So I am wondering if the anti-catholic part of the German right is more prominent here and if that may work to reduce pro- anschluss sentiment.
Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
- Thread starter Tanner151
- Start date
hmm, this is difficult. Maybe I’m over complicating matters. It’s supposed to be an amalgamation if far-right parties coming together to resist growing Communism, Democratic and pro-monarcho-nationalist groups like the DNVP. The name needs to represent its combined ideals and be as blanket of a term to attract as many people as possible.
How about the Free German Workers’ Defence League (Freier Deutscher Arbeiterverteidigungsbund, FDAVB). @Tolkiene @RedSword12 or would that sound too weird in German?
I like the Schutzbund aspect. Maybe German Defence Union for Free Workers’ (Deutscher Verteidigungsbund für freie Arbeiter, DVBFA)
Or
Free German Defence Union for Workers’ (Freier Deutscher Verteidigungsbund für Arbeiter, FDVBA)
I know it’s a pain guys, but I appreciate all the feedback.
Here the NLF is kind of neutral towards religion, but does lean into pro-Catholic. This will be ramped up under Hitler and the Sozinats who use local Catholic leaders to sponsor and lend legitimacy to their party and give their totalitarian state a dash of religious enforcement and approval, at least within Austrian State borders.
Hitler himself is officially Catholic but sees it as nothing more than a way to gain support.
Since I have some people with far better understanding of German, I’ve been brainstorming the name of Der Kampf’s equivalent to the SS.
Obviosuly Sturmwache is my attempt at an SA/SS Field force, but under the State they protect the Führer, key Party/Government locations as well as maintain a field unit.
The Storm Guard (Sturmwache, SW) will be split into two units:
—Life Guard (Leibgarde, LG) with the direct bodyguards of Hitler being Sturmwache Leibgarde - Adolf Hitler (SWLGAH)
—Field Operations (Feldoperationen, FO) - this is the Waffen-SS equivalent
The camps and the subsequent Holocaust will be carried out by the Ministry for State Defence and Security (Ministerium für Staatsverteidigung und Sicherheit, or SVS)
The Sturmwache are under the SVS umbrella, as is the State Directorate for National Intelligence (Staatliche Direktion für Nationale Geheimdienste, SDNG) which is the Gestapo equivalent.
Both the Sturmwache, wider SVS and SDNG use a blue-gray uniform, but only the Sturmwache (both the LG and FO) can use the wolf totem on their uniform instead of the Kruckenkreuz and SVS to signify their direct allegiance and subservience to Hitler as the Black Wolf.
So the Ministry for State Defence and Security is the main body with sub-branches being:
-Storm Guard
——Life Guard
——Field Operations
-State Directorate for National Intelligence
These is just me laying out how the Sozinats will lay out their security and intelligence and SS-equivalent . I’m all for suggestions and feedback on this.
Edit: I’ve also decided on Ernst Kaltenbrunner as Staatprotektor (Director of the SVS) with Fridolin Glass as SDNG Director.
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What will Engelbert Dolfuss and Kurt Schussnigg be doing ITTL? Maybe they fill the roll von Papen and Schleicher filled IOTL as the ones who unwittingly helped Hitler seize power?
I already have the fate of both planned and will keep that under wraps for now due to plot reasons.
Arbeiterverteidigungsbund is not wrong per se, but a lot of nouns packed together in one word. You'd probably separate Arbeiter from the rest of the word.
No worries! Appreciate being able to help.
Personally, of the two, I prefer Deutscher Verteidigungsbund für freie Arbeiter. But I'd drop the 'für'. In that case, Deutscher Verteidigungsbund freier Arbeiter Either Verteidigungsbund or Schutzbund is okay, but upon reflection the latter might roll a bit easier off the tongue. It's certainly less long.
Here's a list of a bunch of German right-wing groups from German Wikipedia. May be helpful: https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kategorie:Völkische_Organisation
I like Schutzbund (there was a Deutschvölkischer Schutz- und Trutzbund) or Kampfbund (the latter means Combat League, also used by a bunch of fascist groups). Also less of a mouthful than Verteidigungsbund.
Regarding the alt SS, I'd suggest replacing Feldoperationen because it sounds awkward as a name for a group, as opposed to a description of, well, a task. Sturmwache and Leibgarde are both good.
Staatsverteidigung isn't really a term that's used in German, and sounds odd. Assuming this ministry only runs the security forces, the SS expy etc. and not the armed forces as a whole, I'd suggest Ministerium für Staatsschutz (state protection) und Sicherheit. Alternately just shorten it to Ministerium für Staatsschutz (or Sicherheit, but that's quite close to just calling it the Stasi).
If it also runs the regular military, replace Staatsverteidigung with Landesverteidigung (national defence), a term used in Germany and Austria (Austria's modern-day defence ministry is called the Bundesministerium für Landesverteidigung). Staatsschutz is a term that does get used in German to describe combating politically motivated crimes and the like. Of course, here the context is a lot more sinister, to use incredible understatement.
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Generally agree, although I'd suggest shortening it further to Landeswehr(amt?).
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You know if Hitler can get the industry of Czechoslovakia, Austria, and Hungary combined that isn't that terrible of an industrial base to work with. Especially if he has Romania allied or puppeted (oil) and Italy as Mediterranean access until Yugoslavia can be, reaquired. Mayhaps Bulgaria is still on board if he offers them border pilth and he can have direct trade with Turkey (tungsten) which could be even better if he can get Turkey to join the new Central Powers.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fear is the Mind-Killer
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
November 1923
Fear is the Mind-Killer
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
November 1923
A knock thudded on the door. Jakob Kuhr opened it, revealing Franz Olbrecht and Walter Pfrimer. In the hall stood two Wolves at parade attention, pistols in their holsters, looking more akin to police officers than paramilitary bodyguards.
Kuhr welcomed them in, gesturing to the couches in the living room of Hitler’s Viennese apartment. The Black Wolf himself was standing on the balcony, looking out over the capital, his back to them as he looked out over the capital. Ever since his return from the Chancellery earlier that day, his mood had been dark but not volcanic, which was a surprise due to the Commander’s infamous temper.
“How is he?” Olbrecht asked, standing at the end of the couch while Pfrimer took a seat.
“He’s… coping well.”
Olbrecht cocked his head. “Dangerous,” muttered the former Landswehr Lieutenant Colonel sat down. Dangerous for whom, Kuhr thought. For them or their enemies?
The three men waited while Hitler looked out over the Republic’s beating heart, brightened with electric lights, a sign of modernity and civilization. Yet enclosing the city was darkness, encroaching into the city, haunting it's alleys, warning its citizens who scurried to and fro that the darkness was always there. Waiting.
The metaphor was not lost on Kuhr, who for the first time in years not only felt but knew that things were going wrong. That Austria’s best chance at restoring its prestige, its might, and its place in the world, was slipping away.
He had known, ever since Carinthia, that Hitler was a man he would follow into hell. A committed patriot, a visionary, a man who could return Austria to its former glory and make those who laid it low to bow before it's reclaimed supremacy.
Yet as Kuhr looked at Hitler’s back, the Commander seemed… resigned. Not defiant or frothing with righteous anger, but an acceptance that surprised Kuhr. He had expected the former Stabsfeldwebel to demand a press conference with the ‘papers, or go onto the wireless waves and thrash the coalition’s opening moves of government as ineffective and insulting… yet he did none of that. Instead, his commander, his leader, merely stood on the balcony and pondered… a plan, or perhaps something more. The Black Wolf did not always share his musings with his officers, not even his inner circle. It was one of his greatest strengths, that confidence, but sometimes it left others in the dark. But at least it seemed he was going to correct that by calling forth Olbrecht and Pfrimer.
Hitler turned around and all three men rose from their seats in respect. The Black Wolf sat down in his favorite chair, gesturing for them to sit and they did so.
“I’m assuming you’ve all heard the news that I, as Austria’s newest Ambassador, will depart for Japan the first week of December.”
The three men nodded, the news announced in government sponsored papers earlier that afternoon which declared Hitler’s appointment as a “bold move” and a “firm welcome and endorsement by the new coalition” but Kuhr could read between the lines, as could any with half a brain.
It was a political exile. They were so afraid of Hitler’s potential and his ideals, they ostracized him from the government he helped put in power and sent him to the far side of the world to waste away.
“So,” Pfrimer leaned forward. “What would you have us do?”
Hitler cocked a dark eyebrow at the comment.
“Do? I intend to follow through with my government appointment.” The room was silent at that. Even Kuhr looked askance at the man he had sworn to protect.
“You can’t be serious, Herr Hitler,” Pfrimer said. “We have the ability, nay the responsibility to act!” Pfrimer interlocked his fingers. The man seemed aghast at Hitler’s… submission.
“Herr Hitler, I have at my back several hundred Heimatschutz under my direct command here in Vienna. I can order another two hundred or more to get here within days from Styria. We have allies in several other Heimatschutz units and some support in the Heimatblock. Add that in with your Wolves and you can have almost one and a half thousand armed men ready to storm the Chancellery, with widespread support from government elements. Not to mention the Army itself. You have the respect of many within the Bundesheer following Carinthia.”
“Are you suggesting a coup?” Olbrecht asked incredulously, eyeing the newcomer of Hitler’s inner circle. Hitler leaned back in his chair in thought, watching his lieutenants bicker.
“I’m suggesting a change of government that favors our views and goals.”
“By God, that’s what a coup is!” Olbrecht ran his hand through his hair in annoyance. “If we marched to the Chancellery to protest the Commander’s ambassadorship, we would come across as children who are unhappy they didn’t get their favorite candy. And if we try to overthrow the government we lose all support in the Council.”
“Storm the Chancellery, Parliament and Rossauer Barracks. Once those are secured we’ll be able to take the rest of the city with ease. Once we-“
“If we try to carry out a putsch we will damn ourselves in the eyes of every man and woman in this country. We will be the black sheep they wouldn’t dare give power to.”
Pfrimer frowned. “I think you overestimate the civilian reaction.”
“And I believe you underestimate it. We shouldn’t do it, it’s too risky.”
“Coward.”
Olbrecht rose and took a step towards Pfrimer.
“Care to say that again?”
Kuhr stood as well. “Gentlemen, please, this will not help matters. We need-“
Pfrimer stood and stared Olbrecht in the face. “Coward.”
The shouting then began in earnest, with Kuhr separating the two men. One of the Wolves poked his head in to see what the commotion was about but quickly withdrew at a heated look from the Commander.
As things began to deteriorate further with both Olbrecht and Pfrimer nearly descending into a physical altercation, a voice snapped across the room.
“Enough.” It wasn’t shouted, yet it snapped their mouths shut and forced them to turn back and face the still-seated Hitler.
“We will not dissolve into in-fighting. If we do that now we might as well shoot ourselves so as to save everyone the trouble.”
The Commander sighed heavily, nostrils flaring before he spoke again,
“I will go to Japan as Ambassador, I’ve already been associated with it due to von Hoffenberg’s little media stunt outside the Chancellery. I cannot risk the damage it will do if I were to turn it down, especially since it was offered by coalition leadership.”
“But, sir, your position will be weak, your influence here will lessen-“ Pfrimer began.
Hitler raised a finger and Pfrimer stopped, biting his words.
“I know, Walter. And for a time, my power in the Fatherland will weaken but it won’t go away entirely. If I were to initiate a putsch, the chance of it succeeding is almost nil. Then I’d be thrown in prison, if I wasn’t shot for treason. And what good could I do there, hmm? Bemoan that power slipped through my fingers, wail at the injustices of the world and not be able to do anything about it? Write a book, perhaps, an autobiography to codify my woes? It doesn’t matter. I’m not launching some sort of revolution through a putsch almost certain to fail.”
Hitler stood and began to walk across the room, deep in thought.
“No. No, what I will do instead is act like the meek humble servant they want me to be… for now. I will go to Japan and I will leave my mark, show that I am not some spineless puppet who toes the line but I will go. I’ve been studying the government dispatches about what is going on over there. It is very tense, very fragile. A most opportune environment for things to happen that will benefit many, if done correctly and with determined vision.”
“Do you have ideas, sir, of what you will do there?” Kuhr asked.
Hitler smiled with utmost confidence yet said nothing, but by the twinkle in his eye and the assurance he all but radiated, Kuhr knew the Black Wolf had a plan.
“Here are my orders to you.” Hitler looked at Olbrecht first. “Franz.”
“Yes, Adi?”
“As one of the Front’s Representatives of Linz in the National Council, I need you to remain here in Vienna and ensure that our movement and our successes do not fade. Remind the people and Parliament it was us who stood with the Austrians of Carinthia, that it was us who fought the Yugoslav hordes. Reiterate it without pause, as well as the threat posed by Communists and Jews. They endlessly attack our labor and bank systems, weakening the Fatherland with their poison. Reiterate until even a dead man could repeat our rhetoric.”
“Yes, Adi,” Olbrecht said confidently, relieved that there would be no hopeless coup attempt.
“Walter, I want your boys and my Wolves to work together to break up political rallies of the Social Democrats, Communists, and other non-coalition parties in outlying cities, especially in Styria and Carinthia. Vienna, for now, is firmly a Social Democrat stronghold but do leave some men here as a reminder to the Socialists that not all within the capital agree with their platform. Ensure their message is distorted and their presence weakened. Also, have your men help at food lines and homeless shelters. Show the people that it is our men that are looking out for them. We’ll need those votes later in another election.” Hitler turned to look at him.
“And Jakob.”
“Sir.”
“I want you to return to South Tyrol.”
Kuhr felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Never in the years since Carinthia had he been sent away. He was the Commander’s shield, his left hand, whereas Olbrecht was his right. And now he was being sent elsewhere, away.
“May I ask why, sir?” Kuhr knew his voice was rough, but he couldn’t help it.
“Because I need someone I trust to stir up enough trouble there with the Italians that their hold over it is weakened. Antagonize them but do not go too far… yet. Reprisals can bolster or kill a movement, so I need you to tread carefully until anti-Italian sentiment runs deep amongst the South Tyrolese.There will be another time for killing. Just ensure that their occupation of Austrian land is not an easy task for them, nor cheap. Perhaps this will force Mussolini’s hand later on to accept any overtures concerning territorial adjustments we make.”
Kuhr nodded, not happy but understanding.
“This is a setback, gentlemen, but we will turn this around and make the most of it. Tomorrow I am going to stand in front of Parliament, shake hands with Seipel and Gross and publicly thank them for this prestigious appointment,” Hitler’s words were thick with sarcasm. “There are many paths to power and rarely is it a straight line. I feel at this time it to be the one with the most success and less wanton risk to this movement.”
The three men nodded.
“Very well. Now, let us go and eat, publicly. I want the newspapers we influence to report in the morning of my commitment to our government and its policies, as well as my readiness to delve into work, no matter how thankless or far away it is, that benefits the Austrian Volk.”
Olbrecht nodded, his contacts in the newspaper industry would readily spread Hitler’s word as if it were gospel. “It will be done, sir.”
“Good.” Hitler moved towards the door, opening it. The two Wolves outside came to attention, “Come, gentlemen, there is much work to be done.”
Kuhr welcomed them in, gesturing to the couches in the living room of Hitler’s Viennese apartment. The Black Wolf himself was standing on the balcony, looking out over the capital, his back to them as he looked out over the capital. Ever since his return from the Chancellery earlier that day, his mood had been dark but not volcanic, which was a surprise due to the Commander’s infamous temper.
“How is he?” Olbrecht asked, standing at the end of the couch while Pfrimer took a seat.
“He’s… coping well.”
Olbrecht cocked his head. “Dangerous,” muttered the former Landswehr Lieutenant Colonel sat down. Dangerous for whom, Kuhr thought. For them or their enemies?
The three men waited while Hitler looked out over the Republic’s beating heart, brightened with electric lights, a sign of modernity and civilization. Yet enclosing the city was darkness, encroaching into the city, haunting it's alleys, warning its citizens who scurried to and fro that the darkness was always there. Waiting.
The metaphor was not lost on Kuhr, who for the first time in years not only felt but knew that things were going wrong. That Austria’s best chance at restoring its prestige, its might, and its place in the world, was slipping away.
He had known, ever since Carinthia, that Hitler was a man he would follow into hell. A committed patriot, a visionary, a man who could return Austria to its former glory and make those who laid it low to bow before it's reclaimed supremacy.
Yet as Kuhr looked at Hitler’s back, the Commander seemed… resigned. Not defiant or frothing with righteous anger, but an acceptance that surprised Kuhr. He had expected the former Stabsfeldwebel to demand a press conference with the ‘papers, or go onto the wireless waves and thrash the coalition’s opening moves of government as ineffective and insulting… yet he did none of that. Instead, his commander, his leader, merely stood on the balcony and pondered… a plan, or perhaps something more. The Black Wolf did not always share his musings with his officers, not even his inner circle. It was one of his greatest strengths, that confidence, but sometimes it left others in the dark. But at least it seemed he was going to correct that by calling forth Olbrecht and Pfrimer.
Hitler turned around and all three men rose from their seats in respect. The Black Wolf sat down in his favorite chair, gesturing for them to sit and they did so.
“I’m assuming you’ve all heard the news that I, as Austria’s newest Ambassador, will depart for Japan the first week of December.”
The three men nodded, the news announced in government sponsored papers earlier that afternoon which declared Hitler’s appointment as a “bold move” and a “firm welcome and endorsement by the new coalition” but Kuhr could read between the lines, as could any with half a brain.
It was a political exile. They were so afraid of Hitler’s potential and his ideals, they ostracized him from the government he helped put in power and sent him to the far side of the world to waste away.
“So,” Pfrimer leaned forward. “What would you have us do?”
Hitler cocked a dark eyebrow at the comment.
“Do? I intend to follow through with my government appointment.” The room was silent at that. Even Kuhr looked askance at the man he had sworn to protect.
“You can’t be serious, Herr Hitler,” Pfrimer said. “We have the ability, nay the responsibility to act!” Pfrimer interlocked his fingers. The man seemed aghast at Hitler’s… submission.
“Herr Hitler, I have at my back several hundred Heimatschutz under my direct command here in Vienna. I can order another two hundred or more to get here within days from Styria. We have allies in several other Heimatschutz units and some support in the Heimatblock. Add that in with your Wolves and you can have almost one and a half thousand armed men ready to storm the Chancellery, with widespread support from government elements. Not to mention the Army itself. You have the respect of many within the Bundesheer following Carinthia.”
“Are you suggesting a coup?” Olbrecht asked incredulously, eyeing the newcomer of Hitler’s inner circle. Hitler leaned back in his chair in thought, watching his lieutenants bicker.
“I’m suggesting a change of government that favors our views and goals.”
“By God, that’s what a coup is!” Olbrecht ran his hand through his hair in annoyance. “If we marched to the Chancellery to protest the Commander’s ambassadorship, we would come across as children who are unhappy they didn’t get their favorite candy. And if we try to overthrow the government we lose all support in the Council.”
“Storm the Chancellery, Parliament and Rossauer Barracks. Once those are secured we’ll be able to take the rest of the city with ease. Once we-“
“If we try to carry out a putsch we will damn ourselves in the eyes of every man and woman in this country. We will be the black sheep they wouldn’t dare give power to.”
Pfrimer frowned. “I think you overestimate the civilian reaction.”
“And I believe you underestimate it. We shouldn’t do it, it’s too risky.”
“Coward.”
Olbrecht rose and took a step towards Pfrimer.
“Care to say that again?”
Kuhr stood as well. “Gentlemen, please, this will not help matters. We need-“
Pfrimer stood and stared Olbrecht in the face. “Coward.”
The shouting then began in earnest, with Kuhr separating the two men. One of the Wolves poked his head in to see what the commotion was about but quickly withdrew at a heated look from the Commander.
As things began to deteriorate further with both Olbrecht and Pfrimer nearly descending into a physical altercation, a voice snapped across the room.
“Enough.” It wasn’t shouted, yet it snapped their mouths shut and forced them to turn back and face the still-seated Hitler.
“We will not dissolve into in-fighting. If we do that now we might as well shoot ourselves so as to save everyone the trouble.”
The Commander sighed heavily, nostrils flaring before he spoke again,
“I will go to Japan as Ambassador, I’ve already been associated with it due to von Hoffenberg’s little media stunt outside the Chancellery. I cannot risk the damage it will do if I were to turn it down, especially since it was offered by coalition leadership.”
“But, sir, your position will be weak, your influence here will lessen-“ Pfrimer began.
Hitler raised a finger and Pfrimer stopped, biting his words.
“I know, Walter. And for a time, my power in the Fatherland will weaken but it won’t go away entirely. If I were to initiate a putsch, the chance of it succeeding is almost nil. Then I’d be thrown in prison, if I wasn’t shot for treason. And what good could I do there, hmm? Bemoan that power slipped through my fingers, wail at the injustices of the world and not be able to do anything about it? Write a book, perhaps, an autobiography to codify my woes? It doesn’t matter. I’m not launching some sort of revolution through a putsch almost certain to fail.”
Hitler stood and began to walk across the room, deep in thought.
“No. No, what I will do instead is act like the meek humble servant they want me to be… for now. I will go to Japan and I will leave my mark, show that I am not some spineless puppet who toes the line but I will go. I’ve been studying the government dispatches about what is going on over there. It is very tense, very fragile. A most opportune environment for things to happen that will benefit many, if done correctly and with determined vision.”
“Do you have ideas, sir, of what you will do there?” Kuhr asked.
Hitler smiled with utmost confidence yet said nothing, but by the twinkle in his eye and the assurance he all but radiated, Kuhr knew the Black Wolf had a plan.
“Here are my orders to you.” Hitler looked at Olbrecht first. “Franz.”
“Yes, Adi?”
“As one of the Front’s Representatives of Linz in the National Council, I need you to remain here in Vienna and ensure that our movement and our successes do not fade. Remind the people and Parliament it was us who stood with the Austrians of Carinthia, that it was us who fought the Yugoslav hordes. Reiterate it without pause, as well as the threat posed by Communists and Jews. They endlessly attack our labor and bank systems, weakening the Fatherland with their poison. Reiterate until even a dead man could repeat our rhetoric.”
“Yes, Adi,” Olbrecht said confidently, relieved that there would be no hopeless coup attempt.
“Walter, I want your boys and my Wolves to work together to break up political rallies of the Social Democrats, Communists, and other non-coalition parties in outlying cities, especially in Styria and Carinthia. Vienna, for now, is firmly a Social Democrat stronghold but do leave some men here as a reminder to the Socialists that not all within the capital agree with their platform. Ensure their message is distorted and their presence weakened. Also, have your men help at food lines and homeless shelters. Show the people that it is our men that are looking out for them. We’ll need those votes later in another election.” Hitler turned to look at him.
“And Jakob.”
“Sir.”
“I want you to return to South Tyrol.”
Kuhr felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Never in the years since Carinthia had he been sent away. He was the Commander’s shield, his left hand, whereas Olbrecht was his right. And now he was being sent elsewhere, away.
“May I ask why, sir?” Kuhr knew his voice was rough, but he couldn’t help it.
“Because I need someone I trust to stir up enough trouble there with the Italians that their hold over it is weakened. Antagonize them but do not go too far… yet. Reprisals can bolster or kill a movement, so I need you to tread carefully until anti-Italian sentiment runs deep amongst the South Tyrolese.There will be another time for killing. Just ensure that their occupation of Austrian land is not an easy task for them, nor cheap. Perhaps this will force Mussolini’s hand later on to accept any overtures concerning territorial adjustments we make.”
Kuhr nodded, not happy but understanding.
“This is a setback, gentlemen, but we will turn this around and make the most of it. Tomorrow I am going to stand in front of Parliament, shake hands with Seipel and Gross and publicly thank them for this prestigious appointment,” Hitler’s words were thick with sarcasm. “There are many paths to power and rarely is it a straight line. I feel at this time it to be the one with the most success and less wanton risk to this movement.”
The three men nodded.
“Very well. Now, let us go and eat, publicly. I want the newspapers we influence to report in the morning of my commitment to our government and its policies, as well as my readiness to delve into work, no matter how thankless or far away it is, that benefits the Austrian Volk.”
Olbrecht nodded, his contacts in the newspaper industry would readily spread Hitler’s word as if it were gospel. “It will be done, sir.”
“Good.” Hitler moved towards the door, opening it. The two Wolves outside came to attention, “Come, gentlemen, there is much work to be done.”
+ + +
December 1923
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
December 1923
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
Margarete Olbrecht sipped her coffee, her mood much brighter than it had been several days ago. News of Hitler’s acceptance of his ambassadorship in front of Parliament had spread like Greek fire through the country, pleasing moderates and defanging right-wing extremists. As part of the Republic’s upper echelons - due to her aristocratic origins and the fact she had bankrolled political campaigns of several notable NLF and CS politicians - Margarete had known about the appointment a week before Hitler himself learned of it.
Oh how she had relished in it! She had been coy and aloof with her brother, not hinting at what was coming, and her patience had been rewarded. The man his fanatic followers called the Black Wolf had been caught completely by surprise, and Ludwig von Hoffenberg had privately recounted the former First Sergeant’s veiled threat to him. Margarete had hoped Hitler would do something foolish, such as publicly denying the appointment or railing against the coalition, or severing ties with the Front altogether. Perhaps even try to initiate a putsch, only to be crushed by a waiting military and police force loyal to the government.
Yet he did not do that. Instead he had, after his initial shock and not so subtle threat to von Hoffenberg, had not only accepted the nomination to become Ambassador to Japan, but had endorsed it, having said frequently in interviews and overheard in public locations of how proud he was to serve the Volk and Fatherland in such an endeavor.
It was… disconcerting, but as she settled her drink on its saucer, she plastered on a smile at the man across from her.
Gustav Gross seemed perpetually unhappy as of late; his friendship with Hitler had clouded the man’s mind and the past couple of weeks had been draining on the Chairman. It was up to her to resolve this. Seipel could not have his political right arm maimed at the onset and risk the NLF becoming deadweight to their newborn and untested coalition.
“Herr Gross, I-” she coughed, “apologies, sir, I meant Vice Chancellor Gross,” she corrected, stressing the title to remind the man of his own power and that he had matters of greater import to mind now. “I understand your relationship with Herr Hitler. He was, is, a man of strong convictions but as you can see, sir, he has taken to the ambassadorship with gusto. His farewell speech at Südbahnhof yesterday was inspiring.”
The man shrugged, drinking from his own cup.
“I fear that things are not as they seem, Fräulein Olbrecht.”
“Sir?” she queried. “Hitler is out of the country, somewhere on a merchant ship in the Mediterranean heading towards the Suez. Pfrimer has skulked back to Styria, Hitler’s Chief bodyguard and nearly half his ‘Wolves’ have left for South Tyrol. Better they bother the Italians than us. Seyss-Inquart has been isolated politically on the Central Committee. He will toe the party line so as to retain some relevance. As of now, Herr Vice Chancellor, Hitler’s allies have been scattered.”
“And your brother, Fräulein Olbrecht? He is still here in Vienna and will remain as such, being one of Linz’s representatives in the National Council. He has already begun to whip up a small group of Hitlerites in the Nationalrat into some form of sub-bloc. Most are from the Front, but a handful are from the CS. It is small and insignificant now, but I can’t risk alienating them now, not with the political weight their votes will have. Whenever Hitler returns, he will have a base of support to build upon.”
Margarete winced. Her relationship with Franz had been strained for years, but it had been all but ruined following her confrontation with Hitler at the Hold. Yet Franz had chosen the dark haired sergeant over family. What did the bastard have that instilled such loyalty in people? She didn’t understand it, and likely never would, but she knew the danger he presented to not only the Front but to Austria as well. The man practically was calling for rearmament in his speeches as Chief Propagandist! The Austro-Hungarian perished in the Great War. She feared what would happen to her beloved Austria if another were to erupt.
“Nonetheless, sir, no matter what Hitler does, or tries to attempt, he is for all intents and purposes cut off from his allies with a dispersed and disunited movement. The threat he posed to National Liberalism and to this government have been neutered. He’s broken.”
“Broken?” Gross looked out over the streets of Vienna, seeing people move about their business, a young woman pushing a stroller seemed to catch the Vice Chancellor’s attention, a look of sorrow crossing his face. “He’s not broken, Fräulein Olbrecht. Diminished, out-of-position, yes, but not broken.” Gross exhaled. “I fear that all we have done is delay what is to come, and we have done so by painting ourselves his foe. Hitler has a long memory and he never forgets slights, real or imagined.”
Margarete couldn’t help but cough to stifle a laugh that threatened to burst out. “Herr Vice Chancellor, I feel you are jumping at potential shadows.”
Gross smiled then, but it wasn’t kind. In fact, it was almost foreboding.
“You underestimate him, fräulein. The man is power hungry. I knew that when I had him co-create the Front with me. I felt the power he was given would tame that beast, would please him as he helped make the Front into the powerful political party it is now, but if anything I put blood in the water. He wants more. He wants,” Gross sighed, “All of it.” He turned back to Margarete. “And he might very well get it one day. I just pray that we do not find ourselves in his way when he gets there.”
Margarete smiled at the Vice Chancellor to disrupt such thoughts, but deep down she felt something stir in her, something she rarely felt in the increasingly cut-throat theatrics of Austrian politics.
Fear.
Oh how she had relished in it! She had been coy and aloof with her brother, not hinting at what was coming, and her patience had been rewarded. The man his fanatic followers called the Black Wolf had been caught completely by surprise, and Ludwig von Hoffenberg had privately recounted the former First Sergeant’s veiled threat to him. Margarete had hoped Hitler would do something foolish, such as publicly denying the appointment or railing against the coalition, or severing ties with the Front altogether. Perhaps even try to initiate a putsch, only to be crushed by a waiting military and police force loyal to the government.
Yet he did not do that. Instead he had, after his initial shock and not so subtle threat to von Hoffenberg, had not only accepted the nomination to become Ambassador to Japan, but had endorsed it, having said frequently in interviews and overheard in public locations of how proud he was to serve the Volk and Fatherland in such an endeavor.
It was… disconcerting, but as she settled her drink on its saucer, she plastered on a smile at the man across from her.
Gustav Gross seemed perpetually unhappy as of late; his friendship with Hitler had clouded the man’s mind and the past couple of weeks had been draining on the Chairman. It was up to her to resolve this. Seipel could not have his political right arm maimed at the onset and risk the NLF becoming deadweight to their newborn and untested coalition.
“Herr Gross, I-” she coughed, “apologies, sir, I meant Vice Chancellor Gross,” she corrected, stressing the title to remind the man of his own power and that he had matters of greater import to mind now. “I understand your relationship with Herr Hitler. He was, is, a man of strong convictions but as you can see, sir, he has taken to the ambassadorship with gusto. His farewell speech at Südbahnhof yesterday was inspiring.”
The man shrugged, drinking from his own cup.
“I fear that things are not as they seem, Fräulein Olbrecht.”
“Sir?” she queried. “Hitler is out of the country, somewhere on a merchant ship in the Mediterranean heading towards the Suez. Pfrimer has skulked back to Styria, Hitler’s Chief bodyguard and nearly half his ‘Wolves’ have left for South Tyrol. Better they bother the Italians than us. Seyss-Inquart has been isolated politically on the Central Committee. He will toe the party line so as to retain some relevance. As of now, Herr Vice Chancellor, Hitler’s allies have been scattered.”
“And your brother, Fräulein Olbrecht? He is still here in Vienna and will remain as such, being one of Linz’s representatives in the National Council. He has already begun to whip up a small group of Hitlerites in the Nationalrat into some form of sub-bloc. Most are from the Front, but a handful are from the CS. It is small and insignificant now, but I can’t risk alienating them now, not with the political weight their votes will have. Whenever Hitler returns, he will have a base of support to build upon.”
Margarete winced. Her relationship with Franz had been strained for years, but it had been all but ruined following her confrontation with Hitler at the Hold. Yet Franz had chosen the dark haired sergeant over family. What did the bastard have that instilled such loyalty in people? She didn’t understand it, and likely never would, but she knew the danger he presented to not only the Front but to Austria as well. The man practically was calling for rearmament in his speeches as Chief Propagandist! The Austro-Hungarian perished in the Great War. She feared what would happen to her beloved Austria if another were to erupt.
“Nonetheless, sir, no matter what Hitler does, or tries to attempt, he is for all intents and purposes cut off from his allies with a dispersed and disunited movement. The threat he posed to National Liberalism and to this government have been neutered. He’s broken.”
“Broken?” Gross looked out over the streets of Vienna, seeing people move about their business, a young woman pushing a stroller seemed to catch the Vice Chancellor’s attention, a look of sorrow crossing his face. “He’s not broken, Fräulein Olbrecht. Diminished, out-of-position, yes, but not broken.” Gross exhaled. “I fear that all we have done is delay what is to come, and we have done so by painting ourselves his foe. Hitler has a long memory and he never forgets slights, real or imagined.”
Margarete couldn’t help but cough to stifle a laugh that threatened to burst out. “Herr Vice Chancellor, I feel you are jumping at potential shadows.”
Gross smiled then, but it wasn’t kind. In fact, it was almost foreboding.
“You underestimate him, fräulein. The man is power hungry. I knew that when I had him co-create the Front with me. I felt the power he was given would tame that beast, would please him as he helped make the Front into the powerful political party it is now, but if anything I put blood in the water. He wants more. He wants,” Gross sighed, “All of it.” He turned back to Margarete. “And he might very well get it one day. I just pray that we do not find ourselves in his way when he gets there.”
Margarete smiled at the Vice Chancellor to disrupt such thoughts, but deep down she felt something stir in her, something she rarely felt in the increasingly cut-throat theatrics of Austrian politics.
Fear.
+ + +
Berlin, Germany
German Reich
December 1923
Berlin, Germany
German Reich
December 1923
Paul Lutjens frowned at the prices before him. He stood before a food stall in a once-abandoned warehouse, the owners allowing an ad-box market to spring up for a portion of the revenue collected.
The prices were in the new Rentenmark currency, of which his job as a laborer had not yet switched over to, the construction firm still using the heaps of Papiermark that had been issued by the Reichsbank.
One loaf of bread was two Rentenmark, or two trillion Papiermark. He had twenty-six trillion of the hyperinflated Papiermark in his pocket in a wad of cash. But he had come here to buy more than bread. The man behind the baker’s stall, for this was cheap black bread and not the delicious loaves made in an actual bakery, looked unconcerned whether or not Lutjens purchased something. People needed bread and whether or not they liked the prices, they needed it for survival all the same.
Lutjens opened his mouth to barter and was able to settle on one point eight trillion for the bread rather than two trillion. He then proceeded through the food market, bartering for better prices and doing well on some, not so well on others.
In the end he left with a paper bag of groceries, some only days from spoiling, and with a mere thirty million Papiermark left in his pocket. The buying power of that thirty million was so low, it would almost certainly be used as toilet paper.
He walked to the bus stop and waited, shivering in the freezing temperatures of a northern German winter. Snow littered the ground in heaps, work crews working daily to clear the roads and rail lines of ice and snow. His apartment was across town and he simply had no energy to walk through the white-covered city after a long day working.
He was sweaty, dirty, and simply tired. It had been almost five years since he had arrived in Berlin from Austria. In that time he had worked a half-dozen odd jobs, helping his sister Anya and her three children survive. He had lived with them for three years, sleeping on their couch, and helping them survive everything from the Kapp Putsch to the hyperinflation. Anya was thankful for all he had done, yet once she had properly mourned her husband Horst’s death, she had begun to date once more.
She had met Heinz Yachmann, a Reichsmarine officer, at a local dance. The two quickly became smitten with one another and within a year they had married. They had moved to Wilhelmshaven not long after as Heinz Yachmann was an executive officer aboard one of Germany’s twelve destroyers still permitted by the Treaty of Versailles.
Lutjens often wondered if Anya married Yachmann because she was truly in love with him, or in love with the stability he offered. Either way, it didn’t matter. When Anya had left, she left behind the apartment she had shared with her family since before the Great War. Now, only he lived in it. And as hyperinflation worsened over 1923 he had been forced to put out flyers for a roommate to help pay the bills.
Thus far, none had signed on, for rent was to be delivered in specie, not increasingly worthless paper currency though with the Rentenmarknin circulation and proving stable - for now - he might very well change that requirement.
As the bus approached, he reached in his pocket to pull out the ten pfennig coin. Stepping up, he reached to place the coin in the slot when the driver raised his hand and pointed to the sign above the coin slot he hadn’t taken notice of.
Lutjens sighed. “Twenty pfennig?” he said exasperated. “What if I give you ten pfennig and ten million Papiermark.”
The driver shrugged. “That’s worse than useless. Sorry, but the rates have gone up. Company orders.”
“I understand,” Lutjens said bitterly, before leaving the bus, stepping into a half-melted pile of snow, feeling the slush sliding into his boots. He smothered a curse as he hopped out of the pile. It seemed he would walk home after all.
It took nearly an hour for him to cross the city. Even with the economy in shambles and the threat of violent revolution, both from the left and right, always under the surface, Berlin was still a bustling metropolis. The streets were crowded, the roads packed with vehicles honking and sputtering. The only difference than what it was like now compared to 1919 was that the piles of rubble from fighting between revolutionaries and government forces in March of that year had been swept away, the streets once again largely clean, though the amount of homeless continued to grow with each month. Every day the papers reported another homeless man, usually a veteran or a widow, who had frozen to death overnight. It was a sad state of affairs but the Weimar Republic simply didn’t have the financial reserves to support wide scale social spending.
Deciding to shave off some time from his trek home, he decided to cut through the Tiergarten. As he moved through the park, trying to stay warm as the mind became lost in the worries of life, a hand was brought up before his face and a sharp “Halt!” was uttered.
Looking up, Lutjens saw three policemen in greatcoats, seemingly on edge, stare at him with suspicion. Lutjens frowned.
“Yes?” he asked.
“What purpose do you have here?”
Lutjens gestured the way he was going. “My home is on the other side of the park. Taking a shortcut. Just trying to get there before I freeze to death.”
“What’s in the bag?” the lead officer demanded.
“Food,” he held out the sack of groceries. He had heard rumors of police taking food as a sort of ‘tax.’ Never a lot, but a few apples here, a loaf there. He half feared that was what was about to happen but the lead officer shook his head and voice softened.
“So you’re not here for the rally?”
“Rally?” Lutjens asked, confused, but in the distance he heard a man speaking over a speaker system, but it was just distorted enough he couldn’t hear it well enough to discern the words.
“Yes, some assembly of a bunch of right-wingers. You may proceed, sir. Just be careful out there. Some of the rally’s attendees are a bit… confrontational, shall we say.”
“Of course, officer. Thank you.” The officer nodded and moved aside to let him pass, the other two officers doing the same. Lutjens moved past them and walked down the park’s trail towards home, unsurprised that his feet carried him over to the edge of a large clearing in the Tiergarten. In the center was a solidly built wooden platform where about a score of men stood on, a podium in the middle where an aging man whose hair was all but gone finished up his speech to polite applause from the onlooking crowd of several thousand.
While it held a sizable attendance, especially for such cursed weather, Lutjens was about to move when he noticed men standing between the platform and the crowd. They were clothed in an unflattering brown color, but they appeared sharp looking and former military by their stance.
Lutjens tilted his head in thought. He had thought he had heard, or maybe read, of a Fascist paramilitary group that wore such a uniform, unimaginatively nicknamed the Brownshirts. But Lutjens remembered it being a largely Bavarian movement. Why then were what appeared to be a couple hundred of them doing in Berlin?
Another man took to the podium, dressed as a Brownshirt. He was a somewhat chunky man, powerfully built, with a bruiser’s face. He looked more akin to a brawler than a politician.
The man stepped forward and the Brownshirts, as if on cue, came to attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, comrades all, I am glad to welcome this evening’s final speaker. Founding leader of the Northern National Alliance and the Kampfbund-Berlin, I present to you… Gregor Strasser!”
Another man raised his arm and waved at the cheering crowd, and began to shake hands with many of the men on the platform stage before moving to the podium. The Strasser fellow shook hands with the Brownshirt, the two even embracing one another for a moment but Lutjens was confident that it was purely for show.
As the two separated, the Brownshirt taking up position near Strasser, the final speaker began to speak.
“Welcome, friends, welcome! And thank you for being here tonight. I know it is cold, and I know it has been a tough year. But it has been a tough and cold year not only for you in Berlin, but for all of Germany. That is why we have gathered here today. For the past hour you have heard leading members of a dozen political parties discuss the need for a strong right-wing populist movement that can counter the aristocratic-conservative DNVP, the Socialist SPD, and above all the detested Communist that even now plague Berlin’s districts.”
The crowd cheered at that, polite applause with some undertone of shared disgust concerning the Communists.
“That is why, my friends, that after months of deliberation, I am proud to announce today that twenty-seven political parties and Völkisch movements have merged to form one United front to fend off the radical left and cast down the old system that has thus far only provided failure after failure to the German people.”
More cheering this time.
“Today you bear witness to the birth of the Free German Workers’ Defence League. And you have my promise as its Chairman that nothing, not the Judeo-Bolsheviks in Russia or the bastard French nor even the stuck-in-the-mud monarchists here at home will stop this movement of the people from seizing the reins of power it so rightfully deserves. There is only one way Germany can go and that is forward! Let us cast off these distractions, these parasites and vultures, and renew Germany with strong and able leadership that unites like-minded individuals from the north and south, east and west. We are one movement, one people, one Germany!”
Strasser looked out over the crowd, who seemed dazed by his words, but not alarmed.
“Sieg!” he yelled, right arm outstretched in the salute popularized by Italian Fascists.
“Heil!” shouted the Brownshirts in front of the platform, their arms shooting forward in sync. Lutjens stared horrified as nearly everyone in the crowd mirrored the motion and joined in on the chant.
“Sieg!”
“Heil!”
“Sieg!”
“Heil!”
“Sieg!”
“Heil!”
The prices were in the new Rentenmark currency, of which his job as a laborer had not yet switched over to, the construction firm still using the heaps of Papiermark that had been issued by the Reichsbank.
One loaf of bread was two Rentenmark, or two trillion Papiermark. He had twenty-six trillion of the hyperinflated Papiermark in his pocket in a wad of cash. But he had come here to buy more than bread. The man behind the baker’s stall, for this was cheap black bread and not the delicious loaves made in an actual bakery, looked unconcerned whether or not Lutjens purchased something. People needed bread and whether or not they liked the prices, they needed it for survival all the same.
Lutjens opened his mouth to barter and was able to settle on one point eight trillion for the bread rather than two trillion. He then proceeded through the food market, bartering for better prices and doing well on some, not so well on others.
In the end he left with a paper bag of groceries, some only days from spoiling, and with a mere thirty million Papiermark left in his pocket. The buying power of that thirty million was so low, it would almost certainly be used as toilet paper.
He walked to the bus stop and waited, shivering in the freezing temperatures of a northern German winter. Snow littered the ground in heaps, work crews working daily to clear the roads and rail lines of ice and snow. His apartment was across town and he simply had no energy to walk through the white-covered city after a long day working.
He was sweaty, dirty, and simply tired. It had been almost five years since he had arrived in Berlin from Austria. In that time he had worked a half-dozen odd jobs, helping his sister Anya and her three children survive. He had lived with them for three years, sleeping on their couch, and helping them survive everything from the Kapp Putsch to the hyperinflation. Anya was thankful for all he had done, yet once she had properly mourned her husband Horst’s death, she had begun to date once more.
She had met Heinz Yachmann, a Reichsmarine officer, at a local dance. The two quickly became smitten with one another and within a year they had married. They had moved to Wilhelmshaven not long after as Heinz Yachmann was an executive officer aboard one of Germany’s twelve destroyers still permitted by the Treaty of Versailles.
Lutjens often wondered if Anya married Yachmann because she was truly in love with him, or in love with the stability he offered. Either way, it didn’t matter. When Anya had left, she left behind the apartment she had shared with her family since before the Great War. Now, only he lived in it. And as hyperinflation worsened over 1923 he had been forced to put out flyers for a roommate to help pay the bills.
Thus far, none had signed on, for rent was to be delivered in specie, not increasingly worthless paper currency though with the Rentenmarknin circulation and proving stable - for now - he might very well change that requirement.
As the bus approached, he reached in his pocket to pull out the ten pfennig coin. Stepping up, he reached to place the coin in the slot when the driver raised his hand and pointed to the sign above the coin slot he hadn’t taken notice of.
Lutjens sighed. “Twenty pfennig?” he said exasperated. “What if I give you ten pfennig and ten million Papiermark.”
The driver shrugged. “That’s worse than useless. Sorry, but the rates have gone up. Company orders.”
“I understand,” Lutjens said bitterly, before leaving the bus, stepping into a half-melted pile of snow, feeling the slush sliding into his boots. He smothered a curse as he hopped out of the pile. It seemed he would walk home after all.
It took nearly an hour for him to cross the city. Even with the economy in shambles and the threat of violent revolution, both from the left and right, always under the surface, Berlin was still a bustling metropolis. The streets were crowded, the roads packed with vehicles honking and sputtering. The only difference than what it was like now compared to 1919 was that the piles of rubble from fighting between revolutionaries and government forces in March of that year had been swept away, the streets once again largely clean, though the amount of homeless continued to grow with each month. Every day the papers reported another homeless man, usually a veteran or a widow, who had frozen to death overnight. It was a sad state of affairs but the Weimar Republic simply didn’t have the financial reserves to support wide scale social spending.
Deciding to shave off some time from his trek home, he decided to cut through the Tiergarten. As he moved through the park, trying to stay warm as the mind became lost in the worries of life, a hand was brought up before his face and a sharp “Halt!” was uttered.
Looking up, Lutjens saw three policemen in greatcoats, seemingly on edge, stare at him with suspicion. Lutjens frowned.
“Yes?” he asked.
“What purpose do you have here?”
Lutjens gestured the way he was going. “My home is on the other side of the park. Taking a shortcut. Just trying to get there before I freeze to death.”
“What’s in the bag?” the lead officer demanded.
“Food,” he held out the sack of groceries. He had heard rumors of police taking food as a sort of ‘tax.’ Never a lot, but a few apples here, a loaf there. He half feared that was what was about to happen but the lead officer shook his head and voice softened.
“So you’re not here for the rally?”
“Rally?” Lutjens asked, confused, but in the distance he heard a man speaking over a speaker system, but it was just distorted enough he couldn’t hear it well enough to discern the words.
“Yes, some assembly of a bunch of right-wingers. You may proceed, sir. Just be careful out there. Some of the rally’s attendees are a bit… confrontational, shall we say.”
“Of course, officer. Thank you.” The officer nodded and moved aside to let him pass, the other two officers doing the same. Lutjens moved past them and walked down the park’s trail towards home, unsurprised that his feet carried him over to the edge of a large clearing in the Tiergarten. In the center was a solidly built wooden platform where about a score of men stood on, a podium in the middle where an aging man whose hair was all but gone finished up his speech to polite applause from the onlooking crowd of several thousand.
While it held a sizable attendance, especially for such cursed weather, Lutjens was about to move when he noticed men standing between the platform and the crowd. They were clothed in an unflattering brown color, but they appeared sharp looking and former military by their stance.
Lutjens tilted his head in thought. He had thought he had heard, or maybe read, of a Fascist paramilitary group that wore such a uniform, unimaginatively nicknamed the Brownshirts. But Lutjens remembered it being a largely Bavarian movement. Why then were what appeared to be a couple hundred of them doing in Berlin?
Another man took to the podium, dressed as a Brownshirt. He was a somewhat chunky man, powerfully built, with a bruiser’s face. He looked more akin to a brawler than a politician.
The man stepped forward and the Brownshirts, as if on cue, came to attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, comrades all, I am glad to welcome this evening’s final speaker. Founding leader of the Northern National Alliance and the Kampfbund-Berlin, I present to you… Gregor Strasser!”
Another man raised his arm and waved at the cheering crowd, and began to shake hands with many of the men on the platform stage before moving to the podium. The Strasser fellow shook hands with the Brownshirt, the two even embracing one another for a moment but Lutjens was confident that it was purely for show.
As the two separated, the Brownshirt taking up position near Strasser, the final speaker began to speak.
“Welcome, friends, welcome! And thank you for being here tonight. I know it is cold, and I know it has been a tough year. But it has been a tough and cold year not only for you in Berlin, but for all of Germany. That is why we have gathered here today. For the past hour you have heard leading members of a dozen political parties discuss the need for a strong right-wing populist movement that can counter the aristocratic-conservative DNVP, the Socialist SPD, and above all the detested Communist that even now plague Berlin’s districts.”
The crowd cheered at that, polite applause with some undertone of shared disgust concerning the Communists.
“That is why, my friends, that after months of deliberation, I am proud to announce today that twenty-seven political parties and Völkisch movements have merged to form one United front to fend off the radical left and cast down the old system that has thus far only provided failure after failure to the German people.”
More cheering this time.
“Today you bear witness to the birth of the Free German Workers’ Defence League. And you have my promise as its Chairman that nothing, not the Judeo-Bolsheviks in Russia or the bastard French nor even the stuck-in-the-mud monarchists here at home will stop this movement of the people from seizing the reins of power it so rightfully deserves. There is only one way Germany can go and that is forward! Let us cast off these distractions, these parasites and vultures, and renew Germany with strong and able leadership that unites like-minded individuals from the north and south, east and west. We are one movement, one people, one Germany!”
Strasser looked out over the crowd, who seemed dazed by his words, but not alarmed.
“Sieg!” he yelled, right arm outstretched in the salute popularized by Italian Fascists.
“Heil!” shouted the Brownshirts in front of the platform, their arms shooting forward in sync. Lutjens stared horrified as nearly everyone in the crowd mirrored the motion and joined in on the chant.
“Sieg!”
“Heil!”
“Sieg!”
“Heil!”
“Sieg!”
“Heil!”
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Hey, everyone, here is the 27th Chapter! A week delayed, and not to the quality I would like. I am going to give this an overhaul tomorrow, mainly adding detail and polish. The core of the story will remain (pending feedback). Might possibly add a Hitler PoV section, or save that for the next chapter. Haven't decided yet.
Let me know your honest thoughts and feedback. I decided to go with the Free German Workers’ Defence League (Frei Deutscher Arbeiter Schutzbund, FDAS). Is this grammatically correct or sound good in German? @Tolkiene @RedSword12 ?
Hitler is officially Ambassador of Japan now, and as of the first week of December is out of country, in transit.
Next chapter will be covering several months (Hitler's journey, the FDAS and Lutjens, Kuhr in South Tyrol, Fyodor in the USSR at Lenin's funeral and the formation of the Soviet Heptarchy). That's the plan at least. It might be two chapters, depending on how things develop.
Though Gregor Strasser is Chairman of the FDAS, he does not have absolute power like Hitler will over the ÖSNVP. The FDAS is an amalgamation of a lot of Fascist/Völkisch parties that know that if they want to win, they have to band together.
I’ll take suggestions of alternate leaders for the FDAS. Almost went with Artur Dinter or Erich Ludendorff as leader. Strasser was a Nazi for Northern Germany, so here he led a fictional Fascist party and a Freikorps-group/political party. So he has legitimacy and he is a known organizer.
Let me know your honest thoughts and feedback. I decided to go with the Free German Workers’ Defence League (Frei Deutscher Arbeiter Schutzbund, FDAS). Is this grammatically correct or sound good in German? @Tolkiene @RedSword12 ?
Hitler is officially Ambassador of Japan now, and as of the first week of December is out of country, in transit.
Next chapter will be covering several months (Hitler's journey, the FDAS and Lutjens, Kuhr in South Tyrol, Fyodor in the USSR at Lenin's funeral and the formation of the Soviet Heptarchy). That's the plan at least. It might be two chapters, depending on how things develop.
Though Gregor Strasser is Chairman of the FDAS, he does not have absolute power like Hitler will over the ÖSNVP. The FDAS is an amalgamation of a lot of Fascist/Völkisch parties that know that if they want to win, they have to band together.
I’ll take suggestions of alternate leaders for the FDAS. Almost went with Artur Dinter or Erich Ludendorff as leader. Strasser was a Nazi for Northern Germany, so here he led a fictional Fascist party and a Freikorps-group/political party. So he has legitimacy and he is a known organizer.
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Before this Strasser led another party?
How big is FDAS? In terms of Membership?
Not totally sure, since my German grammar isn't absolutely perfect, but I believe Freie would be correct, if not that that, Freier or Freies.
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Speaking of Ludendorff, maybe he could be a major figure in the more hardline/FDAS-adjacent factions of the DNVP (along with Goering) who argue the DNVP should ally with the FDAS?
Freier Deutscher Arbeiter Schutzbund would be grammatically correct.
It continues to be a very interesting story.
I just have strong doubts that this grouping will even begin to reach the popularity of the NSDAP OTL.
