Chapter LXXII
"When the land belongs to the peasants, and the factories to the workers, and the power to the Soviets, then we'll know we have something to fight for, and we'll fight for it!"
~ Jack Reed, Ten Days That Shook The World
~ Jack Reed, Ten Days That Shook The World
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The jolt of the pothole caused Johann to awaken sharply. He was unaware of his surroundings and had to be calmed down by one of his comrades before he could breathe again. Every day the sun flew through the sky quicker, and many parts of Germany were shrouded entirely in darkness.
The Autumn of 1930 would see Germany increasingly divided along geographical as well as class lines. Solidarity and trust had always been vital for those who had never stopped fighting the German revolution, even if it now came from unexpected places. For days he had been transported, alongside his fellow Red Front survivors, on the back of a truck driven by the Social Democrats who had rescued them. Together they had travelled haphazardly from Prussia, to Saxony, and now Schleisweg. The opportunities for a route west were shrinking by the day it seemed, and even as potential destinations began to arise so too did threats.
Industrial cities and towns might well have joined the proclamation of the Einheitsfront between Communists, Social Democrats and Trade Unionists that Johann had missed whilst anticipating execution but at the same time the chance always lingered that the workers movement in such places had already been crushed by the reactionary forces of Reichswehr and their Third Reich counterparts. It was a fear that dangled over the revolutionary band, the cause of Johann's shortness of breath.
The countryside was no different, the Junker estates were sown with peril, but many peasants had risen up to provide a source of hope. The Rural People's Movement had embraced the direct action of their leader Claus Heim and many small farmers had taken to providing assistance to those heading towards the centre of revolutionary action. The peasants rallying to the workers alliance, just as Lenin had achieved, was now taking place in Germany. It was an inspiring thought but it was not universal and many farmers would rather turn their pitchforks on militant leftists than Junkers, regardless of what they thought of their landlords. The map was increasingly undefined as to where danger loomed.
There were few places that offered the assurance of safety but that wasn't to say they didn't exist.
It had been picked up that things had developed very differently in Hamburg than Berlin. The storming of Hamburg's police stations had been the first step for the Red Front, backed by tens of thousand of peoples who had already taken to the street upon the announcement of Von Schleicher's takeover of the Reichstag and the Reichswehr's subsequent occupation of Berlin.
The KPD in Hamburg had been waiting for this moment for the best part of a decade, although they hadn't expected to have the SPD standing alongside them. The united front agreed between the two former enemies, along with the blessing of the major trade unions, had ensured a seamless takeover of the port city. He had been informed from the occasional comrade they had bumped into in their journeys that Hamburg's city council arguably worked better now that the two parties had formed a coalition. All revolutions required efficiency, after all
Johann was only too glad to hear that Hitler was coming through with his plans, but he felt a certain apprehension in case it had all been gossip. He was sure his Comrades were in a similar state of hopeful scepticism. Their journey had been rushed and indirect and that had taken its toll on their vehicles and their psyches but here, at least, it seemed they would be safe.
His anticipation grew once more at the sight of the city.
The assembled revolutionaries gazed out at the sea of red flags hanging from the city's old wallring stretching out into the docks and Johann was certain he wasn't alone in experiencing a strong feeling of homecoming, even for a city that had merely adopted him. Here was the city where he and his fellow guerillas had adopted the mantle of a national political force and now, amongst these streets of crimson, the revolution Hitler had promised was being born.
Entering the city it was also possible to see the revolution being exported. The railway lines; ground to a halt in the east, were moving in the moving in the west, south towards the Ruhr, Hannover, and wherever there was word that the strikers had seized control. The railway lines were now acting as a web to unite the Einheitsfront, to destroy the reactionary forces, and spread the revolution in their wake.
It became clear that they weren't immune to this effort as a brusque union official hurried from one of the makeshift barricades to commandeer the trucks they had travelled with. Johan jumped out and helped his comrades dislodge; both those who like him had survived the attempted massacre and their new comrades who had rescued them.
Lars, the red haired, red faced, leader of the Iron Front squad who had ambushed the would-be assasins, grinned as he dismissed Johann's hand and jumped onto the pavement himself. The two had taken to one another, possibly due to the recognition amongst the Red Front survivors that Johann had a certain seniority. That carried a mutual respect, even from militants who might have been on the other side of a street brawl and few weeks previously.
"You're wounded and acting like I'm the one who needed help?! I knew we were right to say you Bolsheviks were delusional!"
Johann laughed bitterly.
"It's only a few bumps and scrapes, I'm ready for the next round with the fascists. This time they won't get the jump on me."
"You'll get your chance soon enough" the ADGB man taking charge of their truck muttered, "your man Hitler is keen to spread as far and as quickly as possible. 'Lightning revolt' they're calling it, hence why this entire city's been turned into a station. No-one who arrives stays for long if they can fight." The truck now empty, the man stepped into the driver's cupola and grabbed the keys,
"I remember the 1920 strike, this feels different." He observed passively.
"Not for me, I-" Johann tried to reply but the man had already started to drive off, before long other trade unionists did the same with the other trucks. The dust hadn't settled, nor had the noise of the engines faded, before Johann encountered a more relatable figure.
"Glad to see someone made it out of Berlin alive." The whymiscal, slightly sarcastic voice from behind was familiar, causing Johann to smile even before he turned to face his old friend Feder. They had fought together in the Ruhr where they had worked in assassinating French troops and their collaborators as a pair. With Feder being based in Hamburg and Johann in Berlin, the two rarely saw each other since the insurrection had come to an end, but it had been Feder who had been waiting for him when he'd escaped the clutches of a French prison, and now here he was to greet him after his escape from the fascists.
Johann embraced his broad, grinning, companion but it was only after they parted again that he noticed he was not wearing the beige uniform of the Red Front but something far stranger. It seemed that Feder was wearing a uniform from the Great War, with an armband in the colours of the republican flag.
"I was going to make a joke about us finally having the chance to die together after all but it seems you've joined the Freikorps?"
Johann tried to pass his question off as jokingly as possible but he was genuinely puzzled. Was his friend about to embark on some sort of false flag operation?
"Yes I realise the get-up isn't exactly ideal, you have them to thank for that." Feder motioned to the Social Democratic militia who had brought Johann to Berlin.
"We're just as out of the loop, you can't pin this on us." Lars retorted neutrally.
"Oh I meant more the Einheitsfront in general, no more party militias anymore, we're all part of the same big family now and we who act as it's guardians dress up like this. They say it's to make us look more professional but in reality I suspect it has something to do with the number of First World War uniforms hanging around in old warehouses. Either way, you're all in the People's Guard now Comrades. Welcome." Feder grinned again but this time it came across as an ersatz expression, as if it was for Johann's sake.
The two of them had killed for the Red Front, Johann had expected to die for it. He suddenly gained a heightened awareness of how worn and dirty his own, apparently outdated, uniform must be. Johann would have liked nothing more to have taken it off a moment ago but now he feared he would be betraying his beliefs if he did so.
"At any rate the boss is at the HQ and he has some news, for all of you."
At Feder's beckoning the Social Democrats and Red Front militamen followed, his uniform seeming to stamp some authority into the situation amidst the revolutionary atmosphere. Johann took off his beige cap and stuffed it into his empty pockets before doing the same with his red armband.
His comrades, old and new, marched down the street and he followed along. After all, they were now all in the same boat.
The Volkswache belonged to him as much as anyone else.
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The poster is Comrades, do not panic! by Vladimir Mayakovsky
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