Also, if so, wouldn't be ironic, that's thanks to it that ITTL Japan'd perhaps become a firm 'believer/supporter' of the League of Nations...
Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
- Thread starter Tanner151
- Start date
Tsk is a valid word. Although I've not yet seen it used in a present tense, I don't see anything wrong with the way Tanner used it.
I mean I didn't say it was wrong, I just suggested using tutting instead because rather than trying to turn an onomatopoeia noun into a present tense verb, you can just say tutting, it's also easier to read (imo), but if he doesn't want to change it, he won't have to :0
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sakhalin Conference Part Two
Tokyo, Japan
Japanese Empire
September 1924
Sakhalin Conference Part Two
Tokyo, Japan
Japanese Empire
September 1924
“I’m sorry for the delay, Minister Matsui, but this Council has decided not to gift North Sakhalin to the Japanese Empire.”
The room smelled of cigarette smoke, tea and coffee. Men from a dozen nations sat in the room, many weary, sweat beading down their necks and eyes heavy with fatigue
Minister Keishirō Matsui looked as if he’d bit into a lemon.
“And why is that?” He asked via a translator.
Secretary-General Drummond leaned back into his chair.
“The League of Nations was designed to prevent wars from developing, to ensure international peace and stability. That would be impossible if the League were to give your Empire land that has been Russian for nearly fifty years. While we here do not agree with the Soviet Union, its ideology or policies, how dare we dictate how they operate within their own borders.”
Leichtenberg leaned forward to whisper in Hitler’s ear. “How fair of them to criticize Japanese actions but not the intervention of the Allies during the Russian Civil War.”
Hitler hid a smile behind his hand, rubbing his mustache to hide what he was thinking.
“Your government, Minister Matsui,” Drummond continued, “Was already in the process of withdrawing from North Sakhalin. To then reward the island to you, snubbing the Soviet Union in the process, could very well lead to a war. The world, gentlemen, is exhausted of war. The wounds left by the Great War have yet to heal. Why risk peace over half an island most people have never even heard of.”
Matsui opened his mouth to counter but Drummond cut him off.
“I’m sorry, Minister Matsui, but the decision is final. North Sakhalin is to be returned to the Soviet Union on the condition that it is demilitarized for twenty years. The conclusion of this conference will be announced publicly on Monday at noon.
Drummond stood and withdrew, the rest of the Executive Council following suit.
Hitler watched as the conference room emptied, eventually leaving Minister Matsui and Prince Yasuhito. The two talked briefly in heated Japanese before Matsui rose to bow to Yasuhito and withdrew hastily.
Yasuhito sighed, rubbing his hands through his neatly combed hair.
“This is becoming a disaster,” he remarked. “We lost our prime minister, my mother and my father, and all we get out of this is a reminder that we are not seen as equals by the West.”
Hitler sat there in silence, letting the Prince vent his frustrations.
Yasuhito slammed both hands, palms down, on the table. “Damn it all, Adi! Damn! It! All! Griichi is furious, and that pales compared to the fury of my brother.”
“What will the emperor do?” Hitler asked quietly.
Yasuhito exhaled. “He’s told the Supreme War Council to ready an additional division to march into North Sakhalin, as well as prepare the mobilization and deployment of a half dozen divisions to Manchuria.”
“Is he going to order an attack on the Soviets?”
“I… I don’t know. It’s possible. He might be swayed to do something else but he can’t be seen as the League’s whipping boy. It’ll discredit him amongst the military.”
“I see.”
The Crown Prince, Heir to the Chrysanthemum Throne, stood up. “It very well might lead to war.”
Hitler hid a smile that threatened to show itself. “That’s very unfortunate,” he lied. “Austria will not be able to aid you. The post-war treaties have broken us. If they weren’t a noose around our neck, then perhaps,” Hitler shrugged.
“I understand,” Yasuhito said quietly but firmly, “Yet honor demands something must be done.”
The room smelled of cigarette smoke, tea and coffee. Men from a dozen nations sat in the room, many weary, sweat beading down their necks and eyes heavy with fatigue
Minister Keishirō Matsui looked as if he’d bit into a lemon.
“And why is that?” He asked via a translator.
Secretary-General Drummond leaned back into his chair.
“The League of Nations was designed to prevent wars from developing, to ensure international peace and stability. That would be impossible if the League were to give your Empire land that has been Russian for nearly fifty years. While we here do not agree with the Soviet Union, its ideology or policies, how dare we dictate how they operate within their own borders.”
Leichtenberg leaned forward to whisper in Hitler’s ear. “How fair of them to criticize Japanese actions but not the intervention of the Allies during the Russian Civil War.”
Hitler hid a smile behind his hand, rubbing his mustache to hide what he was thinking.
“Your government, Minister Matsui,” Drummond continued, “Was already in the process of withdrawing from North Sakhalin. To then reward the island to you, snubbing the Soviet Union in the process, could very well lead to a war. The world, gentlemen, is exhausted of war. The wounds left by the Great War have yet to heal. Why risk peace over half an island most people have never even heard of.”
Matsui opened his mouth to counter but Drummond cut him off.
“I’m sorry, Minister Matsui, but the decision is final. North Sakhalin is to be returned to the Soviet Union on the condition that it is demilitarized for twenty years. The conclusion of this conference will be announced publicly on Monday at noon.
Drummond stood and withdrew, the rest of the Executive Council following suit.
Hitler watched as the conference room emptied, eventually leaving Minister Matsui and Prince Yasuhito. The two talked briefly in heated Japanese before Matsui rose to bow to Yasuhito and withdrew hastily.
Yasuhito sighed, rubbing his hands through his neatly combed hair.
“This is becoming a disaster,” he remarked. “We lost our prime minister, my mother and my father, and all we get out of this is a reminder that we are not seen as equals by the West.”
Hitler sat there in silence, letting the Prince vent his frustrations.
Yasuhito slammed both hands, palms down, on the table. “Damn it all, Adi! Damn! It! All! Griichi is furious, and that pales compared to the fury of my brother.”
“What will the emperor do?” Hitler asked quietly.
Yasuhito exhaled. “He’s told the Supreme War Council to ready an additional division to march into North Sakhalin, as well as prepare the mobilization and deployment of a half dozen divisions to Manchuria.”
“Is he going to order an attack on the Soviets?”
“I… I don’t know. It’s possible. He might be swayed to do something else but he can’t be seen as the League’s whipping boy. It’ll discredit him amongst the military.”
“I see.”
The Crown Prince, Heir to the Chrysanthemum Throne, stood up. “It very well might lead to war.”
Hitler hid a smile that threatened to show itself. “That’s very unfortunate,” he lied. “Austria will not be able to aid you. The post-war treaties have broken us. If they weren’t a noose around our neck, then perhaps,” Hitler shrugged.
“I understand,” Yasuhito said quietly but firmly, “Yet honor demands something must be done.”
+ + +
“Is this truly a good idea, Herr Ambassador?” Konrad Leichtenberg asked. The room was dark, lit only by a lamp. It was dark outside, the sun to properly herald Saturday was still hours away.
Hitler gave a look across his office desk at the Embassy’s First Secretary before taking a deep drink of his coffee before responding.
“Is what a good idea?” he asked after a moment
“Encouraging this war between the Japanese and Soviets? It could be disastrous, sir.”
“There are risks but potentially three positive benefits. One,” Hitler extended his thumb, “A war between Japan and the Soviet Union could potentially weaken the Communists. Their economy is stuttering, their leadership is new and untested, and many within the USSR still chafe at the bit about being under Soviet domination.
“Two, the Soviets have a large army, this is without doubt but their navy, specifically their Pacific Navy, is woefully inadequate against the IJN. At most it will be a status quo and the world will see the Soviet Union for the glass cannon it is. Very strong bite, but vulnerable to cracks.
“And three, if Japan and Russia go to war, there is a chance, admittedly a small one, in which Britain and France might get involved in some form. This will force them to turn their gaze from Central Europe to Eastern Europe. They wouldn’t want weakened nations in Central Europe vulnerable to revolution, therefore the restrictions on economies and rearmament can be removed. All to counter a growing Soviet threat of course,” Hitler gave a sly look to Leichtenberg.
“Japan can be a useful ally, yes, but remember, Konrad, they are a tool to be used and discarded.” Hitler finished his coffee. “I would watch Japan burn if it were to serve my ends.”
Leichtenberg winced, frowning at that.
“Sir, I think-“
A knock sounded from the door and Lieselotte entered.
“Yes?”
“Herr Ambassador, someone has arrived to our main gate.”
Hitler frowned. “Just some common riff-raff. The guards will take care of him.”
“No, sir, I don’t think they will.” That caused Hitler to straighten in his chair, annoyance becoming plain on his face.
“And why is that, Frau Aigner?”
Lieselotte looked at him without flinching. “He is someone who you should definitely see, sir.”
Hitler’s anger cooled. Lieselotte wouldn’t interrupt this meeting without reason.
“Very well,” he finally said. “Come, Konrad, let’s see who our visitor is.”
Hitler and Leichtenberg walked down the staircase, a man standing near the half-open door. Two Austrian soldiers stood by, weapons holstered but alert.
Leichtenberg paused halfway down for a moment before quickly catching up.
“Sir, that’s-“
“I know who it is, Konrad. I’m curious as to why he is here.”
The two Austrians reached the bottom of the stairs and the man gave a solemn nod.
“Mister Ambassador,” he said in excellent German. “A pleasure. I’m Kirill Vladimirovich. I have a proposal for you.”
Györ, Hungary
Kingdom of Hungary
September 1924
Kingdom of Hungary
September 1924
Major Tomás Horváth sipped the lukewarm beer, frowning at its taste.
“German beer not to your liking?” Gregor Barabás said. The former Lenin Boy-turned-Army lieutenant gave a toothy grin.
“Not entirely. I prefer Hungarian beer by far.”
Barabás shrugged and looked at the bartender, an ethnic German.
“Sorry, Ludwig. It seems like the good major does not care for Deutschbier.”
The German, a blond haired man, shrugged as he cleaned a stein.
Sergeant Thuloc, Horváth’s senior NCO, took a deep drag on his cigarette and picked up his shot glass filled to the brim with pálinka. “A true Hungarian drinks pálinka… sirs.”
Horváth chuckled as he raised his hand gestures towards the shot glass, the barmaid understanding.
“Is it just me, or is she getting prettier?” Barabás mused, sipping his beer.
“She’s the same,” Thuloc said, “You’re just more drunk.”
Barabás looked at the half-dozen empty beer bottles and two shot glasses next to him as if in shock.
“Oh.”
Horváth and Thuloc slapped the table in laughter.
Horváth rubbed his face, feeling flushed as he enjoyed himself. He felt relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in a long while. It was truly incredible how many things had changed in Hungary. Since Admiral Miklós Horthy came to power as Regent and appointed István Bethlen as Prime Minister, things had begun to stabilize.
Hungary was no longer at war with its neighbors, though Czechoslovakia, Romania and Yugoslavia kept sizable forces positioned on the border which forced Hungary’s meager twenty thousand soldiers to be spread thin in case of any assault. Yet there was peace… and with peace came prosperity, of sorts.
Trade, especially with Austria and Czechoslovakia, was increasing despite diplomatic tensions. The Hungarian korona was still riddled with inflation and near-worthless but a loan from the League of Nations had stabilized it for now, allowing the monarchy-less Kingdom of Hungary to begin infrastructure and industry projects to further strengthen its flagging economy.
Concerning the Admiral, or rather Regent, well… Horváth had great respect for power and Horthy had brought the country back from the brink. The Regent was autocratic, a dictator in all but name, but food was on the table and money of various value was in his pocket.
Sometimes that was enough.
Horváth looked at Barabás and Thuloc. Friends, comrades-in-arms, brothers of a sort. As the barmaid came by to deliver their shots of pálinka The Hungarian major nodded in thanks.
Grabbing his glass shot he raised it.
“To Horthy and Hungary!”
“To Horthy and Hungary!” Both replied with enthusiasm before downing their drinks in celebration.
“German beer not to your liking?” Gregor Barabás said. The former Lenin Boy-turned-Army lieutenant gave a toothy grin.
“Not entirely. I prefer Hungarian beer by far.”
Barabás shrugged and looked at the bartender, an ethnic German.
“Sorry, Ludwig. It seems like the good major does not care for Deutschbier.”
The German, a blond haired man, shrugged as he cleaned a stein.
Sergeant Thuloc, Horváth’s senior NCO, took a deep drag on his cigarette and picked up his shot glass filled to the brim with pálinka. “A true Hungarian drinks pálinka… sirs.”
Horváth chuckled as he raised his hand gestures towards the shot glass, the barmaid understanding.
“Is it just me, or is she getting prettier?” Barabás mused, sipping his beer.
“She’s the same,” Thuloc said, “You’re just more drunk.”
Barabás looked at the half-dozen empty beer bottles and two shot glasses next to him as if in shock.
“Oh.”
Horváth and Thuloc slapped the table in laughter.
Horváth rubbed his face, feeling flushed as he enjoyed himself. He felt relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in a long while. It was truly incredible how many things had changed in Hungary. Since Admiral Miklós Horthy came to power as Regent and appointed István Bethlen as Prime Minister, things had begun to stabilize.
Hungary was no longer at war with its neighbors, though Czechoslovakia, Romania and Yugoslavia kept sizable forces positioned on the border which forced Hungary’s meager twenty thousand soldiers to be spread thin in case of any assault. Yet there was peace… and with peace came prosperity, of sorts.
Trade, especially with Austria and Czechoslovakia, was increasing despite diplomatic tensions. The Hungarian korona was still riddled with inflation and near-worthless but a loan from the League of Nations had stabilized it for now, allowing the monarchy-less Kingdom of Hungary to begin infrastructure and industry projects to further strengthen its flagging economy.
Concerning the Admiral, or rather Regent, well… Horváth had great respect for power and Horthy had brought the country back from the brink. The Regent was autocratic, a dictator in all but name, but food was on the table and money of various value was in his pocket.
Sometimes that was enough.
Horváth looked at Barabás and Thuloc. Friends, comrades-in-arms, brothers of a sort. As the barmaid came by to deliver their shots of pálinka The Hungarian major nodded in thanks.
Grabbing his glass shot he raised it.
“To Horthy and Hungary!”
“To Horthy and Hungary!” Both replied with enthusiasm before downing their drinks in celebration.
Bruneck, South Tyrol
Kingdom of Italy
September 1924
Kingdom of Italy
September 1924
Black jackboots clicked on the cobble road. Jakob Kuhr watched with thinly veiled disgust at the newly arrived Italians. It wasn’t the first batch of foreign occupiers to arrive to enforce martial law on South Tyrol.
Ever since Kuhr and his men had ambushed that Italian squad weeks ago, things had progressively worsened. It seemed Mussolini, the bombastic bald Il Duce, was furious that his soldiers were killed on what the dictator declared was Italian soil.
While most of South Tyrol would dispute that, few seemed hesitant to do anything about it. The Wolves and a few like-minded patriots could do little against the several thousand strong garrison that now took few risks. Patrols were doubled in size, curfews implemented. To offset occupation costs, the Italians had levied an ‘integration tax’ on goods. So if an Austrian mother bought milk for her hungry child or an Austrian carpenter bought tools for his trade, part of their hard-earned money would go to their own oppression. Those who refused to levy the tax in their stores were subsequently arrested and an Italian business owner would move in to buy the business for a portion of its true cost. Already a half-dozen shops were now run by Italians where only a month ago they had been trueborn Austrians.
It was sickening, Kuhr’s mouth tasted sour as he watched the sharply dressed and well-armed troops march into the city center. The onlooking crowds, forced to attend, stood silent. There was no clapping or cheering, just a silent observation. Some women and even a man or two cried, likely remembering how events were in the aftermath of the Great War.
“What are we to do, boss? We can’t fight that many,” whispered Anton Braunwald, the bartender’s son. An impressionable young man, he was just young enough to have not fought in the war. If Kuhr was to resist the Italians, then he would have to recruit more and more among the South Tyrolese. The score of Wolves he had brought with him were too few to make a suitable enough difference in the grand scheme of things. Also Anton spoke Italian, learning it in school where it was now a requirement in the ‘Italianized Curriculum.’
Before Kuhr could respond, a Fiat 501-S model car drove up alongside the column of infantry, little Italian flags on the hood flapping in the wind. It stopped in the city square as troops began to form up behind the vehicle, facing the locals.
An older Italian stepped out in the uniform of an officer. It was hard to tell from the distance exactly what the man’s rank was but the Italian was older and sported a white mustache. The man was clearly displeased, a look of disgust wrought on his face. Another officer, less laden with medals and lacking a sash, stood next to the older officer, a megaphone in hand.
The older officer began to speak but Kuhr couldn’t hear or understand him. He turned to Anton but the boy shook his head, also unable to hear.
The officer with the megaphone began to speak, amplifying his words across the square, repeating what his commander had said and translating it into German.
“I am Field Marshal Luigi Cadorna. I have been sent by Prime Minister Mussolini to enforce law and order in the kingdom’s South Tyrol province. The recent debauchery by the local criminal and seditious element is to end now.”
Cadorna moved forward, the megaphone-wielding officer and two guards mirrored him. The field marshal stood in front of the crowd, staring them down with vile bitterness.
“While the Italian tricolor flies over this land it is then subject to Italian law. However, the prime minister has given me the authority to do what I must to ensure compliance and integration.” Cadorna’s gaze swept over where Kuhr and Anton stood though he wasn't looking at them specifically. Anton shuffled nervously but Kuhr stared back, unfazed.
“I can be a fair hand over you… but justice for the murdered soldiers must come first.” Cadorna raised his hand and waved it forward. Dozens of Italians moved forward, eliciting screams and people backing up, some falling and being stepped on.
Twenty Austrians, all men and boys, were dragged to the center of the square. Some were old enough to have seen the Austro-Prussian War, others were younger than Anton. They were dragged and thrown onto the ground, guns aimed at them.
“South Tyrol will become a peaceful province of Italy. I am forced to do this because of the actions of a few. It is their fault for what is to happen, not mine! While I am in command here there will be zero toleration of disobedience, sedition and Germanic barbarism.”
Cadorna walked to the end of the line of assembled captives.
“This is the price you pay. Actions always have consequences.”
He raised his hand again, this time rifles were raised, aimed at the back of crying Austrians who laid there in disbelief and horror. The field marshal’s hand fell down as if the event it was ordering to happen was unimportant.
Twenty rifles thundered and twenty new corpses littered Bruneck’s city square.
“Peace, law and order are now the way of this land. Follow the edicts and rules and you will have a fine life. Break them, and you and your people will suffer.”
The field marshal returned to his car and it drove away, the Italian soldiers soon following as they marched off to their newly constructed barracks. Earning Mussolini’s ire had caused Cadorna’s heavy hand.
Despite the dead in the square and the wailing that followed, Kuhr couldn’t help but feel relief. Not only that he hadn’t been chosen, but also the retaliatory acts of the Italians. If Cadorna had come offering a carrot rather than a stick it could have very likely killed the resistance movement in its fragile infancy. Now… now it would only grow. Kuhr saw the hatred in the faces and tears of those around him. As the soldiers left the square, family members and friends moved forward to gather the bodies and mourn.
South Tyrol was quickly turning into a house of cards. All Kuhr needed to do was give it a little push and it would all come crashing down in rebellion.
Kuhr remembered what he and other patriots had said in the town’s bierhaus when Hitler’s call to arms concerning Carinthia had reached them in what felt like an age ago but in reality was only five and a half years. They had said ‘First Carinthia, then South Tyrol!’
It seemed that South Tyrol’s turn was finally coming.
Ever since Kuhr and his men had ambushed that Italian squad weeks ago, things had progressively worsened. It seemed Mussolini, the bombastic bald Il Duce, was furious that his soldiers were killed on what the dictator declared was Italian soil.
While most of South Tyrol would dispute that, few seemed hesitant to do anything about it. The Wolves and a few like-minded patriots could do little against the several thousand strong garrison that now took few risks. Patrols were doubled in size, curfews implemented. To offset occupation costs, the Italians had levied an ‘integration tax’ on goods. So if an Austrian mother bought milk for her hungry child or an Austrian carpenter bought tools for his trade, part of their hard-earned money would go to their own oppression. Those who refused to levy the tax in their stores were subsequently arrested and an Italian business owner would move in to buy the business for a portion of its true cost. Already a half-dozen shops were now run by Italians where only a month ago they had been trueborn Austrians.
It was sickening, Kuhr’s mouth tasted sour as he watched the sharply dressed and well-armed troops march into the city center. The onlooking crowds, forced to attend, stood silent. There was no clapping or cheering, just a silent observation. Some women and even a man or two cried, likely remembering how events were in the aftermath of the Great War.
“What are we to do, boss? We can’t fight that many,” whispered Anton Braunwald, the bartender’s son. An impressionable young man, he was just young enough to have not fought in the war. If Kuhr was to resist the Italians, then he would have to recruit more and more among the South Tyrolese. The score of Wolves he had brought with him were too few to make a suitable enough difference in the grand scheme of things. Also Anton spoke Italian, learning it in school where it was now a requirement in the ‘Italianized Curriculum.’
Before Kuhr could respond, a Fiat 501-S model car drove up alongside the column of infantry, little Italian flags on the hood flapping in the wind. It stopped in the city square as troops began to form up behind the vehicle, facing the locals.
An older Italian stepped out in the uniform of an officer. It was hard to tell from the distance exactly what the man’s rank was but the Italian was older and sported a white mustache. The man was clearly displeased, a look of disgust wrought on his face. Another officer, less laden with medals and lacking a sash, stood next to the older officer, a megaphone in hand.
The older officer began to speak but Kuhr couldn’t hear or understand him. He turned to Anton but the boy shook his head, also unable to hear.
The officer with the megaphone began to speak, amplifying his words across the square, repeating what his commander had said and translating it into German.
“I am Field Marshal Luigi Cadorna. I have been sent by Prime Minister Mussolini to enforce law and order in the kingdom’s South Tyrol province. The recent debauchery by the local criminal and seditious element is to end now.”
Cadorna moved forward, the megaphone-wielding officer and two guards mirrored him. The field marshal stood in front of the crowd, staring them down with vile bitterness.
“While the Italian tricolor flies over this land it is then subject to Italian law. However, the prime minister has given me the authority to do what I must to ensure compliance and integration.” Cadorna’s gaze swept over where Kuhr and Anton stood though he wasn't looking at them specifically. Anton shuffled nervously but Kuhr stared back, unfazed.
“I can be a fair hand over you… but justice for the murdered soldiers must come first.” Cadorna raised his hand and waved it forward. Dozens of Italians moved forward, eliciting screams and people backing up, some falling and being stepped on.
Twenty Austrians, all men and boys, were dragged to the center of the square. Some were old enough to have seen the Austro-Prussian War, others were younger than Anton. They were dragged and thrown onto the ground, guns aimed at them.
“South Tyrol will become a peaceful province of Italy. I am forced to do this because of the actions of a few. It is their fault for what is to happen, not mine! While I am in command here there will be zero toleration of disobedience, sedition and Germanic barbarism.”
Cadorna walked to the end of the line of assembled captives.
“This is the price you pay. Actions always have consequences.”
He raised his hand again, this time rifles were raised, aimed at the back of crying Austrians who laid there in disbelief and horror. The field marshal’s hand fell down as if the event it was ordering to happen was unimportant.
Twenty rifles thundered and twenty new corpses littered Bruneck’s city square.
“Peace, law and order are now the way of this land. Follow the edicts and rules and you will have a fine life. Break them, and you and your people will suffer.”
The field marshal returned to his car and it drove away, the Italian soldiers soon following as they marched off to their newly constructed barracks. Earning Mussolini’s ire had caused Cadorna’s heavy hand.
Despite the dead in the square and the wailing that followed, Kuhr couldn’t help but feel relief. Not only that he hadn’t been chosen, but also the retaliatory acts of the Italians. If Cadorna had come offering a carrot rather than a stick it could have very likely killed the resistance movement in its fragile infancy. Now… now it would only grow. Kuhr saw the hatred in the faces and tears of those around him. As the soldiers left the square, family members and friends moved forward to gather the bodies and mourn.
South Tyrol was quickly turning into a house of cards. All Kuhr needed to do was give it a little push and it would all come crashing down in rebellion.
Kuhr remembered what he and other patriots had said in the town’s bierhaus when Hitler’s call to arms concerning Carinthia had reached them in what felt like an age ago but in reality was only five and a half years. They had said ‘First Carinthia, then South Tyrol!’
It seemed that South Tyrol’s turn was finally coming.
Berlin, Germany
German Reich
September 1924
German Reich
September 1924
Paul Lutjens took a sip of beer, savoring the excellent taste. Say what you will about the Germans, they made excellent beer.
Finishing his stein, he raised it to get the bartender’s attention. The man nodded and took it to refill. Lutjens brought out a cigarette, lighting it, and took a deep drag, savoring the flavor. Exhaling he felt stress melt away.
It had been a difficult few months. Hell, it had been a difficult year, yet at long last he was finally able to work consistently. The German economy was slowly recovering due to the efforts of Gustav Streseman, once Chancellor but now only Foreign Minister, and the new American-crafted Dawes Plan that helped alleviate much of the fiscal burden that stuttered the German economy. Things were starting to be produced and money, actual money with value this time, was being paid out and circulating.
His stein, now refilled with a delicious golden liquid, was placed before him and he nodded in thanks to the bartender. Taking the stein he sipped, enjoying not only the taste but also that for the first time in a long time he could splurge on himself a bit. He had gone from near-eviction to semi-comfortable.
A lot of that was thanks to Ursula, his roommate. Ursula Winkler, well, she was a curious one. Usually was up and gone in the morning before he stirred from slumber and wouldn’t return until late in the evening long after he had returned.
They shared very little small talk, rarely even eating together or socializing. All he knew about her was that she was likely a prostitute of some sort and was vehemently anti-fascist after she made some scathing remarks about the Oppressor of South Tyrol, a certain Luigi Cadorna. The Italian field marshal did not even try and keep his executions hidden, showing them off to the world as the consequences of resisting the new regime. Newspapers showcased photographs of the mass graves, with estimates that already two hundred South Tyrolese had been killed in the weeks since taking command.
The League of Nations had issued a protest, but little was done to actually intervene and stop the butchery. Lutjens, as a committed Austrian, was outraged… but he knew the executions were the result of a murdered squad of Italian soldiers. Nothing came without cost.
And even though he was an Austrian man to his core, the Austria he loved was not exactly the one that existed. Political and ethnic tensions were rising back home with the Austrian democrats, communists and fascists all fighting in the streets with fists and in the halls of parliament with words… and sometimes fists. And if Germany was recovering, Austria was not, at least not on the same scale.
Nursing the beer, a woman’s voice interrupted him.
“Have I seen you around before?” asked a woman’s voice.
Lutjens turned to look at the speaker, breath catching in his throat. She was beautiful, her flaxen hair tied into a tight bun and her eyes appeared to be blue jewels. She was thin but not unhealthily so with a large bosom well-hidden by a form-fitting white uniform shirt.
“I doubt it,” Lutjens said after a moment, captivated by her beauty. “I don’t come here that often.”
The woman smiled, white pearls emphasizing her striking beauty. “You should come by more often then.” She held out a hand which he took. “Bärbel Herrmann.”
“Paul Lutjens.”
“Are you from Bavaria?” she asked, likely due to his accent.
“No, Austria.”
“Ah.” She nodded in understanding. “You fought in the war?”
Lutjens gave a shrug. “Who didn’t my age. Lost a lot of friends, thankfully I made it out alright.” He took a sip of beer, feeling Bärbel’s intense gaze on him.
“Shame that we weren’t able to become a united country. All Germans should be united in land as well as blood. It’s all because of the vile French and their British bootlickers.”
Lutjens nodded, but an alarm rang inside his head. United in land… blood… hating the French… he looked over her clothing again, not trying to see the curves underneath but rather the articles of clothing themselves. A white shirt with a khaki dress with an armband around her left arm. The armband was white but in the middle of it was a black sun ablaze. The Sonnenrad, symbol of Germany’s largest fascist movement.
She saw his gaze. “Oh yes, I nearly forgot why I came over to you.” She flashed him another dazzling smile. She reached into a satchel she wore and pulled out a flier. On the cover was a Teutonic knight holding an unsheathed sword and shield, protecting a blonde maiden who stared in horror at four approaching figures. A casual glance showed incredibly stereotypical and racist caricatures of Russians, Frenchmen, American Negroes and Jews.
The caption read, “Only we can protect the German Race!” At the bottom in smaller print read: “Vote for the Free German Workers’ Defense League this September for a New Germany!”
Bärbel held out the flier to him, holding it out like a holy work of text.
He looked at it and frowned. “I think you may have the wrong idea.”
Bärbel looked stunned. “Are you not a German patriot?”
“Considering I’m not German-”
“But you are! Austrians are brothers to the Germans. Your language is German, your culture, your blood-”
“Please stop. I am about as apolitical as you get. I have no interest in the FDAS so I would prefer if you kept your rhetoric for someone else.” He finished his beer, paid the tab and rose to leave. A burly young man in his early twenties and nearly two meters tall, stood up to block his way. He wore a khaki shirt and trousers.
“You’ll take the flier, friend, unless you’re some kind of damn Communist. Love sucking Sverdlov’s cock, you Red bastard?”
“Wonder if that classifies as kosher or not.”
“You- what?” The twenty-year old might have impressive muscles but clearly lacked a sense of sarcasm.
“Listen, I’ve had a long day and I’d like to go home. So if you would please move.” Lutjens tried to go around him but the fascist barred his way, pushing back on him. Lutjens was starting to get annoyed.
“How old are you?” he asked.
The fascist scowled. “Twenty-two.”
“So you missed the war, and now you antagonize a veteran. I thought you fascist scum glorified veterans? I’ve killed men and seen horrors you wouldn’t believe. Don’t fuck with me and get out of my way, boy.”
The khaki-clothed fascist’s face turned beet red at the insults and raised his fist to strike, but Lutjens was expecting that. He stepped forward, inside the tall man’s reach, and kneed him in the groin. The man fell to his knees. Lutjens grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed his head onto the bar counter. The man fell over, unconscious and bleeding. Lutjens patted him down, finding a wallet. Inside were a mix of Rentenmark and Papiermark. He took out the wad of cash, pocketed a twenty Rentenmark bill and put the rest on the counter.
To the bartender he said, “For the mess.”
Looking back he expected to see the FDAS woman furious, instead she stared at him with a collected gaze. Her cheeks were flushed but she said nothing as he turned around and left.
He took the long way home, backtracking and pausing frequently to see if anyone followed him. Once he was sure no one was, he entered his apartment building and quickly took the stairs up. He would need to carry a pistol with him for the foreseeable future, just in case.
Key out, he entered his apartment quickly, hearing several yelps of surprise from inside. After closing and locking the door, he turned and was surprised not only seeing Ursula home so early but also a dozen other people, most women. The three men pulled out cudgels but Ursula’s voice stopped them.
“He’s my roommate!” Her blonde hair was in a braid and her brown eyes stared at him intently, possibly even worried.
“Ursula, I don’t mind you having people over but why are there so many-”
And then he saw it. On the table at which Ursula sat at was a large banner, adorned in a symbol he had seen often in the newspapers and in the streets from supporters of a particular movement that frequently involved itself in street fights.
It was a gold-rimmed red star. On the inside were a hammer and sickle. At the top were the words: ‘Down with the Scum! Vote for the Movement of the Proletariat!’ and at the bottom read: Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands.
Lütjens looked at Ursula and before he could help it the word slipped out, “Shit.”
Finishing his stein, he raised it to get the bartender’s attention. The man nodded and took it to refill. Lutjens brought out a cigarette, lighting it, and took a deep drag, savoring the flavor. Exhaling he felt stress melt away.
It had been a difficult few months. Hell, it had been a difficult year, yet at long last he was finally able to work consistently. The German economy was slowly recovering due to the efforts of Gustav Streseman, once Chancellor but now only Foreign Minister, and the new American-crafted Dawes Plan that helped alleviate much of the fiscal burden that stuttered the German economy. Things were starting to be produced and money, actual money with value this time, was being paid out and circulating.
His stein, now refilled with a delicious golden liquid, was placed before him and he nodded in thanks to the bartender. Taking the stein he sipped, enjoying not only the taste but also that for the first time in a long time he could splurge on himself a bit. He had gone from near-eviction to semi-comfortable.
A lot of that was thanks to Ursula, his roommate. Ursula Winkler, well, she was a curious one. Usually was up and gone in the morning before he stirred from slumber and wouldn’t return until late in the evening long after he had returned.
They shared very little small talk, rarely even eating together or socializing. All he knew about her was that she was likely a prostitute of some sort and was vehemently anti-fascist after she made some scathing remarks about the Oppressor of South Tyrol, a certain Luigi Cadorna. The Italian field marshal did not even try and keep his executions hidden, showing them off to the world as the consequences of resisting the new regime. Newspapers showcased photographs of the mass graves, with estimates that already two hundred South Tyrolese had been killed in the weeks since taking command.
The League of Nations had issued a protest, but little was done to actually intervene and stop the butchery. Lutjens, as a committed Austrian, was outraged… but he knew the executions were the result of a murdered squad of Italian soldiers. Nothing came without cost.
And even though he was an Austrian man to his core, the Austria he loved was not exactly the one that existed. Political and ethnic tensions were rising back home with the Austrian democrats, communists and fascists all fighting in the streets with fists and in the halls of parliament with words… and sometimes fists. And if Germany was recovering, Austria was not, at least not on the same scale.
Nursing the beer, a woman’s voice interrupted him.
“Have I seen you around before?” asked a woman’s voice.
Lutjens turned to look at the speaker, breath catching in his throat. She was beautiful, her flaxen hair tied into a tight bun and her eyes appeared to be blue jewels. She was thin but not unhealthily so with a large bosom well-hidden by a form-fitting white uniform shirt.
“I doubt it,” Lutjens said after a moment, captivated by her beauty. “I don’t come here that often.”
The woman smiled, white pearls emphasizing her striking beauty. “You should come by more often then.” She held out a hand which he took. “Bärbel Herrmann.”
“Paul Lutjens.”
“Are you from Bavaria?” she asked, likely due to his accent.
“No, Austria.”
“Ah.” She nodded in understanding. “You fought in the war?”
Lutjens gave a shrug. “Who didn’t my age. Lost a lot of friends, thankfully I made it out alright.” He took a sip of beer, feeling Bärbel’s intense gaze on him.
“Shame that we weren’t able to become a united country. All Germans should be united in land as well as blood. It’s all because of the vile French and their British bootlickers.”
Lutjens nodded, but an alarm rang inside his head. United in land… blood… hating the French… he looked over her clothing again, not trying to see the curves underneath but rather the articles of clothing themselves. A white shirt with a khaki dress with an armband around her left arm. The armband was white but in the middle of it was a black sun ablaze. The Sonnenrad, symbol of Germany’s largest fascist movement.
She saw his gaze. “Oh yes, I nearly forgot why I came over to you.” She flashed him another dazzling smile. She reached into a satchel she wore and pulled out a flier. On the cover was a Teutonic knight holding an unsheathed sword and shield, protecting a blonde maiden who stared in horror at four approaching figures. A casual glance showed incredibly stereotypical and racist caricatures of Russians, Frenchmen, American Negroes and Jews.
The caption read, “Only we can protect the German Race!” At the bottom in smaller print read: “Vote for the Free German Workers’ Defense League this September for a New Germany!”
Bärbel held out the flier to him, holding it out like a holy work of text.
He looked at it and frowned. “I think you may have the wrong idea.”
Bärbel looked stunned. “Are you not a German patriot?”
“Considering I’m not German-”
“But you are! Austrians are brothers to the Germans. Your language is German, your culture, your blood-”
“Please stop. I am about as apolitical as you get. I have no interest in the FDAS so I would prefer if you kept your rhetoric for someone else.” He finished his beer, paid the tab and rose to leave. A burly young man in his early twenties and nearly two meters tall, stood up to block his way. He wore a khaki shirt and trousers.
“You’ll take the flier, friend, unless you’re some kind of damn Communist. Love sucking Sverdlov’s cock, you Red bastard?”
“Wonder if that classifies as kosher or not.”
“You- what?” The twenty-year old might have impressive muscles but clearly lacked a sense of sarcasm.
“Listen, I’ve had a long day and I’d like to go home. So if you would please move.” Lutjens tried to go around him but the fascist barred his way, pushing back on him. Lutjens was starting to get annoyed.
“How old are you?” he asked.
The fascist scowled. “Twenty-two.”
“So you missed the war, and now you antagonize a veteran. I thought you fascist scum glorified veterans? I’ve killed men and seen horrors you wouldn’t believe. Don’t fuck with me and get out of my way, boy.”
The khaki-clothed fascist’s face turned beet red at the insults and raised his fist to strike, but Lutjens was expecting that. He stepped forward, inside the tall man’s reach, and kneed him in the groin. The man fell to his knees. Lutjens grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed his head onto the bar counter. The man fell over, unconscious and bleeding. Lutjens patted him down, finding a wallet. Inside were a mix of Rentenmark and Papiermark. He took out the wad of cash, pocketed a twenty Rentenmark bill and put the rest on the counter.
To the bartender he said, “For the mess.”
Looking back he expected to see the FDAS woman furious, instead she stared at him with a collected gaze. Her cheeks were flushed but she said nothing as he turned around and left.
He took the long way home, backtracking and pausing frequently to see if anyone followed him. Once he was sure no one was, he entered his apartment building and quickly took the stairs up. He would need to carry a pistol with him for the foreseeable future, just in case.
Key out, he entered his apartment quickly, hearing several yelps of surprise from inside. After closing and locking the door, he turned and was surprised not only seeing Ursula home so early but also a dozen other people, most women. The three men pulled out cudgels but Ursula’s voice stopped them.
“He’s my roommate!” Her blonde hair was in a braid and her brown eyes stared at him intently, possibly even worried.
“Ursula, I don’t mind you having people over but why are there so many-”
And then he saw it. On the table at which Ursula sat at was a large banner, adorned in a symbol he had seen often in the newspapers and in the streets from supporters of a particular movement that frequently involved itself in street fights.
It was a gold-rimmed red star. On the inside were a hammer and sickle. At the top were the words: ‘Down with the Scum! Vote for the Movement of the Proletariat!’ and at the bottom read: Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands.
Lütjens looked at Ursula and before he could help it the word slipped out, “Shit.”
Tokyo, Japan
Empire of Japan
September 1924
Empire of Japan
September 1924
“You must agree, this is highly irregular,” Garth Culpepper, officially known as Murphy Lewis on this mission, said to the other man, an American attached to their Secretary of State.
Culpepper watched William ‘Bill’ Donovan read over the paper again before tossing the paper down and sighing.
“Yes, it is irregular, but tell me, Murphy, what about anything in the past forty-eight hours have been normal.”
“True. There has been a lot of hush-hush between Sir Charles Eliot and Secretary-General Drummond over the weekend. Japanese officials have been seen coming and going several times.”
Donovan added after a moment, appearing to ponder, “Adolf Hitler has been seen going into the Japanese Foreign Ministry at Kasumigaseki Saturday morning. He hasn’t left yet.”
“The Austrian Ambassador?”
“The very one. He’s an insidious bastard, that one.”
“Is that why you were sent here, to observe him?” Culpepper asked nonchalantly.
“Just like you were sent here as an aide to Sir Hughes. Isn't that right, ‘Murph?’” Donavan asked with a straight face.
Culpepper looked at the American and shrugged, causing Donovan to laugh.
“In our line of work, Murph, we have to hide our objectives behind a façade.”
“We do the dirty work so the world stays clean.”
“Precisely.” Donovan stood. “Shall we, my overbearing British friend.”
“We shall, my rebellious American chap.”
The two men left the café, having placed themselves at the back facing the doorway, and entered Donovan’s car, an imported Ford. Culpepper doubted Donovan knew his real identity, merely that Murphy Lewis was an alias. One he would have to double-check back home to ensure it wasn’t compromised. Perhaps the American intelligence apparatus, decentralized and underfunded as it currently was, was far better than MI6 gave it credit for.
The Ford car drove through Tokyo to Kasumigaseki of Chiyoda Ward, the beating heart of the Japanese government. Security was heightened, naturally, following the July 8th Incident which saw the Empress, the Prime Minister and many others murdered by anarcho-communist forces.
Arriving at the Japanese Foreign Ministry, Donovan parked the car, and the two walked up to the entrance of the Ministry which was full of reporters and government officials. A podium with a dozen microphones stood vacant in front of the Ministry’s doors. Dozens of security guards were visible, likely more stashed away elsewhere in case there was trouble.
Culpepper saw Donovan move towards Secretary Hughes while he himself found Ambassador Eliot.
“You Excellency, what is all this about?”
The British Ambassador to Japan frowned. “A devil’s bargain.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll see in just a moment, Mister Lewis.” Eliot shook his head. “The whole world is about to see.”
The assembled crowd began to hush themselves as Secretary-General Drummond moved to the podium. Drummond appeared tired as if the past couple of days had been restless and demanding, which was likely considering all the rumored backroom dealing that had taken place over the weekend.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for your patience.” Drummond took a deep breath. “The past couple of weeks the Sakhalin Conference, spearheaded by myself, the Executive Council of the League of Nations, and Foreign Minister Matsui, has convened here in the fair city of Tokyo. We set out to determine whether or not the Empire of Japan should annex North Sakhalin, all in the interest of world peace and stability. After much debate and a bold compromise achieved only late last night, I am pleased to announce that North Sakhalin will not be annexed by Japan nor gifted to the Soviet Union so as to prevent conflict between the two nations.””
The assembled crowd muttered, cameras flashing as reporters wrote furiously in their notepads. Drummond continued.
“Rather, North Sakhalin will become a demilitarized buffer zone void of any Japanese and Soviet forces. As such North Sakhalin will be reorganized into the Second Tsardom of Russia, allowing a nation free of Communism to act as a safe haven for any Russians who have suffered and fled from Soviet oppression. And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the founding tsar of this new nation and the man who proposed this idea: Kirill Vladimirovich Romanov.”
Polite clapping followed. Culpepper joined in. A slight against the Soviets was always a victory, but to essentially revive a Romanov-led Russia… that was a bit reckless. Culpepper eyed Drummond who clapped and shook Kirill’s hand, but Culpepper could tell the Secretary-General was stiff, the handshake a mere formality. Clearly the Secretary-General was not a fan of this deal, but perhaps he had no choice. Eying the Japanese delegates who stood behind the podium, smiling, shaking hands and bowing to one another, Culpepper could guess that the Japanese saw this as a victory of sorts. Even if they could not directly rule North Sakhalin, they kept it out of the hands of the Soviets and now a vocal anti-Communist Romanov sat on the throne of this ‘Second Tsardom.’ It wouldn’t surprise Culpepper if behind the scenes, the Japanese pulled the strings of Kirill and whatever government he would establish in the coming months.
Was a war prevented by this compromise? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Culpepper had a feeling war would come one day, that this Sakhalin Compromise merely delayed it. He looked out across the crowd and caught Donovan’s eye. The American scowled, likely coming to the same conclusions as he.
Unbeknownst to Culpepper and Donovan, Hitler watched the events unfold from several stories up in the Japanese Foreign Ministry. The Japanese in the room were cracking open bottles of sake and other local liquors, speaking excitedly in rapid tones that made it hard for Leichtenberg to translate.
“Sir, would you care for a drink?”
Hitler shook his head and the First Secretary withdrew to leave Hitler to his thoughts. Looking down, he saw Kirill, now Tsar Kirill I, make his speech in English about the hopes and dreams of his newborn nation, of the reasoning for its founding, and so on and so forth. Most of the speech Kirill had come up with himself, but the rest had been ‘suggested’ by Foreign Minister Matsui and Hitler himself.
Three days ago Hitler had readied himself to the fact that war would break out between the Japanese and Soviets. While war between the two nations was an outcome he was not particularly against, as there were potential benefits to come from the conflict, it was not the preferred outcome. And neither was the Sakhalin Compromise, but perhaps it was a better alternative. North Sakhalin to act as a ‘buffer zone’ between the USSR and Japanese Empire was a gilded lie. Give it a few years, maybe a decade or more, but in time Japanese soldiers would march through the streets of Alexandrovsky and the Rising Sun would rule the pissant tsardom in all but name.
Hitler could feel pride in the hand he had played here, both with the Austro-Japanese Trade Agreement and the Sakhalin Conference and subsequent Compromise. Yet his actions were not without consequences. Already he had received reports from Olbrecht stating the frayed relationship between the National Liberal Front and the Christian Social Party, and the growing divide within the Front itself. Hitler’s actions had been praised by his supporters in Parliament, while his enemies once again barred their knives. Official government communiques from Vienna had relayed Chancellor Seipel's belief that Hitler had overstepped his authority and that an investigation would be carried out.
He would be recalled soon, there was no doubt about that. Possibly forced to resign and be censured, but Hitler was planning for that. The consequences for his actions were coming due yet he was unafraid.
“Let them come,” he said quietly as the men behind him started to make toasts to this historic day. “Let them try.”
Culpepper watched William ‘Bill’ Donovan read over the paper again before tossing the paper down and sighing.
“Yes, it is irregular, but tell me, Murphy, what about anything in the past forty-eight hours have been normal.”
“True. There has been a lot of hush-hush between Sir Charles Eliot and Secretary-General Drummond over the weekend. Japanese officials have been seen coming and going several times.”
Donovan added after a moment, appearing to ponder, “Adolf Hitler has been seen going into the Japanese Foreign Ministry at Kasumigaseki Saturday morning. He hasn’t left yet.”
“The Austrian Ambassador?”
“The very one. He’s an insidious bastard, that one.”
“Is that why you were sent here, to observe him?” Culpepper asked nonchalantly.
“Just like you were sent here as an aide to Sir Hughes. Isn't that right, ‘Murph?’” Donavan asked with a straight face.
Culpepper looked at the American and shrugged, causing Donovan to laugh.
“In our line of work, Murph, we have to hide our objectives behind a façade.”
“We do the dirty work so the world stays clean.”
“Precisely.” Donovan stood. “Shall we, my overbearing British friend.”
“We shall, my rebellious American chap.”
The two men left the café, having placed themselves at the back facing the doorway, and entered Donovan’s car, an imported Ford. Culpepper doubted Donovan knew his real identity, merely that Murphy Lewis was an alias. One he would have to double-check back home to ensure it wasn’t compromised. Perhaps the American intelligence apparatus, decentralized and underfunded as it currently was, was far better than MI6 gave it credit for.
The Ford car drove through Tokyo to Kasumigaseki of Chiyoda Ward, the beating heart of the Japanese government. Security was heightened, naturally, following the July 8th Incident which saw the Empress, the Prime Minister and many others murdered by anarcho-communist forces.
Arriving at the Japanese Foreign Ministry, Donovan parked the car, and the two walked up to the entrance of the Ministry which was full of reporters and government officials. A podium with a dozen microphones stood vacant in front of the Ministry’s doors. Dozens of security guards were visible, likely more stashed away elsewhere in case there was trouble.
Culpepper saw Donovan move towards Secretary Hughes while he himself found Ambassador Eliot.
“You Excellency, what is all this about?”
The British Ambassador to Japan frowned. “A devil’s bargain.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll see in just a moment, Mister Lewis.” Eliot shook his head. “The whole world is about to see.”
The assembled crowd began to hush themselves as Secretary-General Drummond moved to the podium. Drummond appeared tired as if the past couple of days had been restless and demanding, which was likely considering all the rumored backroom dealing that had taken place over the weekend.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for your patience.” Drummond took a deep breath. “The past couple of weeks the Sakhalin Conference, spearheaded by myself, the Executive Council of the League of Nations, and Foreign Minister Matsui, has convened here in the fair city of Tokyo. We set out to determine whether or not the Empire of Japan should annex North Sakhalin, all in the interest of world peace and stability. After much debate and a bold compromise achieved only late last night, I am pleased to announce that North Sakhalin will not be annexed by Japan nor gifted to the Soviet Union so as to prevent conflict between the two nations.””
The assembled crowd muttered, cameras flashing as reporters wrote furiously in their notepads. Drummond continued.
“Rather, North Sakhalin will become a demilitarized buffer zone void of any Japanese and Soviet forces. As such North Sakhalin will be reorganized into the Second Tsardom of Russia, allowing a nation free of Communism to act as a safe haven for any Russians who have suffered and fled from Soviet oppression. And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the founding tsar of this new nation and the man who proposed this idea: Kirill Vladimirovich Romanov.”
Polite clapping followed. Culpepper joined in. A slight against the Soviets was always a victory, but to essentially revive a Romanov-led Russia… that was a bit reckless. Culpepper eyed Drummond who clapped and shook Kirill’s hand, but Culpepper could tell the Secretary-General was stiff, the handshake a mere formality. Clearly the Secretary-General was not a fan of this deal, but perhaps he had no choice. Eying the Japanese delegates who stood behind the podium, smiling, shaking hands and bowing to one another, Culpepper could guess that the Japanese saw this as a victory of sorts. Even if they could not directly rule North Sakhalin, they kept it out of the hands of the Soviets and now a vocal anti-Communist Romanov sat on the throne of this ‘Second Tsardom.’ It wouldn’t surprise Culpepper if behind the scenes, the Japanese pulled the strings of Kirill and whatever government he would establish in the coming months.
Was a war prevented by this compromise? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Culpepper had a feeling war would come one day, that this Sakhalin Compromise merely delayed it. He looked out across the crowd and caught Donovan’s eye. The American scowled, likely coming to the same conclusions as he.
Unbeknownst to Culpepper and Donovan, Hitler watched the events unfold from several stories up in the Japanese Foreign Ministry. The Japanese in the room were cracking open bottles of sake and other local liquors, speaking excitedly in rapid tones that made it hard for Leichtenberg to translate.
“Sir, would you care for a drink?”
Hitler shook his head and the First Secretary withdrew to leave Hitler to his thoughts. Looking down, he saw Kirill, now Tsar Kirill I, make his speech in English about the hopes and dreams of his newborn nation, of the reasoning for its founding, and so on and so forth. Most of the speech Kirill had come up with himself, but the rest had been ‘suggested’ by Foreign Minister Matsui and Hitler himself.
Three days ago Hitler had readied himself to the fact that war would break out between the Japanese and Soviets. While war between the two nations was an outcome he was not particularly against, as there were potential benefits to come from the conflict, it was not the preferred outcome. And neither was the Sakhalin Compromise, but perhaps it was a better alternative. North Sakhalin to act as a ‘buffer zone’ between the USSR and Japanese Empire was a gilded lie. Give it a few years, maybe a decade or more, but in time Japanese soldiers would march through the streets of Alexandrovsky and the Rising Sun would rule the pissant tsardom in all but name.
Hitler could feel pride in the hand he had played here, both with the Austro-Japanese Trade Agreement and the Sakhalin Conference and subsequent Compromise. Yet his actions were not without consequences. Already he had received reports from Olbrecht stating the frayed relationship between the National Liberal Front and the Christian Social Party, and the growing divide within the Front itself. Hitler’s actions had been praised by his supporters in Parliament, while his enemies once again barred their knives. Official government communiques from Vienna had relayed Chancellor Seipel's belief that Hitler had overstepped his authority and that an investigation would be carried out.
He would be recalled soon, there was no doubt about that. Possibly forced to resign and be censured, but Hitler was planning for that. The consequences for his actions were coming due yet he was unafraid.
“Let them come,” he said quietly as the men behind him started to make toasts to this historic day. “Let them try.”
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This only seems appropriate after my mini-hiatus:
Five reasons why this is late:
1. Writer's block/laziness
2. Stranger Things re-watch binge
3. Trying to write a contemporary political timeline (I have one in the developmental oven, fingers crossed it becomes something)
4. Elden Ring, Rocket League and Fortnite (Zero Builds only)
5. Readying for a trip to D.C this week.
Let me know how you liked/disliked the chapter, constructive criticism is always welcome.
Five reasons why this is late:
1. Writer's block/laziness
2. Stranger Things re-watch binge
3. Trying to write a contemporary political timeline (I have one in the developmental oven, fingers crossed it becomes something)
4. Elden Ring, Rocket League and Fortnite (Zero Builds only)
5. Readying for a trip to D.C this week.
Let me know how you liked/disliked the chapter, constructive criticism is always welcome.
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you not only came back with a bang with but with an atomic bang!
you demolished the living room
heck you went basically went hitchhiking and came back married
anyways I am all out of metaphors but excellent very important chapter
I think act two is basically finished now
we're in the 1930s of OTL basically
this is gonna be awesome
Christ I feel bad for Paul now. He's literally trapped between two extremes now.
I called it. And Christ, this is such a major update, my only critique is that it ends on a cliffhanger. I do wonder how a Soviet-Japanese war will turn out, though I am betting that the Soviets will win this.
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Aside that would be pretty clear for everyone that it will probably be turned in a TTL 'mini Manchukuo'.
But, for the Soviets this 'Tzardom' (a Japanese puppet in all but in name) would mean that the LoN and Japan with western backing (British, specifically) are adding the insult to the injury of the Sakhalin loss). But, also it will be perceived as a Japanese declaration of intentions and a direct menace against not only the Rodina but against the Soviet régime itself.
It's alive! Good update. Another political victory for Ambassador Hitler. So North Sakhalin is gonna have a future as a Japanese puppet? It's gonna be interesting Imperial Japanese forces being joined by White Russian troops looking to avenge the former Russian Empire.
It also looks like Hitler views Japan as a disposable tool. I wonder if Japan views Austria the same way? Poor Lutjens. Just when things were looking good for him. The fascists hate him and his roommate is a commie. Things is South Tyrol are about to go from bad to worse
It also looks like Hitler views Japan as a disposable tool. I wonder if Japan views Austria the same way? Poor Lutjens. Just when things were looking good for him. The fascists hate him and his roommate is a commie. Things is South Tyrol are about to go from bad to worse
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There is no war only a Japanese Mini Manchuokuo under Kiril Vladimirovich.
I think after Hitler's censour and Removal from the Party and Formation of his SoziNat Party, I think you should time skip to 1929-30 Great Depression.
Also how does USSR feel about the Sakhalin Affair?
Thank you. The end of Act two is coming up but is probably 2-3 chapters away.
It is not ideal at all. Paul is quacking becoming a favorite character of mine. Was originally just going to be a one-off.
Gotta do something to keep y’all wanting more heh. There won’t be a war, at least not now. The Soviets will swallow their pride and protest but they are already cut off from the rest of the world. This will have consequences down the line though. In a 1v1 fight the Soviets would win for sure, especially on land.
Sakahlin Russia ≈ mini-Manchukuo. That checks out. And this will allow the Japanese to have access to the resources for essentially free/super cheap.
Japan and Austria view each other as useful. That will ebb and flow over time as all international relationships do.
Lutjens just cannot catch a break.
Things will indeed get worse in South Tyrol before they get better.
Correct.
I won’t skip directly to that but the mid to late 20s will go at a brisk overview pace (I’m thinking just a handful of chapters to show where everyone is). Great Depression and onwards is when we get back to the “meat” of the story. Just need to set up events and ensure I’m not rushing things.
I do want to highlight, at least in passing, how things in China are changing and how that will have major butterflies for Asia down the road.
Beyond pissed and vocal in their displeasure but don’t have the energy to launch a war. If Sverdlov declares war and it becomes a stalemate or doesn’t go fast enough it will hurt their economy and weaken his hold on the party and government. He would rather take the prestige blow now and set up to
Take it back when the USSR is stronger.
Forgot to mention. I am editing the first twenty-six chapters to make them into Book 1. Once it is more polished, I would love a couple of beta readers to help Iron any flaws out that I missed (will be mentioned in the Acknowledgements).
The difference between the chapters on here and the book will be minimal, mainly grammar and some story details changing but it’s very minimal. So it’s not necessary to buy it but it is something I’d appreciate once it’s out. I’m thinking like $6.99-$9.99 or something for a roughly 80,000 word novel.
Also trying my hand at fantasy and historical fiction. Hopefully something sticks in my head and I get it written out.
The difference between the chapters on here and the book will be minimal, mainly grammar and some story details changing but it’s very minimal. So it’s not necessary to buy it but it is something I’d appreciate once it’s out. I’m thinking like $6.99-$9.99 or something for a roughly 80,000 word novel.
Also trying my hand at fantasy and historical fiction. Hopefully something sticks in my head and I get it written out.
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Smart decision to make, I do wonder if Sverdlov will be supporting the Korean Communists more overtly now, if only to bleed the Japanese dry?
Fantastic return to form! Poor poor Lutjens, caught between a khaki-wear fascist dame and a red painted broad. This so-called Second Tsardom of Russia is bound to be interesting, everything to moving into place for Herr Hitler!
Horrible as to what’s happening in South Tyrol. I bet you that if the Wolves kill Cadorna that Il Duce will unleash the OVRA, Blackshirts, and worse of all Rodolfo Graziani (back from subjugating Libya no less) on all of South Tyrol.
Horrible as to what’s happening in South Tyrol. I bet you that if the Wolves kill Cadorna that Il Duce will unleash the OVRA, Blackshirts, and worse of all Rodolfo Graziani (back from subjugating Libya no less) on all of South Tyrol.
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Good to see this timeline back, with another nice chapter!
"Yes... Angry..."
And regarding how relations between Italy and Austria may improve in the future of this timeline:
"Hmm... Apparently, there is a 4th wall here. You can lean on it and everything!"
"Well, now I have gone and made her angry."
"Yes... Angry..."
And regarding how relations between Italy and Austria may improve in the future of this timeline:
Mussolini: "Hey! Are you the one that killed Cadorna?"
Hitler: "So, you've got a problem with that?"
Mussolini: "Not at all. Thank you!"
Hitler: "What."
Mussolini: "Come on! He was Cadorna."
Hitler: "So, you've got a problem with that?"
Mussolini: "Not at all. Thank you!"
Hitler: "What."
Mussolini: "Come on! He was Cadorna."