pls don't ban me
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i trolled a bit @RedSword12 's comment where he specified that he didn't refer to her being phisically weak but weaks as character per sè. So i comments that Lieselotte was basically a gym-fanatic
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Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
- Thread starter Tanner151
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Hey, everyone, I am thrilled to announce that Book 1 of Der Kampf has been finished, edits and all. Tom over at Sea Lion Press seemingly enjoyed the prologue, saying he liked the premise and writing.
Still in talks with Sea Lion, awaiting final word but I sent them the finalized copy of Book 1 a few minutes ago.
Tomorrow I will at long last sit down and actually write the next chapter. Now that Book 1 is essentially done with, I can now turn my energy into pushing forward and finishing Book 2 on here which should be soonish. I think we're in the final stages of Book 2. It'll be a little shorter than Book 1 I'm thinking.
Thank you all for such patience! School starts back up soon but I'm hoping it'll be a smooth year so I can keep working on Der Kampf at a more steady pace.
Still in talks with Sea Lion, awaiting final word but I sent them the finalized copy of Book 1 a few minutes ago.
Tomorrow I will at long last sit down and actually write the next chapter. Now that Book 1 is essentially done with, I can now turn my energy into pushing forward and finishing Book 2 on here which should be soonish. I think we're in the final stages of Book 2. It'll be a little shorter than Book 1 I'm thinking.
Thank you all for such patience! School starts back up soon but I'm hoping it'll be a smooth year so I can keep working on Der Kampf at a more steady pace.
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Thank you! It’s very exciting, humbling and terrifying all at once. I am my own worst critic but hopefully others who haven’t been reading it on here enjoy it
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My congratulations, brother! It has been a pleasure to be a reader of your work!
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty
Chaos in Styria, Part III
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
April 1929
Chaos in Styria, Part III
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
April 1929
Rain pattered down upon Vienna, delivering a dismal combination of a cold and wet morning as people went about their day. If it had rained even a few weeks prior it would have been snow but winter had finally passed and the hopes of spring were supposedly heralding a new and productive year. Instead it was a downpour, causing people with old wounds to curse their aches as they went about their day. Thunder rumbled overhead, low and threatening. Lightning split the sky, giving a false light before subduing back to dark gray.
The air was chilled, wisped with fog that lingered like an unwelcome relative, forcing the few vehicles out to drive slowly. Honking horns and shouting could be heard from his office. The roads of Vienna were puddled with half-frozen rainwater from last night’s brief torrent. It was cold, it was damp, but it was refreshing in a way, almost as if the city was trying to wake up from the nightmare it found itself in. Or rather the nightmare the government currently found itself in.
Ignaz Seipel sighed and pinched his nose in thought as he stared out over the crowded street, the early morning rush continuing as if nothing else untoward was happening in Graz. Sometimes as he watched the common man and woman, Seipel occasionally wished he could be one of them, to live their simple lives and to be ignorant of the burdens of governing. Yet each time he rejected such sentimentality. It was better to
Seipel had been Chancellor of Austria for over seven years. In that time his government had faced many challenges. Inheriting a crippled economy that had to be rebuilt from the ground up, a useless currency that saw more success as toilet paper than legal tender, and several coalition cabinets divided by ideology and rhetoric. It had aged him. New wrinkles lined his face, ingrained by stress and the burdens of office.
Many challenges, but all overcome.
And now there was a new challenge, an unprecedented one for their young republic: rebellion.
All because Adolf Hitler had been made unconscious by a gunshot wound and the bloodthirsty fool Walter Pfrimer took advantage of the situation. Seipel didn’t know if it had been planned by Hitler, or if it had all been a brazen naked attempt for power on Pfrimer’s part. It didn’t matter, not anymore. He had deployed the Bundesheer, police forces and government-loyal Heimatschutz to surround Graz. Reports of refugees escaping the city were becoming more frequent, as were a few deserters amongst Pfrimer’s men. It seemed not every member of the Styrian Sozinat Section wanted to be labeled a traitor to the country.
It was already a long day, despite the early hour. In fact it had been a long week. The day after Hitler had been sent to the hospital Seipel had unceremoniously summoned the Social Democrat leadership and gave them a verbal lashing the likes of which they likely had never experienced. His scathing rebuke of Karl Seitz’s inability to control the Republikanischer Schutzbund would likely have political ramifications but those would come later.
For now it was to solve this crisis as quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible. He only hoped the country was able to weather this storm.
A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts.
“Yes?”
The door opened to reveal the incumbent Chief of the General Staff Richard Schilhawsky. Beside him walked Ludwig von Eimmansberger, Schilhawsky’s replacement when he retired. Von Eimmansberger carried a rolled up map in arm.
The two uniformed generals walked to Seipel’s desk, standing at attention.
“At ease, sit down, sit down,” he gestured at the two armchairs facing him.
The two Bundesheer officers complied, taking their seats. Von Eimmansberger rolled out the map, using several items on Seipel’s desk to hold down the corners. Pencil markings denoted where regiments were placed, where shallow trenchlines were shoveled and fortified positions were established.
“So,” Seipel began. “How are things developing?”
“They’re developing about as best as they can, sir,” Schilhawsky said. “We have roughly eleven thousand troops surrounding Graz under the command of Brigadier General Waber, with another three thousand en route. Though we lack heavy weapons and sufficient armored support, we have been able to conduct fly overs by our aircraft masquerading as private citizens. Not much can be seen as they duck inside every time we fly by but Pfrimer’s fanatics seem to lack heavy weapons as well.”
“Nothing they’ve smuggled in from the black market? Or from our less than friendly neighbors?”
“No, sir, not that we can tell.”
“Chancellor, I doubt our enemies would risk giving weapons to Sozinats, let alone Pfrimer’s rabble. They're fanatics.”
“Hmm.” Seipel looked over the map. “When do you think we should go in, Richard?”
“I’d wait about seventy-two more hours. Just to make sure everything is in position,” General Schilhawsky said. “I want those three thousand extra soldiers on hand. Truthfully, sir, intelligence believes that within the next three days Pfrimer will lose a hundred of his rebels to defection, while hundreds more citizens escape Graz. Less hostages will mean less casualties.”
“It’ll be bloody, won’t it?”
Both officers had commanded units during the Great War. They had seen urban fighting, they knew its horrors.
“Yes, Herr Kanzler, it’ll be bloody,” von Eimmansberger said.
“Very well.” Seipel took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “Do it. You have seventy-two hours to get ready and then we’re taking back Graz. May God forgive us all.”
The air was chilled, wisped with fog that lingered like an unwelcome relative, forcing the few vehicles out to drive slowly. Honking horns and shouting could be heard from his office. The roads of Vienna were puddled with half-frozen rainwater from last night’s brief torrent. It was cold, it was damp, but it was refreshing in a way, almost as if the city was trying to wake up from the nightmare it found itself in. Or rather the nightmare the government currently found itself in.
Ignaz Seipel sighed and pinched his nose in thought as he stared out over the crowded street, the early morning rush continuing as if nothing else untoward was happening in Graz. Sometimes as he watched the common man and woman, Seipel occasionally wished he could be one of them, to live their simple lives and to be ignorant of the burdens of governing. Yet each time he rejected such sentimentality. It was better to
Seipel had been Chancellor of Austria for over seven years. In that time his government had faced many challenges. Inheriting a crippled economy that had to be rebuilt from the ground up, a useless currency that saw more success as toilet paper than legal tender, and several coalition cabinets divided by ideology and rhetoric. It had aged him. New wrinkles lined his face, ingrained by stress and the burdens of office.
Many challenges, but all overcome.
And now there was a new challenge, an unprecedented one for their young republic: rebellion.
All because Adolf Hitler had been made unconscious by a gunshot wound and the bloodthirsty fool Walter Pfrimer took advantage of the situation. Seipel didn’t know if it had been planned by Hitler, or if it had all been a brazen naked attempt for power on Pfrimer’s part. It didn’t matter, not anymore. He had deployed the Bundesheer, police forces and government-loyal Heimatschutz to surround Graz. Reports of refugees escaping the city were becoming more frequent, as were a few deserters amongst Pfrimer’s men. It seemed not every member of the Styrian Sozinat Section wanted to be labeled a traitor to the country.
It was already a long day, despite the early hour. In fact it had been a long week. The day after Hitler had been sent to the hospital Seipel had unceremoniously summoned the Social Democrat leadership and gave them a verbal lashing the likes of which they likely had never experienced. His scathing rebuke of Karl Seitz’s inability to control the Republikanischer Schutzbund would likely have political ramifications but those would come later.
For now it was to solve this crisis as quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible. He only hoped the country was able to weather this storm.
A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts.
“Yes?”
The door opened to reveal the incumbent Chief of the General Staff Richard Schilhawsky. Beside him walked Ludwig von Eimmansberger, Schilhawsky’s replacement when he retired. Von Eimmansberger carried a rolled up map in arm.
The two uniformed generals walked to Seipel’s desk, standing at attention.
“At ease, sit down, sit down,” he gestured at the two armchairs facing him.
The two Bundesheer officers complied, taking their seats. Von Eimmansberger rolled out the map, using several items on Seipel’s desk to hold down the corners. Pencil markings denoted where regiments were placed, where shallow trenchlines were shoveled and fortified positions were established.
“So,” Seipel began. “How are things developing?”
“They’re developing about as best as they can, sir,” Schilhawsky said. “We have roughly eleven thousand troops surrounding Graz under the command of Brigadier General Waber, with another three thousand en route. Though we lack heavy weapons and sufficient armored support, we have been able to conduct fly overs by our aircraft masquerading as private citizens. Not much can be seen as they duck inside every time we fly by but Pfrimer’s fanatics seem to lack heavy weapons as well.”
“Nothing they’ve smuggled in from the black market? Or from our less than friendly neighbors?”
“No, sir, not that we can tell.”
“Chancellor, I doubt our enemies would risk giving weapons to Sozinats, let alone Pfrimer’s rabble. They're fanatics.”
“Hmm.” Seipel looked over the map. “When do you think we should go in, Richard?”
“I’d wait about seventy-two more hours. Just to make sure everything is in position,” General Schilhawsky said. “I want those three thousand extra soldiers on hand. Truthfully, sir, intelligence believes that within the next three days Pfrimer will lose a hundred of his rebels to defection, while hundreds more citizens escape Graz. Less hostages will mean less casualties.”
“It’ll be bloody, won’t it?”
Both officers had commanded units during the Great War. They had seen urban fighting, they knew its horrors.
“Yes, Herr Kanzler, it’ll be bloody,” von Eimmansberger said.
“Very well.” Seipel took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “Do it. You have seventy-two hours to get ready and then we’re taking back Graz. May God forgive us all.”
Villach, Austria
Republic of Austria
April 1929
Republic of Austria
April 1929
“Mein Führer, I strongly disagree with this.”
“Frankly, Jakob, I don’t give a damn.” Adolf Hitler bit his cheek to prevent the throbbing pain that wracked through his chest from showing on his face. He knew that he shouldn’t be up and about just yet, the two gunshot wounds that caused him such pain were less than two weeks old, but he was restless.
It reminded him of the time he spent recovering in the Viennese hospital after the wounds suffered on Hill 53 back during the Great War. He had been restless then too, eager to get back into the thick of things. Was it a flaw or a strength? Damned if he knew.
He saw Jakob Kuhr frown from the corner of his eye. Kuhr and two other Sturmwache men were escorting him and his family to the hospital lobby.
Olbrecht had gone up to Section headquarters to talk to Kapitelleiter Stuecker about what was to come next. Hitler wanted to head to Graz and confront Pfrimer. If it succeeded it might have a chance to cleanse any residual stain that Pfrimer’s actions might have waylaid against Social Nationalism. If it failed, well, he’d be dead so it didn’t really matter.
“Sir, I think it is too early in your recovery to travel.”
“You sound like a nagging mother, Jakob.”
“I try my best, mein Führer.”
Hitler grunted, annoyed.
“Daddy, I want to go home?”
Hitler smiled down at his four year old daughter Amalie whom he doted upon endlessly, her slightly curled cherry blonde hair bouncing with each step.
His son Wolfgang held his wife’s hand, eying everything around him in anxious awe for it was a strange place, it wasn't home. He eyed Lieselotte’s stomach. Would she give him another son or another daughter?
“We’ll be home soon, Schmetterling, don’t you worry.”
Their party entered the lobby. Another Sturmwache stood next to the door. His blue-gray paramilitary uniform stood out compared to the others waiting to be attended upon. All of Hitler’s guards inside the hospital were unarmed, as per the previous understanding with local authorities. The few outside still carried pistols. While he didn’t care for weaponless bodyguards, it was but a temporary predicament. It wouldn’t be long now until he was in Graz and his family back in Vienna.
The SW guard at the hospital entrance turned to get the car, moving to get around an incoming crowd when it happened. A sudden boom rippled through the air, a shockwave of devastation, of death. The guard fell down, cut in half by the murderous discharge of a shotgun at close range.
Screaming erupted in the lobby. Patients ducked to the floor, as did nurses and other staff. A doctor ran forward, hands raised.
“No, no, no!” the man cried, trying to step in front of an elderly woman who couldn’t throw herself onto the floor. Four men entered the hospital, pulling weapons out from under their greatcoats. “Please don’t-“
A submachine gun fired into the crowd, the doctor the first but not last casualty. Hitler shoved Amalie being the lobby desk, her cries of fear and shock muffled in the cacophony of chaos. Bullets peppered the lobby, shattering glass, smacking into wood and stone, as well as the softer but more terrible sound of bullets tearing flesh. Through the roar of gunfire, Hitler’s trained ear could detect two pistols firing in conjunction with the rat-tat-tat of the submachine gun and the booming thunder of the shotgun.
He looked around but there was no weapon in sight and he dared not risk moving from cover. Glancing back, he saw that Kuhr had thrown himself over Lieselotte and Wolfgang, using his body as a shield.
Where were the goddamn police?!
The gunfire stopped. He heard shattered glass crunch beneath approaching bootsteps, the whimpering moan of the wounded a faint undertone. Hitler looked up as a gunman turned the corner, shotgun in hand.
Hitler did not recognize him but the man spoke almost solemnly.
“Sorry, mein Führer. Nothing personal, just following orders. I'm sure you'll understand.”
The man pumped the shotgun, the shell casing rolling across the floor, and he raised the weapon. Hitler stared down the barrel of the gun and he knew he would die then and there, ignobly on his knees, placing his body between the weapon and his daughter. All his plans, all his ambitions, his very vision that had carried him through lean and hard times all these years gone like so much a flash in the pan as he looked upon his would-be executioner. So much had been left undone...
He closed his eyes.
A gunshot rang out and something warm hit his face, causing him to flinch involuntarily. For a moment, Hitler thought he was dead. Then he opened his eyes and saw the shotgun-wielding man standing there, hand gripped around his neck where blood squirted out between white-knuckled fingers.
The man took one step forward, dropping his weapon, it clattering on the floor, before his corpse fell down beside Hitler and Amalie. His daughter screamed. Hitler grabbed the shotgun, rising to kill the other assassins but found them lying dead in the hospital lobby, riddled with bullets. A half-dozen Sturmwache rushed in, guns raised, previous agreements be damned.
“Mein Führer?!” shouted the SW-Rottenführer in command of the onrushing guards.
“Here,” Hitler rasped, raising his hand. His chest hurt, the sutures ripped and blood dripped down his chest under his shirt, the two bullet wounds had their stitches ripped open. The blue-gray armed men swarmed to him, two grabbing his arms to take him to a waiting car, engine running.
“No! No, damn you.” He shrugged his guards and moved to Lieselotte, still shielded by Kuhr. As Hitler neared he heard whimpering. It was coming from Kuhr and a sinking feeling settled in Hitler's stomach.
Reaching out, his hand touched the South Tyrolese on the shoulder.
“Jakob, are you-“ and then he saw it.
As Kuhr moved, Hitler saw his wife. Lieselotte, his beautiful wife with her silver crucifix and kind smile, lay there in a pool of blood, a bullet hole in the chest near the heart. Hitler went cold, an icy fury filling him in tandem with sorrow. The world became a blur, the sounds muted. He fell to the ground, hand behind her head. His son Wolfgang, shielded by Lieselotte’s body, sat there crying.
“Mommy! Mommy!” he called, not realizing she had been torn from him forever.
Hitler knew he should have comforted his son but he couldn't, not quite, not yet. He crouched there nonplussed, eyes searching his wife’s face for life. Her pale blue eyes stared blankly at the wall. Hesitantly he reached out and closed them, his fingers leaving bloody marks from her eyelids down to her cheeks.
A doctor came from the hospital’s interior. Seeing the heavily pregnant Lieselotte, he shouted at some nurses standing in shock nearby. Hitler wasn’t sure of the words. He wasn’t sure of anything. He was pushed back by the doctor and nurses, his guards once more trying to take him to the car to relocate. There might be more assassins they said, but he ignored them.
Grabbing his children by the hand he walked to an empty room further into the hospital, his Stoßtrupp moving to secure the area, watching hallways and checking rooms, guns at the ready. A nurse sat outside the room, head down between her legs, sobbing uncontrollably. Ignoring her the three entered, all of them sat on the cot as Hitler held his children against him for some small measure of comfort as their small bodies were wracked with grief-stricken crying.
Hitler wasn’t too sure how long he sat there. He saw the police finally arrive, flashes of them as they ran by the half-opened door, as did more Sturmwache. He noted both groups were well-armed. Doctor Heyman, the educated Jew who had taken care of him after he had been wounded into unconsciousness, had come by to check on his children.
“Where’s my wife’s body?” He was able to manage asking, voice hoarse. “Where’s Liese?”
Heyman frowned as he wiped the blood off Hitler’s face before gesturing to raise his shirt to stitch up the two wounds of which Hitler hesitantly complied. As the doctor worked he spoke to Hitler without looking up, suture and thread in hand.
“They’re performing an emergency Cesarean section. They’re gonna try and see if the baby survived. I don’t know anymore than that.”
Hitler nodded faintly before losing track of time once more. He could have been there minutes or he could have been there for hours, it was impossible for him to know then.
His focus snapped back when Franz Olbrecht rushed in, Kapitelleiter Jans Stuecker standing back by the door. The section leader closed the door to give them privacy. The second most powerful man in the ÖSNVP stood before him with worry in his eyes.
“Adi? Adi, can you hear me?” Why was Olbrecht talking in a whisper? Curious, Hitler simply stared at his former commander, now friend and confidant.
“She’s gone, Franz. Just like that. How fragile we humans are.” Hitler heard his voice, monotone, flat.
“Adi? Adi, the men that did this… they are part of Hiltl’s Frontkämpfervereinigung. One of our guys recognized two of them.
Hitler’s attention sharpened and he returned to almost normal, barring the aches in his chest. Hiltl’s men were largely with Walter Pfrimer. There was no way four gunmen of the Frontkämpfervereinigung would randomly attack a public hospital, killing or wounding at least a dozen people by random. No, it was a targeted attack against him. Pfrimer was becoming truly desperate. Pfrimer likely believed that if Hitler were to die then the rest of the Party would throw their support behind him.
The fool!
His detachment, his sorrow, was consumed by a cold fury. He opened his mouth to respond when Doctor Heyman knocked and walked in.
Hitler stared at the Jew as he approached, face solemn.
“Herr Hitler, I regret to inform you that when Doctor Mueller performed the c-section, the baby was stillborn. The umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck and there was significant trauma when Frau Hitler fell to the floor. I’m sorry.” The words were like a whip, lashing out at him with each detail, scarring his soul.
Hitler closed his eyes but no tears fell. Opening them, he looked at Olbrecht with a visage of certainty and decisiveness. He knew then what he would do, what he would always do, what was so natural to him.
“Frankly, Jakob, I don’t give a damn.” Adolf Hitler bit his cheek to prevent the throbbing pain that wracked through his chest from showing on his face. He knew that he shouldn’t be up and about just yet, the two gunshot wounds that caused him such pain were less than two weeks old, but he was restless.
It reminded him of the time he spent recovering in the Viennese hospital after the wounds suffered on Hill 53 back during the Great War. He had been restless then too, eager to get back into the thick of things. Was it a flaw or a strength? Damned if he knew.
He saw Jakob Kuhr frown from the corner of his eye. Kuhr and two other Sturmwache men were escorting him and his family to the hospital lobby.
Olbrecht had gone up to Section headquarters to talk to Kapitelleiter Stuecker about what was to come next. Hitler wanted to head to Graz and confront Pfrimer. If it succeeded it might have a chance to cleanse any residual stain that Pfrimer’s actions might have waylaid against Social Nationalism. If it failed, well, he’d be dead so it didn’t really matter.
“Sir, I think it is too early in your recovery to travel.”
“You sound like a nagging mother, Jakob.”
“I try my best, mein Führer.”
Hitler grunted, annoyed.
“Daddy, I want to go home?”
Hitler smiled down at his four year old daughter Amalie whom he doted upon endlessly, her slightly curled cherry blonde hair bouncing with each step.
His son Wolfgang held his wife’s hand, eying everything around him in anxious awe for it was a strange place, it wasn't home. He eyed Lieselotte’s stomach. Would she give him another son or another daughter?
“We’ll be home soon, Schmetterling, don’t you worry.”
Their party entered the lobby. Another Sturmwache stood next to the door. His blue-gray paramilitary uniform stood out compared to the others waiting to be attended upon. All of Hitler’s guards inside the hospital were unarmed, as per the previous understanding with local authorities. The few outside still carried pistols. While he didn’t care for weaponless bodyguards, it was but a temporary predicament. It wouldn’t be long now until he was in Graz and his family back in Vienna.
The SW guard at the hospital entrance turned to get the car, moving to get around an incoming crowd when it happened. A sudden boom rippled through the air, a shockwave of devastation, of death. The guard fell down, cut in half by the murderous discharge of a shotgun at close range.
Screaming erupted in the lobby. Patients ducked to the floor, as did nurses and other staff. A doctor ran forward, hands raised.
“No, no, no!” the man cried, trying to step in front of an elderly woman who couldn’t throw herself onto the floor. Four men entered the hospital, pulling weapons out from under their greatcoats. “Please don’t-“
A submachine gun fired into the crowd, the doctor the first but not last casualty. Hitler shoved Amalie being the lobby desk, her cries of fear and shock muffled in the cacophony of chaos. Bullets peppered the lobby, shattering glass, smacking into wood and stone, as well as the softer but more terrible sound of bullets tearing flesh. Through the roar of gunfire, Hitler’s trained ear could detect two pistols firing in conjunction with the rat-tat-tat of the submachine gun and the booming thunder of the shotgun.
He looked around but there was no weapon in sight and he dared not risk moving from cover. Glancing back, he saw that Kuhr had thrown himself over Lieselotte and Wolfgang, using his body as a shield.
Where were the goddamn police?!
The gunfire stopped. He heard shattered glass crunch beneath approaching bootsteps, the whimpering moan of the wounded a faint undertone. Hitler looked up as a gunman turned the corner, shotgun in hand.
Hitler did not recognize him but the man spoke almost solemnly.
“Sorry, mein Führer. Nothing personal, just following orders. I'm sure you'll understand.”
The man pumped the shotgun, the shell casing rolling across the floor, and he raised the weapon. Hitler stared down the barrel of the gun and he knew he would die then and there, ignobly on his knees, placing his body between the weapon and his daughter. All his plans, all his ambitions, his very vision that had carried him through lean and hard times all these years gone like so much a flash in the pan as he looked upon his would-be executioner. So much had been left undone...
He closed his eyes.
A gunshot rang out and something warm hit his face, causing him to flinch involuntarily. For a moment, Hitler thought he was dead. Then he opened his eyes and saw the shotgun-wielding man standing there, hand gripped around his neck where blood squirted out between white-knuckled fingers.
The man took one step forward, dropping his weapon, it clattering on the floor, before his corpse fell down beside Hitler and Amalie. His daughter screamed. Hitler grabbed the shotgun, rising to kill the other assassins but found them lying dead in the hospital lobby, riddled with bullets. A half-dozen Sturmwache rushed in, guns raised, previous agreements be damned.
“Mein Führer?!” shouted the SW-Rottenführer in command of the onrushing guards.
“Here,” Hitler rasped, raising his hand. His chest hurt, the sutures ripped and blood dripped down his chest under his shirt, the two bullet wounds had their stitches ripped open. The blue-gray armed men swarmed to him, two grabbing his arms to take him to a waiting car, engine running.
“No! No, damn you.” He shrugged his guards and moved to Lieselotte, still shielded by Kuhr. As Hitler neared he heard whimpering. It was coming from Kuhr and a sinking feeling settled in Hitler's stomach.
Reaching out, his hand touched the South Tyrolese on the shoulder.
“Jakob, are you-“ and then he saw it.
As Kuhr moved, Hitler saw his wife. Lieselotte, his beautiful wife with her silver crucifix and kind smile, lay there in a pool of blood, a bullet hole in the chest near the heart. Hitler went cold, an icy fury filling him in tandem with sorrow. The world became a blur, the sounds muted. He fell to the ground, hand behind her head. His son Wolfgang, shielded by Lieselotte’s body, sat there crying.
“Mommy! Mommy!” he called, not realizing she had been torn from him forever.
Hitler knew he should have comforted his son but he couldn't, not quite, not yet. He crouched there nonplussed, eyes searching his wife’s face for life. Her pale blue eyes stared blankly at the wall. Hesitantly he reached out and closed them, his fingers leaving bloody marks from her eyelids down to her cheeks.
A doctor came from the hospital’s interior. Seeing the heavily pregnant Lieselotte, he shouted at some nurses standing in shock nearby. Hitler wasn’t sure of the words. He wasn’t sure of anything. He was pushed back by the doctor and nurses, his guards once more trying to take him to the car to relocate. There might be more assassins they said, but he ignored them.
Grabbing his children by the hand he walked to an empty room further into the hospital, his Stoßtrupp moving to secure the area, watching hallways and checking rooms, guns at the ready. A nurse sat outside the room, head down between her legs, sobbing uncontrollably. Ignoring her the three entered, all of them sat on the cot as Hitler held his children against him for some small measure of comfort as their small bodies were wracked with grief-stricken crying.
Hitler wasn’t too sure how long he sat there. He saw the police finally arrive, flashes of them as they ran by the half-opened door, as did more Sturmwache. He noted both groups were well-armed. Doctor Heyman, the educated Jew who had taken care of him after he had been wounded into unconsciousness, had come by to check on his children.
“Where’s my wife’s body?” He was able to manage asking, voice hoarse. “Where’s Liese?”
Heyman frowned as he wiped the blood off Hitler’s face before gesturing to raise his shirt to stitch up the two wounds of which Hitler hesitantly complied. As the doctor worked he spoke to Hitler without looking up, suture and thread in hand.
“They’re performing an emergency Cesarean section. They’re gonna try and see if the baby survived. I don’t know anymore than that.”
Hitler nodded faintly before losing track of time once more. He could have been there minutes or he could have been there for hours, it was impossible for him to know then.
His focus snapped back when Franz Olbrecht rushed in, Kapitelleiter Jans Stuecker standing back by the door. The section leader closed the door to give them privacy. The second most powerful man in the ÖSNVP stood before him with worry in his eyes.
“Adi? Adi, can you hear me?” Why was Olbrecht talking in a whisper? Curious, Hitler simply stared at his former commander, now friend and confidant.
“She’s gone, Franz. Just like that. How fragile we humans are.” Hitler heard his voice, monotone, flat.
“Adi? Adi, the men that did this… they are part of Hiltl’s Frontkämpfervereinigung. One of our guys recognized two of them.
Hitler’s attention sharpened and he returned to almost normal, barring the aches in his chest. Hiltl’s men were largely with Walter Pfrimer. There was no way four gunmen of the Frontkämpfervereinigung would randomly attack a public hospital, killing or wounding at least a dozen people by random. No, it was a targeted attack against him. Pfrimer was becoming truly desperate. Pfrimer likely believed that if Hitler were to die then the rest of the Party would throw their support behind him.
The fool!
His detachment, his sorrow, was consumed by a cold fury. He opened his mouth to respond when Doctor Heyman knocked and walked in.
Hitler stared at the Jew as he approached, face solemn.
“Herr Hitler, I regret to inform you that when Doctor Mueller performed the c-section, the baby was stillborn. The umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck and there was significant trauma when Frau Hitler fell to the floor. I’m sorry.” The words were like a whip, lashing out at him with each detail, scarring his soul.
Hitler closed his eyes but no tears fell. Opening them, he looked at Olbrecht with a visage of certainty and decisiveness. He knew then what he would do, what he would always do, what was so natural to him.
Vengeance.
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
April 1929
Republic of Austria
April 1929
The sun was beginning to set when a knock thudded on his door, louder than even the evening rain pit-patting against Chancellery’s windows. Ignaz Seipel looked up from his desk, Generals Richard Schilhawsky and Ludwig von Eimmansberger turned from the table where a map of Graz with proposed attack plans drawn upon it was laid out.
“Enter,” Seipel ordered. The door opened and his secretary walked quickly to him and whispered something ludicrous in his ear.
“You jest,” he muttered to his secretary.
The young man shook his head and replied just as quietly. “No, sir. They wish to see you. He sent them.”
Seipel, who had been standing, plopped down in his chair. Was this it? Was this a coup? he wondered.
“Show them in, Rolf.”
His secretary left and a minute later three men of the National Council entered. All were Sozinat councilors and they came with the full weight of their party’s influence. August Meyszner and Walter Riehl were influential members of the National Council but the one who captured Seipel’s attention stood in front of his colleagues.
Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg was one of the first Social Nationalist councilors who had been there when the ÖSNVP began over four years ago. While Franz Olbrecht might have been Adolf Hitler’s right hand, von Starhemberg was most definitely the left. Not only was he one of the Sozinat Chairman’s closest advisors but he commanded and organized the Sturmwache in Hitler’s name.
“Gentleman,” Seipel began, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Von Starhemberg walked up to Seipel’s desk to lay out a single piece of paper. Straight to the point as always.
“And this is?” Seipel adjusted his glasses to read. It appeared to be a memo, a brief summary with a dotted line reserved at the bottom for the signature of President Wilhelm Miklas.
“A full pardon for all Social Nationalist personnel currently involved in Pfrimer’s uprising, barring the rebel leadership and those who acted above and beyond simply following orders. We would like for you to present this to the president for his signature.”
Seipel leaned back and gave a mocking laugh. “You don’t think I’ll actually do that, do you? The country deserves justice.”
“And they will have it. The Führer is currently en route to Graz. He will enter the city, confront Pfrimer, and either sow division between Pfrimer’s diehards and Party loyalists mistakenly aiding the wrong side, or apprehend Pfrimer and defuse the situation.”
“That is a ridiculous plan.”
“Perhaps, but it could save the lives of hundreds of soldiers and civilians alike. The Bundesheer retaking Graz by force of arms will cause massive collateral damage and leave the city littered with dead bodies from both sides. How would that look to the world? How would it look to our enemies that hunger for our land, that watch out for any internal division or weakness to exploit?”
Seipel snorted at the Sozinat propaganda but knew von Starhemberg had a point.
“What about Hiltl’s men? Does this pardon extend to them?”
“No. They can be done on a case to case basis. We have no loyalty to them. Hiltl and Pfrimer’s alliance was their invention, not a Party directive.”
Seipel shook his head, “President Miklas cannot simply pardon insurrectionists carte blanche. It could cause the fall of my government.”
“If you don’t pardon them, Herr Kanzler, we will ensure your government falls regardless.”
Seipel kept his composure. “You’re bluffing.”
“No, sir, we are not.”
“You only have eleven seats in the National Council and none on the Federal Council. You pose no threat to this government.”
“We have more support amongst other parties than you realize. Not everyone in your own party is happy with how things have been managed as of late. You’re weaker than you believe. The Unity List is a house made of glass. And I have the stones to shatter it.”
Seipel’s brow became damp with sweat, despite the room’s chilled atmosphere. He didn’t even try to counter that for he knew its veracity. He had heard rumors from party leadership. Certain Christian Socials, notably Deputy Minister Engelbert Dollfuss, were unhappy with Seipel’s leadership and dissent amongst the ranks was becoming more and more obvious in Parliament.
“Furthermore, Herr Kanzler, if you fail to forward this pardon to the president and authorize the Führer entrance into Graz, then we will release information of a far more sensitive nature.”
The two General Staff officers looked intrigued but duty stayed their feet beside the table with the Graz city map.
Von Starhemberg set down a folder of which Seipel opened hesitantly. Inside were documents and photos of three members of his extended family, all the children of cousins. Documents and bank records detailed Diana's embezzlement from her employer, Creditanstalt, numbering in the tens of thousands of schillings. Her direct supervisor, a certain Simon Golmayer, had signed off on the validity of the accusation. The next was a photo of Bertholdt at a communist rally, sitting next to Karl Steinhardt, Ruth Fischer and Franz Koritschoner. Most damning of all was Mark, a photo of him asleep in a cheap hotel bed, naked, with a prostitute. While sleeping with a whore for money would be bad enough, the fact that the prostitute was also a man would be crippling, especially to the conservative Christian Social Party.
Embezzlement, attending far-left speeches with key KPÖ members, and homosexuality… it would cripple him and ruin his family name forever. These documents and photos, if released, would destroy his government. President Miklas would be forced to call for a snap election and it would be devastating for the CS, losing parliamentary seats to its enemies, likely forcing it into the Opposition. As he stewed over the threat, von Starhemberg spoke again.
“And who knows, Herr Kanzler, perhaps the Führer will fail. If that happens, well, who knows how things will develop but they just might be in your favor.”
Ignaz Seipel sighed, feeling exhausted as his mind raced through the options yet knew he was entrapped. He would have to make concessions, he would have to give in, at least for now. “Very well.” Seipel grabbed the pardon, knowing it was effectively an ultimatum. He knew Miklas would do it, that he would sign the document for the preservation of his government and for the good of the republic.
“May God forgive me.”
“Enter,” Seipel ordered. The door opened and his secretary walked quickly to him and whispered something ludicrous in his ear.
“You jest,” he muttered to his secretary.
The young man shook his head and replied just as quietly. “No, sir. They wish to see you. He sent them.”
Seipel, who had been standing, plopped down in his chair. Was this it? Was this a coup? he wondered.
“Show them in, Rolf.”
His secretary left and a minute later three men of the National Council entered. All were Sozinat councilors and they came with the full weight of their party’s influence. August Meyszner and Walter Riehl were influential members of the National Council but the one who captured Seipel’s attention stood in front of his colleagues.
Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg was one of the first Social Nationalist councilors who had been there when the ÖSNVP began over four years ago. While Franz Olbrecht might have been Adolf Hitler’s right hand, von Starhemberg was most definitely the left. Not only was he one of the Sozinat Chairman’s closest advisors but he commanded and organized the Sturmwache in Hitler’s name.
“Gentleman,” Seipel began, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Von Starhemberg walked up to Seipel’s desk to lay out a single piece of paper. Straight to the point as always.
“And this is?” Seipel adjusted his glasses to read. It appeared to be a memo, a brief summary with a dotted line reserved at the bottom for the signature of President Wilhelm Miklas.
“A full pardon for all Social Nationalist personnel currently involved in Pfrimer’s uprising, barring the rebel leadership and those who acted above and beyond simply following orders. We would like for you to present this to the president for his signature.”
Seipel leaned back and gave a mocking laugh. “You don’t think I’ll actually do that, do you? The country deserves justice.”
“And they will have it. The Führer is currently en route to Graz. He will enter the city, confront Pfrimer, and either sow division between Pfrimer’s diehards and Party loyalists mistakenly aiding the wrong side, or apprehend Pfrimer and defuse the situation.”
“That is a ridiculous plan.”
“Perhaps, but it could save the lives of hundreds of soldiers and civilians alike. The Bundesheer retaking Graz by force of arms will cause massive collateral damage and leave the city littered with dead bodies from both sides. How would that look to the world? How would it look to our enemies that hunger for our land, that watch out for any internal division or weakness to exploit?”
Seipel snorted at the Sozinat propaganda but knew von Starhemberg had a point.
“What about Hiltl’s men? Does this pardon extend to them?”
“No. They can be done on a case to case basis. We have no loyalty to them. Hiltl and Pfrimer’s alliance was their invention, not a Party directive.”
Seipel shook his head, “President Miklas cannot simply pardon insurrectionists carte blanche. It could cause the fall of my government.”
“If you don’t pardon them, Herr Kanzler, we will ensure your government falls regardless.”
Seipel kept his composure. “You’re bluffing.”
“No, sir, we are not.”
“You only have eleven seats in the National Council and none on the Federal Council. You pose no threat to this government.”
“We have more support amongst other parties than you realize. Not everyone in your own party is happy with how things have been managed as of late. You’re weaker than you believe. The Unity List is a house made of glass. And I have the stones to shatter it.”
Seipel’s brow became damp with sweat, despite the room’s chilled atmosphere. He didn’t even try to counter that for he knew its veracity. He had heard rumors from party leadership. Certain Christian Socials, notably Deputy Minister Engelbert Dollfuss, were unhappy with Seipel’s leadership and dissent amongst the ranks was becoming more and more obvious in Parliament.
“Furthermore, Herr Kanzler, if you fail to forward this pardon to the president and authorize the Führer entrance into Graz, then we will release information of a far more sensitive nature.”
The two General Staff officers looked intrigued but duty stayed their feet beside the table with the Graz city map.
Von Starhemberg set down a folder of which Seipel opened hesitantly. Inside were documents and photos of three members of his extended family, all the children of cousins. Documents and bank records detailed Diana's embezzlement from her employer, Creditanstalt, numbering in the tens of thousands of schillings. Her direct supervisor, a certain Simon Golmayer, had signed off on the validity of the accusation. The next was a photo of Bertholdt at a communist rally, sitting next to Karl Steinhardt, Ruth Fischer and Franz Koritschoner. Most damning of all was Mark, a photo of him asleep in a cheap hotel bed, naked, with a prostitute. While sleeping with a whore for money would be bad enough, the fact that the prostitute was also a man would be crippling, especially to the conservative Christian Social Party.
Embezzlement, attending far-left speeches with key KPÖ members, and homosexuality… it would cripple him and ruin his family name forever. These documents and photos, if released, would destroy his government. President Miklas would be forced to call for a snap election and it would be devastating for the CS, losing parliamentary seats to its enemies, likely forcing it into the Opposition. As he stewed over the threat, von Starhemberg spoke again.
“And who knows, Herr Kanzler, perhaps the Führer will fail. If that happens, well, who knows how things will develop but they just might be in your favor.”
Ignaz Seipel sighed, feeling exhausted as his mind raced through the options yet knew he was entrapped. He would have to make concessions, he would have to give in, at least for now. “Very well.” Seipel grabbed the pardon, knowing it was effectively an ultimatum. He knew Miklas would do it, that he would sign the document for the preservation of his government and for the good of the republic.
“May God forgive me.”
Graz, Austria
Republic of Austria
April 1929
Republic of Austria
April 1929
As the sun began to set, he reflected that today had proven itself an odd day, or so he thought. Private Adam Kapp. As part of Brigade General Bernhard Waber’s forces encircling Graz, Private Adam Kapp felt strange to look upon an Austrian city as a target. To have artillery and small arms aimed at it seemed so opposed to the oath he had sworn to protect the country. Kapp was nineteen and had been in the Bundesheer for less than a year. Originally joining to provide a steady income as well as to aggravate his father, Kapp had expected little of him in the decrepit and ill-equipped Austrian Army. Too young to fight in the Great War or the Austro-Slovene Conflict, he was perfectly fine to forever act as a border guard, patrolling along the Karawanks and Drau River.
Yet when the madman Walter Pfrimer had initiated his coup, Kapp’s unit had been pulled from the border and sent to Graz to take part in the operation there. It was now day eleven of the standoff between government forces and Pfrimer’s rebellion. Styrian Sturmwache, aided by Hermann Hiltl’s Frontkämpfervereinigung, patrolled the city’s streets. Armed with the weapons taken from the Graz Bundesheer armory, they fielded machine guns, mortars and stockpiles of ammunition across the city to ease resupply of forward units who were even then hunkering down in houses, apartment complexes, and offices. From the outside it looked like retaking the city would devolve into a bloody meat grinder. However the civilians who had escaped the city had helped form a clearer, more informed picture to the Bundesheer higher ups.
It seemed that the city population, numbering over two hundred thousand compared to the nine hundred paramilitary thugs occupying it, were growing restless. Random gunshots could be heard emanating from the city throughout the day and night. The rebels were killing anyone they caught attempting to escape or carrying out acts of sabotage. Despite Pfrimer’s tyrannical methods to cow the populace, over four thousand people had already escaped, including nearly two hundred rebels, a mix of wayward Sturmwache and Frontkämpfervereinigung.
As Pfrimer’s grip weakened, the Bundesheer readied to storm the city. Kapp was not looking forward to that. People would die and there was a good chance he would be one of them. As he kept an eye on the city, from behind he heard two vehicles approaching. Turning he saw a Heigl Panzerauto M.25 approach.
The armored car, officially a training vehicle to sidestep Allied restrictions on the Austrian military, screeched to a halt beside his post and the doors were opened. Several people, some in Bundesheer uniform while others were dressed in civilian garb, exited the vehicle. Seeing no officers or NCOs nearby, Kapp approached the captain emerging from the military vehicle.
“Sir?”
The captain held up a hand to silence him. The officer looked toward the rear of the M.25 where four men in civilian clothes got out of the armored car, moving to them at a steady pace. Kapp looked over the civilians.
The lead man was tall, more so than the captain and with a diplomatic-bearing air about him. His hair was close cropped and judging by his movement and mannerisms, Kapp could tell the man had served in the military. Behind were three other men, all of average height, but one stood out from the rest. He had dark hair, skin appearing sickly pale as if he was ill, and each step seemed to send a jab of pain through his body as the man clutched at his chest.
The tall man moved to the captain, both frowning at one another.
“This is unusual, Herr Leichtenberg,” the captain said.
“That it is,” said the tall man, Leichtenberg it seemed. “Yet General Waber, Chancellor Seipel and President Hainsich all agreed to this. It’s either our option and the chance it brings of ending this or assaulting the city head on tomorrow morning. Do you want to risk your men needlessly?”
The captain’s frown deepened before he shook his head.
“Go ahead.”
“Danke.”
Kapp watched on, bewildered as the four men began to move toward Graz, using what little cover stood in the way, using the moonless night as a veil.
As the Army officer got back in the M.25 he had rode in on, Kapp stared after the men in mute shock.
Who exactly were they?
Yet when the madman Walter Pfrimer had initiated his coup, Kapp’s unit had been pulled from the border and sent to Graz to take part in the operation there. It was now day eleven of the standoff between government forces and Pfrimer’s rebellion. Styrian Sturmwache, aided by Hermann Hiltl’s Frontkämpfervereinigung, patrolled the city’s streets. Armed with the weapons taken from the Graz Bundesheer armory, they fielded machine guns, mortars and stockpiles of ammunition across the city to ease resupply of forward units who were even then hunkering down in houses, apartment complexes, and offices. From the outside it looked like retaking the city would devolve into a bloody meat grinder. However the civilians who had escaped the city had helped form a clearer, more informed picture to the Bundesheer higher ups.
It seemed that the city population, numbering over two hundred thousand compared to the nine hundred paramilitary thugs occupying it, were growing restless. Random gunshots could be heard emanating from the city throughout the day and night. The rebels were killing anyone they caught attempting to escape or carrying out acts of sabotage. Despite Pfrimer’s tyrannical methods to cow the populace, over four thousand people had already escaped, including nearly two hundred rebels, a mix of wayward Sturmwache and Frontkämpfervereinigung.
As Pfrimer’s grip weakened, the Bundesheer readied to storm the city. Kapp was not looking forward to that. People would die and there was a good chance he would be one of them. As he kept an eye on the city, from behind he heard two vehicles approaching. Turning he saw a Heigl Panzerauto M.25 approach.
The armored car, officially a training vehicle to sidestep Allied restrictions on the Austrian military, screeched to a halt beside his post and the doors were opened. Several people, some in Bundesheer uniform while others were dressed in civilian garb, exited the vehicle. Seeing no officers or NCOs nearby, Kapp approached the captain emerging from the military vehicle.
“Sir?”
The captain held up a hand to silence him. The officer looked toward the rear of the M.25 where four men in civilian clothes got out of the armored car, moving to them at a steady pace. Kapp looked over the civilians.
The lead man was tall, more so than the captain and with a diplomatic-bearing air about him. His hair was close cropped and judging by his movement and mannerisms, Kapp could tell the man had served in the military. Behind were three other men, all of average height, but one stood out from the rest. He had dark hair, skin appearing sickly pale as if he was ill, and each step seemed to send a jab of pain through his body as the man clutched at his chest.
The tall man moved to the captain, both frowning at one another.
“This is unusual, Herr Leichtenberg,” the captain said.
“That it is,” said the tall man, Leichtenberg it seemed. “Yet General Waber, Chancellor Seipel and President Hainsich all agreed to this. It’s either our option and the chance it brings of ending this or assaulting the city head on tomorrow morning. Do you want to risk your men needlessly?”
The captain’s frown deepened before he shook his head.
“Go ahead.”
“Danke.”
Kapp watched on, bewildered as the four men began to move toward Graz, using what little cover stood in the way, using the moonless night as a veil.
As the Army officer got back in the M.25 he had rode in on, Kapp stared after the men in mute shock.
Who exactly were they?
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Chapter 41 will be coming out in the next few days to weeks, not months. It will also, as of now, be the last chapter of Book 2. There will be another time jump of a few years to bring us into the 1930s where things start to become both increasingly familiar and radically different.
Thank you all for the patience and support!
Thank you all for the patience and support!
It's like when I watched Man in the High Castle and at the end of S2 I realised Himmler wasn't the worst guy in the room.
Thank you!
A bit morbid perhaps with Lieselotte and the third Hitler child being dead, but there will be some very dark moments in this story. Lieselotte was actually supposed to survive, with the baby either killed or barely surviving but going off feedback of the character I realized Lieselotte had not much of a place in the story, especially as Leichtenberg is now Hitler’s secretary. I originally had it planned that Lieselotte would pull a Magda Goebbels and murder all her children at the end of the war but decided not too.
That’s actually a major worry I have for Book 1. I’m worried the average non-AH.com reader will see the novel in a negative light due to Hitler’s portrayal. I’m sure many will know that the “sympathetic” parts are from his POV and they’re biased due to the viewpoint buts it’s a worry nonetheless.
That just goes to show how batshit crazy MitHC Nazis were. Just imagine how TTL’s Wolfenstein Games will portray the Sozinats. Using Judeo-Serbian advanced tech to take over the world.
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Never thought I’d feel sorry for Adolf Hitler of all people. But here I am.
Hitler was already rabidly anti-Semitic here. He doesn’t blame the doctor for his wife’s death, he at least appreciates the effort. Once the Austrian State really starts to persecute Jews and begin the Holocaust, Hitler personally allows Doctor Heyman and Doctor Eduard Bloch (Jewish doctor who took care of Hitler’s mom) and their families essentially a pass to Switzerland where they will sit out the war in safety. They won’t even be subject to the Flight Tax (a Sozinat Tax on anyone immigrating out of Austria. 60% for Aryans (Austrians, Germans, Slovenes etc) and 90% for Jews, Serbs etc.
He isn’t quite the rug-chewing madman people envision him to be here. He’s a monster, a liar, a killer, a dictator in the making and a racist, but at the end of the day he’s human who thinks he is doing right in his own warped view of the world, which to me makes him far scarier as a person and realistic. Plus the fact that he won’t be a drug addict or suffer from Syphilis like he did OTL makes him a bit more sane throughout the story, and though Parkinson’s will start to reveal itself later in the war and affect decision making etc it won’t be as prominent as OTL’s final days of the Reich which will lead to conspiracy theories and the like of “was Hitler poisoned by his own people” “did the Allies do this or that” etc