirt road, heading towards Budapest in protest of the government’s actions. Though he was a loyal soldier, Horváth would not stomach his beloved homeland being destroyed within like a canker.
By all accounts he was the ranking officer of the column, the others either killed in the battles across Upper Hungary or deserted with their command squads following the fiasco that enveloped the northern front.
Horváth scowled at the thought. The Communists had promised to restore Hungary’s national pride and old borders to garner faith from the nationalists, military and the conservative countryside. They had failed in both regards. Instead of integrating Upper Hungary into the haza, the Communists instead propped up and proclaimed the Slovak Soviet Republic. Alienated, the nationalist elements and veteran career military left the Red Army to its own devices, undermanned and ill-equipped to fend off any potential Entente counterattack.
Even in a clear victory, Béla Kun had led Hungary down a ruinous path, all to appease the Soviet Russians and Lenin. Let Kun reap what he sowed, Horváth thought, each step back to the capital was one of defiance and hope for a better tomorrow.
A man atop a horse came galloping to him, several men halfway raising their rifles until they recognized the uniform.
“Sir,” the scout saluted.
Returning it, Horváth responded. “Report.”
“There’s a small hamlet up ahead, sir, manned by some Lenin Boys. They are refusing us passage.”
“The hell they are,” he muttered. Turning, he looked at a grizzled sergeant by the name of Thuloc. “Tell the men to spread out in a pincer movement. Scattered formation in case they have machine guns. We may have to advance past this hamlet with force.”
“Sir,” the sergeant affirmed before turning and bellowing orders and curses to get the men moving. Almost all had been soldiers during the Great War and responded to Thuloc’s bellows like the battle-hardened veterans they were. Horváth issued more orders to a handful of lieutenants, one to hold five squads as a reserve while the other commanded the cavalry. If need be they would swoop in and cut down the enemy if they retreated. The land here was flat, void of many trees and hills. Perfect for the armed riders.
Horváth then hoisted himself on his own horse, securing his rifle in its holder and buckling the strap on his officer’s pistol.
“Let’s go.”
The scout and Horváth proceeded further south, moving carefully down an inclined road that had turned to a suckling mud following recent rains.
Within a few minutes the hamlet became clear. It had but one tree in front of it, including a small stone well off to the side. The small fields around it were wild with weed and insect-ridden crops. Another farmland abandoned, it’s previous owner either dead, having fled, or fighting somewhere.
Horváth’s column had seen some of these on the march north to Slovakia but following Kun’s idiocy and the disintegration of the Army as a cohesive fighting force the sight had become more and more common. Lawlessness and banditry were on the rise across both city and countryside, with food reserves running low and the cost of everything increasing by the day.
Horváth didn’t know where Hungary would end up once things stabilized but he knew that with a gun in hand and loyal men beside him he would end up surviving. Anything else was secondary.
The hamlet itself was small, with a low set roof. It didn’t look any different than a thousand others in this part of the country. The only difference was the blood red flag flying over it and the men with matching crimson armbands standing about in a haphazard, almost lazy way.
What caught Horváth’s attention was that two of the men standing near the large tree beside the building hefted French-made Chauchat machine rifles. Where they had gotten those, he had no idea but nonetheless was wary. He had heard of their firepower coupled with dependable handling, though admittedly only second hand, but he knew it’s lethality was only negated by its twenty-round magazine size.
An older man, similar to Thuloc, stood at the crossroads where the country road met the hamlet's smaller and less tread dirt path. It was some three hundred to three hundred and fifty metres away from the hamlet.
Far enough away to appear harmless but well within weapons range.
The scout led Horváth up to the gray haired communist.
“Sir, this is Comrade Sima.”
Horváth nodded to the man.
“Comrade Sima, may I ask why you are refusing my men passage?”
The older man scratched at his salt-and-pepper beard.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, ‘You’re going the wrong way.’ The fighting is that way.” The Lenin Boy pointed back from the direction Horváth had come from and where his men were doubtlessly spreading out per his orders, readying to fight if need be.
Horváth’s voice hardened. “We were fighting and dying that way, and for what? Another Soviet state that won’t outlive the month?” He leaned down on his horse. “Allow us passage and there will be no issue. If you deny this,” Horváth’s hand neared his gun, “there will be consequences.”
Sima’s eyes narrowed. “You dare threaten us? We are servants of the proletariat state.”
“And I am a soldier who will not bow to a failing government or it’s lackeys.”
Sima's mouth firmed into a thin line. “We are no mere ‘lackeys’ as you put it. We are the protective detail of a ranking government official. Attacking us will be considered treason, as will your abandonment of the field. You are ordered to go back to Upper Hungary and engage the Czechoslovaks.”
“Who do you have back there, hmm?” Horváth motioned towards the hamlet, curious. “Cserny or possibly Kun himself? Making an escape before our enemies deliver the killing blow?”
Sima took a step back.
“You were warned,” and raised his hand.
A shot rang out and the scout fell, a hole in his forehead. Blood and brain splattered over the horse’s mane. The horse ran away, the scout’s foot catching on the harness and was dragged away.
Sima raised his rifle but Horváth squeezed his legs, causing the horse to gallop forward. It charged into Sima, knocking him into the dirt. One of the horse’s hooves stepped on his chest. The man screamed as the weight of the horse landed fully on his abdomen, breaking skin.
Two of the Lenin Boys, one with a rifle and the other with a Chauchat, opened fire at Horváth. Ducking down, he used the horse as a shield. It whined as bullets slammed into it, slowing it down until it fell across the dirt pathway leading to the hamlet.
Horváth was thrown off, but he quickly crawled to the horse. The animal still breathed for the moment as it lay there, more and more bullets slammed into it.
Horváth had seen, and done, terrible things during the Great War and the wars he was currently embroiled in but the sight of the horse looking him in the eye, panicked and dying, shook him to his core.
Unholstering his pistol he planted it at the horse’s temple.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, firing three shots, ending its misery. The Communist irregulars continued to fire, more of them opening up. A machine gun began to fire in bursts from the building's sole window, tearing up the ground around him and causing multiple thup sounds from the rounds hitting the horse carcass.
Feeling safe from harm for the moment, the carcass acting as a suitable form of cover, he looked behind him, not seeing any of his men.
For a moment he felt his heart sink, fearing they had left him, deciding to go another route around the hamlet, choosing safety over loyalty to their commander.
He was proved wrong, however, as he saw his men spread out for nearly half a kilometre east to west, beginning to advance on the Communist stronghold.
The gunfire seemed to slacken for a moment but increased in fervor after a brief hesitation. A few men fell, though Horváth couldn’t tell if they were hit or diving for over. Some had their trench shovels in hand and were digging foxholes into the earth.
“Stay in cover!” he yelled. “They’ll run out of ammo eventually.”
Eventually the machine gunfire petered out. For a half hour nothing happened. Horváth motioned to two of his nearest troops to advance. They paled and took a moment to do so, but nonetheless followed orders, rising up cautiously and moving toward the farmer hovel.
For a dozen meters nothing happened. No gunfire, no alarm, nothing.
He was about to order more men forward when the machinegun opened fire, cutting them down with murderous ease. They didn’t even have time to scream, their corpses falling to the ground and blood splattering the grass a crimson shade.
After that they were in a deadlock. The Communists couldn’t emerge without getting shot, their hamlet-turned-stronghold was largely made up of brick and thatched wood. It could resist some gunfire but his men were low on ammunition and if they were to defend themselves once they reached the capital they would need every possible round for the battles to come.
The day ended and night reigned, with the Communists occasionally during bursts at what they figured were men sneaking up on them, but Horváth didn’t risk such a move. The moon and stars were blocked by clouds, and there was a likely chance any firefight would cause friendly fire in the pitch black, further decimating his dwindling force.
Horváth slept fitfully that night, but it wasn’t the first time he had done so in the last half-decade. He woke and nibbled on crackers and some canned meat labeled as beef but judging by its gamy texture and lumpy gray-brown mass he had his doubts. Sipping water from a canteen, he was startled by gunfire.
Dropping the canteen, water spilling onto the dirt, he grabbed his rifle, aiming it at the building.
Gunfire was emerging from within but not directed outside.
Several moments passed before the front door opened and a man bearing a white sock on a stick as a form of flag stepped out. He waved it energetically as if his life depended on it, which it certainly did.
One of his soldiers fired a potshot but it missed the mark, the man ducking as a result.
“Hold your fire!” Horváth yelled, the call picked up and repeated by the two lieutenants and the handful of NCOs in the company.
Eventually more men emerged from the hamlet. Four men with guns and six without. The ones with guns held them above their heads, showing they meant no harm.
Barking orders, Horváth and his men moved forward, securing the prisoners. The four with guns stood separate from the others, joining the one with the sock as a flag. Hungarian soldiers were disarming them, taking their weapons.
“Why did you surrender?” Horváth asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
The lead man shrugged. “I don’t want to kill my countrymen anymore. That’s not why I volunteered for service.”
“What’s your name?” Horváth asked.
The man, a few years older than himself, responded. “Gregor Barabás.”
Before he could say anything one of his men shouted out. “Major Horváth!”
“What?” He demanded, moving to the soldier who stood next to an older gentleman whose uniform had seen better days.
“I recognize this man,” the soldier said assuredly.
“You do? Who is he then?”
“Jenö Landler, general of the Red Army and People’s Commissar of Internal Affairs.”
“You’re certain?” Horváth asked skeptically.
“Certain as I can be, sir. My old company marched in parade before Kun and Landler a month ago. He,” gesturing at Landler, “made some big speech and everything.”
Horváth looked toward Barabás who nodded
“Good eye, private. Extra rations for you tonight.”
That elicited a victorious grin and the soldier stepped back, the major replacing him.
“And why is a high ranking government official all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“That is none of your concern.” The man sounded defensive.
“Running away already, I presume? You fail the country and have the gall to run while our countrymen bleed and die for you. You should be ashamed with yourself.”
Landler’s face reddened, either from anger at the accusation or embarrassment from the accuracy.
“I-“ Landler began.
“It doesn’t matter what you say.” Horváth looked at three of his men. “Search them for valuables and gather the weapons and ammo from inside.” The men moved to comply, calling out the two dead bodies inside, killed during Barabás’ little coup.
Looking back at Barabás, he noticed the man stared at Landler with hatred.
“Come here,” he called to the Barabás-led prisoners. They did as he commanded. Horváth pulled out his pistol and held it out to Barabás. “I want you to shoot them. Prove your loyalty to Hungary and kill the bastards.”
He expected hesitation or excuse. Instead the turncoat took the offered pistol, cocked it, and killed all six men without pause. The last two bullets went into Landler’s chest. The People’s Commissar slumped back against the house, his blood marking the brick behind him.
Horváth was surprised, and flirted with the idea of having the five Communist turncoats shot, but… he might need them. More manpower was always welcome, they were adept with firearms, and had proven disgusted with Kun’s government or at least parts of it.
They could prove useful, or at the very least be meat shields or prisoners of war.
“What are you going to do to us?” One of the turncoats asked nervously.
Horváth let the moment stretch, reminding them their fate was in his hands.
“You can come with us, for now. You might prove beneficial to have around.”
Barabás eyed him, likely seeing through his half-truth.
“Very well,” Barabás said, resigned, “onwards to Budapest.”
+ + +
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
July 1919
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
July 1919
“I’m sorry, Herr Felger,” Simon Golmayer said to the irate customer, “we simply cannot empty your account of all funds at this time.”
Mister Felger, who was already scowling, reddened with anger.
“We can do a partial Simon continued, “up to a thousand krone. You can come back to make another withdrawal in,” Simon made a motion to check nonexistent notes on his side of the window, “a month’s time.”
The man clicked his tongue in disgust. “What I have left will be worth even less then,” the man’s country accent sounded alien in Creditanstalt’s marbled halls. Herr Felger was dressed as if he was attending a synagogue, though in the farmer’s stead it would be a church.
“I want it now so it can be worth something today, not useless paper better suited to wipe myself tomorrow.”
Simon plastered on his sincerest front office smile. “I sincerely apologize, sir, but it is bank policy at this time.”
“Damn kikes,” the man muttered. “Rothschild sips his champagne and laughs at hardworking Austrian men.” Felger’s voice rose. “The Jew lords over us all, laughing as we suffer. Where was he and his kind when the war ravaged Europe? I doubt a Jew like him had to ever suffer hardship while good men bled and died and our women and children grew hungry!”
Simon’s face took on a neutral expression, a façade to mask the anger beneath the surface. Several other customers who were standing in the teller line began to nod and offer some agreement and muted support.
The teller Simon stood beside, a young woman who had called for him once Felger had grown irritable and demanded a supervisor, was beginning to sweat and breathe shallowly. Rumors of banks being stormed by angry mobs had reached Creditanstalt’s staff though the legitimacy of such rumors was questionable at best, yet the threat remained. He had to quench this now or risk letting the matter devolve further.
Simon raised his hand, calling forth two security guards from the sides of the chamber. Their revolver pistols were still in their holsters but ready to be drawn if need be.
“How dare you,” Simon said. “How dare you, sir. I will have you know that I served in the Common Army and fought in Romania. I felt the earth shake with artillery, the world screaming and wailing while the air smelled of gunpowder, blood and other less savory things. Two of my sons fought in Italy and only one returned home. So don’t accuse Jews of being those who did not serve their Fatherland, the same country you accuse us of having taken advantage of. It is not the goal of Austrian Jews to grow fat off the suffering of Austrian Catholics. We are both men and sons of Austria, Herr Felger. It is our home as well.”
Simon knew he should have said nothing but the anger had gotten the better of him.
Felger darkened with anger and opened his mouth to speak. His shoulder was grabbed by one of the security guards, a man whom Simon knew to have fought in Serbia and Romania.
“Either take the withdrawal or leave.”
“I will not-“
The guard’s hand rested on the pistol’s grip. The guard’s demeanor was collected, calm even, as if he were holding the door open for an old woman. But the threat was there and that was all that mattered.
Felger’s mouth clamped shut and he grabbed the thousand krone payment and left, muttering curses but not causing any further trouble. The guard watched him leave with cold indifference.
“Thank you,” Simon said.
“Of course, Herr Golmayer. It is my job after all.”
“Indeed it is,” Simon said quietly but the guard had already resumed his position, his fellow who had watched on also retook his position, casting looks through every time the door opened to check if Felger returned.
The rest of Simon’s shift went by quickly, and as he left for home he watched for any sign of Felger. Frankly the streets of Vienna were growing more and more dangerous, and not just for Jews.
Unemployed veterans, cripples, men whose lives had become meaningless following the war’s disastrous end, and radicals stumbled too and fro, hands held out as beggars.
Few well-to-do citizens gave them any notice, let alone coin or food, yet Simon remained alert. While he did not appear Jewish in the stereotypical sense as he had reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes, that did not stop others from seeing him exit the richest bank in Austria, wearing a suit and tie of fine make that he wore frequently before the war and one which still hung loose off his body in the months since he had returned home.
When he walked into his neighborhood, he breathed a sigh of relief but still kept his awareness. Two police officers were walking by and they tipped their hats to him.
“Good evening, Herr Golmayer,” one said kindly.
“Good evening, officer.”
Minutes later he was walking up the steps of his house and entered. The smell of food was a warm welcome, as was Felix hugging his leg. Now six, Felix proved he would be as tall as the twins… a pang of sadness hit him at the reminder of Abraham’s absence.
And Richard…
“How was your day, dear?” Judith came from the kitchen. Hannah walking unsteadily beside her. His daughter stared up at him, barely recognizing him. She hardly knew him, off at war when she was born and now working nearly every day, long hours that caused him to be away. It pained him, but sacrifices must be made. It was all for her benefit after all.
Simon wanted a prosperous and more peaceful time for his children to grow up in. It was hard now, but hopefully in five, ten or even twenty years time all this would be a bad dream best forgotten and life could move on without the threat of ruin hanging above them.
“Fine, it was quite fine,” he said lightheartedly. “Is Richard home?”
“Yes, he’s in his room with a friend.”
“Oh?” That piqued Simon’s interest. A lady in his son’s life would do him some good.
Judith chuckled, knowing him too well. “It’s not that. An Army friend from during the war I think.”
“Ah.”
Simon walked through the house to his son’s room. He knocked then opened the door. Richard was sitting on his bed, the other bed where Abraham once slept, was occupied by another man.
“Sorry to intrude…”
“Saul, Mister Golmayer,” the other man shook Simon’s offered hand. “I knew Richard and Abraham from the war.”
“I see.” Simon paused. “Did you see Abraham…” he couldn’t finish the sentence but Saul understood.
“It was a closed casket burial. I saw him several hours before he died.”
“Thank you. Richard has difficulty telling me about what happened.”
“Understandable,” Saul said.
“Mhmm. Now, Saul, if you would excuse us a moment.”
“Of course, sir.”
Saul closed the door as he left, leaving Richard and Simon alone.
“Is he part of the JNP?”
Richard nodded.
“You must be careful, son. It will paint a target on your back.”
Richard crossed his arms. “I will not be silenced. I fought for this country, I should damn well be represented in it.”
“I agree, just…” Simon sat down. “Just be careful. The Jewish National Party could do good things, true, but people are angry and us Jews are as ever the scapegoat. Caution is advisable. You must protect yourself.”
“I can assure you this, father, if someone wants to start something I will finish it. I have ways to defend myself.”
Simon leaned forward. “Is that so?” Richard bit his lip, visibly annoyed he let something slip. “Did Saul help you with this?” Richard didn’t say anything but his non-response was answer enough. Simon dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of krone. “Is this enough for a pistol?”
“Father- I-“ Richard was confused. “Why do you need one?”
Simon smiled without humor. “Protection.”
Mister Felger, who was already scowling, reddened with anger.
“We can do a partial Simon continued, “up to a thousand krone. You can come back to make another withdrawal in,” Simon made a motion to check nonexistent notes on his side of the window, “a month’s time.”
The man clicked his tongue in disgust. “What I have left will be worth even less then,” the man’s country accent sounded alien in Creditanstalt’s marbled halls. Herr Felger was dressed as if he was attending a synagogue, though in the farmer’s stead it would be a church.
“I want it now so it can be worth something today, not useless paper better suited to wipe myself tomorrow.”
Simon plastered on his sincerest front office smile. “I sincerely apologize, sir, but it is bank policy at this time.”
“Damn kikes,” the man muttered. “Rothschild sips his champagne and laughs at hardworking Austrian men.” Felger’s voice rose. “The Jew lords over us all, laughing as we suffer. Where was he and his kind when the war ravaged Europe? I doubt a Jew like him had to ever suffer hardship while good men bled and died and our women and children grew hungry!”
Simon’s face took on a neutral expression, a façade to mask the anger beneath the surface. Several other customers who were standing in the teller line began to nod and offer some agreement and muted support.
The teller Simon stood beside, a young woman who had called for him once Felger had grown irritable and demanded a supervisor, was beginning to sweat and breathe shallowly. Rumors of banks being stormed by angry mobs had reached Creditanstalt’s staff though the legitimacy of such rumors was questionable at best, yet the threat remained. He had to quench this now or risk letting the matter devolve further.
Simon raised his hand, calling forth two security guards from the sides of the chamber. Their revolver pistols were still in their holsters but ready to be drawn if need be.
“How dare you,” Simon said. “How dare you, sir. I will have you know that I served in the Common Army and fought in Romania. I felt the earth shake with artillery, the world screaming and wailing while the air smelled of gunpowder, blood and other less savory things. Two of my sons fought in Italy and only one returned home. So don’t accuse Jews of being those who did not serve their Fatherland, the same country you accuse us of having taken advantage of. It is not the goal of Austrian Jews to grow fat off the suffering of Austrian Catholics. We are both men and sons of Austria, Herr Felger. It is our home as well.”
Simon knew he should have said nothing but the anger had gotten the better of him.
Felger darkened with anger and opened his mouth to speak. His shoulder was grabbed by one of the security guards, a man whom Simon knew to have fought in Serbia and Romania.
“Either take the withdrawal or leave.”
“I will not-“
The guard’s hand rested on the pistol’s grip. The guard’s demeanor was collected, calm even, as if he were holding the door open for an old woman. But the threat was there and that was all that mattered.
Felger’s mouth clamped shut and he grabbed the thousand krone payment and left, muttering curses but not causing any further trouble. The guard watched him leave with cold indifference.
“Thank you,” Simon said.
“Of course, Herr Golmayer. It is my job after all.”
“Indeed it is,” Simon said quietly but the guard had already resumed his position, his fellow who had watched on also retook his position, casting looks through every time the door opened to check if Felger returned.
The rest of Simon’s shift went by quickly, and as he left for home he watched for any sign of Felger. Frankly the streets of Vienna were growing more and more dangerous, and not just for Jews.
Unemployed veterans, cripples, men whose lives had become meaningless following the war’s disastrous end, and radicals stumbled too and fro, hands held out as beggars.
Few well-to-do citizens gave them any notice, let alone coin or food, yet Simon remained alert. While he did not appear Jewish in the stereotypical sense as he had reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes, that did not stop others from seeing him exit the richest bank in Austria, wearing a suit and tie of fine make that he wore frequently before the war and one which still hung loose off his body in the months since he had returned home.
When he walked into his neighborhood, he breathed a sigh of relief but still kept his awareness. Two police officers were walking by and they tipped their hats to him.
“Good evening, Herr Golmayer,” one said kindly.
“Good evening, officer.”
Minutes later he was walking up the steps of his house and entered. The smell of food was a warm welcome, as was Felix hugging his leg. Now six, Felix proved he would be as tall as the twins… a pang of sadness hit him at the reminder of Abraham’s absence.
And Richard…
“How was your day, dear?” Judith came from the kitchen. Hannah walking unsteadily beside her. His daughter stared up at him, barely recognizing him. She hardly knew him, off at war when she was born and now working nearly every day, long hours that caused him to be away. It pained him, but sacrifices must be made. It was all for her benefit after all.
Simon wanted a prosperous and more peaceful time for his children to grow up in. It was hard now, but hopefully in five, ten or even twenty years time all this would be a bad dream best forgotten and life could move on without the threat of ruin hanging above them.
“Fine, it was quite fine,” he said lightheartedly. “Is Richard home?”
“Yes, he’s in his room with a friend.”
“Oh?” That piqued Simon’s interest. A lady in his son’s life would do him some good.
Judith chuckled, knowing him too well. “It’s not that. An Army friend from during the war I think.”
“Ah.”
Simon walked through the house to his son’s room. He knocked then opened the door. Richard was sitting on his bed, the other bed where Abraham once slept, was occupied by another man.
“Sorry to intrude…”
“Saul, Mister Golmayer,” the other man shook Simon’s offered hand. “I knew Richard and Abraham from the war.”
“I see.” Simon paused. “Did you see Abraham…” he couldn’t finish the sentence but Saul understood.
“It was a closed casket burial. I saw him several hours before he died.”
“Thank you. Richard has difficulty telling me about what happened.”
“Understandable,” Saul said.
“Mhmm. Now, Saul, if you would excuse us a moment.”
“Of course, sir.”
Saul closed the door as he left, leaving Richard and Simon alone.
“Is he part of the JNP?”
Richard nodded.
“You must be careful, son. It will paint a target on your back.”
Richard crossed his arms. “I will not be silenced. I fought for this country, I should damn well be represented in it.”
“I agree, just…” Simon sat down. “Just be careful. The Jewish National Party could do good things, true, but people are angry and us Jews are as ever the scapegoat. Caution is advisable. You must protect yourself.”
“I can assure you this, father, if someone wants to start something I will finish it. I have ways to defend myself.”
Simon leaned forward. “Is that so?” Richard bit his lip, visibly annoyed he let something slip. “Did Saul help you with this?” Richard didn’t say anything but his non-response was answer enough. Simon dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of krone. “Is this enough for a pistol?”
“Father- I-“ Richard was confused. “Why do you need one?”
Simon smiled without humor. “Protection.”
+ + +
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
July 1919
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
July 1919
“Moving on from economic issues, political matters in the Republic are now-“
Insufferable, Hitler boringly thought, eyes heavy as the monotone Jakob Lutschounig continued to drone on. It has been nearly five weeks since his return from Carinthia, greeted with fanfare and aplomb from Austrian nationalists in the streets of Vienna. There had been a parade of sorts, albeit a small one, but it was nonetheless a victory of sorts.
Backed by his Wolves and the fame they had earned in Carinthia, he had all but forced himself into the National Liberal Front’s Central Committee, being its seventh member, officially titled Deputy to the Propaganda Chief.
That said chief was even now speaking to a crowd of some four hundred men in an overpacked beer hall near the city's warehouses and manufactories that were even now empty of goods and production, using the promise of a free beer and slice of black bread to garner interest and hike attendance numbers. It was not much but it filled seats.
The Central Committee watched on as Lutschounig attempted to appeal to the men before them. National Liberalism was an up and coming ideology. The Constituent Assembly election held in February earlier in the year year had established the NLF as a political power of middling success. Though it did not win enough seats to tackle head on the Social Democrats or the Christian Social Party, it’s fourteen seats would make others take notice of it and treat it with wariness or try to woo them to their side.
As the third largest political party in the nascent Austrian Republic, it was trying to win new voters to its side to form a large enough political bloc to force either the Social Democrats or, preferably, the Christian Social Party into a coalition. This would give National Liberalism a much needed legitimacy to appeal to more and more voters and therefore continue growing but at a faster scale.
In time, it was believed, the Front would be able to not only form a coalition government but dictate policy, setting the Fatherland upon the path of renewal and rejuvenation. It had been seven months since the Great War ended and already the Allied Powers had crippled Austria.
Hungary, the breadbasket of the Empire, was in disarray, fighting enemies to the north, south, and east, yet faced unrest within itself. Hitler had no love for the Communists ruling Budapest, or even Hungarians as a whole, but for the future he envisioned for Austria it would require Hungary’s farmlands and manpower.
Bohemia and Moravia, now bastardized as Czechoslovakia, had been the Empire’s industrial heartland and with it severed from Vienna’s rule the economy of the newborn Austrian Republic stalled while its former land grew stronger with each passing day.
Austria’s stores were scarce of foodstuffs and goods, its factories had little in the ways of raw materials to create finished goods. Throughout the country, unemployment steadily grew as the new currency proved itself weak and increasingly worthless.
And this was all before an official treaty had been signed between the former Empire and the victorious Entente. Hitler knew that once the ink on the treaty dried, Austria would be burdened with reparations it would have to pay, throwing it into economic ruin.
He knew it would happen because he would have done the same to cripple his enemies. He despised the Entente, especially the Russians and Serbians, but he could not fault their stance. It was the conqueror’s right and the price of defeat.
Yet Austria would weather through the storm to come and emerge stronger than before, ready to right the wrongs cast upon it.
It had to.
If it did not… then the Austro-German Race did not deserve the earth.
“If he keeps this up, he’ll bore the crowd and they’ll leave, don’t you think, sir,” whispered Arthur Seyss-Inquart. The Party Secretary sat next to Hitler, away from the others and could whisper without being overheard from the other four seat men to Hitler’s left.
Hitler looked at the bespectacled lawyer for a moment, thankful he had a strong ally on the Committee. He needed men with ambition and intelligence, and Seyss-Inquart had that in droves. Despite his mixed breeding, the man would prove useful to Hitler, of that he was sure. Nodding in agreement, he then turned his attention back to Lutschounig.
“The Nationalliberale Front has a robust economic agenda that, if we secure enough Assembly seats in the next general election, we can propose to whomever we form a coalition government with that our economic proposals have merit. The interests of the Front is of course economic stability through the growth of profitable business via the protection of Austrian industry-“
“What industry?!” yelled a voice from the midst of the seated crowd. Hitler could not see who said it, but a murmuring of agreement spread through the crowd as heads turned back and forth.
Then came the shouts, the crowd’s frustrations boiling out of control.
“How will I work when factory owners are hiring cheap foreign labor? They are stealing our jobs. All in the name of ‘profitable business,’” came one hateful tirade.
“I cannot support my family-”
“We starve while the rich grow fat-”
“Communists are pouring in from Soviet Hungary, spreading their filth-”
“What of the Jews who control the banks-”
Men were standing up and beginning to yell more of hardships and, increasingly, obscenities.
“I,” Lutschounig patted his sweat-riddled forehead with a handkerchief.” I ask for you to take your seats. Gentleman, I- I call you to order.”
Gustav Gross stood, arms raised to calm matters but he did little more than redirect anger towards him. Several threw balled up pieces of black bread at the Chairman, pelting the man’s fine suit and landing at his feet. The angry crowd which threatened to turn into a mob wanted answers, they wanted their fears to be acknowledged and a promise of a better future.
Hitler stood and walked calmly up to stand between the two men. He noted Seyss-Inquart intercepting Ludwig von Hoffenberg, the Front’s Deputy Chairman, stopping him from preventing Hitler this oppurtunity.
Seeing the Hero of Hill 53, the Defender of Carinthia, the Black Wolf himself take the stage, many in the crowd quietened down, some returning to their seats.
A dozen Viennese policemen, Johannes Schober’s dutiful hounds, watched warily from the beer hall’s doorway with batons in hand, ready to end the gathering if things became too rowdy once more. Ever since the Communist riots and protests in April, Vienna’s Chief of Police was taking zero chances with potential civil insurrection.
Hitler stood there, feeling a nervous fluttering in his stomach seeing four hundred pairs of eyes staring at him while from behind he felt the daggered glares from the Central Committee members who despised him. He quickly steeled himself.
This was it, this was the moment. He dare not let it slip through his fingers.
“My friends!” His voice silenced the few who had not noticed him. “I know your anger, my friends.”
Hitler scanned the crowd, seeing a handful of Wolves out among them, loyal and dedicated to him and the Austria that could one day be reality.
“I know your anger because I share it!” he shouted, startling some but causing others to lean in, intrigued.
He began to walk up and down the stage, hand up to gesture with strong conviction at the points he was to make.
“I feel your anger at all that has befallen us, comrades,” he repeated. “It seems the world is our enemy.” He leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, and said in quieter tones, “Because they are. The world is afraid of us, of you.” His outstretched hand pointed at the crowd.
That caused some frowns but more to perk up, pondering his words.
“The Entente fears us. For centuries they have feared the guiding light that emanated from Vienna. This city and the nation it represents was a beacon of civilization, of order and security in a world falling ever more into chaos.
“The war was hard, but the peace,” he stressed the word to let all who heard it let them know what he thought of such a thing, “The peace,” he repeated, “they will force upon us will be even harder.”
Hitler balled one hand into a fist and slammed it into the open palm of the other.
“They fear us and even now try to strangle us while we are weakened. When our so called ‘esteemed politicians’ grovel into the dirt to appease the Allies and the treaty is finished, the terms put into effect, our nation will be crippled, made a slave to Jewish bankers and Communist tyrants.”
Hitler could feel a fire stirring in his chest, spreading throughout him as the crowd embraced his words, an intoxicating feeling taking over, his words spilling out even faster and more insistently.
“The only reason we lost the war at all was because we were stabbed in the back! The soldiers and officers in the field, those who fought in the mud and rain, who felt the earth tremble with artillery and the air smell of smoke and gunpowder, they are the heroes who stared into hell itself and emerged the better for it. Austria was not failed by its soldiers or workers, but by its leadership and a Judeo-Bolshevik conspiracy that poisoned everything it corrupted.
“Our monarchy was ineffective, our political leadership lethargic and complacent. Our generals were stuck in the past, waging an archaic war in the modern age. And we saw the fruits of their efforts, did we not? Trenches full of the dead, brave and loyal sons who were cut down by gunfire because our generals thought throwing men at the enemy was the only way to win. Shame, I say! For shame!”
Agreement from the listeners met his words. Hitler’s gaze turned hungry, not for food but for the anger he could feel in the room. Time to tap into it, direct it. His speech was infectious, the crowd hanging on his every word.
It did not matter the accuracy of his words. The truth was what he wanted. A lie told often enough will be believed by the masses.
“They will take your land, my friends, as well as your honor and your faith from you. Our enemies will rape our virtuous women and enslave our children, leaving the Fatherland a shadow of its former glory, one riddled with sub-human mongrels and bastard ideals.”
Several crossed themselves while others scowled in anger, not at Hitler but at what would come to pass if his words proved prophetic.
“The Social Democrats are weak willed and flirt with Communism too much for comfort. The Christian Socials are not much better, their legacy tainted by its aristocratic leanings, who wish to keep Austria in the past to become a stagnant country surviving by the skin of its teeth. And that would sign the death knell of our Fatherland!”
Hitler jumped down from the stage, moving toward the crowd.
“We must become an autarky, free of being dependent on foreign sources for mere national survival. Austria is not blessed with abundant resources, therefore we must take what is ours, wherever it may reside. Are we not the sons of conquerors, or mighty warriors of noble blood who took this land from the Roman and the barbarians thousands of years ago? Are we not the Aryan Race, masters of Europe and inheritors of the world?”
That elicited some cheers from the more militant onlookers.
“It is my promise that when the National Liberal Front takes power, for it as inevitable as the sun rising and setting each day, my comrades, then it’s focus will be casting off foreign shackles, growing Austrian industry and promoting self-sufficiency through economic and military ways, and ensure that every Austrian man has a job with fair pay and fair hours.
“As a man of my word, I swear this: Austria will rise once more and take back what was stolen from us. Austria will become stronger than ever before and no one can stop us.”
Hitler raised his hands into the air, akin to a priest during a sermon.
“Austria shall not be a tertiary power beholden to the will of enemies foreign or domestic.” Hitler was shouting now. “We shall rise, seizing our rightful place as a Great Power and Europe will be made to acknowledge our supremacy and be made to bow to our dominance.”
The crowd was on their feet, cheering, shouts of approval and thunderous applause drowned out all else in the beer hall. Hitler stood there, basking in their adoration.
It lasted for several minutes but died down too soon for his taste. Gross stood next to him and spoke aloud, his booming voice carrying with ease.
“If you want to aid the Fatherland on the path to recovery, join the National Liberal Front! Through you will the Front win the next election and begin the long road toward renewal. Sign up now!”
Several Front members sat at a table nearby against the wall, with papers stacked in front of them. Out of the four hundred men who had attended, most had not been a part of the NLF but many of them now lined up to enroll in the party’s membership.
Gross led Hitler to the rest of the Committee. Lutschounig appeared flustered, von Hoffenberg irritated, while the others appeared more at ease.
“Your speech, Adi, it inspired them.” Gross gave him a knowing look. "A bit aggressive, but it seemed that's what they wanted."
Hitler shrugged. “I spoke the truth as I saw it.”
“Indeed.”
Lutschounig stepped forward. “I thank you, Adolf, you salvaged the moment. Any longer and the mob would have gone for me.”
“It was reckless,” von Hoffenberg snarled. “You could have easily riled them up beyond control. Then the police would have shut us down and that would hurt our standings in the polls. You need to be more careful-”
“Quiet, Ludwig,” Gross said after a moment. The older man sputtered, surprised at being told such a thing.
Gross sized Hitler up. “Gentlemen, we as a movement are at a crossroads. The Front has performed well, admirably in fact, yet we nonetheless lag behind the Social Democrats and the Christian Socials. by a wide degree” No one contested that for it was the stark truth.
“If National Liberalism is to spread across Austria then it needs someone to light the fire in the hearts of the people. Jakob,” Gross addressed Lutschounig, “you are an able man, a fair organizer and a loyal party member but you are not a man who inspires others.” Lutschounig’s face fell but didn’t protest, likely agreeing with the Chairman’s assessment.
“Adi, however, is an inspiration. A respected and decorated combat veteran, a man who can whip up the passions of the people, and the only one among us who acted in Carinthia while we remained behind and did nothing.”
Hitler breathed quietly, savoring the moment.
“I recommend that Adi is elevated to Chief of Propaganda effectively immediately. With him as our lead speaker, tens of thousands will flock to the Front and when the next election occurs we will triumph at the polls. I’m sure of it.” Gross looked at the others. “All in favor say ‘Aye.’”
“Aye,” Seyss-Inquart said without hesitation. Hitler would remember such dedicated loyalty.
The others, one by one, affirmed Hitler’s ascension with an ‘Aye,’ even Lutschounig who seemed resigned at the effective end of his political career. Only von Hoffenberg said ‘Nay,’ scowling as he did so.
“Aye,” Gross formally said. “By a vote of five-to-one, Adolf Hitler has officially become the voice of the NLF. May his talents lead us to new heights.”
Insufferable, Hitler boringly thought, eyes heavy as the monotone Jakob Lutschounig continued to drone on. It has been nearly five weeks since his return from Carinthia, greeted with fanfare and aplomb from Austrian nationalists in the streets of Vienna. There had been a parade of sorts, albeit a small one, but it was nonetheless a victory of sorts.
Backed by his Wolves and the fame they had earned in Carinthia, he had all but forced himself into the National Liberal Front’s Central Committee, being its seventh member, officially titled Deputy to the Propaganda Chief.
That said chief was even now speaking to a crowd of some four hundred men in an overpacked beer hall near the city's warehouses and manufactories that were even now empty of goods and production, using the promise of a free beer and slice of black bread to garner interest and hike attendance numbers. It was not much but it filled seats.
The Central Committee watched on as Lutschounig attempted to appeal to the men before them. National Liberalism was an up and coming ideology. The Constituent Assembly election held in February earlier in the year year had established the NLF as a political power of middling success. Though it did not win enough seats to tackle head on the Social Democrats or the Christian Social Party, it’s fourteen seats would make others take notice of it and treat it with wariness or try to woo them to their side.
As the third largest political party in the nascent Austrian Republic, it was trying to win new voters to its side to form a large enough political bloc to force either the Social Democrats or, preferably, the Christian Social Party into a coalition. This would give National Liberalism a much needed legitimacy to appeal to more and more voters and therefore continue growing but at a faster scale.
In time, it was believed, the Front would be able to not only form a coalition government but dictate policy, setting the Fatherland upon the path of renewal and rejuvenation. It had been seven months since the Great War ended and already the Allied Powers had crippled Austria.
Hungary, the breadbasket of the Empire, was in disarray, fighting enemies to the north, south, and east, yet faced unrest within itself. Hitler had no love for the Communists ruling Budapest, or even Hungarians as a whole, but for the future he envisioned for Austria it would require Hungary’s farmlands and manpower.
Bohemia and Moravia, now bastardized as Czechoslovakia, had been the Empire’s industrial heartland and with it severed from Vienna’s rule the economy of the newborn Austrian Republic stalled while its former land grew stronger with each passing day.
Austria’s stores were scarce of foodstuffs and goods, its factories had little in the ways of raw materials to create finished goods. Throughout the country, unemployment steadily grew as the new currency proved itself weak and increasingly worthless.
And this was all before an official treaty had been signed between the former Empire and the victorious Entente. Hitler knew that once the ink on the treaty dried, Austria would be burdened with reparations it would have to pay, throwing it into economic ruin.
He knew it would happen because he would have done the same to cripple his enemies. He despised the Entente, especially the Russians and Serbians, but he could not fault their stance. It was the conqueror’s right and the price of defeat.
Yet Austria would weather through the storm to come and emerge stronger than before, ready to right the wrongs cast upon it.
It had to.
If it did not… then the Austro-German Race did not deserve the earth.
“If he keeps this up, he’ll bore the crowd and they’ll leave, don’t you think, sir,” whispered Arthur Seyss-Inquart. The Party Secretary sat next to Hitler, away from the others and could whisper without being overheard from the other four seat men to Hitler’s left.
Hitler looked at the bespectacled lawyer for a moment, thankful he had a strong ally on the Committee. He needed men with ambition and intelligence, and Seyss-Inquart had that in droves. Despite his mixed breeding, the man would prove useful to Hitler, of that he was sure. Nodding in agreement, he then turned his attention back to Lutschounig.
“The Nationalliberale Front has a robust economic agenda that, if we secure enough Assembly seats in the next general election, we can propose to whomever we form a coalition government with that our economic proposals have merit. The interests of the Front is of course economic stability through the growth of profitable business via the protection of Austrian industry-“
“What industry?!” yelled a voice from the midst of the seated crowd. Hitler could not see who said it, but a murmuring of agreement spread through the crowd as heads turned back and forth.
Then came the shouts, the crowd’s frustrations boiling out of control.
“How will I work when factory owners are hiring cheap foreign labor? They are stealing our jobs. All in the name of ‘profitable business,’” came one hateful tirade.
“I cannot support my family-”
“We starve while the rich grow fat-”
“Communists are pouring in from Soviet Hungary, spreading their filth-”
“What of the Jews who control the banks-”
Men were standing up and beginning to yell more of hardships and, increasingly, obscenities.
“I,” Lutschounig patted his sweat-riddled forehead with a handkerchief.” I ask for you to take your seats. Gentleman, I- I call you to order.”
Gustav Gross stood, arms raised to calm matters but he did little more than redirect anger towards him. Several threw balled up pieces of black bread at the Chairman, pelting the man’s fine suit and landing at his feet. The angry crowd which threatened to turn into a mob wanted answers, they wanted their fears to be acknowledged and a promise of a better future.
Hitler stood and walked calmly up to stand between the two men. He noted Seyss-Inquart intercepting Ludwig von Hoffenberg, the Front’s Deputy Chairman, stopping him from preventing Hitler this oppurtunity.
Seeing the Hero of Hill 53, the Defender of Carinthia, the Black Wolf himself take the stage, many in the crowd quietened down, some returning to their seats.
A dozen Viennese policemen, Johannes Schober’s dutiful hounds, watched warily from the beer hall’s doorway with batons in hand, ready to end the gathering if things became too rowdy once more. Ever since the Communist riots and protests in April, Vienna’s Chief of Police was taking zero chances with potential civil insurrection.
Hitler stood there, feeling a nervous fluttering in his stomach seeing four hundred pairs of eyes staring at him while from behind he felt the daggered glares from the Central Committee members who despised him. He quickly steeled himself.
This was it, this was the moment. He dare not let it slip through his fingers.
“My friends!” His voice silenced the few who had not noticed him. “I know your anger, my friends.”
Hitler scanned the crowd, seeing a handful of Wolves out among them, loyal and dedicated to him and the Austria that could one day be reality.
“I know your anger because I share it!” he shouted, startling some but causing others to lean in, intrigued.
He began to walk up and down the stage, hand up to gesture with strong conviction at the points he was to make.
“I feel your anger at all that has befallen us, comrades,” he repeated. “It seems the world is our enemy.” He leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, and said in quieter tones, “Because they are. The world is afraid of us, of you.” His outstretched hand pointed at the crowd.
That caused some frowns but more to perk up, pondering his words.
“The Entente fears us. For centuries they have feared the guiding light that emanated from Vienna. This city and the nation it represents was a beacon of civilization, of order and security in a world falling ever more into chaos.
“The war was hard, but the peace,” he stressed the word to let all who heard it let them know what he thought of such a thing, “The peace,” he repeated, “they will force upon us will be even harder.”
Hitler balled one hand into a fist and slammed it into the open palm of the other.
“They fear us and even now try to strangle us while we are weakened. When our so called ‘esteemed politicians’ grovel into the dirt to appease the Allies and the treaty is finished, the terms put into effect, our nation will be crippled, made a slave to Jewish bankers and Communist tyrants.”
Hitler could feel a fire stirring in his chest, spreading throughout him as the crowd embraced his words, an intoxicating feeling taking over, his words spilling out even faster and more insistently.
“The only reason we lost the war at all was because we were stabbed in the back! The soldiers and officers in the field, those who fought in the mud and rain, who felt the earth tremble with artillery and the air smell of smoke and gunpowder, they are the heroes who stared into hell itself and emerged the better for it. Austria was not failed by its soldiers or workers, but by its leadership and a Judeo-Bolshevik conspiracy that poisoned everything it corrupted.
“Our monarchy was ineffective, our political leadership lethargic and complacent. Our generals were stuck in the past, waging an archaic war in the modern age. And we saw the fruits of their efforts, did we not? Trenches full of the dead, brave and loyal sons who were cut down by gunfire because our generals thought throwing men at the enemy was the only way to win. Shame, I say! For shame!”
Agreement from the listeners met his words. Hitler’s gaze turned hungry, not for food but for the anger he could feel in the room. Time to tap into it, direct it. His speech was infectious, the crowd hanging on his every word.
It did not matter the accuracy of his words. The truth was what he wanted. A lie told often enough will be believed by the masses.
“They will take your land, my friends, as well as your honor and your faith from you. Our enemies will rape our virtuous women and enslave our children, leaving the Fatherland a shadow of its former glory, one riddled with sub-human mongrels and bastard ideals.”
Several crossed themselves while others scowled in anger, not at Hitler but at what would come to pass if his words proved prophetic.
“The Social Democrats are weak willed and flirt with Communism too much for comfort. The Christian Socials are not much better, their legacy tainted by its aristocratic leanings, who wish to keep Austria in the past to become a stagnant country surviving by the skin of its teeth. And that would sign the death knell of our Fatherland!”
Hitler jumped down from the stage, moving toward the crowd.
“We must become an autarky, free of being dependent on foreign sources for mere national survival. Austria is not blessed with abundant resources, therefore we must take what is ours, wherever it may reside. Are we not the sons of conquerors, or mighty warriors of noble blood who took this land from the Roman and the barbarians thousands of years ago? Are we not the Aryan Race, masters of Europe and inheritors of the world?”
That elicited some cheers from the more militant onlookers.
“It is my promise that when the National Liberal Front takes power, for it as inevitable as the sun rising and setting each day, my comrades, then it’s focus will be casting off foreign shackles, growing Austrian industry and promoting self-sufficiency through economic and military ways, and ensure that every Austrian man has a job with fair pay and fair hours.
“As a man of my word, I swear this: Austria will rise once more and take back what was stolen from us. Austria will become stronger than ever before and no one can stop us.”
Hitler raised his hands into the air, akin to a priest during a sermon.
“Austria shall not be a tertiary power beholden to the will of enemies foreign or domestic.” Hitler was shouting now. “We shall rise, seizing our rightful place as a Great Power and Europe will be made to acknowledge our supremacy and be made to bow to our dominance.”
The crowd was on their feet, cheering, shouts of approval and thunderous applause drowned out all else in the beer hall. Hitler stood there, basking in their adoration.
It lasted for several minutes but died down too soon for his taste. Gross stood next to him and spoke aloud, his booming voice carrying with ease.
“If you want to aid the Fatherland on the path to recovery, join the National Liberal Front! Through you will the Front win the next election and begin the long road toward renewal. Sign up now!”
Several Front members sat at a table nearby against the wall, with papers stacked in front of them. Out of the four hundred men who had attended, most had not been a part of the NLF but many of them now lined up to enroll in the party’s membership.
Gross led Hitler to the rest of the Committee. Lutschounig appeared flustered, von Hoffenberg irritated, while the others appeared more at ease.
“Your speech, Adi, it inspired them.” Gross gave him a knowing look. "A bit aggressive, but it seemed that's what they wanted."
Hitler shrugged. “I spoke the truth as I saw it.”
“Indeed.”
Lutschounig stepped forward. “I thank you, Adolf, you salvaged the moment. Any longer and the mob would have gone for me.”
“It was reckless,” von Hoffenberg snarled. “You could have easily riled them up beyond control. Then the police would have shut us down and that would hurt our standings in the polls. You need to be more careful-”
“Quiet, Ludwig,” Gross said after a moment. The older man sputtered, surprised at being told such a thing.
Gross sized Hitler up. “Gentlemen, we as a movement are at a crossroads. The Front has performed well, admirably in fact, yet we nonetheless lag behind the Social Democrats and the Christian Socials. by a wide degree” No one contested that for it was the stark truth.
“If National Liberalism is to spread across Austria then it needs someone to light the fire in the hearts of the people. Jakob,” Gross addressed Lutschounig, “you are an able man, a fair organizer and a loyal party member but you are not a man who inspires others.” Lutschounig’s face fell but didn’t protest, likely agreeing with the Chairman’s assessment.
“Adi, however, is an inspiration. A respected and decorated combat veteran, a man who can whip up the passions of the people, and the only one among us who acted in Carinthia while we remained behind and did nothing.”
Hitler breathed quietly, savoring the moment.
“I recommend that Adi is elevated to Chief of Propaganda effectively immediately. With him as our lead speaker, tens of thousands will flock to the Front and when the next election occurs we will triumph at the polls. I’m sure of it.” Gross looked at the others. “All in favor say ‘Aye.’”
“Aye,” Seyss-Inquart said without hesitation. Hitler would remember such dedicated loyalty.
The others, one by one, affirmed Hitler’s ascension with an ‘Aye,’ even Lutschounig who seemed resigned at the effective end of his political career. Only von Hoffenberg said ‘Nay,’ scowling as he did so.
“Aye,” Gross formally said. “By a vote of five-to-one, Adolf Hitler has officially become the voice of the NLF. May his talents lead us to new heights.”
+ + +
Later that night, Hitler stood on the balcony of his apartment. Behind him on the two sofas were Olbrecht and Kuhr, alongside a dozen other Wolves who were in various stages of being drunk. Only two Wolves did not drink, standing near the door, batons and pistols on hand in case anyone wished to disturb the Commander.
They were celebrating Hitler’s rise in the ranks. With his newfound position, the NLF’s platform would be what he decided upon. True, Gross was still officially in charge but the man spent more time on administration and inner-party politics than seizing the attention of the masses and that is where the power resided.
As Propaganda Chief, Hitler would be the face of the Front. After the beer hall speech and his promotion, he and the Central Committee had hashed out a plan on how to capitalize on their growing popularity, spending much time on the chaos infecting Hungary and the growing dissatisfaction with Chancellor Renner’s government.
Turning from the light-strewn night city, Hitler walked back into the living room. Sitting next to Kuhr, whom he had made the unofficial leader of his unofficial bodyguard drawn from amongst the Wolves as repayment for his loyalty and service in Carinthia, Hitler looked across the table at Olbrecht.
“Good work today. The men did their job ably. Tell them I said that, would you.”
“Of course, Adi,” Olbrecht said, taking a drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash into an ash holder. “Though I must admit having Wolves pose as hecklers was risky. It was a matter of luck none of the Committee knew every man from the Kampfgruppe.”
“Their foolishness will be their undoing,” Kuhr said, his words slurred as he took another shot of schnapps.
“Quite,” Hitler said. He picked up his glass of mineral water.
“To the future, gentlemen.” The men in the apartment grabbed a nearby drink, toasting their commander and new propaganda chief, envisioning the day Hitler became leader of the NLF.
“To the future!”
Last edited:
This is not the full chapter. I’m uploading via my phone as I am not feeling well so am in bed at the moment.
I had hoped to have the Hitler POV done but I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy. I will complete it sometime this week/weekend.
I will retroactively upload the Hitler POV and notify y’all when I do. Also, next chapter will feature a fair amount of Hitler. We’ve spent the last two chapters on other people but Hitler is for all intents and purposes the “main character” so we will be returning to him soon enough.
There will be a time skip upcoming in possibly a few chapters. It will only be a couple of years in-universe but will get us to the end of this arc and the beginning of the next one without wading through the same situations over and over.
Things I’ve learned since starting this AU:
-writing OC characters is hard
-post-war former A-H Empire was a mess
-people love a well written villain and I feel I’m doing good in that regard thus far
And to think this, all 250+ pages in Google Docs, is merely the lead up to Hitler’s assumption of power and the war to come. Honest to god I thought I would cover all that in less than ten chapters.
Twenty four chapters late though….
So happy y’all enjoy it though.
More characters are to come so we don’t always have to see Hitler and Austrian crew, Simon, Paul, Fyodor etc. more to come.
Next chapter will tentatively have Paul Lutjens, maybe another Fyodor, and finally Hitler of course.
Take care everyone, let me know what y’all thought of the chapter and the direction the story is heading in.
Hitler POV will be up within the next few days, time and health depending.
I had hoped to have the Hitler POV done but I’m exhausted and don’t have the energy. I will complete it sometime this week/weekend.
I will retroactively upload the Hitler POV and notify y’all when I do. Also, next chapter will feature a fair amount of Hitler. We’ve spent the last two chapters on other people but Hitler is for all intents and purposes the “main character” so we will be returning to him soon enough.
There will be a time skip upcoming in possibly a few chapters. It will only be a couple of years in-universe but will get us to the end of this arc and the beginning of the next one without wading through the same situations over and over.
Things I’ve learned since starting this AU:
-writing OC characters is hard
-post-war former A-H Empire was a mess
-people love a well written villain and I feel I’m doing good in that regard thus far
And to think this, all 250+ pages in Google Docs, is merely the lead up to Hitler’s assumption of power and the war to come. Honest to god I thought I would cover all that in less than ten chapters.
Twenty four chapters late though….
So happy y’all enjoy it though.
More characters are to come so we don’t always have to see Hitler and Austrian crew, Simon, Paul, Fyodor etc. more to come.
Next chapter will tentatively have Paul Lutjens, maybe another Fyodor, and finally Hitler of course.
Take care everyone, let me know what y’all thought of the chapter and the direction the story is heading in.
Hitler POV will be up within the next few days, time and health depending.
Wife may or may jot have Covid again. Her test results are coming in. I tested up at the school and was negative but I’ve been sapped of energy and have a persistent cough. Just draining.
Work has been stressful as well and that isn’t helping. So instead of staying up till midnight to finish (I am a bit of a slow writer most of the time) I decided to call it a night and get an extra two hours of sleep.
Tomorrow or Friday I plan to finish the third section and since the wife is gone this weekend fingers crossed I can make another chapter or a flash forward excerpt or some such. I do like the once a month for sure uploads but if I can I’d like to have mini chapters or the like in between to keep y’all entertained and engrossed into the Der Kampf world.
Thanks for asking, @Help, I really appreciate it.
I recently had COVID, though thankfully it was very mild: just a headache, feeling tired all the time, and a runny nose for the most part. Is that the extent of the symptoms for the two of you, or is it too early to tell, you think? I don't think I'd be able to juggle all that, and to be honest, it seems like your health has been imperiled sort of often, so it must be even worse for you. Hopefully neither one needs to go to the ER, and glad to help, if this counts.
Last edited:
When I had Covid last year I was mainly tired and had no appetite but my wife had it fairly bad, couldn’t eat or drink without throwing up, couldn’t sleep very well and body aches all day. This round she is bouncing back and forth between good and meh and somewhat sick. Not as bad as when she for sure had it. She just mentioned she is pretty sure she doesn’t have it and that it is merely congestion .
We are both vaccinated as well.
Oh? Have I talked about being sick a lot on here? I’m generally in good health and very rarely sick. I hadn’t realized if I had. What stops me from writing 24/7 is work, playing games/reading and procrastination.
To be honest, it just stuck out to me that it happened more than once, and that may have been it (maybe you gave updates on the same illness and I internalized the number of chapters or posts there was a note about it), and that you already had gotten COVID. Glad to hear the possible second round is milder though, and that the main issues are more mundane.
Hope you're feeling better. I never thought I'd say this is my life but, WE NEED MORE HITLER
