Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
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I imagine with Hitler not using the swastika, it will remain its original symbolism and will not be hated in most of the world. Heck I even remember reading that the United States 45th Infantry Division had the swastika as its symbol until 1939 because it was a common Native American symbol and as a tribute to the large Native American population in the southwestern United States.
You are absolutely correct:
Attachments
And neonazis trying to be edgy would instead be drawing male genitalia all around
Hey, all, hope you all are well. I know I’m very far behind on the next update. It has been 2/3 written for about a month now, I just haven’t been able to gather the energy to finish it. I’ve been distracted by a mix of Destiny 2, House of the Dragon, Rings of Power, ASOIAF fanfic doodling. A lot of nonsense that has distracted me.
Have no fear I am still working on the story. I’m giving the 2/3 a polish then will finish it this week. The next chapter WILL be out by next Sunday at the latest. I will set aside time every day to finish it.
Again thank you for the support, feedback and patience.
Have no fear I am still working on the story. I’m giving the 2/3 a polish then will finish it this week. The next chapter WILL be out by next Sunday at the latest. I will set aside time every day to finish it.
Again thank you for the support, feedback and patience.
pls don't ban me
Monthly Donor
what's up my friend? (can I call you friend?)
what do you think of the rings of power until now? I hated ep 1-2 but kind a liked the others
I am a huge Lord of the Rings fan but to be honest I have not read the books. I got about halfway through Fellowship and it just wasn’t clicking with my tastes. It is fantastic, for sure, but I much prefer ASOIAF, Wheel of Time and Stormlight Archive.
I am enjoying Rings of Power though I know almost nothing of Second Age lore. But I am entertained. I do prefer House of the Dragon though.
And yes, friend, that’s no problem.
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Well, regarding the previous short title debate, could use Howls in the Balkans, to avoid using the word wolves but retain the connotation.
I did like both Wolf in the Alps and Wolf in the Balkans. Maybe The Alpine Wolf? Or Rise of the Alpine Wolf. Or the Howl of War
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
A Calculated Risk
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
October 1924
A Calculated Risk
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
October 1924
Chancellor Ignaz Seipel threw down a copy of the Wiener Zeitung on his desk in frustration. The headline read: ‘The September Restoration!’ Below was a picture of the newly crowned Tsar Kirill and Japanese Prime Minister Griichi shaking hands at the formal announcement of the Second Tsardom of Russia’s creation. Yet the focus was not on them but rather centered on a man standing behind them amongst a small crowd of onlookers. Superimposed on the photograph was Adolf Hitler, who stood watching on like a man who had just succeeded in a bold move during a chess match.
The Austrian head of government stared daggers at the four men across from him. Two were fellow Christian Socials, the others National Liberals.
“This is outrageous!” Seipel snarled. “That man is out of control, Gustav!”
Gustav Gross, Chairman of the National Liberal Front and Vice-Chancellor of Austria, wearily eyed the newspaper. Seipel almost felt sorry for the man, but his anger won out.
“Hitler has for all intents and purposes gone rogue. He pushed for the Sakhalin Conference and Compromise all behind our backs.” Seipel glared at Grünberger. “I thought you were keeping a close eye on that megalomaniac. What happened to your man in the embassy?”
The Foreign Minister loosened up his collar, coughing awkwardly. “It seems Leichtenberg falsified his reports somewhat. Rarely lying, but consistently misdirecting and relaying half-truths.”
Von Hoffenberg spoke up, “Where that bastard goes, he gains followers. He’s dangerous.” The Front’s Deputy Chairman and the government’s Minister of Labor side-eyed Gross. “I told you he couldn’t be trusted.”
Gross sighed. “Hitler has always been a man of drive. That appeals to people, especially those desperate for something to believe in.”
“A man of drive or not, he has unnecessarily entangled Austria in foreign relations with countries on the far side of the world,” Rudolf Ramek, the Christian Social Party Whip stated. “We can ill afford a war. It will tear the Fatherland apart.”
Seipel nodded. “The Communists and Otto Bauer’s radical segments of the Social Democrats are protesting in the streets, calling for new elections. They are demonizing Hitler, labeling him as a ‘lederhosen fascist.’ Our working majority in Parliament is fraying,” the Chancellor said, glancing at Gross and von Hoffenberg. “Either get your people in line or threaten party expulsion.”
Gross grimaced. “While that might work with a majority of professional politicians, the members of our party who have been… outspoken in their support of Hitler are not career politicians. They are-“
“Uncouth rogues,” von Hoffenberg interrupted. “Most are bitter veterans of little education who cannot fathom that the country doesn’t need their remembrance of misery or revanchist desire for vengeance.”
“Those ‘bitter veterans’ as you so accurately but poorly label them, Herr Minister, are a powerful voting bloc,” Ramek interjected. “Many support the CS and NLF for now, but Hitler’s appeal to the disgruntled veteran cannot be underestimated. Look at what he did in Carinthia for example. For God’s sake just look at what is happening in South Tyrol right now. It is rumored that many of the instigators in Bruneck were part of those damn Wolves.”
“What can we do?” Grünberger muttered. The Foreign Minister’s thin frame and ghoul like appearance did him no favors in politics, but he was a damned good negotiator and diplomat.
Seipel’s fingers tapped against his desk, scenarios racing through his mind. He knew what to suggest, but it very well might be the fall of his government. Yet it was Gross who spoke first.
“I fear we might have to recall Hitler from his ambassadorship and remove him from office. Then… then the Central Committee must expel Hitler from the Front,” the Vice-Chancellor said at last, relieving Seipel that he wouldn’t have to propose it himself. While a relief, it also brought worry.
“You show Hitler the door, thousands will follow. It will weaken the National Liberals considerably, especially amongst the working class and military, both former and current,” Ramek pointed out. “If enough voters and MPs follow Hitler, it will cause our coalition to lose its majority and with it the government.”
Seipel rubbed his eyes until an idea struck him. “Hitler cannot be allowed to remain in government. He is unpredictable and follows only his ambition rather than national interests. Are we in agreement on that?”
The other four men nodded as a matter-of-fact, some quickly like von Hoffenberg, others more hesitantly like Grünberger. Seipel continued.
“However, it is highly probable that if Hitler were to be expelled from the Front, many would follow him. This will cause the National Liberals to fracture and the government to fall. I will not tolerate another coalition with the Social Democrats and their Schutzbund henchmen. Therefore,” he cleared his throat, “I will approach the Heimatblock and Landbund to sway them to join us in coalition and to keep this government afloat.”
Ramek whistled through his teeth. “Risky.”
“Risky?” Von Hoffenberg said in a neutral tone that conveyed his disbelief. “Having sex with a whore without a rubber is risky. Putting the Heimatblock and the Landbund together is suicide. They despise one another.”
Seipel nodded, agreeing with the irate Labor Minister. The Heimatblock, and their more dangerous Heimatschutz, were adamant pro-Catholic nationalists through and through who wanted to either overthrow the Republic or reform it to a degree as to be unrecognizable, citing Mussolini’s Italy as an example to be followed.
The Landbund on the other hand were semi-pro-democracy farmers, largely Protestant, who wished the union with Germany had gone through back when the Fatherland had been temporarily known as German-Austria. Following that failure they wished closer ties to Germany and that religion not play a role in politics, something that would only benefit them and other minority groups, or so their detractors stated.
One supported authoritarianism, the other was lukewarm about democracy. Their economic, domestic and foreign policies were very nearly the opposite of the other’s platform. While the National Liberals and Christian Socials courted support from both sides for various laws or initiatives, it was a delicate balance and the two movements were rarely able to work together, typically ending in parliamentary bickering and street fighting between their respective paramilitaries.
“It has to be done,” Gross spoke, not as a burdened man but as a confident Party Chairman and dutiful Vice-Chancellor. “We need to show the Austrian people that the government cannot and will not revolve around any one man’s vision. We all agree the Communists and Social Democrats cannot be in governance, nor do we wish to risk a coalition with them. I see no other choice than what you propose, Chancellor Seipel. You have the Front’s support.”
“Thank you, good sir.”
Gross shrugged. “Please, Herr Chancellor, it is the least I can do. I will contact those approachable to such an alliance in the Heimatblock and Landbund, as I’m sure your party will as well,” Seipel, Grünberger and Ramek all nodded in confirmation, “Meanwhile I will be ascertaining the loyalty of our party members, especially those in government and party organization. Hitler has a firm grip on the propaganda department and several Heimatschutz formations loyal to the NLF, but they are a minority. The days to come will be difficult, but it will be made clear to Hitler and his extremists that Austria is a nation of Christian principles, law and order and thus has no place for a man like him to do as he desires without consequence.”
Seipel stood, the others mirroring the chancellor. Seipel stuck out his hand and shook hands with each man, smiling as he did so.
“Gentlemen, it looks like we have just averted catastrophe for the Republic and, more importantly, ourselves.”
The Austrian head of government stared daggers at the four men across from him. Two were fellow Christian Socials, the others National Liberals.
“This is outrageous!” Seipel snarled. “That man is out of control, Gustav!”
Gustav Gross, Chairman of the National Liberal Front and Vice-Chancellor of Austria, wearily eyed the newspaper. Seipel almost felt sorry for the man, but his anger won out.
“Hitler has for all intents and purposes gone rogue. He pushed for the Sakhalin Conference and Compromise all behind our backs.” Seipel glared at Grünberger. “I thought you were keeping a close eye on that megalomaniac. What happened to your man in the embassy?”
The Foreign Minister loosened up his collar, coughing awkwardly. “It seems Leichtenberg falsified his reports somewhat. Rarely lying, but consistently misdirecting and relaying half-truths.”
Von Hoffenberg spoke up, “Where that bastard goes, he gains followers. He’s dangerous.” The Front’s Deputy Chairman and the government’s Minister of Labor side-eyed Gross. “I told you he couldn’t be trusted.”
Gross sighed. “Hitler has always been a man of drive. That appeals to people, especially those desperate for something to believe in.”
“A man of drive or not, he has unnecessarily entangled Austria in foreign relations with countries on the far side of the world,” Rudolf Ramek, the Christian Social Party Whip stated. “We can ill afford a war. It will tear the Fatherland apart.”
Seipel nodded. “The Communists and Otto Bauer’s radical segments of the Social Democrats are protesting in the streets, calling for new elections. They are demonizing Hitler, labeling him as a ‘lederhosen fascist.’ Our working majority in Parliament is fraying,” the Chancellor said, glancing at Gross and von Hoffenberg. “Either get your people in line or threaten party expulsion.”
Gross grimaced. “While that might work with a majority of professional politicians, the members of our party who have been… outspoken in their support of Hitler are not career politicians. They are-“
“Uncouth rogues,” von Hoffenberg interrupted. “Most are bitter veterans of little education who cannot fathom that the country doesn’t need their remembrance of misery or revanchist desire for vengeance.”
“Those ‘bitter veterans’ as you so accurately but poorly label them, Herr Minister, are a powerful voting bloc,” Ramek interjected. “Many support the CS and NLF for now, but Hitler’s appeal to the disgruntled veteran cannot be underestimated. Look at what he did in Carinthia for example. For God’s sake just look at what is happening in South Tyrol right now. It is rumored that many of the instigators in Bruneck were part of those damn Wolves.”
“What can we do?” Grünberger muttered. The Foreign Minister’s thin frame and ghoul like appearance did him no favors in politics, but he was a damned good negotiator and diplomat.
Seipel’s fingers tapped against his desk, scenarios racing through his mind. He knew what to suggest, but it very well might be the fall of his government. Yet it was Gross who spoke first.
“I fear we might have to recall Hitler from his ambassadorship and remove him from office. Then… then the Central Committee must expel Hitler from the Front,” the Vice-Chancellor said at last, relieving Seipel that he wouldn’t have to propose it himself. While a relief, it also brought worry.
“You show Hitler the door, thousands will follow. It will weaken the National Liberals considerably, especially amongst the working class and military, both former and current,” Ramek pointed out. “If enough voters and MPs follow Hitler, it will cause our coalition to lose its majority and with it the government.”
Seipel rubbed his eyes until an idea struck him. “Hitler cannot be allowed to remain in government. He is unpredictable and follows only his ambition rather than national interests. Are we in agreement on that?”
The other four men nodded as a matter-of-fact, some quickly like von Hoffenberg, others more hesitantly like Grünberger. Seipel continued.
“However, it is highly probable that if Hitler were to be expelled from the Front, many would follow him. This will cause the National Liberals to fracture and the government to fall. I will not tolerate another coalition with the Social Democrats and their Schutzbund henchmen. Therefore,” he cleared his throat, “I will approach the Heimatblock and Landbund to sway them to join us in coalition and to keep this government afloat.”
Ramek whistled through his teeth. “Risky.”
“Risky?” Von Hoffenberg said in a neutral tone that conveyed his disbelief. “Having sex with a whore without a rubber is risky. Putting the Heimatblock and the Landbund together is suicide. They despise one another.”
Seipel nodded, agreeing with the irate Labor Minister. The Heimatblock, and their more dangerous Heimatschutz, were adamant pro-Catholic nationalists through and through who wanted to either overthrow the Republic or reform it to a degree as to be unrecognizable, citing Mussolini’s Italy as an example to be followed.
The Landbund on the other hand were semi-pro-democracy farmers, largely Protestant, who wished the union with Germany had gone through back when the Fatherland had been temporarily known as German-Austria. Following that failure they wished closer ties to Germany and that religion not play a role in politics, something that would only benefit them and other minority groups, or so their detractors stated.
One supported authoritarianism, the other was lukewarm about democracy. Their economic, domestic and foreign policies were very nearly the opposite of the other’s platform. While the National Liberals and Christian Socials courted support from both sides for various laws or initiatives, it was a delicate balance and the two movements were rarely able to work together, typically ending in parliamentary bickering and street fighting between their respective paramilitaries.
“It has to be done,” Gross spoke, not as a burdened man but as a confident Party Chairman and dutiful Vice-Chancellor. “We need to show the Austrian people that the government cannot and will not revolve around any one man’s vision. We all agree the Communists and Social Democrats cannot be in governance, nor do we wish to risk a coalition with them. I see no other choice than what you propose, Chancellor Seipel. You have the Front’s support.”
“Thank you, good sir.”
Gross shrugged. “Please, Herr Chancellor, it is the least I can do. I will contact those approachable to such an alliance in the Heimatblock and Landbund, as I’m sure your party will as well,” Seipel, Grünberger and Ramek all nodded in confirmation, “Meanwhile I will be ascertaining the loyalty of our party members, especially those in government and party organization. Hitler has a firm grip on the propaganda department and several Heimatschutz formations loyal to the NLF, but they are a minority. The days to come will be difficult, but it will be made clear to Hitler and his extremists that Austria is a nation of Christian principles, law and order and thus has no place for a man like him to do as he desires without consequence.”
Seipel stood, the others mirroring the chancellor. Seipel stuck out his hand and shook hands with each man, smiling as he did so.
“Gentlemen, it looks like we have just averted catastrophe for the Republic and, more importantly, ourselves.”
Berlin, Germany
German Reich
October 1924
German Reich
October 1924
The sound of sausage and bacon sizzling on an iron skillet filled the apartment, as did its delicious smell. Paul Lutjens flipped the bacon, humming in tune with the music playing on the radio.
With the bacon and sausage finished, he scooped them out onto a plate and cracked two eggs on another iron skillet, quickly bubbling as it cooked.
The door to the apartment’s guest bedroom opened and Ursula Winkler walked out. She was dressed modestly in gray trousers and a red shirt. Lutjens noted the color, as well as the lack of visible KPD insignia. The police did not take kindly to Communists, as the past few years had thoroughly shown with violent frequency. The feeling was mutual. The Communists called the police and Reichswehr reactionary pro-monarchist fascists, while the police likewise demonized the Communists, labeling them traitors and ideological slaves to Marx, Lenin and Sverdlov.
With the Reichstag politically gridlocked, Chancellor Wilhelm Marx was forced to call for new elections to be held in the first week of December. The Center-led coalition government was wavering under increased pressure from the SDP who were only growing stronger as the Opposition. Factor in the growing fighting between the KPD and the FDAS, both verbally and physically, and things were looking uncertain once more in the Weimar Republic’s frail democracy.
It had been a couple of weeks now since Lutjens had come home early to a Communist meeting taking place in the living room, held by his roommate no less. The few days that followed were mind-whirling. The Commie bastards threatened him, tried to sway him to their ideology, and ignore him all at once.
Though it was a relief that Ursula had finally been upfront about the nature of her work, she still had not apologized. In fact their living together had become even more awkward and stiff.
She sat down at the dining table, looking over the newest campaign leaflets she was to dole out today. Lutjens finished the eggs and turned off the stove. He divided the food between two clean plates. Eyeing the growing amount in the sink, he moved to the dining table, setting one of the plates before Ursula.
She nodded wordless thanks. They ate in solemn silence.
Annoyed, Lutjens spoke to break the ice. Gesturing to the morning’s paper, he said, “Another one of yours was killed yesterday. The police stated it was a mugging but,” he shrugged, “this seems more like a murder. This has the FDAS written all over it.”
“Another one of mine?” Ursula intoned. “Are we Communists a separate species from you? Does our drive to save the proletariat make us inhuman?”
“You know that’s not what I meant-“
“As for the man who was murdered, he will become a martyr.” A flicker of sadness crossed her face. “We are a movement of martyrs it seems.”
“Ursula, I don’t think-“
“Well, there is truth to that,” she snapped. Lutjens frowned and Ursula’s face reddened, either from anger or embarrassment.
“All I’m saying,” he began, “was to be careful. It’s getting worse out there.”
“It’s always darkest before the dawn. And the dawn of the proletariat is coming, Paul, whether you like it or not.”
At that Ursula left, leaving Lutjens frustrated and worried. He sat there and ate his food in silence, thoughts stirring in his mind. When he had finished his meal, he dressed and left. He did not have work that day and so he found himself walking without a destination in mind, merely wandering, placing one foot in front of the other.
Election posters, both in the KPD red and FDAS brown were frequent, as were the faces of KPD leaders side-by-side with those of Lenin and Sverdlov. As for the fascist FDAS they favored images of their Party Chairman Gregor Strasser. Centre, SDP and DNVP posters were also out in force, their supporters shouting out party principles and promises to passerbys.
As he continued walking through Berlin’s bustling streets, the brown posters became fewer and fewer and the red more frequent.
It wasn’t too long before he found himself staring across the street at Karl-Liebknecht-Haus, the national headquarters for the Communist Party of Germany.
Guards with red armbands stood out front while people came and went in and out the large building like a factory line. He didn’t see Ursula but he just stood there, watching.
“Interested in something, comrade?”
Lutjens turned to look at the speaker, startled as he was so hyper focused on the K-L-H.
“Uh no, just making sure my roommate made it safely to work is all. It’s been hectic on the streets recently.”
“I see.” The man’s face was strikingly rat-like, with slick black hair and dark eyes. To Lutjens, he appeared as a stereotypical Jew the FDAS loved to hate on. Seeing the man’s own red armband, Lutjens knew him to be a Communist.
“Are you wishing to speak with her?” The man asked. “I could arrange it.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Lutjens nodded thanks to the man and turned to leave.
“Paul?”
Looking behind him, he saw Ursula walking up to him, cigarette in hand.
“Yes, Frau Winkler?” The dark haired man said. His words came out with confidence, oily and insidious. This was a man who could sway people with voice alone.
“Oh, sorry, Doctor Goebbels. I was calling my roommate over there,” Ursula said, pointing at Lutjens.
“Ah, I see. Well do take care Frau Winkler, and please, stop by my office any time you like.”
“Thank you, Comrade Goebbels. I may take you up on that.”
The shorter man nodded and walked away, showing Lutjens that he had a noticeable limp. Was it from a war wound, he wondered.
Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts as Ursula moved to him. She was comically short compared to him, barely reaching his shoulder and her pale blonde hair contrasted sharply with her red armband and dark gray clothing. Her brown eyes stared at him as if he were an insect.
“What?” she said, not quite snapping the words out but close.
“I-“ Lutjens felt awkward. He almost laughed. He had fought for four years in the Great War, becoming a sergeant and bracing machine guns and artillery, yet he found himself unsure of this woman.
Ursula stood there, tapping her foot as she took a deep drag of her cigarette. “Well?” She finally asked.
“I, uh, just wanted to see that you made it to… work ok.”
Her eyes were like brown flint, staring at him unflinchingly.
“And… I see that you have.” Feeling foolish, he turned to leave. “I’ll see you later,” he mumbled, face feeing hot from embarrassment. He just made a damn fool of himself, now things would be more awkward between them.
“Wait, Paul.”
He stopped, head turning back on its own volition.
Ursula stood there, frowning, nearly pout-like.
“I like Italian food,” she said hesitantly.
Lutjens smiled. “As do I.” Both looked at each other, ignoring the bustle of the street traffic. “Would you like to get dinner together sometime?” He hoped he didn’t sound desperate. He had faced Russian machine guns with more bravery.
“Yes. Yes, I would like that.”
Relief flooded through him.
“Good,” he managed. “I’ll let you know the time and place soon.”
With the bacon and sausage finished, he scooped them out onto a plate and cracked two eggs on another iron skillet, quickly bubbling as it cooked.
The door to the apartment’s guest bedroom opened and Ursula Winkler walked out. She was dressed modestly in gray trousers and a red shirt. Lutjens noted the color, as well as the lack of visible KPD insignia. The police did not take kindly to Communists, as the past few years had thoroughly shown with violent frequency. The feeling was mutual. The Communists called the police and Reichswehr reactionary pro-monarchist fascists, while the police likewise demonized the Communists, labeling them traitors and ideological slaves to Marx, Lenin and Sverdlov.
With the Reichstag politically gridlocked, Chancellor Wilhelm Marx was forced to call for new elections to be held in the first week of December. The Center-led coalition government was wavering under increased pressure from the SDP who were only growing stronger as the Opposition. Factor in the growing fighting between the KPD and the FDAS, both verbally and physically, and things were looking uncertain once more in the Weimar Republic’s frail democracy.
It had been a couple of weeks now since Lutjens had come home early to a Communist meeting taking place in the living room, held by his roommate no less. The few days that followed were mind-whirling. The Commie bastards threatened him, tried to sway him to their ideology, and ignore him all at once.
Though it was a relief that Ursula had finally been upfront about the nature of her work, she still had not apologized. In fact their living together had become even more awkward and stiff.
She sat down at the dining table, looking over the newest campaign leaflets she was to dole out today. Lutjens finished the eggs and turned off the stove. He divided the food between two clean plates. Eyeing the growing amount in the sink, he moved to the dining table, setting one of the plates before Ursula.
She nodded wordless thanks. They ate in solemn silence.
Annoyed, Lutjens spoke to break the ice. Gesturing to the morning’s paper, he said, “Another one of yours was killed yesterday. The police stated it was a mugging but,” he shrugged, “this seems more like a murder. This has the FDAS written all over it.”
“Another one of mine?” Ursula intoned. “Are we Communists a separate species from you? Does our drive to save the proletariat make us inhuman?”
“You know that’s not what I meant-“
“As for the man who was murdered, he will become a martyr.” A flicker of sadness crossed her face. “We are a movement of martyrs it seems.”
“Ursula, I don’t think-“
“Well, there is truth to that,” she snapped. Lutjens frowned and Ursula’s face reddened, either from anger or embarrassment.
“All I’m saying,” he began, “was to be careful. It’s getting worse out there.”
“It’s always darkest before the dawn. And the dawn of the proletariat is coming, Paul, whether you like it or not.”
At that Ursula left, leaving Lutjens frustrated and worried. He sat there and ate his food in silence, thoughts stirring in his mind. When he had finished his meal, he dressed and left. He did not have work that day and so he found himself walking without a destination in mind, merely wandering, placing one foot in front of the other.
Election posters, both in the KPD red and FDAS brown were frequent, as were the faces of KPD leaders side-by-side with those of Lenin and Sverdlov. As for the fascist FDAS they favored images of their Party Chairman Gregor Strasser. Centre, SDP and DNVP posters were also out in force, their supporters shouting out party principles and promises to passerbys.
As he continued walking through Berlin’s bustling streets, the brown posters became fewer and fewer and the red more frequent.
It wasn’t too long before he found himself staring across the street at Karl-Liebknecht-Haus, the national headquarters for the Communist Party of Germany.
Guards with red armbands stood out front while people came and went in and out the large building like a factory line. He didn’t see Ursula but he just stood there, watching.
“Interested in something, comrade?”
Lutjens turned to look at the speaker, startled as he was so hyper focused on the K-L-H.
“Uh no, just making sure my roommate made it safely to work is all. It’s been hectic on the streets recently.”
“I see.” The man’s face was strikingly rat-like, with slick black hair and dark eyes. To Lutjens, he appeared as a stereotypical Jew the FDAS loved to hate on. Seeing the man’s own red armband, Lutjens knew him to be a Communist.
“Are you wishing to speak with her?” The man asked. “I could arrange it.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Lutjens nodded thanks to the man and turned to leave.
“Paul?”
Looking behind him, he saw Ursula walking up to him, cigarette in hand.
“Yes, Frau Winkler?” The dark haired man said. His words came out with confidence, oily and insidious. This was a man who could sway people with voice alone.
“Oh, sorry, Doctor Goebbels. I was calling my roommate over there,” Ursula said, pointing at Lutjens.
“Ah, I see. Well do take care Frau Winkler, and please, stop by my office any time you like.”
“Thank you, Comrade Goebbels. I may take you up on that.”
The shorter man nodded and walked away, showing Lutjens that he had a noticeable limp. Was it from a war wound, he wondered.
Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts as Ursula moved to him. She was comically short compared to him, barely reaching his shoulder and her pale blonde hair contrasted sharply with her red armband and dark gray clothing. Her brown eyes stared at him as if he were an insect.
“What?” she said, not quite snapping the words out but close.
“I-“ Lutjens felt awkward. He almost laughed. He had fought for four years in the Great War, becoming a sergeant and bracing machine guns and artillery, yet he found himself unsure of this woman.
Ursula stood there, tapping her foot as she took a deep drag of her cigarette. “Well?” She finally asked.
“I, uh, just wanted to see that you made it to… work ok.”
Her eyes were like brown flint, staring at him unflinchingly.
“And… I see that you have.” Feeling foolish, he turned to leave. “I’ll see you later,” he mumbled, face feeing hot from embarrassment. He just made a damn fool of himself, now things would be more awkward between them.
“Wait, Paul.”
He stopped, head turning back on its own volition.
Ursula stood there, frowning, nearly pout-like.
“I like Italian food,” she said hesitantly.
Lutjens smiled. “As do I.” Both looked at each other, ignoring the bustle of the street traffic. “Would you like to get dinner together sometime?” He hoped he didn’t sound desperate. He had faced Russian machine guns with more bravery.
“Yes. Yes, I would like that.”
Relief flooded through him.
“Good,” he managed. “I’ll let you know the time and place soon.”
Near Tianjin, China
Republic of China (Beiyang Government)
October 1924
Republic of China (Beiyang Government)
October 1924
Artillery thundered like an angry god beating upon a drum. Booming claps of heat and smoke, followed by a piercing wail and the thud and roar of impact. Mounds of earth were thrown into air before falling down, occasionally on people, both the dead and the living.
Corporal Yuuki Nakano marched through the countryside of northeast China, dust kicking up into the air as thousands marched, spread out to avoid being easy targets for enemy aircraft.
Though Nakano knew there was little to fear. The Fengtian Clique ruled the skies, their own aircraft and Japanese Avro 504s, ‘loaned’ to Marshal Zhang Zuolin, flying in cooperation. Many of the Avro 504 fighter craft were flown by Japanese pilots, similarly loaned to the Manchurian warlord alongside several divisions of the Imperial Japanese Army of which Nakano and his company belonged.
Nakano hated China. A land of mongrels fit only to serve their betters. At one time China had been a grand civilization, but that had been long ago. Now they were the dessicated husk of their former glory. It was time for a new empire to rule these rich lands. Marshal Zuolin was… tolerable, admittedly. If the Emperor wished to conquer China in the guise of aiding the Manchurian warlord then so be it. Who was he to question the divine?
Marching through a village, filled with ruined huts filled with smoke and fire. The Japanese soldiers walked beside a ditch on the village’s edge. It was filled with dozens of men, shot through the back, likely after digging said trench. Children cried, left alone or the fallen corpse of their mother. Screams came from several still-standing huts. Eventually a soldier emerged from a hut, wearing the uniform of the Imperial Japanese Army. He saw his countrymen and gave a toothy grin, waving.
Nakano returned the wave with a nod. He noted the Fengtian soldiers nearby watched on with boredom. It seems they held little love for their own countrymen. They were rivals and this was the price of their refusal to submit to the Old Marshal.
Marching past the village, the Japanese company marched for nearly an hour until coming upon a checkpoint manned by Fengtian troops.
Nakano didn’t understand a word exchanged but he eyed the Fengtian carefully, allies though they may be, he didn’t trust them.
Captain Tachi Igato talked to the checkpoint officer, both using a mish-mash of Manchu, Mandarin and Japanese. Eventually igato and the Fengtian separated, the captain calling forth the lieutenants, sergeants and corporals together.
“Good news,” Igato began, “Tianjin has almost fallen. A day, perhaps two, and it will be in our hands.”
The captain beamed as if he had taken the city by himself with nothing but samurai sword in hand.
“Why is that important?” Asked another lowly corporal.
“Because, you imbecile, when Tianjin falls Beijing won’t be far behind. And with Beijing in our hands-“
“The war will be over. We’ll have won,” Nakano found himself saying.
Igato nodded begrudgingly, obviously irked he had been interrupted. “Correct. It seems this Second Fengtian-Zhili conflict will be a short victorious war.”
And that it was turning out to be. The war had only been going on for a couple of weeks but the Fengtian Army, supplemented by Japanese soldiers and equipment, had made significant strides, defeating the Beiyang government at almost every turn.
To Nakano, he didn’t care what China would look like after the war ended. Likely the Old Marshal would be allowed to keep his gains as long as there was an understanding of certain matters between Zuolin and the Japanese government, specifically the Army General Staff.
As the soldiers continued their march past the checkpoint, Nakano just wanted to be out of China and back home in Kyoto.
Avro 504 fighter-craft flew over, their engines roaring, the fresh paint in Fengtian colors bleeding as they flew south towards where the fighting still continued.
Soon the war would be over. Soon Japan would reign supreme.
Corporal Yuuki Nakano marched through the countryside of northeast China, dust kicking up into the air as thousands marched, spread out to avoid being easy targets for enemy aircraft.
Though Nakano knew there was little to fear. The Fengtian Clique ruled the skies, their own aircraft and Japanese Avro 504s, ‘loaned’ to Marshal Zhang Zuolin, flying in cooperation. Many of the Avro 504 fighter craft were flown by Japanese pilots, similarly loaned to the Manchurian warlord alongside several divisions of the Imperial Japanese Army of which Nakano and his company belonged.
Nakano hated China. A land of mongrels fit only to serve their betters. At one time China had been a grand civilization, but that had been long ago. Now they were the dessicated husk of their former glory. It was time for a new empire to rule these rich lands. Marshal Zuolin was… tolerable, admittedly. If the Emperor wished to conquer China in the guise of aiding the Manchurian warlord then so be it. Who was he to question the divine?
Marching through a village, filled with ruined huts filled with smoke and fire. The Japanese soldiers walked beside a ditch on the village’s edge. It was filled with dozens of men, shot through the back, likely after digging said trench. Children cried, left alone or the fallen corpse of their mother. Screams came from several still-standing huts. Eventually a soldier emerged from a hut, wearing the uniform of the Imperial Japanese Army. He saw his countrymen and gave a toothy grin, waving.
Nakano returned the wave with a nod. He noted the Fengtian soldiers nearby watched on with boredom. It seems they held little love for their own countrymen. They were rivals and this was the price of their refusal to submit to the Old Marshal.
Marching past the village, the Japanese company marched for nearly an hour until coming upon a checkpoint manned by Fengtian troops.
Nakano didn’t understand a word exchanged but he eyed the Fengtian carefully, allies though they may be, he didn’t trust them.
Captain Tachi Igato talked to the checkpoint officer, both using a mish-mash of Manchu, Mandarin and Japanese. Eventually igato and the Fengtian separated, the captain calling forth the lieutenants, sergeants and corporals together.
“Good news,” Igato began, “Tianjin has almost fallen. A day, perhaps two, and it will be in our hands.”
The captain beamed as if he had taken the city by himself with nothing but samurai sword in hand.
“Why is that important?” Asked another lowly corporal.
“Because, you imbecile, when Tianjin falls Beijing won’t be far behind. And with Beijing in our hands-“
“The war will be over. We’ll have won,” Nakano found himself saying.
Igato nodded begrudgingly, obviously irked he had been interrupted. “Correct. It seems this Second Fengtian-Zhili conflict will be a short victorious war.”
And that it was turning out to be. The war had only been going on for a couple of weeks but the Fengtian Army, supplemented by Japanese soldiers and equipment, had made significant strides, defeating the Beiyang government at almost every turn.
To Nakano, he didn’t care what China would look like after the war ended. Likely the Old Marshal would be allowed to keep his gains as long as there was an understanding of certain matters between Zuolin and the Japanese government, specifically the Army General Staff.
As the soldiers continued their march past the checkpoint, Nakano just wanted to be out of China and back home in Kyoto.
Avro 504 fighter-craft flew over, their engines roaring, the fresh paint in Fengtian colors bleeding as they flew south towards where the fighting still continued.
Soon the war would be over. Soon Japan would reign supreme.
Tokyo, Japan
Empire of Japan
November 1924
Empire of Japan
November 1924
“It’s time, sir,” came the voice of Konrad Leichtenberg, the Austrian Embassy’s First Secretary.
Adolf Hitler closed his briefcase, locking the clasps before turning to look at the man who had been designed by his enemies to be a spy but who had become a trusted confidant since his arrival nine months ago.
Hitler looked around his office, frowning in disappointment that his tenure here had ended so soon. He did well in this office, accomplishing things his detractors would not have thought possible a year ago. He had brokered the Austro-Japanese Trade Agreement, which had created thousands of jobs in both countries. Olbrecht had written to him that many laborers and factory workers in Vienna, Graz and Linz supported Hitler’s strand of National Liberalism.
While good to hear that his words, his truth and efforts, were appealing to more and more within the Front’s voter base, his greatest accomplishment had little to do with Austria itself. The Sakhalin Compromise emboldened Japan, was a political slap to the Soviet Union, and created the anti-Communist Second Tsardom of Russia.
But such victories came with repercussions.
Turning his back on his office, he walked to the doorway where Leichtenberg stood.
“And so it is.”
In the hallway waited Liselotte Aigner, his lover and personal secretary. The three of them moved from the Ambassador’s Office, reaching the top of the stairwell. Lining the stairs and at the base of the steps were the embassy staff, from the cook to transcriber to guard.
They clapped as he walked down the steps, shaking hands with all he could. Some even dared to pat him on the back, but he allowed it, all smiles and camaraderie.
Let them feel proud, Hitler thought, so when the time comes they remember who brought that sense to them.
He gave a small speech near the embassy entryway though later he could not recall much of what was said, his mind already on other thoughts. The three of them left to the sound of applause, approaching the ambassadorial automobile that waited outside, engine running. Another car was parked further back, it’s engine also on. Inside was the next Ambassador to Japan, a Christian Social chosen by that spineless worm Seipel. It seemed the new ambassador did not wish to entangle with the old. Hitler didn’t mind, he’s rather not deal with men who were all but traitors to the country, only a shade better than Social Democrats and Communists.
Leichtenberg opened the door for Lieselotte and Hitler. After they settled in, Leichtenberg closed the door and moved to the driver’s side, getting behind the wheel of the car.
The car quickly left the embassy and soon enough it departed Tsukiji District, heading towards the port he had been picked up from. The universe loved its irony, for the ship contracted to take Hitler back to Europe by the Austrian government was the very same that deposited him.
He had already received an invitation to eat dinner from Captain Mikhail Spestov of the Albanian-chartered merchant vessel Shans i Dyte.
As the car drove through Tokyo’s narrow and traffic-filled roads, Hitler took stock of the country he had come to, if not love, then at least admire. The people were hardworking, proud, committed to their emperor, and wielded a formidable martial spirit.
He realized he would come to miss it, it’s history, and it’s people. They were not some Asiatic mongrel but rather a noble race. In a world where Austria and its alliance dominates Southern and Eastern Europe, let the Japanese have a free hand in Asia. They truly were the Aryans of the East, honorary admittedly but still impressive.
He would miss the food too…
The car pulled into the port, parking nearly in the same spot Hitler had been picked up from in what felt like a lifetime ago. Yet unlike last time, people had come to see him off.
Hitler opened his own door before Leichtenberg could. He held out his hand for Lieselotte who helped herself out of the backseat. Before the three Austrians were what looked like a hundred soldiers of the Imperial Japanese Army, fifty on each side of the walkway to the dock itself, formed up in ten ranks of five.
Standing in the walkway was Yasuhito, brother and heir to Emperor Hirohito.
Hitler moved forward but halfway there the one hundred Army troopers came to attention, rifles shouldered. This gave Hitler temporary pause but he continued moving to Yasuhito. When he stood in front of his friend, the Crown Prince bowed deeply. Hitler did not know the ins-and-out of imperial protocol, but for a prince to bow before someone of lesser social rank was almost certainly unheard of.
Yasuhito rose, a smile on his face as he saw Hitler’s shocked expression.
“Adolf Hitler,” Yasuhito’s German was loud and clear, doubtless his soldiers knew not a word of it. “In recognition of your leal service to both your country and to Japan, I bear three gifts.” Three soldiers stepped out of formation, each holding something different.
The first soldier stepped forward, hold a small wooden box that he opened. Inside lay a seed stop a small smattering of rich black soil.
“Mister Ambassador, you went above and beyond in aiding the Empire of Japan, helping solve the Sakhalin question and saving my own life during the July 8th Incident. As a reward, I present to you a seed of a cherry blossom tree. May it find root in your country to symbolize the friendship our two nations now share.”
Hitler took it with a thankful nod and handed it to Lieselotte.
“Next, I bear a letter written by Prime Minister Griichi, thanking you for your diplomatic skill and assistance to His Imperial Majesty’s government, also carrying the Emperor’s Seal.” Another wooden box was opened, showing a rolled up document, sealed in red-gold wax.
Hitler took the box, nodding thanks once more and handed it to Leichtenberg. The last soldier carried something even more remarkable.
Yasuhito took it from the soldier and presented it to Hitler.
“I have the great honor, Adi,” the Crown Prince said more quietly yet no less enthusiastically, “to give to you a sword of the samurai, fresh-forged, custom made for you.” The sword was partly unsheathed, just enough for Hitler catch a glimpse of a wolf’s head etched into the steel blade. Yasuhito sheathed the sword in its impeccably made scabbard.
“From one warrior to another.”
Hitler accepted the offered sword and felt… something stir within him. Thanks, relief, pride, ambition, but above all it was something he thought he only shared with Olbrecht and Kuhr.
Brotherhood.
Hitler looked at Yasuhito.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Enjoy the moment, my friend. Your country may have recalled you, thinking they have dishonored you, but you are going home. The prime minister and brother both feel that you will go on to accomplish great things in Austria. And mayhaps one day, Japan could count on its European friend in any future endeavors.”
Hitler nodded. “We will see where the cards lay when I return to Austria, but I will do everything in my power to ensure the strong bond between our two countries remains resolute, no matter how recently it was established.”
Yasuhito nodded and held out his hand. Hitler took it and gave it a firm yet respectful shake.
Within moments, he and Lieselotte had boarded a small cutter to take them to the Shans i Dyte further into the harbor. Leichtenberg was to stay behind as First Secretary, but they had made their goodbyes and promise to stay in contact. Soon after boarding, Hitler and Spestov made their re-introductions to one another before the ship’s captain guided Hitler and Lieselotte to their new quarters, two rooms next to one another.
“That’ll be unnecessary, Captain Spestov,” Hitler had said formally. “Frau Aigner and I will share a room.”
Spestov nodded and left. Hitler and Lieselotte took the larger room, reserved for them for the duration of the long journey back to Europe.
As Lieselotte unpacked, putting things in drawers. Hitler placed the wooden boxes holding the seed and letter on the desk beside the bed. The sword he stared at in quiet reflection. He pulled it fully from its scabbard, watching the light reflect off the steel with admiration. After a moment, he slid it back into its sheath and set it down gently on the bed.
“What will happen to us when we return to Vienna?” He heard her ask.
Looking back, he shrugged. “I have a feeling I will no longer hold a governmental position. I doubt even the Front will keep me. I’ve gone against the grain too often for too long. You could potentially stay with the Front, but once they learn of our relationship I can guarantee you’ll find yourself unemployed.”
“What will you do?” She didn’t sound afraid, just curious.
“Keep fighting for a Greater Austria,” he said with ironclad determination. “No matter how many get in my way, I will return the Fatherland to glory. No matter the cost.”
Adolf Hitler closed his briefcase, locking the clasps before turning to look at the man who had been designed by his enemies to be a spy but who had become a trusted confidant since his arrival nine months ago.
Hitler looked around his office, frowning in disappointment that his tenure here had ended so soon. He did well in this office, accomplishing things his detractors would not have thought possible a year ago. He had brokered the Austro-Japanese Trade Agreement, which had created thousands of jobs in both countries. Olbrecht had written to him that many laborers and factory workers in Vienna, Graz and Linz supported Hitler’s strand of National Liberalism.
While good to hear that his words, his truth and efforts, were appealing to more and more within the Front’s voter base, his greatest accomplishment had little to do with Austria itself. The Sakhalin Compromise emboldened Japan, was a political slap to the Soviet Union, and created the anti-Communist Second Tsardom of Russia.
But such victories came with repercussions.
Turning his back on his office, he walked to the doorway where Leichtenberg stood.
“And so it is.”
In the hallway waited Liselotte Aigner, his lover and personal secretary. The three of them moved from the Ambassador’s Office, reaching the top of the stairwell. Lining the stairs and at the base of the steps were the embassy staff, from the cook to transcriber to guard.
They clapped as he walked down the steps, shaking hands with all he could. Some even dared to pat him on the back, but he allowed it, all smiles and camaraderie.
Let them feel proud, Hitler thought, so when the time comes they remember who brought that sense to them.
He gave a small speech near the embassy entryway though later he could not recall much of what was said, his mind already on other thoughts. The three of them left to the sound of applause, approaching the ambassadorial automobile that waited outside, engine running. Another car was parked further back, it’s engine also on. Inside was the next Ambassador to Japan, a Christian Social chosen by that spineless worm Seipel. It seemed the new ambassador did not wish to entangle with the old. Hitler didn’t mind, he’s rather not deal with men who were all but traitors to the country, only a shade better than Social Democrats and Communists.
Leichtenberg opened the door for Lieselotte and Hitler. After they settled in, Leichtenberg closed the door and moved to the driver’s side, getting behind the wheel of the car.
The car quickly left the embassy and soon enough it departed Tsukiji District, heading towards the port he had been picked up from. The universe loved its irony, for the ship contracted to take Hitler back to Europe by the Austrian government was the very same that deposited him.
He had already received an invitation to eat dinner from Captain Mikhail Spestov of the Albanian-chartered merchant vessel Shans i Dyte.
As the car drove through Tokyo’s narrow and traffic-filled roads, Hitler took stock of the country he had come to, if not love, then at least admire. The people were hardworking, proud, committed to their emperor, and wielded a formidable martial spirit.
He realized he would come to miss it, it’s history, and it’s people. They were not some Asiatic mongrel but rather a noble race. In a world where Austria and its alliance dominates Southern and Eastern Europe, let the Japanese have a free hand in Asia. They truly were the Aryans of the East, honorary admittedly but still impressive.
He would miss the food too…
The car pulled into the port, parking nearly in the same spot Hitler had been picked up from in what felt like a lifetime ago. Yet unlike last time, people had come to see him off.
Hitler opened his own door before Leichtenberg could. He held out his hand for Lieselotte who helped herself out of the backseat. Before the three Austrians were what looked like a hundred soldiers of the Imperial Japanese Army, fifty on each side of the walkway to the dock itself, formed up in ten ranks of five.
Standing in the walkway was Yasuhito, brother and heir to Emperor Hirohito.
Hitler moved forward but halfway there the one hundred Army troopers came to attention, rifles shouldered. This gave Hitler temporary pause but he continued moving to Yasuhito. When he stood in front of his friend, the Crown Prince bowed deeply. Hitler did not know the ins-and-out of imperial protocol, but for a prince to bow before someone of lesser social rank was almost certainly unheard of.
Yasuhito rose, a smile on his face as he saw Hitler’s shocked expression.
“Adolf Hitler,” Yasuhito’s German was loud and clear, doubtless his soldiers knew not a word of it. “In recognition of your leal service to both your country and to Japan, I bear three gifts.” Three soldiers stepped out of formation, each holding something different.
The first soldier stepped forward, hold a small wooden box that he opened. Inside lay a seed stop a small smattering of rich black soil.
“Mister Ambassador, you went above and beyond in aiding the Empire of Japan, helping solve the Sakhalin question and saving my own life during the July 8th Incident. As a reward, I present to you a seed of a cherry blossom tree. May it find root in your country to symbolize the friendship our two nations now share.”
Hitler took it with a thankful nod and handed it to Lieselotte.
“Next, I bear a letter written by Prime Minister Griichi, thanking you for your diplomatic skill and assistance to His Imperial Majesty’s government, also carrying the Emperor’s Seal.” Another wooden box was opened, showing a rolled up document, sealed in red-gold wax.
Hitler took the box, nodding thanks once more and handed it to Leichtenberg. The last soldier carried something even more remarkable.
Yasuhito took it from the soldier and presented it to Hitler.
“I have the great honor, Adi,” the Crown Prince said more quietly yet no less enthusiastically, “to give to you a sword of the samurai, fresh-forged, custom made for you.” The sword was partly unsheathed, just enough for Hitler catch a glimpse of a wolf’s head etched into the steel blade. Yasuhito sheathed the sword in its impeccably made scabbard.
“From one warrior to another.”
Hitler accepted the offered sword and felt… something stir within him. Thanks, relief, pride, ambition, but above all it was something he thought he only shared with Olbrecht and Kuhr.
Brotherhood.
Hitler looked at Yasuhito.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Enjoy the moment, my friend. Your country may have recalled you, thinking they have dishonored you, but you are going home. The prime minister and brother both feel that you will go on to accomplish great things in Austria. And mayhaps one day, Japan could count on its European friend in any future endeavors.”
Hitler nodded. “We will see where the cards lay when I return to Austria, but I will do everything in my power to ensure the strong bond between our two countries remains resolute, no matter how recently it was established.”
Yasuhito nodded and held out his hand. Hitler took it and gave it a firm yet respectful shake.
Within moments, he and Lieselotte had boarded a small cutter to take them to the Shans i Dyte further into the harbor. Leichtenberg was to stay behind as First Secretary, but they had made their goodbyes and promise to stay in contact. Soon after boarding, Hitler and Spestov made their re-introductions to one another before the ship’s captain guided Hitler and Lieselotte to their new quarters, two rooms next to one another.
“That’ll be unnecessary, Captain Spestov,” Hitler had said formally. “Frau Aigner and I will share a room.”
Spestov nodded and left. Hitler and Lieselotte took the larger room, reserved for them for the duration of the long journey back to Europe.
As Lieselotte unpacked, putting things in drawers. Hitler placed the wooden boxes holding the seed and letter on the desk beside the bed. The sword he stared at in quiet reflection. He pulled it fully from its scabbard, watching the light reflect off the steel with admiration. After a moment, he slid it back into its sheath and set it down gently on the bed.
“What will happen to us when we return to Vienna?” He heard her ask.
Looking back, he shrugged. “I have a feeling I will no longer hold a governmental position. I doubt even the Front will keep me. I’ve gone against the grain too often for too long. You could potentially stay with the Front, but once they learn of our relationship I can guarantee you’ll find yourself unemployed.”
“What will you do?” She didn’t sound afraid, just curious.
“Keep fighting for a Greater Austria,” he said with ironclad determination. “No matter how many get in my way, I will return the Fatherland to glory. No matter the cost.”
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Next chapter will be the last set in 1924 and will see some big stuff happening. There will be a time jump of four years or so so that’ll bring us to 1928.
Thank you all for your patience and support. Make sure to leave a comment or feedback if you so desire. I am gonna aim to have the next chapter out before another 100+ day hiatus. I’m seriously suffering from GRRM-writer’s block…
Take care everyone! Until next time.
Thank you all for your patience and support. Make sure to leave a comment or feedback if you so desire. I am gonna aim to have the next chapter out before another 100+ day hiatus. I’m seriously suffering from GRRM-writer’s block…
Take care everyone! Until next time.
This story really makes you think, how much more dangerous Hitler would have been if he had been like this in OTL instead of trying the beer hall putsch?
Very thankful historical Hitler wasn’t like this and that he will be the dictator of The less powerful Austria rather than powerhouse Germany. I’m thinking WW2 here might see ~40 million deaths worldwide rather than 60-80 million, with slightly more than half taking place in Asia.
