Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
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marathag
Banned
Germany really didn't have to force the Croats, Bosnians and Serbs into mistreating each other.
I see what you did thereDoes he become a chicken farmer?
Well to be honest, it is more that Croats and Bosnians are going to be gunning for Serbs in the 40ies, the Free-For-All DLC came out in 1993.
I have a plan for Himmler. He will be involved in some way in this universe, maybe not in the way you expect. That's all I'll say for now.
Though him becoming a chicken farmer would be best for everyone.
True. There will be a lot of that here.
Mhmm. Imagine 1993 in the 1940s and bam, you have a lot of the ethnic violence of this TTL.
Also, next chapter has been greatly expanded and is like 70% done. Should come out this weekend if not sooner. Has three segments, one from Simon Golmayer, the other from Fyodor Petrovnik, and the last is a flash forward.
Ficboy
Banned
So what does popular culture look like? Since Sozinat Austria is basically Nazi Germany in Der Kampf my guess is that any novels, films, comics, video games, animated series and other media will take inspiration from it. Imagine an Austrian Red Skull fighting Captain America, the Inglorious Basterds alongside Shosanna Dreyfus killing the Austrian Sozinat leadership at Zagreb. Is there even a Schindler's List much less Oskar Schindler being involved in the Sozinat Party since he is from the former Austria-Hungary in OTL.
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I think a important element is that Austria is a minor country compared to Germany, I doubt it will be a big deal in the comics.
Ficboy
Banned
Austria is anything but minor after all it was once an empire like Germany. It could still become a major player especially in this timeline.
OTL Nazi Germany conquered most of Europe, this Austria will at best recreate the former Austrian Empire in scale of its dominance. The people who flee from Hitler’s regime won’t flee to USA, they will flee to Germany.
In a Austrian-German alliance Austria will be no more than the tail of the dog.
Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Fresh Meat for the Grinder
October 1916
Vienna, Austria
Austro-Hungarian Empire
Fresh Meat for the Grinder
October 1916
Vienna, Austria
Austro-Hungarian Empire
It had begun to quiet down at work the past six months. Not that it was ever too loud by screaming or rudeness, but it was a bank and hundreds of people came and went every day. A natural bustle in the world of finance.
Yet it had become as silent as a crypt as of late.
The clients who walked in now seemed stooped, if not physically then at least spiritually.
Staring at the ledger books, Simon felt nothing. His work had never been exciting, but it had paid the bills and elevated his family into a comfortable lifestyle, and he had seen his friends and coworkers everyday. Now… now the rooms were empty of them, replaced by youthful faces of women and the wrinkled brows of old men too old to conscript alongside a handful of cripples. He was a modern man, a true Viennese yet it was still strange to see so many women working at the bank.
Rubbing his eyes, he looked at where his friend Fritz had sat for all those years. Now was a replacement, a man named Heinrich who was near his age, having lost most of a leg to an enemy grenade during the Brusilov Offensive. No use to the Army as the man could not walk without crutches, he had been discharged honorably.
Though the man’s leg was gone, he was proud of his service, proudly stating of fighting off the Russian devil from the German-speaking heart of the Empire. Hearing the stories Heinrich shared, the camaraderie, the glory of war, it made Simon feel shame.
He wanted to fight yet he was afraid of dying. It shamed him deeply. But who would take care of Judith and the children? He shook his head and returned to the ledgers, the questions haunting him.
Hours later, he walked from the Inner City to Leopoldstadt, crossing Ringstraße and walking through Stubenviertel Gate, the policemen also older or sporting wounds that prohibited them from front-line or second-line duty. One man, old enough to have been lived during the Austro-Prussian War, talked jovially with a young man in a police uniform who was missing several fingers on one hand and had a noticeable limp as he walked up and down the Gate’s entrance, greeting the occasional passerby while carrying on the discussion with the elderly gentleman.
The walks home from work with Fritz were filled with discussion about life, family, and the war. Before Archduke Franz Ferdinand had been murdered, they had talked of peace and the success and failures of life. But now everything was overshadowed by the Great War, its reaper talons digging deep into society. Now he walked alone, through streets that featured crippled veterans begging for coin alongside the few Ostjuden that had not returned eastward with the liberation of much of Galicia.
When the first crippled veterans who were unable or unwilling to find employment in some capacity began to make their home on Vienna’s streets, Simon would dole out spare change from his pocket but as the war continued and the number of men who littered the street rapidly grew and prices for goods rose as the quality fell Simon was forced to tighten the budget lest he and his family risk lean times.
Stone-faced, he walked by the outstretched hands of hungry men, both veteran and Jew. Resigned curses and frustrated sighs followed him.
Arriving home, he hung his hat and coat on the rack near the door.
“Judith, dear, I’m home.”
He heard nothing at first.
Frowning, he walked into the living room, seeing his three sons sitting on the couch and his wife as well. She was in tears, face beet red.
Simon rushed over, noting that the eyes of Abraham and Richard were red though no tear fell at that moment, while Felix looked confused, crying to reflect the emotions of his mother.
“My dear, what’s wrong?” Simon asked, worry striking him like a club.
Judith gestured to the table, a letter resting upon it, opened and read. Simon noted the Imperial Seal on it and quickly read the words from the War Ministry. It was a letter millions of men within the Empire had received since mid-1914 in their native languages. A letter of conscription.
“Oh.”
Later that night, lying beside his wife, having made love to her as fervently as when they were newly weds, he held her as she cried, her fists beating weakly against the sweat-matted hair on his chest.
“Shh, shh, Judith,” he tried to comfort her, “You’ll wake the children,” he whispered, cradling her.
Tears trailed down her face to the pillowcase as they stared at each other.
She looked at him, her sadness overwhelming him.
“It will be okay. I feel the war will be over soon. A few months more, at most.”
“That’s what people said when this all started yet here we are two years later, millions dead and the victories won are negligible at best.” She began to cry again. “What about Abraham and Richard?! They will be old enough for conscription next year! What about our boys, Simon? What if they have to fight? What if they die?! What if you die?! I can’t-” she coughed, the tears choking her, “I can’t do it on my own.”
Simon did not know what to say to that and hugged her to comfort her.
In his ear, she whispered.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh.”
+ + +
“Andrei!” the Bull announced loudly, pulling Fyodor in for a hug that gave credence to his name. He felt the air in his lungs escaping before the Bull let him go. “How are you, comrade?”
They were inside Schastlivchik’s bar area, deep into the night where only drunks and comrades remained. The barmaids turned prostitutes paid their dues to the Bull, a stack of cash and coin in front of his table in which he counted carefully. Fyodor knew a large percentage of that would go on to fund local Communist cells across the countryside.
Fyodor had just arrived, having departed the family manor after another tumultuous supper with his father blaming the empire’s woes on Jews, Kazakhs, Gypsies and, of course, Socialists, with Communist Bolsheviks receiving the brunt of the Petrovnik patriarch’s ire. Tired of hearing the old man moan about the future that would soon consume the nation, he left with his father’s curses chasing after.
“I am fine, thank you for asking. And you?”
The Bull laughed, gesturing at the money-filled table. “Business is good. The workers and peasants are happy to sate their thirst with my drink and sheath their spear in my women. Business is business and the people are happy, as it should be, da.”
Fyodor nodded and sat down.
The Bull resumed his seat and began counting a new stack.
After a few moments of silence, in which Fyodor struggled internally, he opened his mouth to speak.
“Your father finally exile you like the tyrant he is?”
Fyodor was caught flat-footed, mouth agape, likely appearing as a foolish simpleton.
“Yes. Well,” he shrugged, “Not exactly. He is threatening me, brandishing his officer’s sword and wearing his pistol. He sees enemies everywhere and he blames so much of it on us.”
The Bull nodded.
“If you need a place to stay, you are always welcome amongst us, Fyodor.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, tears threatening to form but he blinked them away. The Bull was the only man who knew of his true name and origin, the supposed antithesis of socialism, but even though he was noble born and privileged in the Russian Empire, he nonetheless felt that the masses should seize their freedoms and the means of production. It should be the proletariat, not the bourgeois, that ruled the Motherland. The needs of the greater outweigh the needs of the few after all.
“You have donated much to the movement and I give you my thanks.”
“Thank you, Bull, thank you.”
“Bahh, don’t thank me just yet. Living here means you will have to work to earn your keep. You are not a secondborn blueblood here, rather a laborer. Rags will be your silk coat, cheap vodka your sacrament, and cheaper whores your comrades and equal. Do you understand?”
“Da.”
‘Excellent!” The Bull’s fat face brightened with merriment as he reached for a glass of vodka and two glasses, less chipped and dirty than most others, and he filled them to the brim.
“To the revolution, may it come soon.”
“To the revolution,” Fyodor said, downing the drink with ease.
Hours later he stumbled home, half-drunk, wanting to pack some clothes before his parents woke up to find him gone. He patted his coat, feeling the letter he had written to his mother resting in the inner front pocket. It explained things, a kind farewell to the only parent he had loved. For his father it would be nothing but contempt.
Petrovnik Manor was quiet, no lights were on. Even the workers’ hut where the groundskeepers, butlers, horse handlers and maids lived was notably dark. It was the darkest time of the night, shortly before the sun would kiss the horizon as it brought the dawn.
He opened the door quietly, and tip-toed through the house. At the base of the stairs he heard the schlick of a revolver being primed to fire coming from the annex.
“Do you think me a fool?” came his father’s voice as the patriarch turned on a gas lamp, the fiery lighting making his father’s gaunt features appear almost skeletal. Ever since his brother’s death, his father had physically thinned and his anger at the world had deepened. In his father’s lap, below the pistol, was a worn book. Fyodor didn’t even have to see its cover or spine to know it was his private copy of the Communist Manifesto.
His father tapped the book, face squirming in disgust.
“Why do you betray me? Why do you betray this family?”
Fyodor, his mind clearing as the pistol’s barrel stared into his soul, blinked rapidly before responding.
“The Empire is corrupt, father. It is bloated, gasping for air even as it chokes on its troubles. It will not endure for much longer.”
His father smirked. “It will last longer than you.”
His blood turned to ice in his veins. “You would kill me, your last son and heir?”
“My son, my true son, died in the war. You are nothing but a mistake. Your inheritance will either go to some cousin or I’ll whelp another child out of some young noble maiden. It matters not.”
“You would betray mother?”
“She was a means to an end and she’s served her purpose.”
Fyodor’s face flushed with anger. “You are an utter bastard.”
“And you are a little shit that should have died in Mikhail’s place. Then everything would be better.”
His father, Lord Stefann Peterovich Petrovnik, rose from the chair, throwing the Manifesto copy onto the floor, and walked to Fyodor.
“You know, I should not enjoy this as much as I expect I will. A sin, perhaps, but we are all allowed our own vices.” Fyodor could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath.
He raised the pistol, Fyodor gulped and prepared to die.
“NO!” screamed a woman’s voice, running down the stairs.
His father looked up at Fyodor’s mother, his wife, running down the stairs and opened his mouth to yell and demean her. Noting his chance, Fyodor rushed his father. Grabbing the arm that held the revolver he angled it up, it firing twice before they stumbled backwards towards the annex.
In the struggle, the gas lamp was knocked over onto a stuffed couch topped with pillows. The fire from the lamp began to eat away and spread, at first slowly but growing with ever more speed.
His father might have been an officer in the Army decades ago, but he was older, weaker and drunker. Fyodor wrestled the pistol from his father, shoving him back into the chair and raised the pistol at him.
“Send my regards to the Devil himself.”
Stefann Petrovnik snarled and tried to rise but four shots hit him in the chest, the revolver clicking dry after the fourth shot. Blood soaked through the clothes onto the expensive chair. The fire was beginning to spread, alighting the whole couch and snaking towards the curtains.
Turning, with a smile and adrenaline rushing through his veins, Fyodor stopped as he saw his mother collapsed on the stairwell. With a cry of fear, he ran to her side but she was already dead, one of the bullets fired during the scuffle had hit her heart. Fyodor only hoped she had not suffered, that it was quick.
Tears streamed down his face and he fell beside her. He closed her open eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling, bending over her body as tears wracked his own. He did not know how long he crouched over her crying but once the heat from the flames became nearly impossible to ignore, the smoke thick and rising, and the flames spreading to the walls and elsewhere in the manor he knew he had to leave.
Pulling out the letter he placed it on her chest, moving her hands to grasp it. Gasping out one last sob, he ran for the door and escaped into the night.
+ + +
May 1940
Near Turku
Finnish Democratic Republic
Comrade Commissar Kolganov exited the ZIS-5 truck, closing the door behind him with a solid thud. He squinted as it was an uncommonly bright morning in Finland, the winter months having truly passed. It had been several months since he had arrived in Finland, shortly following Marshal Voroshilov’s dismissal and subsequent trial and execution as the price of failure and presenting the Red Army in a humiliating light. Since arriving to the Land of a Thousand Lakes, he had spent many hours reminding military officers of their duty and loyalty to the Premier. Several unimportant mid-tier officers were made examples of to steel the resolve of those spared.May 1940
Near Turku
Finnish Democratic Republic
The cloud coverage was minimal and did not block the sun, the clouds were like wisps of cotton stretched across the sky. The fires that had raged in nearby Turku from Red Air Force bombings for several days had finally been put out by Soviet soldiers and Finnish laborers.
From the truck's rear compartment came a dozen NKGB Internal Security guards manhandling five prisoners though only one was of significant importance, a certain Major General Ruben Lagus. Another vehicle, a military car, pulled up beside the truck and two men dressed in ochre uniforms stepped out. They were of the Security Crime Police, the Turvarikosten poliisi in their language, also known as the TKP and was modeled after the NKGB. Their ochre uniform had red trim on their cuffs, on their officer’s cap, with lapel pins bearing the sigil of the Finnish Democratic Republic in red. They were there to translate and to represent the Soviet Union’s most recent ally, though puppet would have been a more accurate description.
“Line them up, make sure when the delegation arrives they can see them from the boat. Remove their blindfolds.”
The Internal Security troopers did so quickly and professionally, their PPD-40s held at ease but ready to be aimed at a moment’s notice in case of treachery. Kolganov did not expect any, but the Boss had stressed that the Premier wanted this delegation to show strength and professionalism, almost as if to gloss over the previous months that saw the Red Army embarrass itself on an international stage. The TKP men waited patiently, hands folded behind their backs.
About twenty minutes passed before a torpedo boat was sighted as it approached the coastline. It flew three flags, one from the Kingdom of Sweden and another from the United States of America, signaling they carried intermediaries aboard, but the flag that flew higher and prouder than the interfering Swedes and the arrogant Americans was the Finnish flag that the so-called Åland Republic maintained since the mainland fell to the workers and peasants of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.
The torpedo boat stopped not far from the shore, with several of the crew aboard jumping down into the shallow water, wary of the jagged rocks with cold water soaking up to their thighs as they escorted five prisoners of their own. From the boat were several machine guns aimed in the general direction of the Soviet delegation but not aimed at anyone in particular. The Finns also wished to show strength, especially from their weaker position.
At the front of the men emerging from the Archipelago Sea was an officer of the Swedish Royal Navy, his dark blue uniform a contrast to that worn by the American who wore a suit, tie flapping in the wind as he shuffled forward through the waves. A half dozen men in Swedish naval uniforms followed, escorting five prisoners, though these were not blindfolded, and two Finnish officers followed, one representing the Army, the other the Finnish Navy. They were there to represent the Republic of Finland and quietly remind the Soviets of their nation’s continued existence.
Kolganov grinded his teeth in annoyance at their presence. That nation had only been saved with subtle trickery and backdoor dealing of the Swedes, with American and German support making the Soviet Union wary to squash the Remnant Republic lest international tensions deteriorate further. Thankfully, Britain and France were more concerned with the powder keg that was the Balkans rather than the home of the Kalevala.
Kolganov saw the two Finns eye the TKP officers with disgust, spitting in their general direction as they walked onto the rocky sand beach.
Kolganov, as senior NKGB commander, stepped forward to the Swede. “Captain ,” he said in Russian.
“Commissar Kolganov, I presume,” the Swede said in accented Russian.
He nodded, shaking the hand of the naval officer.
Kolganov motioned for the TKP officers to move forward, the Swede doing the same for the two Finns in his delegation, one a major and the other a commander.
The two sides talked of why they were there and who they were exchanging, stating the information for posterity’s sake, as the agreement for this exchange of prisoners had already been decided upon days ago in the Kremlin and the Sager House.
The exchange was made and both sides withdrew to their respective vehicles. The NKGB-TKP waited for the torpedo boat bearing three flags to turn and sail away before they withdrew to their trucks. Four of the exchanged prisoners were Finnish Communists of minor note who sat with the Internal Security men in the rear compartment, but the prized prisoner was seated next to Kolganov in the truck cabin.
Aimo Aaltonen was young, younger than Kolganov himself by over a decade, but the First Citizen of the newborn Finnish Democratic Republic had earmarked Aaltonen as his deputy as the man was both looked on favorably in Moscow and was a noted organizer and administrator, something the Finnish Communist government desperately needed to cement itself in these early days of its existence.
As the ZIS-5 truck and TKP car sped away to Turku, where a train awaited to bring Aaltonen to Kuusinen in Helsinki, Kolganov’s mind drifted past the job well done of the exchange and thought of the clouds of war that were gathering over Europe and how the Winter War was but a skirmish of the war to come.
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I don't think Himmler's neopaganist tendencies would sit very well with the Sozinats.
Nice chapter! Very interesting. I know there are several big fronts, but maybe Simon and Adolf will eventually meet in the near future.
So dramatic! I like it. That part was intense.
And it looks like The Winter War is going to be quite different in this timeline...
So dramatic! I like it. That part was intense.
And it looks like The Winter War is going to be quite different in this timeline...
Sozinat Austria will be very similar to Nazi Germany though the government will be very pro-Catholic and have a fair amount of support from the local priesthood. Austria will be considered the “Defender of German Catholics.” Now Hitler himself will be atheist/agnostic, but will use that pro-Catholic angle to rein in conservative elements of Austrian society.
A Red Skull analogue would be interesting but due to butterflies it would probably be less Red Skull and Hydra and more a Wolfenstein Death’s Head/State Security sub-division bad guy who tried to create super weapons. An alt-Marvel/superhero cinematic universe would have different origins and even Captain America himself would be replaced. I’m envisioning a Colonel Star myself (I’m terrible with superhero names, would love alternate titles) but I can see the USA during the 40s creating a Captain America like hero in comics to bolster Patriotism and American values.
Exactly. Austria would be a big bad guy to American society in the comics but people would probably be more scared of the Soviet Union and others.
While Austro-Hungary is not minor, post-WW1 Austria is very much a tertiary power which Hitler and the Sozinats spend many years offsetting to make it a European power to rival Italy, France others. The expansion of Austria will greatly boost population and industrial output but they will never be the threat of OTL Nazi Germany. And a main reason why Hitler will be able to expand his nation quite considerably during peacetime is the British and (mainly) French want a strong independent Austria to counter any possible German aggression. So that’ll be Anglo-French foreign policy in Europe during the 1920s and up to the mid/late 1930s.
Excellent point and observation.
Thank you!
Himmler’s neo-pagan ideas would definitely not meld well with the Conservative Catholic angle the ÖSNVP will propagate. This would seriously hinder his rise in the ÖSNVP and its sister parties.
We shall see.
That would be very interesting for sure. The future Austrian Führer crossing paths with a Jew in the military, this would be against his own internal ideology so it will be fun to write him trying to self-explain that.
Thanks!
Yes, very much so. I dropped some tidbits about the different situation in Finland but the big thing is that the Finnish Democratic Republic was established on mainland Finland while the Åland Islands and a lot of islands between Finland and the Bothnian Sea remain part of the Republic of Finland, but to differentiate this Republic from when it ruled all of Finland it has been nicknamed the Remnant Republic and the Åland Republic.
The Åland Republic will become one of the most hyper militant and fortified nations on Earth, largely thanks to generous lend-lease and support from Sweden and the USA who want to have a regional base and a bit of a buffer against Communist Finland and its master USSR.
Will say that the Finnish Democratic Republic becomes a hardline Stalinist state. Essentially imagine the Åland Republic as an island Israel analogue while the Finnish Democratic Republic becomes a Finnish North Korea.
Ficboy
Banned
Just keep Captain America and have Red Skull be like Deathshead from Wolfenstein.
Plus in OTL Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany attempted to bring German Protestants to their side by creating the Deutsche Evangelische Kirche (DEK)/German Evangelical Church, the Deutsche Christen (German Christians) and Positives Christentum (Positive Christianity) led by Ludwig Muller unfortunately they faced stiff opposition from the Bekennende Kirche or the Confessing Church led by Karl Barth. This led to the Kirchenkampf or the Church Struggle between 1933 and 1945 between pro-Nazi and anti-Nazi German Christians. The Catholic Church in particular was the main source of religious opposition to Nazism even going so far as to publish Mit Brennender Sorge an encyclical or papal letter in 1937 that denounced the ideology albeit not by name. There's also a reason where the famous line "First they came for the socialists" exists it was created by Martin Niemoller to describe the Nazis eliminating certain groups.
Sozinat Austria on the other hand will definitely incorporate Catholicism into its ideology and create a much more successful equivalent of Positive Christianity. It would somewhat akin to OTL's Christian Identity claiming that Jesus Christ was an Aryan and not a Jew despite the New Testament explicitly saying otherwise and use specific verses to claim that he denounced Jews and that they were the children of Satan even though it's the same document that said that salvation comes from the Jews. There are also instances of clerical fascist regimes existing such as Falangist Spain and Legionary Romania thus Sozinat Austria will definitely resemble both countries.
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marathag
Banned
So many from OTL
The Shield, from image #3, was before Captain America, most of the others, afterwards.
But there was a flood of them