Chapter Thirty
A Mutual Agreement
Tokyo, Japan
Empire of Japan
April 1924
Konrad Leichtenberg was exhausted, having stayed up late, again, yet in spite of his tiredness he did not mind. He enjoyed working, the feeling of accomplishing something for his country. And Hitler, he had found the past two months, was a driven taskmaster with high expectations and little tolerance for failure or excuses. Thus far, Leichtenberg had matched them as there had been no complaint and even an occasional gruff compliment from the Ambassador.
When Leichtenberg was dispatched in 1923 to lay the groundwork for an ambassadorial return, he was by all accounts a consul. He knew once relations between Austria and Japan had been sufficiently normalized that he wouldn’t receive the Ambassadorship. He was too young, too inexperienced, and didn’t have the connections in the coalition government to see it through. Leichtenberg had come to peace with that.
Yet there had been a sense of nervousness, of worry even, for whomever the new CS-NLF government dispatched. The Japanese were a fierce and proud people, and did not take kindly to ‘round-eyed devils,’ especially those they were once enemies with.
And he knew that Hitler’s appointment had been more of political exile than a desired career move, yet Hitler as Ambassador might have done more to normalize Austro-Japanese relations than a more typical politician would have. Hitler was a decorated veteran, noted for his bravery and leadership. The taking of Hill 53 by the former Stabsfeldwebel especially impressed the Japanese, citing that Hitler possessed a ‘true samurai spirit’ in some of their more right-wing newspapers.
It seemed that instead of rejection, the Black Wolf had found respect and acceptance in the Land of the Rising Sun. Already he had attended a half dozen formal dinners and events, ingratiating himself with the politico of several nations. Already Hitler had paved the way forward with aggressive diplomacy and stark bluntness, establishing favorable trade conditions that would be mutually beneficial to both sides and help the financially-crippled Republic stumble towards a facade of fiscal stability.
Though Leichtenberg himself was a Christian Social, his reports back to Vienna contained glowing reviews of the new ambassador. Another reason he stayed on was that the CS leadership wanted a trusted man to be Hitler’s minder and report back on any activities that the coalition government would find… uncouth.
Leichtenberg couldn’t resist a small smile at the thought. He reached for the next stack of paper and his hand froze as he read the memo on the top sheet.
“Well, well, well… isn’t that interesting,” he murmured.
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
May 1924
Franz Olbrecht sat in Parliament and listened alongside other members of the National Council to Labor Minister Dinghofer. The plump man was giving an update about current unemployment in the country.
“-unemployment has dropped nearly one percent, with our estimations projecting another one to two percent drop by the end of the year, especially once the proposed work programs are passed and put into effect-“
Olbrecht zoned out. He couldn’t help it. The minutiae of economics and labor were mind numbing, to say the least. He had been elected as councilor to the Nationalrat, being one of the Linz representatives, and was a political coup for the National Liberal Front. He was a war veteran, an aristocrat from an established family of regional importance, and a committed nationalist. While this made him popular in Linz and the Front lavished him with funds during his campaign, this public support underwent a marked shift after taking his oath before the rest of the assembled Parliament.
He was not blind nor a fool; he saw the whispered groups that would disperse or change subjects at his approach. The Social Democrats were cold and distant, the Communists hateful and distrustful, which was fine as the feelings were mutual, but it was the reaction from his own party and CS allies that worried him. The only ones he could trust were the other Hitlerites in the Front. The Front had thirty-three seats in the National Council, of which only seven were sufficiently pro-Hitler. Hitler had won them their seats, either directly or indirectly via his well-oiled propaganda machine, and they felt more loyalty to him than they did Chairman Gross or the other key players in the Central Committee.
“This is a waste of time,” the man next to him, a fellow Hitlerite, said. Olbrecht nodded at the words and sentiment. “We need to not be a government of talking but a government of action. The Commander would not waste time debating work programs or announcing these small improvements as if they were great triumphs.” The man looked ready to spit then shrugged.
“As I said,” Ernst Rüdiger Camillo von Starhemberg, Councilor of Eferding District, “this is a waste of time. I wish the Commander were here. This facade of governance would be at an end. We need real leadership.”
“Of that, I completely concur, Ernst. He’ll return, in time, and when he does,” Olbrecht narrowed his eyes and looked around the chamber, eyes lingering on the Communists and the Jewish politicians, enemies of the state in all but name, “Then we’ll rid the raff and restore Austria to its rightful place.”
Jinzhou, Manchuria
Republic of China
May 1924
The assembled men rose and came to attention as the small thin man entered the room. The man took his seat at the head of the table, and gestured for the others to sit down.
The colonels, generals and government officials sat down, cigarette smoke thick in the air. At the far end of the room was a large map of East Asia, centered on China. Pins noted divisions of the Fengtian Army near the border with the Zhili Clique.
Despite the building’s thick walls, the sound of trains, trucks and men could be heard. Tens of thousands of soldiers in Jinzhou were outside, with thousands more planned in the coming months.
Several adjutants handed out thick packets of paper in front of every official. The man at the head of the table took a sip from his cup of tea before setting it back down. He opened up the packet that would detail the upcoming military operation.
“Let us begin,” Zhang Zoulin, Marshal of Manchuria said. “We will begin with Scenario Thirteen.”
Tokyo, Japan
Empire of Japan
May 1924
Hitler’s pen slashed his signature across the dotted line. Camera bulbs flashed, immortalizing the moment, nearly blinding him.
Hitler looked up and shook the preferred hand of Japanese Foreign Minister Keishirō Matsui, who bowed slightly as they shook. Hitler mirrored it.
Letting go, Hitler grabbed the pen and offered it to Leichtenberg. The First Secretary came to attention and took it with muted surprise. Hitler stifled a smile. He had the man working sixteen hour days, almost as much as himself, and Hitler knew he would have been unable to carry out his duties so vigorously or effectively without Liese and Leichtenberg.
Further politicking and false smiles followed. A reporter moved up to him, an Englishman with a thick, but understandable, German accent.
“What are your thoughts on the agreement, Herr Ambassador?”
“The Austro-Japanese Trade Agreement is a bold step towards revitalizing Austria’s economy. The Austrian electorate voted for us to bring positive economic change to the Fatherland, and this trade agreement helps relieve the great pressures unfairly imposed on us by the Entente.”
The Englishman looked up from his notebook.
“Unfairly, Herr Ambassador?”
From his periphery, Hitler could see Matsui’s translator whispering in his ear.
“You heard what I said. My country intended to avenge the murder of our Archduke, and yet we were cast as warmongering devils. Having the Black Hand with its Serbian and Russian overlords assassinating the man who would have been our next Kaiser could not be tolerated. A response was necessary, hence our ultimatum to the Serbs.”
“Do you not believe the Austro-Hungarian response was needlessly heavy-handed?” The reporter inquired, pencil over his notepad.
“Heavy-handed?” Hitler stared down the man.
Leichtenberg must have seen his hand tighten beneath the tabletop for the First Secretary stepped forward.
“That’ll be all the questions for now. The Ambassador has another meeting scheduled…”
Hitler held up a hand and Leichtenberg snapped his mouth shut.
“It must be a joy, Herr-“
“Fulcher,” the reporter said, “and the joy, Herr Ambassador?”
“The arrogance of Perfidious Albion. To judge others and yet think yourself above it. You say my country was heavy-handed. Very well. Let us compare some historical notes. Was it heavy-handed when your empire intervened with force when Sultan Khalid bin Barghash ascended to the Zanzibari throne? Was it heavy-handed when your navy starved millions in Europe during the Great War with your tenacious and inhumane blockade? Was it heavy-handed when British jackboots marched in Dublin during the Easter Uprising, suppressing the freedom of an entire people to the political ambitions and whims of London. Do not lecture me or mine, Herr Fulcher, on what is heavy-handed.”
The Englishman shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth to talk but Hitler had one more thing to say.
“There is a saying you English quite love to spout to others, to rub what you believe is superiority but is in fact misplaced hubris. I believe it goes ‘the Sun never sets on the British Empire.’ Well do remember that for every dawn there is a dusk. Your ascendance is not eternal.”
Hitler left the table, shaking the offered hands of lesser Japanese diplomats and several embassy aides, many standing in mute shock.
Finishing, he allowed Leichtenberg to guide him towards a door at the far end of the hall. Standing there was a Japanese suited functionary who opened the door, gesturing for them to proceed.
Stepping through, another functionary stood there who spoke in Japanese. Hitler glanced at Leichtenberg.
“He said, ‘Follow me.’”
The two Austrians followed the Japanese man further into the Ministry. Hitler soon found himself in a much more richly furnished chamber. On one wall was an illustrated and highly detailed map of Asia and the Pacific. Japan and its territories shaded blood-red and done in a way to appear like the rays of the sun spreading across East Asia.. A man in the uniform of the Imperial Japanese Army stood there, looking up at the map, gaze fixed on the Home Islands.
Hitler stopped a certain distance away. His mind went through the steps Leichtenberg had instructed him to follow in this encounter.
He bowed slightly, hands at his side.
“It is an honor to meet you,” Hitler said in Japanese, the memorized words unfamiliar but said with certainty, “Your Highness.”
Near Lublin, Poland
Second Polish Commonwealth
February 1943
Commander Bazyli Sniegow shivered in the wintry morning, his right knee aching from the bitter cold. Before him was a snow covered landscape, marred only by small rolling hills, leaf-ridden trees and a single paved road that was kept clear by the labors of those he watched and guarded.
Behind was a three meter tall fence that went for kilometers in both directions. Every five hundred meters was a watchtower, sporting two searchlights and two machine guns, one facing out past the fence, the other facing inwards.
In the distance, what he awaited finally crested over a hill and moved towards the camp. Three black Steyr 220s moved towards where Sniegow stood, the Kruckenkreuz carefully applied on each side with pennant flags bearing the upturned sword and crossed spears of the Austrian Staatschutz to declare to all who resided within.
Sniegow wished he were anywhere else rather than here. Out on the Eastern Front, where he served until his knee injury prevented further combat service for his beloved Poland in early 1942, it was brutal but amongst his fellow soldiers it was a home of sorts, a brotherhood that survived against all odds. The great struggle against the Soviet menace was a crusade to defend Poland’s faith, culture and national identity. All just reasons to help explain the savagery being carried out on the Russian plains.
When he had returned to Warsaw a near-broken man, both physically and psychologically, following the Third Battle of Smolensk he dreaded whatever desk job the Army would have thanklessly saddled him with. So when an opportunity came from the Ministry of Public Safety to further protect the ojczyzna, and one that came with a substantial pay increase, Sniegow had seized the chance.
Little did he envision it would involve so much paperwork, walking around in freezing temperatures with a stiff knee, and making small talk with Austrian brutes.
The Volkswehr and Sturmwache he could respect in some ways, or at the very least their military professionalism and effectiveness, but the Austrian security forces were cruel beyond measure.
He sighed, taking his hat off to run a gloved hand through thinning hair. He might not care for the service his government demanded of him, but he was a patriot who would nonetheless carry it out, all in the hope of a better future for his children and those that would follow.
The three Austrian motorcars pulled up. The drivers in all three hopped out to open the door for the powerful men in each. Their aides followed after, presenting twelve men in the hechtgrau of the Staatschutz.
The lead figure was rather slim, despite the thick greatcoat covering him. Adolf Eichmann was Staatsprotektor Kaltenbrunner’s right hand man when it came to the affairs of ‘undesirables’ and had thus orchestrated much of the horrors being carried out in Austria and the former Yugoslavia.
The other two leading SS men were Odilo Globocnik and Alois Brunner. Having not only the Sozinat ‘Architect of the Final Solution,’ but also the State Secretary of the Czech Protectorate and the Butcher of Bratislava was disconcerting to say the least.
Sniegow’s right arm shot out. The Austrians repeated in kind.
“Good morning, meine Herren,” Sniegow began, at the moment cursing his fluency in German that had him earmarked to greet the blue-gray clad bastards. “On behalf of my premier and Marshal Rydz-Śmigły, I welcome you,” he turned to gesture at the gate before them, “to the Lublin Jewish Reservation.”
