"Our Struggle": What If Hitler Had Been a Communist?

Chapter XCVI

  • The rise of anti-war and anti-fascist sentiment among the working masses of Japan, the growth of conflicts between labor and capital, between the landlords and tenant peasants, the increasing financial difficulties and the rising discontent of the moderate section of the bour-geoisie with the adventurous policy of the fascist militarists, who are leading the country to complete economic and military catastrophe—these are the facts of the situation in Japan itself which prompt the Japanese militarists to hasten their aggression on the mainland.



    ~ Wang Ming, China Can Win!








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    “Are we ready to go?”



    “I still think we should wait.”


    Captain Shintaro Imada, squad leader of the Mukden military police, narrowly avoided groaning in despair. He was an Imperial Officer after all and needed to maintain a certain reserve, even if he had had a few drinks. Nonetheless the intransigence of the older man was testing his patience. The problem was that the older man in question was Colonel Seishiro Itagaki, the Kwantung Army’s Chief of Intelligence. His opinion was more important than most in this cloak and dagger affair.

    The men were here in the name of goals which, however clandestine, represented the best interests of the Japanese Empire. For several years those who had maintained Japan’s somewhat unsteady grip over Korea had regarded the lands to the north with increasing unease as a struggle for control had played about between Chinese nationalists, Communists and warlords of various affiliations. Those warlords loosely affiliated with Japan had maintained a buffer in the regions known as Manchuria between the northern expedition of the nationalists and the Japanese Empire. This status quo had worked well for a few years until an unfortunate incident involving one of the major pro-Japanese warlords and an exploding train had led to the late warlord’s son switching sides in a cowardly act of betrayal. Not only were Japanese interests in the region now under direct threat from a pro-nationalist warlord but Korean nationalists could also potentially get more direct assistance from their Chinese comrades.

    Such threats to the Empire required swift, decisive action but Tokyo was not forthcoming. As such the duty now fell to the men of the Kwantung Army, the force created to protect Japanese interests in northern China, to take matters into their own hands. Chinese provocations had been building for months but no specific incident had given the Kwantung Army enough cause to invade. Thus the Kwantung Army would create one, before the Chinese could do some real damage. Imada and his cohorts had been planning this operation for weeks and he was eager with anticipation to carry it out. They would blow up a small section of railway, not enough to do any real damage, but enough to create an impression of Chinese sabotage. The barracks was packed with armed men ready to do their duty. The Colonel was having second thoughts however.

    “It would be far better if we were to consult with General Honjo before we proceeded,” he mused, “Tokyo has been wishing to discuss such matters after all. We wouldn’t want to embarrass the Commander-in-chief by having Tokyo call to demand answers about an action he wasn’t aware of.”

    This was true, the high command in Tokyo had recently sent General Tatekawa to Kwantung Army headquarters in Port Arthur on the basis of curbing independent actions. Although it was suspected this was motivated by rumours that an invasion of Manchuria was imminent the man hadn’t yet reprimanded them for planning to do so. They hadn’t been told to carry out the action by Honjo either however, leaving them in limbo. Imada took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. All this tip-toeing was making his head hurt.

    “Respectfully Colonel we may not have time. We have a window of opportunity now, and we are ready to go upon your order.”

    “The General will agree with our action, waiting one day will spare us all the embarrassment carrying out the operation tonight would bring. It isn’t a lot to ask.”

    It wasn’t, and Itakagi was his superior after all, but Imada still couldn’t help but feel time was against them.

    “For all we know Taketawa is travelling to tell General Honjo to cease such actions right now. If we were to go ahead tonight then he could claim we had to act on our own initiative but if we wait then we might not get another chance.”

    Imada could sense he wasn’t the only one feeling frustrated but reading the room he had the sinking feeling the Colonel’s hesitancy was beginning to catch on. There was a silence between them for a moment before the Colonel stood up and parted the crowd, going to one of the tables adjacent to them. He took a chopstick from a plate of the very good bean stew they had had not long before and wiped it with a handkerchief before sitting back down.

    “We will use this to settle it.” He announced before holding the chopstick upright on the table.

    “If it falls to the left we will proceed tonight. If it falls to the right we will wait until we have the order from General Honjo. How does that sound?”

    Imada sat back, perplexed.

    “Would it really be responsible to leave such a thing down to chance?”

    “Not usually.” The Colonel admitted. “But we are at an impasse.”

    He let go of the chopstick.


    It fell to the right.


    “That settles it then!” The Colonel announced before Imada could respond. “I’ll discuss the plan with the General in the morning, I’m sure he’ll be able to see sense but in the meantime let’s have a proper drink and tell stories of the past.” With that he opened another bottle of the local rice wine and led a toast to the Mukden Military Police. Imada, feeling uncomfortably swept along, accepted another drink.

    The next morning he awoke with a pounding headache, still in uniform.

    “Wake up! You need to get your men ready for inspection.”

    Imada wanted to sink back into his uneasy sleep but realised he was being shaken by his friend ,Major Tadashi Hanaya. Hanaya had been there the previous night as well and also looked worse for wear. Imada knew that Hanaya had also believed they should have gone ahead then but as head of intelligence in Mukden and subordinate to Colonel Itakagi, he had been wary of saying so last night.

    “We have visitors.”

    Imada worried the look of sorrow on his friend’s face wasn’t merely to do with a hangover.

    He hadn’t had time to wash properly or eat anything, merely to dunk his head into freezing water in the washrooms to try and gain some composure, before organising his men on the parade ground. Imada felt a bit better in the fresh air but feared it would be obvious he had slept in his uniform and stank of drink. When the guests arrived from Port Arthur, General Honjo and General Taketawa, they didn’t seem to mind. Taketawa looked rough himself but Honjo simply looked embarrassed. And so did Itagaki standing alongside them.

    With the units gathered, Honjo stepped forward to address them. He read out loud the letter Taketawa had brought with him from Tokyo, stating that the Emperor’s command was total and armies must not take independent action that would dispute that.

    The window had closed.


    Taketawa cried out “Long live the Emperor!”



    Imada, in repeating the cry, accidentally wretched.




    ---


    The painting is Yoshiwara at Night by Katsushika Ōi
     
    Chapter XCVII
  • A nation is a totality of men united through community of fate into a community of character.

    ~ Otto Bauer





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    The road to the union between Austria and Germany can be taken back to the final disintegration of the Holy Roman Empire in the early nineteenth century. The demise of the ancient confederation had provoked calls for a unified nation of those who German speaking peoples who had made up the majority of its population. This idea became especially pronounced in the wake of the liberal and nationalist revolutions that erupted throughout Europe in 1848 where the two most powerful German states of Austria and Prussia both pledged themselves to the idea of a Greater Germany, at least in theory. In practice both states vying for dominance over any potential union left the issue unresolved for decades until the wars of German unification. Through these conflicts Prussia established its primacy over the other German states in the Austro-Prussian War before carving out a unified German state in the Prussian image amidst their victory in the Franco-Prussian War. Austria turned inward, attempting to resolve internal divisions within its multicultural empire by reestablishing itself as a dual monarchy between Austria and Hungary whilst maintaining its place as the major power in the Balkans.

    The German speaking peoples of the empire, despite their dominant position within the Empire continued to yearn for unification with Germany and this began to manifest itself in new political ideals, such as in the futurism of a young Adolf Hitler. Ethnic and nationalist tensions in the Balkans, and within the Austro-Hungarian Empire itself, worsened as the twentieth century began and were the major factor in the outbreak of the First World War. Austria fought alongside Germany within the Central Powers but performed poorly, frequently relying on their more powerful ally to achieve success whilst internal divisions only grew worse. In the face of a swathe of economic, military and political crises Austria-Hungary began to fall apart and even before the war had ended it had dissolved entirely.

    The creation of the Austrian Republic in the aftermath of the First World War was a troubled one. The vast losses of territory imposed upon it by the post-war settlement left Germans as the vast majority of the remaining populace and a German identity dominated from the outset with even the preamble of the Republic’s constitution stating a desire to one day unify with Germany. The post-war settlement however also stipulated that the new republic was not allowed to compromise itself, effectively prohibiting it from joining Germany and leaving Austria as an independent state with a populace who largely didn’t want it to be.

    The political atmosphere of the short-lived republic was one where a competition between Austrian and German nationalism was prevalent alongside those issues more common to Europe at the time, namely divides between urban and rural populations and, most importantly, the class conflict. Austria was a largely rural state but one with an peculiarly large urban sprawl in the form of Vienna which had been built around the function of being an imperial capital with an industrial base to match. Within Vienna and other industrial cities the dominant political force was the Sozialdemokratische Arbeiterpartei Österreichs (Social Democratic Workers’ Party of Austria) or SDAPÖ who, similar to their German sister party had been a powerful force in the old Austria-Hungary before playing a leading role in the foundation of the new republic. This was despite the party’s stated desire for union with Germany. Their main rivals were the Christlichsoziale Partei (Christian Social Party) or CS, who represented the conservative ideology of the old Austrian elites and rural peoples. With some of their beliefs bordering on fascism, they favoured an Austrian identity based around Catholicism in contrast to the largely Protestant, Prussian notion of Germany and the ‘Judeo-Bolshevik’ Social Democrats. Whilst the two parties tended to be evenly matched at a national level the CS could rely on the support of smaller conservative and liberal parties (who tended to be German nationalists themselves) and as such it would tend to be the ruling party within coalitions at the National Council, the republic’s legislative assembly with members of the party making up most of the nation’s Chancellors throughout the life of the republic.

    This political dominance by the right did not translate to political stability however with the twenties being fraught with strike action, inflation crises, and political violence. This reached a peak in the July Revolt where the murder of an eight year old boy and his father, supposedly by members of the far-right Heimwehr militia, led to an uprising within Vienna after those accused of the murder were acquiited. Armed police had fought workers wielding construction materials; dozens were shot down and hundreds injured in the ensuing violence. The Social Democrats were wary of civil war and urged restraint in the aftermath of the slaughter. Further violence was averted but tensions remain high throughout the country, exacerbated first by the Wall Street Crash and then the collapse of the nation many Austrians considered their true Fatherland into Civil War.

    The collapse of the Creditanstalt bank was the first major shock to Austrian society brought on by the global depression and the German Civil War. The announcement in the October of 1930 that the bank had lost more than half of its capital and hence, by Austrian law, had to be declared failed was a disaster for the country. Not only was the Creditanstalt bank the country’s largest, it was bigger than all other banks put together. Its balance sheet was larger than the government’s annual expenditure and more than two thirds of Austrian corporations did business with it. This gave the bank an apparently unassailable position within the Austrian economy and with it an undue amount of influence upon Austrian politics. The bank was too big to fail, and if that wasn’t the case financially the government had made sure of it by other means.

    Creditanstalt had actually been in trouble for a while, since at least 1925 where it had never really recovered from the hyperinflation the Austrian economy had suffered in the previous years. Short term loans were sought from Britain and France with that money then being plunged into uncertain investments in the former territories of the Habsburg empire. These poor investments and increased debts only led to further trouble, exacerbated by urgent demands of payment following the stock market crash. By early 1930 the bank was already buying its own stock to prevent panic. The CS-led government knew about this and actively colluded in the cover-up. The outbreak of civil war in Germany gave both the bank and the government the opportunity to blame the failure on external factors beyond their control but too many people were involved in the previous cover-up for it to be anything other than a poorly kept secret. When the government announced a rescue package to bailout Creditanstalt, one which would incur severe cuts to government spending alongside tax rises, the stories of collusion began to run amok and the public were inflamed with anger over the conspiracy. The governing coalition collapsed as each party involved attempted to distance themselves from the scandal but in the resulting elections the public were granted a chance to punish those responsible.

    The result was a crushing victory for the Social Democrats who came close to securing a majority in the Nationalrat. They were assisted into government by the Kommunistische Partei Österreichs (Communist Party of Austria), or KPÖ, who entered the assembly for the first time on the basis of an increased anti-capitalist radicalism within industrial areas. The Communists, who were a small albeit disciplined organisation, were aided in exploiting this due to the actions of Adolf Hitler, an Austrian Communists who they had previously distanced themselves from but whose popularity they now exploited on the basis of the public being oblivious to the intricacies of the far-left. The historic enmity between the Communists and the Social Democrats, particularly with the the former’s allegiance to contemporary Comintern line of ‘Social Fascism’ prevented any United Front from being formed between the two but the willingness of the handful of newly elected Communist members to work on a vote by vote basis in the Nationalrat left the Social Democrats with an effective majority. What had happened in Germany made both parties keen to avoid the left being unnecessarily divided, particularly with the growth of the far-right within Austria.

    With their record of good governance in ruins the Christian Social Party had turned to the tried and tested methods of blaming ethnic minorities and Jews for the country’s economic woes. Their propaganda had always portrayed the Social Democrats as being in hoc to these groups along with being guilty of atheism, Viennese cosmopolitanism, Bolshevism, and other alleged sins but this had often been in the background in times where a greater respectability could be maintained. Now this poisonous rhetoric made up the bulk of their platform during the election campaign. It didn’t work, such talk could find an audience but it wasn’t one willing to listen to men who had just destroyed the nation’s economy. However, the fact that men in senior positions were willing to come out with such rhetoric did open the door for such ideas to be openly entertained in a way they hadn’t necessarily been before.

    This allowed men who were also willing to espouse such beliefs but weren’t tarnished with economic failure to prosper. The Heimatblock (Homeland Bloc), the political wing of the Heimwehr, was catapulted into becoming the second largest party in the Nationalrat in spite of this being their first attempt at electoral politics. This was an organisation that believed in German unification as much as the Social Democrats but they had no intention of joining a Germany governed by the United Front. Indeed, their ranks were galvanised that Winter by a large number of former Volkisch Bund Blackshirts fleeing Germany. These were men who hoped to return to Germany one day but for now they were keen on maintaining their safe haven.

    Hence by 1931 there were finally governments in both Berlin and Vienna committed to the practicalities of union but those who opposed both governments were now also coalescing to defend an Austrian identity they did not truly believe in.




    ~ Shaun Williams, Weimar's Rise and Fall


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    The painting is Allegory of Vanitas by Antonio de Pereda
     
    Chapter XCVIII
  • The situation changed visibly when sentimental reasons and long-term political aims gave way to a stern, ruthless nationalist ideology which would brook no compromise.


    ~ Kurt Schuschnigg




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    It was an old women’s summer in Vienna and even in the late afternoon a warm breeze could accompany an artist on his walk home.


    It was days like these in which Franz Cizek felt younger than his 65 years and he took a notion, as he often did, for a walk through the city’s Stadtpark. Whilst many of his young students would be off to spend the rest of their Saturday afternoon at the ever expanding funfair around the ferris wheel at Prater the Stadtpark remained Franz’s go-to place for peace and serenity. The park’s small bumps and bends were so familiar to him that he felt he walk through it blindfolded without accidentally walking into a pond and disturbing the swans. He got a lot out of it nonetheless even if it had changed over the years. People were more relaxed about their appearance these days, and the attractions on offer were more gaudy. There were no longer any young men selling their own art it seemed. A person would need a license for that sort of thing these days.


    It was when Franz had been walking through the park on a day where the weather had been similar that he had first met Adolf Hitler selling his paintings. It was hard to think that almost twenty years had passed since that day. Franz had tried to follow the progress of his former protege since he had first been shaken to read his name in the paper in 1924, from that day he had grown accustomed to it. He had even seen Hitler’s political text in the more raggedy bookshops he would sometimes frequent. It was a work he wasn’t sure whether he should read and he had held off on doing so.

    Franz had contemplated contacting Adolf but he always seemed to be busy with whatever was going on in Germany. The sort of politics Franz had tried to rein him in from following were now the younger man’s life, at the expense of his art. Did he even paint anymore? A letter from an old man from his past self of poverty and near-vagrancy might not be welcome even if he had now stood to speak for millions of people who were still like that. Franz had seen that strange mix of inferiority and superiority within his friend more than a few times.

    Franz sauntered over to one of the many cafes adjacent to the park and managed to grab a seat outside. He could contemplate things here from a relaxed setting after his stroll. It was good to see the cafes busy again, although an integral part of Viennese culture they had suffered when the recession following the Creditanstalt collapse had hit the city. The Social Democrats nationalising and subsequently breaking up the giant bank was cathartic but hadn’t brought any immediate economic relief. It was the customs union with Germany that had really brought deliverance, the free trade between the countries had kickstarted both of their economies but Austria’s especially. This didn’t mean that unemployment was solved, far from it, but there were other things for idle young men to do these days other than sell paintings to tourists.

    Franz wished trade was the only thing Germany had gifted Austria recently but their political radicals on both the left and the right had been another major export. First it had been the communists and socialists fleeing the military takeover but as the civil war had turned in favour of the United Front and the so-called Third Reich had turned in on itself many fascists and other blends of reactionary had also made their escape south. Austria had hardly been averse to political militias and violence beforehand but these new arrivals, along with the economic and political instability in both countries, had taken in to a new level. The militia’s appeared to be larger than ever and their goals now seemed to be framed in a wider German context, whether that meant joining the radicalised form of revolution unfolding in Germany or turning Austria into a fortress against it until such a time came that a reconquista could be launched.

    He tried to put such thoughts out of his mind and focused on enjoying his coffee. He was supposed to be having a leisurely time after all, the politics of the day could weigh a man down if he spent his entire day dwelling on them.

    He marvelled at the ducks and swans disembarking en masse from the park and wondered what might have caused such a sudden exodus.

    Then he heard the rumbling.

    It came in the form of banging drums and chants and Franz was taken away from his coffee once again by the march that was coming down the street. At their front they carried a large banner which swayed backwards and forwards in the light breeze.




    TODAY AUSTRIA HEARS US BUT TOMORROW ALL OF GERMANY SHALL




    This was a new message and Franz couldn’t help but be reminded about an old English idiom about things not lasting for long after reading it but the uniforms of the Heimwehr were well known to him by this point. the faces of the men were serious, some even seemed reluctant but steered on by a determination amongst their comrades. They were chanting the slogan on the banner like a religious mantra.

    Visitors to the park began to vacate the scene and the few policemen mulling around the park were clearly panicking, it was clear this march wasn’t scheduled, Franz observed, but there were those in other uniforms running from street corners to form a cordon. Cries broke as at several loud bangs. Franz dived under the table, before hearing the chants grow louder. The militiamen were armed and trying to clear the way ahead.

    Franz’s knees protested as he broke into a run that he hadn’t put his body through in many years, eventually forced into more of a tense jog, whilst he focused on getting to his home and away from this madness. He had slowed himself due to the pain in his legs but also because so many people were also now fleeing. He was wary of collisions.

    Not everyone seemed to be running however, and it seemed a larger collision was imminent. In a bizarre display of unity men in the uniforms of the Republican Protection League and Communist League militias had linked arms alongside men and women wearing just their work clothes. They had linked arms in a rushed fashion and were now marching towards the Heimwehr. It wasn’t long before they had broken out into song to march the chant of the their opponents:



    Wir sind das Bauvolk der kommenden Welt.
    Wir sind der Sämann, die Saat und das Feld.



    The singing went on, mixed with the chanting, until both sides collided. More shots could be heard. The police, already unsure of how to react, now gave up on trying to contain either side and began to join Franz and many others in getting out of the way of the riot.

    Continuing to jog across the Donaukanal Franz realised that people were now running towards the scene whilst others appeared to be running away but from other directions. Whatever was going on it seemed to be big and he sighed with relief that nothing was happening outside of his home. At least for now. Leopoldstadt’s population were already preparing themselves for the conflagration that could still be heard from nearby. Worn out he staggered down the cobbled streets towards his home.

    Once inside he double checked that he had locked the door and then pulled the shutters down until he was sitting almost entirely in the dark, mere cracks of light emanating from what had previously been the pleasant day outside.


    Franz sat down on the table within his studio, weary from the run. The crackle of gunfire from outside made him flinch.


    Franz began to shake. He wasn’t sure if he was in shock or had merely had been undergoing a joint surge of adrenaline and caffeine but his eyes couldn’t stop themselves from pacing up and down the room, from easels, to canvasses to old works of his own, to those not yet completed. Before finally, they fixed on a painting he had bought over twenty years ago.


    It was clear that the shadow men were now upon Vienna once more.



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    The painting is The Metaphysical Muse by Carlo Carrà
     
    Chapter XCIX
  • ‘Let’s go!’ I said. ‘Friends, away! Let’s go! Mythology and the Mystic Ideal are defeated at last. We’re about to see the Centaur’s birth and, soon after, the first flight of Angels!… We must shake at the gates of life, test the bolts and hinges. Let’s go! Look there, on the earth, the very first dawn! There’s nothing to match the splendor of the sun’s red sword, slashing for the first time through our millennial gloom!’

    ~ Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism







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    Filippo Tomasso Marinetti tried to shake off the encroaching tiredness as the rocking of the truck tried to lull him back to sleep. He was being summoned to the Austrian border on orders of the Duce and he did not want such a dynamic leader to hear that he had been napping on the way there.



    Marinetti had found himself and his works elevated in Italian society by the fascist regime, his futurist ideals of nationalism, renewal and youth were much the same as those of the fascist party. Mussolini hadn’t brought about the complete transformation Marinetti had pined for but he was no longer a young man himself and it had been necessary to make his own temporary peace with the classical art he despised and the old elites he resented in his many roles within the arts and propaganda worlds of Italian life. To be taken from Milan to the Austrian border in the middle of the night was one of the more bizarre favours Mussolini asked of him but he did it all the same. Even if his vigour was beginning to fail him and the uneven roads that Mussolini had long insisted would soon be fixed caused the truck to rock from one side to another. Having made the trip on a bicycle in the past it would have been churlish for him to complain about being driven.


    Marinetti may not have had the stamina he had once been gifted with but he still felt he could fight. He had spent a great deal of time fighting in the Alps they were now approaching, first in a volunteer cyclist unit composed of many of his fellow futurists and eventually as an artillery officer. He had suffered from the same cold, hunger and fatigue as everyone but even as discipline and morale had begun to falter around him he had never lost the nationalistic fervour of his beliefs. Even being grievously wounded had not dampened his passion for the rejuvenating violence of patriotic warfare, his hatred of the Austrians had only been intensified. Now it seemed there might be a chance to put them in their place once again.

    He hadn’t been told why he was being taken to the Alps but he had an inclination as to why it might be. He and his wife had followed the events unfolding in Vienna the previous day and when he had answered the knock on the door in the early hours his Benedatta hadn't even blinked at this departure, merely asserting that he should say farewell to his daughters in case he didn’t see them again for a while. The socialist regime in Austria was crumbling and Italy would now act to ensure they must perish.

    The increasing number of horses and military vehicles around the village of Colle Isarco he could see in the early morning light seemed to confirm that he had guessed correctly. The truck pulled up at a command post and he disembarked, his driver apparently in a hurry to be elsewhere. He was left in the care of General Federico Baistrocchi.

    “Roman legions march once more Marinetti!” The fascist general boomed, snapping to attention and sticking his right arm into the air. The man’s broad, leering face didn’t match the pomp of his uniform. He was a Blackshirt at heart. Marinetti grinned and returned the fascist salute. Mussolini might have kept too many of the old guard around but Baistrocchi’s sincerity for the fascist cause could not be doubted. It was no wonder he had been made responsible for the army corps based on Italy’s northern borders. He beckoned Marinetti into what seemed to be a parish hall. Inside the radio was announcing something in garbled German.

    “Can you speak German? I’m afraid I’ve lost the few words I learned in the war.” Marinetti nodded at the General’s request and put his ear closer to the set. The signal wasn’t good but the points being stated were clear enough.

    “Resist the Bolshevik incursions from Berlin.” Marinetti mumbled in translation, “restore Austrian independence, reclaim the Fatherland...it seems to be repeating itself.” The General laughed at that.

    “The German has guts but they lack artistic expression. I take it you’re aware of the German fascists’ rising in Vienna and Styria?”

    Marinetti nodded.

    “Good, well we’re going in to help. The plan for such an operation has taken some reworking but we’re better prepared for such a task than we ever were in the last war. The initial operation had been planned on assisting the Austrian government in putting down a Marxist revolt but now the lunatics are in control of the asylum and we’re having to go in on the basis the Bundesheer will resist. “

    “Are we sure that they will?” Marinetti asked. He didn’t know much about the current state of the Austrian army, only that it was a shadow of its former imperial incarnation.

    “Hopefully they won’t but we can’t be sure. At any rate once we’re over the border it should become clear to them that they can’t stop us and they’ll fold. We’ve had to take the precaution of evacuating the village as you might have guessed.” The General stretched out his arms, Marinetti looked around and it did seem everyone inside was an Italian soldier.

    “A lot of the locals aren’t particularly happy with being Italian and we had to make sure they wouldn’t run off and tell the Austrians what was going to happen. Maybe after this is over it will be clear to them they’re Italian whether they like it or not but until then I have use of your artistic talents.”

    “You want a painting?”

    “I want poetry man, like the ones you wrote during the last war. The Duce wants them as well and that’s why you’re here. You will record your experiences here and we’ll use them to tell the Italian people of our exploits in ways a newsreel can’t manage! Sound good?”

    “The only thing that would sound better was if I had a chance to fight.” Marinetti proclaimed, standing up from the radio and saluting once more.

    “I agree!” The general responded, returning the salute, “but the roles we are most accomplished for in life aren’t always the ones we desire. Do not worry Marinetti, there are plenty of Italian heroes out there. We don't need you in that capacity.”

    The General turned to his adjutant and the man nodded.

    “Let’s begin.”

    The adjutant spoke the order down the phone to the divisional commanders and they stepped out once more to look out into the hills in the distance. The sun was rising in the sky now and a long column of Italian troops was visible amongst the mountains and forests on either side of the narrow pass.

    Little bursts of light began to spring from the hills and Marinetti wondered if it was something reflecting the light from the sun. But the sun was in the wrong place. The columns seemed to have come to a halt.

    “Shit.” The general was using binoculars but whatever he could see clearly wasn’t putting his mind at ease. He handed the binoculars over.

    It was tracer fire.

    “I am going to string up every elder in this village and if they cannot account for the whereabouts of every single person under their care I am going to throw them down a well.”

    Marinetti chuckled, the noises of the battle were getting louder and he could see Italian mortar shells beginning to go off amongst the trees where the machine gun fire was coming from.

    “Isn’t this what you wanted me to write about?” Marinetti asked, handing back the binoculars.

    “I was looking for heroics, this is just going to hold us up. We both know how easy it is to defend terrain like this if you’re prepared.” The General said mournfully.


    “There’ll be plenty more heroes by the end of the day!” Marinetti patted the General on the back and went to find something to write with. Artillery fire was starting to be exchanged between the Austrians and Italians. With every impact he felt a jolt, bringing him back to his youth. It was empowering.



    Once again blood would move the wheels of history.



    ---


    The painting is Bright Sun, Dark Shadows by Tullio Crali
     
    Chapter C
  • Woe betide he who instigates war. If Italy is not used to the seriousness or the responsibility it entails, if Italy is not used to taking anyone seriously; if bourgeois Italy is, perhaps, under the pleasant, simple assumption that not even Italian revolutionaries are to be taken seriously, the die is already cast: it is certain that more than one lone wolf’s tale and slyness, will be left in the trap.

    ~ Antonio Gramsci, War is War





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    The convoy of armoured cars came to a halt and the marching of the uniformed soldiers behind seemed to do the same. It was a synchronicity only recently drilled into the People’s Guard.



    “Time to say hello I think,” Major Heinz Guderian shouted down to Johann from the cupola. He nodded and opened the door of the armoured car, taking his white flag with him.


    “Let’s hope we don’t get the same reception as the Italians.” He shouted up to Guderian, and put his right hand up to his head before bringing it down again. The Major returned the salute more seamlessly. The introduction of the salute made Johann uncomfortable, albeit not as much as the new uniforms that were effectively those of the Reichswehr. The People’s Guard had incorporated these elements and personnel like Guderian to make itself more disciplined and professional. They certainly looked and acted a bit less than a roving band of revolutionaries than they had a year beforehand but now the time had come to see if it would pay off.

    The crisp air was a relief after the stuffiness of the armoured car however the mountains around him gave Johann pause for thought. This plateau between the Karwendel and Wetterstein mountains provided a historic link between Innsburck in Austria and Mittenwalf in Bavaria; the area had been doing well from the Customs Union but it also left unwanted visitors exposed to anyone dug in around the terrain.

    Johann gripped the white flag close to himself and tried to keep his stahlhelm helmet from slipping over his eyes when the excited border official emerged from his hut. Although the man might have been expected to be panicking when it appeared to only be himself at his station he was instead marching up to them in a fury.

    “What is the meaning of this?” The official demanded angrily, he looked older than his Habsburg uniform but he clearly wasn’t fazed by thousands of German soldiers appearing at his hut.

    “We’re from the People’s Guard, we’re here to help”

    “Yes I can see that,” he snapped, “but what are you here to help me with? I don’t need so many bodies to go over customs receipts.”

    “We’re here to help you fend off the Italians.”

    “Ah yes, that old solution to foreign invasion: another foreign invasion!” The old man’s anger had turned to exasperation.

    “We’re your brothers, not foreigners. We’ve been sent to help, nothing other than that.” Johann said soothingly, trying to put the old man at ease.

    “On whose authority?”

    “The Citizens Defence Council.”

    “Which Austrian authority?”

    “There are stipulations for mutual defence...the union treaty.”

    “That treaty is part of my job young lad, I could recite it to you in full. There are no such stipulations.”

    Johann was lost for words and wanted to pull his helmet down over his head rather than keep it from doing so. The old man was right. Such clauses had been officially kept secret but he presumed the older man would be aware. If he wasn’t, were the Austrian army?

    “Er, well, one thing I should-”

    “Wait here.” The border officer commanded before marching back to the hut. Johann was left between his troops and the border. He wondered for a moment if the Austrians might be about to open fire but time passed and instead he had to make holding gestures in answer to cries of what was going on from behind him. Eventually he was called over the hut.

    Johann couldn’t help but feel sorry for the highly strung official, since the union treaty had been signed the old man likely hadn’t been required to do anything more officious than look ceremonial. Now he was playing a part in history. The man tapped his foot nervously on the floor whilst cradling an ancient phone in his hand before holding the ear and mouthpiece over to Johann.

    “With whom am I speaking?” A voice asked on the other hand.

    It was a miracle the contraption still worked.

    “Defence Commissar Johann Fischer, of the People’s Guard.”

    “You are now under Bundesheer command.” It was hard to get an idea of the man’s tone over the static but it didn’t exactly exude welcome.

    “Who is this?”

    “General Knaus, Chief of Staff, your superior for the duration. Your troops will march to Brenner where you will liaise with the sixth brigade under General Thym. You will drive ahead to make the arrangements. Bring ammunition and weaponry ahead of your troops. Proceed immediately, I want you and your supplies there this morning and your troops by this evening at the latest..”

    With that the line dropped.

    “I’m sure someone will be happy you’re here.” The old man said before devolving into barks of laughter.

    He had lightened up but Johann was left to dwell on how bad the situation was down there if they were already so low on ammunition they were asking for supplies from an army that might not even share the same weaponry. It hadn’t been two days since the fascists had launched their coup.

    “Well let’s hope the Italians won’t be at any rate.” He saluted to the border guard and stepped out of the hut to explain the situation to his comrades. Within the hour they were on the move. The trucks they had available were sent forward transporting not only Johann but also carrying as much of their available supplies of ammunition and weaponry that they could carry.

    Although the fact the Bundesheer were already low on ammunition was alarming it was perhaps also a reason to be relieved. Since the fascist coup had broken out in Styria and Vienna the United Front had been wary that the Austrian army, or at least elements of it, might have been supportive of it. The Italian invasion in support of the coup seemed to have focused them on defending the nation in a way that the Italians hadn’t expected but it was best the People’s Guard were now here to make sure that stayed the case.

    He had been relegated to accepting Bundesheer authority, something Johann now realised he wasn’t sure he should have accepted. Halfway to Brenner it was too late to change that however and perhaps it was worthwhile if it assured they were in Austria and on their way to the front.

    The ‘front’ by the time Johann and his trucks arrived was nothing like he had seen during the Civil War. The Austrians and Italians had been hammering away at each other from the same positions without much change and the result was devastation to the scenery around them. The ground was disturbed, a mixture of greenery that might otherwise have been pristine were it not for the numerous craters where artillery had impacted. The majestic alps bore scars of battle and plumes of smoke where fires had erupted amongst the forests. The closest thing he could think of was the footage he had seen of the World War, the war he had been training to fight for before it had ended in the republic he was now here to represent.

    Their welcome came in the form of Austrian troops ransacking their trucks for supplies as well as trying to requisition the trucks themselves, which sparked protests from the drivers and Johann. The People’s Guard had few enough trucks as it was and they weren’t about to give up on their ride home. Whenever that would be.

    “Which one of you is Fischer?”

    Johann had been arguing with an Austrian purporting to be a quartermaster when the call had come out. He turned to see a gruff general covered in soot. A facial wound made it look as if he was bleeding from one eye.

    “General Thym?” Johann asked, saluting.

    Or what was left of him.

    “Thank you for coming and don’t salute. We suspect the Italians might have a sniper in the area.”

    Johann was glad to dispense with the custom as Thym walked him over to a dugout surrounded by sandbags and dirt. It was a warm day but the atmosphere inside was stifling, looking back he saw his men being led away from the trucks

    “We’re going to need to retain use of those vehicles.”

    “Not possible I’m afraid, we can’t afford anything that can move to be lying around. I must admit I was hoping you would understand that, have you had any experience of combat?”

    “I’ve fought the Freikorps, then the French, then the Reichswehr.” Johann listed them off absentmindedly, his eyes fixed to a map of the area on the table that dominated the centre of the dugout, it displayed dispositions in pen with a line of string between both. It hadn’t moved much beyond the official Austrian border.

    “Ah, a political. Well, war makes for strange bedfellows I suppose. We’ve had word on your troops, they should be here by tonight.”

    “Indeed General, and we can be ready to take to the offensive by tomorrow morning.” Johann grinned confidently.

    “Offensive? You’re not in command here my red friend.” Thym replied, any warmth gone from his tone.

    “You might have defeated the Reichswehr but I’m sure that some of them would be acquainted with the hell that is fighting in the mountains. If there was one thing we learned from the last war it’s that if you’re fighting in mountains and you’re on the defensive and can choose to remain so, don’t launch an offensive.”

    “You may be in charge General but my comrades aren’t here to sit around either. With respect, we would prefer to fight the fascists. Give them some payback for what they tried to do to Germany and are now trying to do to Austria. If you want to hold them here perhaps we’d have been better suited clearing them out of Vienna? ”

    “I’m sure your utopians are used to lateral thinking but this is a hierarchy, one you are now a part of and my orders are for us to stay put. There’s a solution to this, one involving international diplomacy. One that leaves less of my men dead than the one that involves your need to give the Italians a black eye.”

    Johann wanted to refute the General but a sound of droning that had previously been faint was now growing in volume from outside. Both men looked at each other in confusion for a moment before stepping out of the dugout

    The sky was full of planes and Johann realised he had seen these in the flight magazines that had been readily available before the civil war. Their fascistic markings cast no doubt about their origins. Thym tugged at his coat and quickly they returned to the relative safety of the dugout as bombs began to fall around them. Johann saw one of the trucks they had arrived in burst into flames and he felt the warm glow on his face even from inside the shelter. Another impact filled the dugout with dust, leaving both himself and Thym stumbling around in the murky air. Johann found himself struggling to breathe and for a moment panicked at the thought of gas before hacking up the dirt that had gone down his throat.

    The roof of the dugout caved in under the pressure, caking them both in more dirt and leaving the sky exposed once more. Thankfully the bombers seemed to have completed their raid. Both men emerged from underneath the table.

    “Capronis” Thym rasped, looking once again at the sky that was now clear of danger.

    “Believe it or not the last government had placed an order for them. Before everything turned upside down.”


    Johann looked up to see the bombers bank at angle and then flew off to the south.



    Together the Austrians and Germans could hold the Italians in these mountains but in the skies both were helpless. The solution to that problem was being worked on within the Soviet Union, starting from where the Reichswehr had left off. In the meantime the Bundesheer’s faith in their own international solution would have to suffice.



    ---


    The painting is Sudden Uplift by Tullio Crali
     
    Chapter CI
  • Workers all over the world have been moved to admiration by the heroic resistance of the Austrian workers, fighting in defence of their trade union and political organisations. These men were organised in a party to which we are opposed, a party whose policy we know to be wrong, but that should not, and does not, prevent us from welcoming the spirit in which they defended themselves. Their conduct is a proof that the working class can produce men and movements as tenacious, and possessed of as much endurance and integrity, as anything the ruling class can show, despite the manifold advantages of their position.

    ~ Edgar Hardcastle, Austrian Workers’ Tragic Heroism






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    On the morning of September 12th the breaking point was reached. Heimwehr forces in Styria under the command of Dr Walter Pfrimer mobilised to take control of the state before marching into Lower Austria, Vienna was surrounded before Heimwehr forces marched in. Their aims were to arrest the Social Democratic Chancellor, Otto Bauer, and Mayor of the city, Karl Seitz as well as to seize the Chancellery, War Ministry and the broadcasting station of the national Radio Communication Company. It was hoped by the end of that day the country would be secured and the resignation of Bauer’s government could be announced before a new Heimwehr regime could declare the end of the Austro-German economic union.



    The basis of the Heimwehr coup was predicated on previous exercises carried out in the name of preparing for a Socialist uprising in Austria. These had involved seizing control of the states of Carinthia, Lower Austria and Styria whilst placing a cordon around Vienna before marching into the city. The remnant of Austria to the north and west was deemed to contain less of a ‘red’ presence and could be expected to fall in line. These plans were adapted based on the experiences of the former Third Reich veterans of the German Civil War who emphasised the need to secure a position of dominance throughout the country to best exploit the element of surprise and their superior firepower and win a decisive victory before any Socialist uprising could properly coordinate or even manifest itself in the first place. In this way it was hoped the Heimwehr would not make the same mistakes the Third Reich had.


    This advice had come from men who had recently expanded the organisation to over 400,000 members with 150,000 of those under arms, theoretically larger than the Bundesheer and the left-wing militias put together. Only around 20,000 of these men could really be considered ‘mobile’ by the time of the coup but the Heimwehr enjoyed close connections with the Bundesheer in many states, particularly the Tyrol where frequent weapons transfers would occur between the two sides. It was expected the Bundesheer could be relied upon in the event of a coup, at the very least not to do anything. Financial and political support had been gained from the Hungarian and Italian regimes although neither had actively been made aware of the impending coup, nor had the Bundesheer or indeed some sections of the Heimwehr itself.

    Despite the development of the coup plans its initiation came down to the local leadership in the state of Styria. Dr Pfrimer was a man keen on personal glory and privately had designs on the position of Chancellor or President, or both, following the success of the coup. He was nonetheless keen on ensuring the coup was as widespread as possible and thus encouraged many of the forces not directly available to be transported to Vienna to take control of their states and await news from the capital. The reaction to this was mixed and although around 100,000 of the Heimwehr’s armed men came out they were often keen to interact with the local police, with whom they could often rely upon good relations but who tried to keep public order at the same time, confining them to static displays of strength and waiting for news to come from Vienna.

    In Vienna itself the entrance of the Heimwehr forces into the capital quickly broke out into a riot. The Social Democratic and Communist militias, taken by surprise, initially struggled to coordinate themselves and in those first hours it was the workers of Vienna who played the main role in holding back the Heimwehr forces. Just as in 1927 bricks and tools went up against guns with predictable bloodshed. The broadcasting station announced the developing takeover but as fighting began to rage around it the news became increasingly unclear, eventually devolving into the recital of right-wing slogans. The Heimwehr forces entering the Chancellery shot Bauer dead, allegedly whilst the Social Democratic Chancellor was attempting to evade arrest. Those attempting to seize Vienna City Hall bizarrely lost Mayor Seitz, who was claimed, somewhat bizarrely, to have made his way out of the besieged building brandishing his walking stick as a club. The reason these tales arose are perhaps to be found in Seitz’s rallying of the Social Democratic militia who were able to build their strength over the course of the following days until Vienna became an urban battlefield with thousands of armed men battling for the city’s streets. Seitz would finally declare victory on September 15th as the Heimwehr were forced to retreat out of the city and back to the cordon they had placed around it. By this time events on the Austro-Italian border had taken precedence.

    Two days previously the Italian army had attempted to enter into Austria on the basis of assisting the coup. Although it is unlikely this was prearranged it is likely the Heimwehr would have welcomed such a move, had the Italians not met a resolute Bundesheer defence on the mountainous border. The better equipped Italians faced against beleaguered Austrian defenders who were short of ammunition and weapons but nonetheless had the advantage of some of the most easily defensible terrain in the world. It was a battle which quickly descended into a bloody quagmire for both sides.

    General Siegmund Knaus, the Bundesheer Chief of Staff, had watched events in Vienna play out from the undisturbed War Ministry, having warned the approaching Heimwehr forces that he would not react to either side until attacked. Following a short discussion with Pfrimer, the two men agreed the War Ministry would not be disturbed nor would its special phone lines out of the capital be disconnected. What was on the face of it a smart conciliatory gesture from the Heimwehr was to end up a disastrous one, for when Knaus heard of Italian troops approaching the border he ordered those Bundesheer troops stationed there to defend themselves against any border violation. Knaus was no Socialist and it is likely his sympathies would have lay closer to the Heimwehr position even if he wasn’t keen to get his own hands dirty. The notion of the coup being foreign backed however, gave him reason to pick a side. This was also the case for the Tyrolese Heimwehr who found themselves acting as traffic police for the German People’s Guard.


    The Austrian Civil War is a difficult conflict to characterise. On the one hand there are challenges as to what extent the conflict could be seen as a civil war at all in comparison to the far bloodier affair that had occurred less than a year beforehand in Germany. Then there is the issue that it was multi-faceted. Whilst there were certainly contrasting sides it is difficult to define them. The Bundesheer and their impromptu allies in the Austrian left-wing militias and the German People’s Guard made a bizarre coalition who lacked unified aims beyond defending the status quo of the Austro-German economic union. On the other hand the Italian-backed Styrian Heimwehr was a clear danger but the Heimwehr not acting in unison and in some cases assisting the ‘enemy’ further muddies the waters. The fact that much of the actual fighting took place between the conventional forces of Austria, Germany and Italy around the Brenner Pass whilst in the streets of Vienna the Republicaner Schutzbund and the Communist League were left to deal with the Heimwehr leaves it difficult to ascribe the importance to one combatant or the other.



    The historical focus, particularly on the international level, has undoubtedly favoured greater scrutiny in regards to the events that played out in Brenner than those in Vienna. It was this early prelude to the Second World War which alerted the League of Nations of the need to once again intervene to find a peaceful solution. It is for this reason that the incident is often spun into the wider narrative of those events leading towards the global conflict. This is despite the fact that, if not for the workers of Vienna it is likely that any Italian moves would not have been necessary and, perhaps in turn, the binding of Austria and Germany would not have become such an urgent political necessity.



    ~ Shaun Williams, Weimar's Rise and Fall



    ---


    The painting is Rose Garden by Paul Klee
     
    Chapter CII
  • France today is thirsty for justice, uprightness and selflessness. To try along with you to wrest it from the waste that exhausts it and competitions that lower it, for me means still serving it. The fatherland is our common patrimony. You will prevent it from becoming the prey of some.

    ~ Ernest Boulanger, Profession of Faith




    1595426801245.png








    Colonel Charles de Gaulle walked through the halls of the French War College with his newest collection of manuscripts.



    After a spell in Syria he had returned to lecturing and writing with the esteemed title of Professor of History. It was a privilege to have such a role in a place rich with such historical importance of its own. For the last two centuries every great French military commander, from Napoleon to Foch, had learned their trade within these walls. De Gaulle’s role gave him the ability to expand on his own theories of warfare whilst the new book was an account of the history of the French military as a whole. It was a work that required many collaborators but the man he was going to see was the greatest of all.


    He knocked on the door of the office of his fellow writer before being called in to enter. The elderly man behind the desk was not only his superior but also a living legend. De Gaulle had gained a certain amount of acclaim due to his work against the German counter-insurgency in Germany, enough to get him an esteemed role within the college at least, but his exploits paled in comparison to the man before him. Marechal Henri-Philippe Petain, the lion of Verdun, was a hero to millions of Frenchmen across the political divide even in these turbulent times.

    Their relationship had gone back to the World War where de Gaulle had fought under Marechal Petain's command, their relationship had been a strong one ever since with some of de Gaulle’s colleagues even teasing him that the Marechal saw him as a protege. De Gaulle shrugged off such talk, he respected the Marechal and admired his sacrifices for France but he was his own man with his own theories on warfare, some of which the Marechal disagreed with vehemently.

    Although de Gaulle did not hold Petain in quite the same esteem as some he still considered it an honour to collaborate with him. Their work would increase the clout of those involved even further by having Petain’s name attached and in that way de Gaulle could use the Marechal’s own reputation to keep the French army up to date with the latest technology and theory. Even if Petain himself didn’t realise the need for it.

    The old man was growling at the morning’s papers from his desk and merely waved a hand at de Gaulle to sit down as he entered.

    “This business with Austria is making me fear the worst about the future of the nation.” The Marechal finally said, handing the paper over to de Gaulle. It was the paper of Action Francaise, the reactionary monarchists who had been spouting right-wing extremism even before the word ‘fascism’ had entered the popular vocabulary. De Gaulle held right-wing views of his own but considered the group to be as radical as the Bolsheviks they claimed to oppose. Their paper full of conspiracy theories and gossip, this edition was no exception with vitriolic rhetoric denouncing the French Prime Minister as a German spy. Petain seemed to have gained an increased interest in such groups that could be described as unhealthy. Then again, the trifles of an old man weren’t his concern, especially one who had earned a right to flights of fancy more than most.

    “It is an alarming situation Marechal although calling Laval a German agent seems to be an exaggeration.”

    “Then why is he in Berlin right now with their foreign minister? Doesn’t that stink of something?”

    It was hard not to empathise with the Marechel’s anxiety. It was a time of heightened international tensions involving the old enemy. The previous weeks had brought news of yet another German crisis, first a right-wing coup against Austria’s socialist government, then an Italian attempt to invade Austria in support of the coup and then the German army marching in to assist the Austrians. The League of Nations had managed to mediate a ceasefire before the clash had escalated further but the Germans and Italians were still out for blood, even if they had stopped shooting at each other for the moment. It did seem that Laval could be taking a firmer line against the Germans than he was but he had been an effective peacemaker in the past and it would be wrong to suspect him of anything more sinister all of a sudden.

    “I would hope he is there reminding the Germans that their army entering Austria is a threat to our own security, not to mention that of Europe.”

    “The Germans are able to get away with anything nowadays, the Versailles Treaty was supposed to ensure our security but as with every such document it has been allowed to be ignored until it is basically worthless.”

    “Of course there are no such restrictions on ourselves,” de Gaulle mused, “but the politicians act as if there are in an attempt to please the English and perhaps even the Germans.”

    Petain nodded vigorously, it was comforting to the Colonel to get him on the same page.

    “Our government changes every other day. How are we meant to deal with the boche with such chaos?”

    It was becoming a running joke that a man could fall asleep in the chamber of deputies only to wake up and find that he had been prime minister. Laval was doing better than most due to his government lasting for more than six months.

    “Indeed, particularly when our own military thinkers are still resistant to new concepts.” De Gaulle answered with a sly smile.

    Petain shot him a coy look. The Marechal wouldn’t let himself get caught out it seemed.

    “I see much of myself in you Colonel, particularly the impetuousness I had as a young man!”

    De Gaulle raised his hands disarmingly, he could work on the old man yet.

    “If we had someone like Foch in charge this wouldn’t be occurring. Or you, Marechal.” It paid to play to the man’s vanity and de Gaulle couldn’t help but wonder whether he would ever be indulged like this. One day perhaps, if he could secure that French military dominance went on into the future. In the meantime it was important to get men who had influence on such policy on board. He was aware the right-wing groups Petain expressed an interest in were courting him in a similar way, keen to have him as the leader of their movement. De Gaulle was confident the Marechal was not going to put his reputation on the line for such men however, even if the old man believed they had interesting ideas. His, at least, were rational.

    “I am too old to think about a political career at this juncture!” Petain scoffed mockingly and chuckled to himself before looking back upon the newspaper.

    “But if called upon, I might at least be able to put the boche in their place.”

    It sounded as if Marechal was talking to no-one in particular and de Gaulle was wary of commenting one way or the other.

    “In the meantime, let us return to our book.” Petain muttered, changing the subject.


    The Colonel sighed with relief that the awkward moment had passed. At least until the next time. He would continue to press the need for his theories, even if indulging the old man came with the risk of entertaining his fantasies.



    The two officers returned to their work, from discussion of a new chapter of French history to those that preceded it.



    ---


    The painting is Untitled by John Christoforou
     
    Chapter CIII
  • Impatient at the rest of the political establishment for failing to catch up with his estimation of the world around him, Mosley founded a party in which he was the pivot, and which fairly seamlessly drifted towards the fascist leadership principle.


    ~ Dr Matthew Worley, The New Party in Perspective






    1595597343799.png







    Ernst Mehr settled comfortably in his bed at the end of a long day of working to bring down the United Front. Such a calling that was beginning to feel like an increasingly thankless task. Despite having been home for almost a year it was still a reassuring feeling to be back in his own bed again. The temporary arrangements he had been made to deal with in Hamburg weren’t much more hospitable than the company he had been forced to keep. He only wished his new comrades in the German Socialist Party were performing better.


    Gustav Noske had made good on his pledge to Ernst that dreadful night in which Zeigner had been elected and the chance to become Chancellor himself had fallen through his fingers. He had made his intention clear that they would use the United Front’s lack of majority against them until the government shattered, forcing President Zeigner to appoint a more moderate coalition in its place. They had contested every bill, proposed sabotaging amendments at every turn, and made deals to unite the myriad opposition parties through back channels Ernst didn’t like to dwell on those particulars before going to bed but they had worked.


    These days Paul Levi seemed visibly shaken from the stress of his role as Chancellor, never knowing when a vote might bring down his government. Noske was increasingly confident that they would finally break the United Front in the new year and Ernst had been as well, at least before the business with Austria.


    Fractured as Germany had been in the aftermath of the Civil War the Italian invasion of that small, fraternal land had focused everyone’s attention. The ongoing trials of Von Schleicher, Hugenberg and Goering which had exacerbated divisions now gained a new element as it seemed what the prosecution alleged about Italian plots was playing out in a microcosm and once again it was the People’s Guard who had come to the rescue. This time almost all Germans were unequivocally behind them. The workers of Austria, victorious against the fascist coup and having buried their martyred Chancellor, were now angrily demanding full political union with Germany. The United Front were now able to make their case for them, allowing the German government to associate themselves with an issue that most Germans already agreed with. The League of Nations had played the major role in securing a ceasefire and the issue had now passed into the international sphere, with the Americans and the French too divided on how to proceed.


    The French had barely acquiesced to an economic union between Austria and Germany largely because of the fear it would inevitably lead to political union and now that was the demand they were staunchly opposed, even if their Prime Minister was more accommodating than most of his predecessors. The Americans didn’t seem to be as fussed as long it served the long term economic and political stability of Europe but they couldn’t carry the French alone. The British would be needed for that, but they had been too focused on their own internal crises, the global depression merely exacerbating a decade of economic malaise for the old empire. Their attempt to form a national government of all the parties to solve their major issues had collapsed and following an election almost as complicated as those Germany had at the start of the year their parliament was left more unbalanced than ever, turning to Lloyd George once again for any last ounce of leadership.


    Noske was now hoping to exploit this international scene with the aim of causing even more problems for the United Front. There was ample opportunity, he had proclaimed, to rob them of the popularity they had won in Austria by having them screw up the diplomatic endgame. Perhaps that might even be enough to convince Zeigner that a more experienced government was needed to unite Austria and Germany, Noske had wagered. Ernst wasn’t sure if this was an act of sabotage too far, one that might put them at odds with the German people but Noske had been adamant. Why shouldn’t they exploit Britain’s political misfortunes to exacerbate those of their enemies in the Reichstag?


    Recalling the exchange made Ernst sit up in bed. He had had a thought.


    In his days with the United Front he had met with two British Labour parliamentarians who had been keen to observe what was going on in Hamburg, or at least one of them had been. He was sure he had read that one of them was involved in the new coalition Lloyd George was piecing together and turning on the bedroom light he began to scramble through his papers to see if he had managed to salvage their contact information from the fires which engulfed Hamburg shortly after they left.




    ---





    John Strachey’s brain pleaded for sleep. Being surrounded by books in the stuffy office he shared with Nye and working under the light of a desk lamp had a coziness to it and even whilst he plunged into even more constituency work he wanted nothing more than his bed.


    He ignored such instincts, he remained a public servant after all. It had only been a few weeks since the state opening of parliament following October’s chaotic election, one where John had barely held on to his Birmingham seat in a harrowing four way contest.


    The previous election in 1929 had seen him take the seat for Labour against his Tory opponent in a straightforward campaign between only the two of them but much had changed in the two years since.


    Labour had won the largest number of seats in that election but had lacked a majority, relying on the unassertive support of Lloyd George’s Liberals. This had been a better set of circumstances than those faced by the previous (and only other) Labour government but despite returning to power Ramsay MacDonald’s ministry had floundered. The early moves towards slum clearances and improving the lot of the worker had given way to ‘fiscal consolidation’ in the face of the American stock market crash and Britain’s subsequent slump into even deeper depression. Philip Snowden was the Chancellor of the Exchequer but despite having been active in the Labour movement from an early age had focused on maintaining the strength of the pound in order to restore market confidence, even if this meant cuts to workers insurance and the meagre benefits provided for the poor in the government budget. John had been opposed to this, as had a number of young MPs grouped around Oswald Mosley, or Tom as he was known to his friends.


    A brilliant economist in his own right, Mosley had composed a memorandum which proposed a program of infrastructure programmes to lower unemployment and kickstart the economy alongside a more fundamental reshaping of British politics around the economy to bring about the end of class conflict and poverty. It was a popular but controversial proposal and although Mosley had his supporters he also had his detractors, both against his memorandum or just against his own style that some saw as power hungry. Despite the ‘Mosley Memorandum’ winning support at Labour conference the vote amongst the delegates wasn’t binding and the leadership forged ahead with Snowden’s economic policies, or lack thereof. It had become clear the party was going nowhere.


    Mosley had embarked on a new direction, breaking away with the old and exhausted men of the main parties to form his own and John had been his willing disciple, at least at first. Their ‘Action’ Party had the memorandum as its core policy and many parliamentarians who agreed with the proposal left their parties to join them, over a dozen from Labour and a handful from the Conservatives and Liberals. Their success in the Ashton-under-Lyne by-election gave them a further boost and membership soared. Unfortunately this success led to donations from several large companies, including Morris Motors as well as the support of Lord Rothermere and his newspaper empire. These new connections had made John uneasy and he had spoken out against them alongside Nye Bevan and the other socialists who had joined Action. Mosley had batted these criticisms down, seeming to judge them a question of loyalty. By then it was already clear that the success had gone to his head.


    Even his closest friends would have previously admitted Tom was a control freak but now he seemed to consider himself as a sort of saviour of the country. The party structures he had created to reflect the way the country ought to be run; decisions made by a small group to be affirmed by the membership, were increasingly ignored in favour of Mosley making decrees. And he had begun to speak increasingly of enemies, not just of the old political class but also of the Communists. It seemed his new friends in the establishment were having an impact on him.


    Whilst Mosley had lost his enthusiasm for the Socialist movement John’s had grown and he realised the time had come to part ways. He had left in the Summer shortly after Mosley had made a speech implying there was nothing wrong with being accused of fascism. The attempt by corporations to subvert what should have been a Socialist party only hardened his beliefs in the need for radical change. John had joined the Independent Labour Party, a radical offshoot from Labour, alongside Nye and a few of their fellow former Action MPs.


    The ILP had disaffiliated itself from Labour not long after Action had and in the Autumn both parties found themselves having to fight a General Election without being properly organised. With the Labour party having split over Snowden’s austerity measures the King had encouraged MacDonald to form a National Government to get the cuts through parliament and he had agreed, only to be thrown out of the Labour party. MacDonald had assembled a new government dominated by the Conservative Party but with the majority of the Labour party opposed to the new regime alongside Lloyd George’s Liberals, they had been forced into calling an election.


    It had been the messiest since the election following the end of the Great War. The National Government had campaigned under one banner, despite effectively consisting of the Tories and a handful of sympathetic Labour and Liberal MPs. Conversely Lloyd George’s Liberals had allied with Action under the banner of the ‘National Alliance’ and a Keynesian economic program. Labour had been decapitated, its leadership having effectively joined the Tories, and struggled to campaign. The ILP was forced to campaign to hold its individual seats.


    John had managed to survive, as had most of his new comrades, but they only made up a handful of members in the new Parliament. The National Alliance had surprised everyone with its gains, even if Action and the Liberals combined still had less seats than Labour or the Conservatives. The National Government had won the most seats overall but had fallen short of the majority they had called the election to gain, MacDonald had resigned and encouraged the King to send for Lloyd George as his replacement.


    Lloyd George was the sort of man Mosley had once rallied against but now they were allies and he had made Tom Home Secretary and one of his Conservative adherents, Anthony Eden, Foreign Secretary with Keynes himself being made Chancellor by way of a peerage. It remained to be seen for how long this new government would last, lacking anything close to a majority they would be reliant on Labour or the Conservatives to get anything passed.


    Another election seemed likely and so John was throwing himself into his constituency work, to try and make those who had elected him as happy as possible before the next time they would have to go to the polls.


    He had begun to doze off surrounded by his papers when jerked awake by the phone ringing.


    He answered curtly, his back protesting the sudden movement after him having been sat in the same place for so long. The operator asked him if we would accept a call from a man named Ernst Mehr in Berlin. He racked his brain as to where he’d heard the name before recalling the member of the German Social Democrats who had welcomed Mosley and himself to Hamburg amidst the German Civil War. John accepted the call eagerly, what was going on in Germany was far more hopeful than anything this side of the Channel.


    “Mr Strachey?” A voice asked hesitantly in German accented English.


    “Do you remember saying that you would do anything you could to help?”


    John winced. He was no longer Tom’s disciple but the United Front remained a worthwhile cause.




    ---

    The illustration is from the cover of the 1929 Liberal Party manifesto, We Can Conquer Unemployment.
     
    Chapter CIV
  • If the people once know they can frighten the government out of their taxing system, they will soon learn that it will be as easy to frighten them as far as regards more serious matters.


    ~ Friedrich Engels, Beer Riots in Bavaria






    1595801019229.png








    Lindenstraße, Berlin; December 1931



    “Here’s to the man who brought us Lloyd George!”



    Paul Levi patted Ernst on the back as there was a jovial cheer from the assembled crowd of party members, once again Ernst’s Comrades. He was back home in the Lindenstraße offices of the SPD having returned from the German Socialist Party and, more than that, he was coming home to a welcome hosted by the Chancellor himself. Ernst basked in the moment for he was more than a prodigal son, he had returned victoriously



    With the international community unable to come to any clear agreement it seemed that the limbo between Austria and Germany might continue in perpetuity, at least before Ernst had spoken to Mosley’s friend and former ally John Strachet. It had turned out Comrade Strachey was no longer a close collaborator with the Home Secretary but he was willing to reach out to get Mosley to pass on a note to the British Cabinet. Ernst had been able to contact whatever friends he had left in the SPD to tell them of the offer he had floated and they in turn had passed it onto the foreign ministry.


    Therefore, when the British ambassador came to offer diplomatic support for a League of Nations referendum on unification in exchange for a lifting of the cap that kept German coal prices artificially low, there was already a willing atmosphere for negotiations. In the end the French had been grudgingly brought along with the agreement that there would also be a referendum on Bavarian independence at the same time. This had caused some consternation, the Bavarian independence movement had a great deal of popularity, but it was expected that holding it alongside the Austrian referendum would prevent any serious issues.


    For all Hitler had sneered at entertaining foreign visitors in Hamburg, indulging Mosley and Strachey had just provided a big win for the United Front. More importantly, it was one that paved the way for Ernst to return to his old party. Gustav Noske hadn’t taken it well but he had seemed to understand at the very least. He had told Ernst he didn’t need him.


    Noske had probably been right about that, in this own way. The German Socialist Party could continue its intransigent tactics without requiring Ernst’s skills for problem solving but such actions were increasingly self-defeating. The future lay with the United Front, or at the very least pulling it apart from the inside.


    Paul Levi put an arm around Ernst and pulled him in close, whispering, “All comrades together again. That’s the way it’s meant to be.”


    Ernst nodded back at the Chancellor, his face was worn greatly despite less than a year in the job. He seemed genuinely happy to have him back. It had been less than two years since Levi had had to apologise for associating himself with the Communists but it seemed like an age had passed. Now the roles were reversed, and the Chancellor only had kind words for him.


    Ernst smiled, he might not be Chancellor yet but it was good to be back with the winning side.




    ---





    Hofbrauhaus, Munich; March 1932





    The Beer Hall was packed with regulars and tourists alike and the clink of glasses, clatter of plates and noise of discussion reverberated despite the live music The enthusiastic rhythm of the oompah band gave Peter Klompf warm feelings of nostalgia all the same. It was his homecoming after all.


    It had been more than two years since he had departed Munich for his training to become a Reichswehr officer, much had changed since then but not just for himself. Whilst Peter had gone from illicit armoured warfare training in the Soviet Union to fighting on the front lines of the Civil War and eventually switching sides, Bavaria had opted out of Germany altogether under the leadership of Crown Prince Rupprecht of House Wittelsbach, an event that had partially helped draw the conflict to a close.


    The truce between the People’s Guard and the Reichswehr had effectively halted Wittelsbach’s declaration of independence, even though he and those around him continued to express their renewed belief in an independent Bavaria. To emphasise the popularity of the idea amongst the Bavarian people Wittelsbach had run in the Presidential election held after the Civil War, campaigning solely in Bavaria upon an independence platform. He had won in Bavaria in both rounds although by a lesser margin the second time. Many on the right throughout Germany blamed him for not standing down in the second round altogether in favour of Wilhelm Marx. This had made him an unpopular figure in many parts of Germany on the basis that he had handed the election to the United Front. However that clearly wasn’t the case in Bavaria.


    Even in Munich, one of the areas where German sentiments were considered to be the strongest, there were posters everywhere with Wittelsbach’s face extolling for the reader to vote for independence in the upcoming referendum.


    It was that referendum which brought Peter to the city and it seemed like he wasn’t the only one. The first signs of Spring had always brought tourists to the city but many of these new visitors were journalists looking to cover the unfolding independence debate. Others were political types looking to influence the decision of the Bavarian people one way or the other. Peter had returned from the Soviet Union to register to vote, having been in Hamburg for the last elections.


    Technically he was employed by the National Reconstruction Council which had taken over the remit of rebuilding Hamburg alongside the rest of Germany affected by the civil war, before rolling out several large public works initiatives to fight the global depression. Peter’s own role over the last few months had been to return to the Soviet Union to help restructure the tank school at Kama into a People’s Guard operated facility. The development in aerial warfare in Lipetsk was being reestablished in a similar fashion, even as the National Reconstruction Council worked to build on the civil aviation industry within Germany.


    These projects were going well and his return to Munich counted for well earned leave, even if he had been keener on helping to make sure Bavaria didn’t leave Germany. Having spent the morning completing the registration he had popped into the Hofbrauhaus for a drink before seeing how he could make himself useful to the local campaign to keep BGermany united. He had heard of a unity demonstration taking place outside the Alter Hof nearby from some fellow patrons and seeing it was nearly the time they said it would begin, he prepared to leave the friendly atmosphere and go out into the political world.


    Peter sank the last of the blonde beer from his litre glass and left a tip. That amount of beer would have left him light headed before his time in Russia but now he was unfazed, the welcoming nature of the beer hall had had far more of a positive effect on his spirits. He ventured outside into the bright March day and made his way towards the Alter Hof. The old residence of Holy Roman Emperors was perhaps one of better places to hold a demonstration in favour of one united fatherland including both Austria and Bavaria. Then again, the complex had also once been a place of residence for the Wittelsbachs and he wasn’t too surprised to see a street stall draped in Bavarian flags nearby.



    A handful of smartly dressed men of varying ages were handing out flyers connected to the stall, each making affirming remarks to the passersby they came into contact with .


    “Bavaria isn’t Berlin!” One of them chirped as he thrust a leaflet into Peter’s hand before he could object. The pamphlet depicted two contrasting images of Bavaria, on the left was a reincarnation of the Bavarian Soviet Republic engulfed in some sort of inferno whilst a caricature of Adolf Hitler grinned over it. To the right was a prosperous, independent Bavaria bathed in golden light being watched over by the Virgin Mary in her role as patron saint.


    Peter found the contrast to be jarring but he was more taken aback by the fact his father was sat behind the stall, apparently registering people for the independence campaign.


    He was well dressed like the others but something looked wrong, like they had landed on him. He looked older than Peter remembered, beyond the two years since he’d last seen him but his father was animated in a way he recognised from when he would go on one of his rants. Peter hadn’t ever seen his father’s energies directed to political activism before.


    He approached the stall hesitantly but aware that he would have to say hello. At least this was a public place. His father looked up at him as he drew nearer, his eyes widening for a moment before he began to scowl.


    “I never thought I’d see you bringing the revolution to the streets father!” Peter exclaimed. His father continued to sit. Peter put out his hand but he didn’t take it, although he did now reply.


    “There have been few causes fighting for in this sort of politics but this is one I’m happy to put my name to.”


    “I hope you won’t mind your son campaigning against you, it might make our names’ stance on things complicated.” Peter had made his comment in jest but his father’s face darkened further.


    “My son died in the Civil War, I have no interest in whatever you support.”


    “What do you mean?”


    Peter was aghast and in response his father did now rise from his chair. His issues with gout made him unsteady on his feet but he was resolute all the same.


    “You defected to the Bolsheviks!” His father roared, bringing pause to the activists around him.


    “I did no such thing!” Peter shouted back, failing to match his father’s volume.


    “No letters from you for months, your mother and I feared you were dead and then we get Blackshirts coming to our door asking about your Bolshevik connections! I was outraged but I checked with my friends and they confirmed it. It turns out our son did die. Deserting your comrades for those scum. We were made into outcasts in our own neighbourhood. You’ve betrayed your family, so be off with you!”


    Peter stood back as his father's arm projected out, pointing for him to leave. He could feel the smartly dressed activists crowding behind him. Perhaps there to make sure he wasn’t going to stay.


    “Betrayal?” Peter scoffed, inside he felt wounded and he wanted his father to feel the same. He wanted all of them to.


    “You sent me to fight for Germany and now you’re voting to leave it.”


    “Well your Bolsheviks claimed to be fighting for democracy didn’t they? Let’s see how they react when the people of Bavaria have their say.” His father’s face returned to its usual colour as he sat down again and Peter felt someone grab him, he tried to free himself but before he could he was pushed on to the floor by one of the activists. He tried to kick the man’s leg off-balance but merely tapped him in his winded state. It was at that point a police officer arrived.


    “We were just handing out our leaflets and this Bolshevik started causing trouble.” The man who had initially given him the leaflet protested. The policeman helped Peter up to his feet before leading him away from the stall until he was far enough away from any more hassle.


    Peter could still see his father but he had already returned to his registration forms.


    The old man seemed confident he longer had a son.


    ---


    The painting is Alter Hof by Adolf Hitler
     
    Chapter CV
  • Every man who is not helping to bring about a better state of affairs for the future is helping to perpetuate the present misery, and is therefore the enemy of his own children. There is no such thing as being neutral: we must either help or hinder.


    ~ Robert Tressell, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists







    1596032213436.png





    Franz Cizek stirred restlessly, having had to wave the waiter away from him once again. He had been sitting at the table within the Kursalon for half an hour and the person who had invited him still hadn’t arrived.



    He had initially been happy to accept Adolf Hitler’s invitation to have lunch with him in the place they had dined some twenty years beforehand but as the time had come closer he had grown wary of the occasion. Having initially been happy that his old friend wanted to meet after so long Franz had finally taken it upon himself to read his book only to discover he was mentioned in it by name and was credited for helping bring about the Communist leaders’ political awakening!


    The mention of him had been a nice touch but that was far too large a responsibility to place on him unawares.


    Franz had grown paranoid that this would lead to him being seen as some sort of political mentor for one of the most powerful men in Germany and one of Europe’s most prominent Communists. In these politically divided times it wasn’t the sort of thing Franz wanted to be regarded as. He had tried to reassure himself that the book had been out for seven years and no-one had come up to him to ask about it but for how long had Hitler really been well known in Austria? And wouldn’t having lunch with the man only confirm any suspicions that Franz was in league with him? If anyone had suspected such would they even have approached Franz about it? Or would they have feared it would have lead to a squad of Russian assassins tracking them down?


    Such thoughts were allowed to play in his mind due to waiting in the restaurant alone and Franz began to ready himself to leave. Old friend or not, there was no point sticking his neck out for this man when he couldn’t even bother to show up on time.


    “Franz?”


    Franz turned around. Adolf Hitler was looking far less like a vagrant who had cleaned up for a funeral than the first time they had met here. His grey suit made him more clean cut but also more functional, the young man’s bohemian instincts apparently having been replaced by something more ordered in his life in the prevailing years.


    “It’s been a long time,” Franz replied before standing up. They embraced each other in an awkward half-handshake, half-hug maneuver before returning to the table.


    “I’m sorry for being so late, I was giving a speech for the unification campaign and it ran on.” Hitler said amidst sitting down, he did look hurried.


    “Well, we both know how you could get carried away.” Franz joked.


    “And you were there to keep me in check back then” There was something to Hitler’s smile that unsettled Franz for a moment, as if he was quietly saying see what I’ve managed to become. It was a feeling Franz did his best to shake off.


    “Only to help introduce you to movements that might have helped you realise your true potential. Although I suppose you don’t have much time for painting these days.


    “No but I still have a keen interest. I have always had that since a young age. Although I can’t say I have much time for Signor Marinetti any longer.”


    Franz smiled, thinking back to the first time they met. Marinetti had indeed failed to do anything interesting for the last decade or so but he supposed Hitler wasn’t talking merely about the man’s art.


    “Back to the classics then?”


    “Oh no, socialist realism, that’s the future. Even if it needs to be accommodated by the current expressionist trends. Of course fostering that future is also important. I believe every young German student should be able to foster an interest in art, as you did with me.”


    “Well as you said yourself the love of art was within you long before you met me.”


    “But my true potential lay dormant for far too long. My father, he was a drunk, and a tyrant.” Hitler spat out the words bitterly, “He answered anything he couldn’t understand with his fists.”


    Franz thought of what was happening to Soviet artists who didn’t happen to subscribe to socialist realism but reckoned it wasn’t the moment to bring up such a thing.


    “I lived in his shadow for far too long, even as I strived to get out from under it. I only accomplished that with your help.”


    Any of the playful glee Franz had suspected in Hitler’s expression was now gone. His old friend’s face was blank.


    “Franz, you were more of a father to me than he ever was.”


    Franz could only sit there, speechless. The silence persisted before a waiter came over with a bottle of the house red.


    “From the gentleman in the corner.”


    He opened to pour and Adolf held his hand over his glass. Franz was beginning to understand why his friend was averse to drink but needed one himself and gave the waiter a nod whilst Hitler walked over to the table the wine had come from.


    Franz had poured himself another glass by the time he had returned.


    “That was Ludwig Wittgenstein, an old schoolmate. He said he was back for the referendum.” Hitler seemed slightly dazed.


    “It seems this business is causing all sorts of reunions” Franz mused.


    “And its outcome will be the most important reunion of all!” His friend responded, confidence seemingly restored. “Brother workers together at long last and the nation in which I was born becoming one and the same with the nation wherein my heart lies. You see Franz, I have not departed from all the beliefs I had during our time together.”


    “It is clear that some things remain worth appreciating. That came across in your book.”


    “You read it?” Hitler exclaimed excitedly, as if it hadn’t currently been selling well all over Austria.


    “Your ideas aren’t of my time but I realise their appeal amongst the working class, whom I've always had a high regard for. However the Social Democrats here seem to offer a better shake of things. Without having to turn everything upside down.”


    “Oh the Social Democrats here are excellent people, I am critical of much of their programme but they showed themselves to be brave fighters. I had suspected them to be cowards due to so many of them going to Switzerland before the great imperialist slaughter broke out but back then I was deceived, and I had to see that carnage with my own eyes to have the veil removed from them.” Hitler seemed to revert to that slightly dazed look and turned to look at the menu.


    “Since then I’ve fought for the causes I’ve believed in, and recent events have shown the Austro-Marxists are of the same calibre. We will work well together once united.” Hitler hadn’t looked away from the menu but now he looked Franz in the eyes once more.


    “And I hope, in time, you and I will work together again as well.”


    Franz attempted a genuine smile as he averted his own eyes to his menu.


    He was a liberal at heart and had always sympathised with the liberal nationalist notion of unifying Austria and Germany but Hitler’s vision of the two states' future together diverged from that. Franz wondered whether he could countenance voting for it at the ballot box. Perhaps there was a clear difference between the two peoples after all, for his old friend who now resided in Berlin was clearly no longer the same man he had spent many happy times with in Vienna.



    This was a new man and Franz wasn’t sure if he could work with such a person any longer.




    ---

    The painting is Fire by Giuseppe Arcimboldo
     
    Chapter CVI
  • It has not occurred to any one of these philosophers to inquire into the connection of German philosophy with German reality, the relation of their criticism to their own material surroundings.

    ~ Karl Marx, The German Ideology




    1596287824613.png








    Schleswig Holstein Land Administration Office, Kaltenkirchen; April 1932





    Gerda Muller grunted sleepily as she pulled up the shutters from her office windows to reveal the bright day outside. The dark nights were in retreat but recently the sunrise wasn’t a sight she was prone to welcoming. It was a Monday after all.


    She had spent much of the previous night helping her daughter with her homework. Gerda had been happy that Rosa had wanted to join the Young Communist League but she was keen that her daughter wouldn’t miss out on any more schooling than already lost during the civil war because of party activities. Even if that meant having to accommodate both.


    There were times where Gerda feared her own life was becoming all too fixed to routine but she was often too tired to really pause and consider such questions. It was satisfying to be able to implement change after a life of fighting for such policies but the implementation wasn’t always as exciting as the conspiracy and subterfuge had been and the limitations of legislation could be soul destroying.


    The initial redistribution of land from Third Reich collaborators to the farmers who worked their lands had largely concluded, the protests of the Rural People’s Movement having burned themselves out. Gerda would have found that to be a relief, even if it effectively meant playing haves against have-nots, however larger tasks now lay ahead alongside more tedious chores. Efforts to entice the newly enabled small holders to form agricultural cooperatives were stagnating, some had been set up successfully but others had broken up over disputes and old rivalries.


    Other smallholders hadn’t been interested in merging their plots at all and had set out on their own, some succeeding to make a profit and others failing to do so. Some of the latter were now selling their plots to the more successful and Gerda dreaded to think that within a few years estates might reappear where they had once been. It was a scenario she was determined to avoid but the problems behind it were complex and multifaceted, to the extent one seemed to pop up anew just as another was solved. Then there was the issue of appeals and petitions from workers on estates which hadn’t been tied to the Third Reich. It was a set of circumstances that made her no longer look forward to her work even if she still believed in its importance.


    There was a knock on the doorframe and she saw Dieter’s grinning face with the party newspaper in hand. She had wondered why he wasn’t at his desk yet.


    “Have you seen the news?”


    “Haven’t had a chance.” Gerda responded with a yawn.


    “The results of the referendums are in.”


    “Already?”


    “Already! The Austrians voted for union, almost two to one!”


    That woke Gerda up, the result was considered by many to be a foregone conclusion but such a mandate was a victory few had anticipated.


    “What about Bavaria?”


    “They’re staying with us as well, although they weren’t as enthusiastic about it as the Austrians. Apparently their Crown Prince is making a stink about the result, royals and democracy eh?”


    “Maybe he’ll join his cousin in Italy.” Gerda commented off-hand. Her mind was racing all the same.


    This was historic but she could already see the problems springing up, her time in the land administration office had made that inevitable. Would Austrian farmers on estates who had supported the Heimwehr be given the same deal German farmers were? Would a new Reichstag election be needed to properly incorporate Austria? How would that affect the balance in the Reichstag?


    “They say Zeigner’s going to make a speech, some people are talking about taking the day off.” Dieter’s mind didn’t seem hung up on thoughts as to what would come next. A Stalinist now under the thrall of the United Front. She supposed she had come to accept a similar situation in her own way.


    “I’m not sure how our farmer-comrades would feel about us taking the day off to pat ourselves in the back.”


    “But this isn’t just about the United Front, this is historic. It’s a day for all Germans, old and new.”


    “It is,” Gerda smiled, “but I still don’t see the red flag flying outside, do you?”


    Dieter seemed like he might try to argue the point for a moment before sitting down at his desk. Gerda admired the day outside before sitting down at hers. Today was a triumph for Germany but not necessarily one for its workers, that remained to be achieved.



    That was the real work.



    ---



    A wave of elation swept throughout much of Germany in the wake of the Spring referendums of 1932. For the first time since the Civil War, and perhaps even the World War, Germans could unite under one cause in such a way that the matter of class conflict fell by the wayside. Or so it seemed.



    The union of Austria and Germany had been a dream for over a century amongst the people and though previously held back by those in power whose own interests had prevented such a union, they had now brought it about by themselves. Although some went as far as to say that the unification was a final culmination of the revolutions of 1848, it was in fact a victory of proletarian ideals rather than those of the bourgeoisie. Indeed, the most organic and pronounced form of bourgeois or aristocratic nationalism to be found in those heady days was isolated to some parts of rural Austria and Bavaria.


    That fact that some 45% of Bavarians had voted for independence largely wasn’t dwelled upon by the workers of Munich, let alone in Berlin or Vienna. There was a general relief that the issue seemed resolved and whilst resentments continued to linger amongst many Bavarian nationalists the Bavarian people as a whole were not immune to the new sense of German identity that pervaded with the Austrian vote. The majority of Bavarians had voted in favour of remaining with Germany, after all and many did so on the basis of what the United Front had already achieved and with the expectation of what it would do in the future.


    Although it was not immediately apparent, for formerly bourgeois Germans this can be seen as perhaps the completion of their proletarianisation. The millions who had undergone the process of lowered living standards due to the depression, then desperation following the economic collapse wrought by the civil war, and the final return to dignity and work delivered by the National Reconstruction Council had found themselves in a new, stronger proletarian class of people. It was a class whose patriotism was tied closely to a perception of having control of the state and was emboldened by the success of unification.


    It was this ideal of ‘one nation, of its class’ which now became stronger within the Communist Party itself. Hitler’s arguments for German exceptionalism had been present even prior to his wrestling control of the party structures prior to the civil war but it was now that the notion of a ‘German Ideology’ became more frequently discussed.





    ~ Annett Gerhadt, Kriegsphilosophie: Totalitarismus und Demokratie in der Deutschen Arbeiterrepublik


    ---


    The picture is part of the mural Building the Republic by Max Lingner
     
    Chapter CVII
  • Even relatively benign and temporary authoritarianism that rests upon elected power is being challenged. We are moving rapidly towards a situation where the pressure for the redistribution of political power will have to be faced as a major political issue. In a world where authoritarianism of the left or right is a very real possibility, the question of whether ordinary people can govern themselves by consent is still on trial—as it always has been, and always will be. Beyond parliamentary democracy as we know it, we shall have to find a new popular democracy to replace it.

    ~ Tony Benn




    1596724965847.png






    House of Commons, Westminster; July 1932







    “The Right Honourable Neville Chamberlain!”



    There was a large cheer from the Tory section of the opposition benches following the Speaker’s call, mixed with the more muted shouts of derision from the government benches across the floor. The Leader of the Opposition rose to speak, looming over the dispatch box towards the Prime Minister.


    John Strachey couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the chamber so busy for a foreign policy debate. What were generally quiet affairs conducted by the foreign secretary had now brought what seemed to be the vast majority of parliamentarians along for it. This was a logistical nightmare when the government barely consisted of more than 150 MPs, there was a minimal chance of getting a seat on the other side of the house when competing with over 400 other people. This was unfortunate after having had to hurry to make the debate at all, his legs now craved a seat.


    John had been splitting his time that week between parliamentary business, constituency work, and the opening meetings of the International Revolutionary Marxist Centre. He had been attending the latter all morning and thus was left standing with over a hundred others inside the Chamber. He had got in just as the Prime Minister had given a short update on the international disarmament conference ongoing in Geneva and now it was time for questions.


    “Will the Prime Minister enlighten the house with what he believes to be the main points of contention between the major powers?”




    “The ongoing matter is once again that of the overall percentage of the world's armaments the great powers limit themselves to. Various calculations have been made but there is now a difference on accounting for a global figure or one between each nation. There has been some talk nonetheless that no concrete decisions will be made until after the American elections in November, after which time we will have a clearer picture of what can be achieved.” Lloyd George replied.


    Although John’s focus had been on the coming together of Marxist parties outside of the Communist and Socialist Internationals, the Geneva conference was unique in its own way. For the first time in history, every major world power was in attendance at a disarmament conference and had agreed to discuss the means and terms in which another major war could be prevented from happening ever again.


    It was something many had dreamed of for centuries but in the aftermath of the slaughter of the Great War it was more prescient than ever. Such a disaster couldn’t be allowed to happen again. Now the man who had led the British Empire to victory in that war was tasked with ensuring there would never be another, and fixing the mess of the post-war settlement he was also partially responsible for. If he could pull this off it would be a victory for humanity as a whole but also a major one for his fledgling government, which the Tories were now keen to bring down.


    Stanley Baldwin, the long suffering Conservative leader, had finally given up his post after the National Government had failed to gain a majority in the previous October’s election. He had been replaced by Neville Chamberlain, who had reinvigorated his party and now seemed ready to try and force another election. This had caused the Action-Liberal coalition to rely increasingly on the votes of the Labour party, whose reduced number of MPs sat uncomfortably on the opposition benches alongside the Tories. As leader of the largest party, and Leader of the Opposition, Chamberlain took priority when it came to questions. Regardless of how divided the opposition parties actually were.


    “And would the Prime Minister not agree that there is also a need for clarity from the Russian delegation, given the events reported in this afternoon’s edition of the Evening Standard?”


    “I have not had the pleasure of reading this afternoon’s Evening Standard.” Lloyd George appeared to be unfazed although many in the chamber were genuinely curious. The Evening Standard, controlled by Max Beaverbrook, had thrown its support fully behind the Tories after Chamberlain’s assumption of the leadership. It was likely the Leader of the Opposition had been privy to what would be in the paper long before anyone else would have had a chance to read it, and prepare accordingly.


    “Well then I shall enlighten the Prime Minister!” Chamberlain announced with a coy grin, holding up a copy of the paper in one hand before brandishing it at the government benches. He had a certain youthful energy about him in spite of being more than sixty years of age, only a few years younger than Lloyd George himself.


    “The Russian army has been found to have been operating within north-eastern China and, along with their Chinese fellow travellers, assaulting Japanese delegations. Would it not seem that there is clarity needed as to whether the Russian delegation should have as much right to a voice in setting world standards as the Japanese?”


    There were even louder jeers from the Tory benches but the Prime Minister remained calm, bemused even. If this was news to him he seemed keen to not let it show.


    “I would advise the right honourable gentleman not to believe everything he reads in the papers. Especially the Tory ones.” That got a laugh from many sections of the house but Chamberlain was dauntless.


    “So the Prime Minister denies there are Russian troops operating in China?”


    “It is a developing situation which will be raised at the conference should such incidents become clear.”


    “And in the same way the Prime Minister will not take the Russians to account for their aggression, will he continue to ignore the German rearmament going on within Russia whilst their delegation is also placated at the Geneva conference?”


    Lloyd George shook his head, trying to remain oblivious to the jibes of his opponent.


    “The right honourable gentleman should know that these claims are old and they are exactly the sort of issue the Geneva conference was established to deal with. In the words of the old legal saying, he who comes to equity must come with clean hands and he who asks for forgiveness of his debts must forgive his debtors.”


    “It has been my lot to listen to many such anecdotes by the Prime Minister throughout my time in this place but never have I felt such foreboding. We are all under the shadow of a great and imminent menace. Bolshevism, in a form more stark and terrible than ever before, is staring us in the face. The Prime Minister’s response is to go to them open handed, to make the offer of sacrificing our security for no clear return and waiting for our allies to do the same. Is this in any way connected with his government’s reliance on Labour support? Are we perhaps seeing another Zinoviev letter’s instructions play out?”


    There were roars of outrage from all corners of the chamber before the Speaker finally interjected to restore order. John couldn’t muster the energy to indulge in the animalistic grunts himself, his legs felt increasingly strained and he looked longingly at the half-empty government benches.


    If he had remained within the Action party he would be sitting down right now, he might even have been a minister. Instead he was watching the usual pantomime play out, with both sides of the house emphasising their anti-communist credentials. There was no doubt the Geneva conference would suffer for this but such had been the way of Parliament for sometime. The Action party had become comfortable in that role, just like the Tories, the Liberals, and Labour before them.


    John realised there was no going back. To cross the floor back over to Action now, as a member of the ILP, would only make Chamberlain’s case for him. It seemed as if the Leader of the Opposition was planting the seeds for a vote of no confidence but it would be something that would take time for him to work on. The Labour party were in no state to contest another election but their votes were needed to cause one. In the meantime there would be more of these theatrics until the government could perhaps be made unable to function entirely.



    John departed from the chamber and decided to return to the revolutionary conference going on elsewhere in the capital. Increasingly it seemed like parliamentary sessions were keeping him away from spending time on politics.



    ---


    The cartoon is by Leonard Raven-Hill for Punch magazine
     
    Chapter CVIII
  • Save for a handful of reactionaries, the people of contemporary China are all successors in the revolutionary cause to which Dr. Sun Yat-sen dedicated himself.


    ~ Mao Zedong, In Commemoration of Dr Sun Yat-sen







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    Jiangsu Provincial Library of Chinese Studies, Nanking; July 1932





    Robert Oaks felt dazed even whilst trying to maintain his concentration on the large collection of documents in front of him. He felt as if he was fighting a losing battle against the great tide of Chinese history. Much of his time spent so far in the Nationalist capital of China had been in trying to make sense of the political situation on the ground, or even just its context. The rays of the glorious day outside crept through the reading rooms shutters, which were meant to keep out the sun. Robert felt like he was being enticed outside even as he tried to engross himself as to where this country was truly going.


    He was in the oldest public library in China but despite its ancient texts it had been established in Robert’s lifetime. It was perhaps a fitting nod to the ways in which the common citizen had risen to the forefront of Chinese society since the beginning of the twentieth century. At least theoretically.


    Robert had believed that German politics had been complicated but now he yearned for the simplicity of a mere three or four Marxist parties. He had more or less managed to get his head around the ruling party, led by Chaing Kai-shek. This was the Kuomintang, or the Nationalists as most of his western friends insisted on calling them, who proclaimed themselves to be the upholders of the Three Principles of the People. These took the form of Chinese nationalism, democracy, and an economy based around the welfare of the people and had been devised by Dr Sun Yat-sen, the Chinese George Washington, at the beginning of the century.


    The Nationalists stated themselves to be the upholders of his legacy and the only legitimate government in China however their authority over much of China existed in the form of warlords aligned to their regime. Where it existed at all. This was where it was hard to piece together who exactly was meant to be in control of China. Even in Nanking itself Robert couldn’t see much evidence of the Three Principles of the People being applied despite the Nationalist’s rhetoric.


    It seemed that these principles were goals that were still to be attained through aggressive attempts at industrialisation similar to what the Japanese had achieved in the previous century. However this attempted road to freedom and prosperity was marred by corruption, lack of centralised planning and foreign intrigue, often caused by the Japanese themselves. It was the sort of situation that, in trying to investigate it, seemed to become more complex rather than less.


    Robert decided he had enough for one day and checked his watch. He was devoted to these studies but seeing the time he was happy to bring them to an end for one day, leaving his books by the trolley before heading through the library’s modern halls where the sunlight reflected more pleasantly. He had an appointment to keep with a new friend he had made in a local tea room but was glad for the chance to escape all the same.


    Walking through the streets of Nanking was an enlightening experience although not always in a good way. On the one hand there was something magical about embracing the history of a city that had stood long before Christ, the remains of which could still be seen amongst a contemporary culture that remained very different from his own. The poverty, however, was also far more dire than anything he had ever seen in Germany, even amidst the hyperinflation, depression and civil war. The streets were filled with groups of beggars who seemed to have known nothing else their entire lives.


    This, of course, was fertile ground for Communism.


    The Communists also claimed to be the upholders of the Three Principles of the People although they had a different interpretation of what Dr Sun had meant. The Communists and Nationalists had worked together in the past against the warlords who plagued China but as that immediate threat had diminished their alliance had broken with it and they had become bitter enemies. Like Germany this had led to a Civil War, albeit a more protracted one. The Nationalists were easily the more powerful of the two sides but the Communists were able to exploit China’s vast countryside and the support of much of the rural peasantry to fight an unconventional but effective guerilla war. All the while, they attempted to spread their ideas in the cities amongst students and workers.


    Robert had found something of a relief in seeing a hammer and sickle again. It was something he could relate to from past experience even if he was averse to the ideology it stood for. Impromptu demonstrations would spring up spontaneously with a speaker maybe getting half of a speech out before being beaten down by police. The Nationalists were also averse to the Communists after all and they were doing a much better job of dealing with them than von Schleicher ever had, or so it seemed.


    The Nationalists themselves were an odd phenomenon to Robert, it seemed strange to see such a movement manifest itself in a country so ancient, yet with ideals which seemed more relevant to the previous century of American and European history. He realised his Americo-centric worldview made it inevitable he would find this odd, but he had managed to glean some understanding of them straight from the horse’s mouth. This was the man he was now looking for in entering the tea room.


    Eventually Major Friedrich Krummacher popped his head out from a curtain at one side. Robert spotted his contact and Krummacher waved before beckoning him into the small, secluded area where the Major was sat with another man. Both were dressed in the light blue uniforms of the Nationalist army.


    Krummacher had previously been involved with a Reichswehr mission to the Nationalist forces, providing training in exchange for a chance to develop their own theories and improve Sino-German economic relations at the same time. In this regard the military effort had become almost as important as the official German diplomatic mission in determining relations between the two regimes. Now the Reichswehr no longer existed and rather than attempt to join the People’s Guard or simply return home, Krummacher had opted to remain with the Nationalists.


    The man was now a nationless adventurer helping to build a new nation on the other side of the world, it was a compelling story and made Krummacher an interesting person but beyond that he was German. After spending the best part of a decade in Berlin, Robert was glad there were still people in Nanking he could relate to beyond American businessmen. He felt Krummacher might have a fondness for him as well, even if it was clear the German was interested in the fact he was attached to the American embassy. Robert had no doubt the Major’s Chinese counterpart was here for the same reason.


    “Professor Oaks, it is good to see you again. Allow me to introduce you to General Shao Baichang, he is the man we depend on for the defence of the capital, should the time come.”


    “Let’s hope we don’t have to add that to the list of our worries just yet.” General Baichang quipped with a chuckle, before shaking Robert’s hand.


    To Robert’s quiet surprise, the Chinese officer spoke excellent German.


    “I have taken the liberty of arranging a meal whilst we talk.” The General continued with a gesture to what seemed to be a more junior officer who had appeared to have followed Robert in. It wasn’t long before the man had returned with a pot of tea and a plate of sponge cakes. Robert would have guessed it was a dessert by its appearance but urged on by the general he managed to fumble a piece into his mouth with two chopsticks. The doughy cakes had a sort of meaty gravy inside of them, they were savoury but delicious.


    “Have you had much opportunity to sample our local cuisine Professor?”


    “I am afraid my embarrassing chopstick technique gives me away, General.” Krummacher laughed at that, even as he displayed his own prowess with the implements.


    “I became very well acquainted with German cuisine during my time there, I must say it took a while to work off. This is why I like tangbao so much, German pork and dumplings reminded me of it just as it now helps remind my German friends of their homeland.”


    “It is a more welcome reminder than the shared Communist problem.” Krummacher replied somewhat awkwardly.


    “Ah yes,” The General responded more naturally, he was clearly the better actor of the two.


    “It has been a hard fight but we have their army trapped and they will soon be defeated on the battlefield. Which is precisely why Stalin is sending his bandits into the north, to put pressure on us to make another deal with his treacherous puppets.”


    “And do you fear you may be forced to yield to these pressures General?” Robert made his enquiry in between mouthfuls of tangbao.


    “Chiang Kai-shek would never allow it. We do have our left-wing of course but our Generalissimo is the greatest anti-communist in China. If not the world. Will is not our issue, economics are. If we were to have American support our Communist problems would disappear very quickly. “


    Robert had assumed this was the point of the meeting but to hear it plainly spoken left him confused nevertheless. He might have been the State Department’s unofficial man in Nanking but here he was being treated as if he was the Secretary of State.


    “I can pass on these thoughts of yours if you wish me to General however I would say that I doubt any advice from myself will carry much weight. My country is having elections in November after all, we may soon have a new administration and I have only been here for a few months.”


    The upcoming elections were more straightforward than anything in Chinese politics. The Republicans were doomed, with President Hoover’s handling of the depression making it almost certain that Franklin D. Roosevelt, the governor of New York, would defeat Hoover and become President next year. Robert just hoped Roosevelt would be in power quickly enough to stave off a revolution stateside.


    “Yes of course, your democracy is strong and that is something to be appreciated, we will do the same in China but that will happen sooner with your help Professor. I do not expect you to act as one man, history rarely changes upon the actions of an individual but if we can rely on a large number of esteemed Americans to relay the truth of what is happening in China, we may be getting somewhere.”


    “I am a diplomat general, I can be relied upon to relay things to my government as truthfully as I see them.”



    “That is all that I ask!” The General boomed, “And now I think it is time for something stronger than tea!”





    ---



    The painting is Landscape by Song Meiling (Madame Chiange Kai-shek)
     
    Last edited:
    Chapter CIX
  • Facts are stronger than rhetoric; and no one expected such pitiless irony. Your "theory" is certainly much loftier than that of Mao Tsetung; yours is high in the sky, while his is down-to-earth. But admirable as is such loftiness, it will unfortunately be just the thing welcomed by the Japanese aggressors. Hence I fear that it will drop down from the sky, and when it does it may land on the filthiest place on earth. Since the Japanese welcome your lofty theories, I cannot help feeling concern for you when I see your well-printed publications. If someone deliberately spreads a malicious rumour to discredit you, accusing you of accepting money for these publications from the Japanese, how are you to clear yourselves? I say this not to retaliate because some of you formerly joined certain others to accuse me of accepting Russian roubles. No, I would not stoop so low, and I do not believe that you could stoop so low as to take money from the Japanese to attack the proposal of Mao Tsetung and others to unite against Japan. No, this you could not do. But I want to warn you that your lofty theory will not be welcomed by the Chinese people, and that your behaviour runs counter to present-day Chinese people's standards of morality.

    ~ Lu Xun, Reply to a Letter from the Trotskyites







    1597310386376.png









    Down-with-Imperialism Union Headquarters, Jilin; August 1932






    Shintaro Imada’s vision was blurry and his head ached. Being without his glasses wasn't helping matters in this regard but he also felt as if he had picked a fight with a battleship and charged it headfirst. The room was spinning and was only brought to a halt when he realised that everything was dark. Even though his eyes were open.


    It would take another minute for him to realise that he was blindfolded.


    “Oyn nye shpit?” A voice murmured in a language unknown to Imada.


    It was something he wasn’t able to dwell on for long before being slapped across the face. Attempting to react he realised he was tied to a chair but his movements were seemingly enough to satisfy his captors who now removed his blindfold.


    It seemed he was being held in a coal cellar. The man who had removed his blindfold looked like he might be Russian. He was in an olive shirt that looked like it might be part of a uniform. He seemed tired, regarding Imada pensively, almost bored. This was in contrast to the man behind him, dressed in peasant clothing with a red armband tied around his shoulder. His hair was prematurely grey but his eyes weren’t at all weary. They seemed full of hate.


    Imada realised to his horror that he had been captured and instinctively struggled with the rope binding him to the chair. This earned him another slap. The Korean seemed to have been anticipating this moment, the Russian appeared to regard Imada as a chore.


    “Spraasi voyanna.” The Korean stated.


    “What is your name?” The Russian translated to Japanese.


    “Captain Ya-, erm, Yasujiro Ozu of the Mukden MIlitary Police.” Imada croaked.


    “May I have some water?”


    The Russian said something to the Korean about that and they both laughed before the Russian went to the side of the room where a large field jacket and satchel hung from a hook. He produced a canteen and Imada thought he was going to bring to his lips, before he opened his mouth and motioned for Imada to do the same. Imada did as he was told and the Russian emptied the contents over Imada’s head before giving him another slap.


    “You are not a film director.” The Russian barked at him.


    “Name?!”


    “Captain Shintaro Imada, of the Mukden Military Police.” Imada replied sheepishly.


    The Korean made an affirmative noise and walked towards Imada as well. It seemed he could also speak Japanese, another part of the charade.


    “What is a member of the Mukden Military Police doing this far north?”


    Imada felt like he could ask his hosts that. He didn’t know where he was. Realising asking such questions might not be pertinent for his health he tried to think back. Having water poured over him had actually helped to clear his head.


    He had been investigating the increased sightings of Soviet troops in the territory of the warlord Zhang Xueling, the young marshal who remained in control of Manchuria in spite of the Soviets now attempting to assert their own influence in the region. He had hoped that increased reconnaissance of Communist activity and any links to Korean nationalists they might have had, would be enough to finally force Tokyo to act.


    They had managed to journey far into the Manchurian interior under the cover of darkness before someone in his squad had shouted that they had been spotted and another had mentioned a grenade. He explained this to the Russian officer and in turn was told he was the only survivor of his squad left alive. The shame was unbearable. To have been knocked out in the middle of a firefight or to have lived when the men he had led died. It was hard to tell which was worse.


    The pair proceeded to question him on Japanese strength in the region, on politics within Korea, on his own views as to what actions the Kwantung Army might take next. Eventually the Korean seemed to have gotten what he wanted and departed from the cellar.


    The Russian stayed with him and gave Imada a look of resignation.


    “Your imperialist violation of this independent republic has been decided upon by a people’s court. We are grateful for your help all the same.”


    Imada turned away from thoughts of shame for a moment.


    “Independent republic?”


    The Russian smiled at that, and returned to his coat. What he might come back with made Imada shiver but the man produced a packet of cigarettes and put one in Imada’s mouth before lighting it. Imada struggled to smoke the thing whilst restrained even as the Russian enjoyed one of his own.


    “Captain Dmitry Getmanov, of the Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army. You can probably guess I’m not Chinese. I was stationed out here during the civil war, there were a lot of you in our country back then. Those were good times, every day was painful but we had the world ahead of us back then. It all feels very different…”


    Getmanov trailed off, it seemed his memories were clearer in his mind than Imada’s had been. Eventually he focused on his prisoner once more.


    “I am here to help but I also am here for my country’s survival.”


    Imada spluttered as his mouth filled with bitter smoke and Getmanov now released his arm restraints to allow him to take it out of his mouth. The Russian put a hand through his dark hair as he sat down.



    “We are decades behind the advanced countries and we must change that urgently if we are to avoid destruction. This is primarily an economic problem but it is also a military matter at the present time. Our workers state is the largest country in the world and up until now we have struggled to maintain the revolution at its furthest reaches. I have fought against the resurgent Tsarist terrorism borne of exiles in China and Japan, we are now going to put an end to that by assisting our comrades in Manchuria. We will help them to establish a soccialist republic there and in doing so protect our own motherland and the broader revolution in China.”


    “That is more ambitious than anything we thought.” Imada replied, he wasn’t sure why the Russian was telling him this but he had a feeling it was due to the fact he wouldn’t be alive much longer.


    “How was the cigarette?” Getmanov asked awkwardly, as if afraid Imada might rebuke him for its poor quality.


    “It wasn’t to my tastes.”


    With that the Russian Captain shrugged and pulled out his pistol.


    “Can’t please everyone.”


    There was a loud flash before things went dark again.






    When Imada awoke he felt even worse than he had in the cellar.


    He scratched at his head only to realise the area around his right temporal lobe was caked in blood. By chance and an even worse headache, the shot had failed to kill him. He felt unable to see properly, even worse than usual without his glasses. He feared that he would not only have to endure the shame of capture but might face lasting brain damage, enough to impair him from receiving a proper death.


    It was a horrific thought but in putting it out of his mind he realised his glasses weren’t the only thing missing. In the light of the early morning it was clear he had been dumped in a field without his uniform. It didn’t take long for him to realise he was lying amongst the members of his expedition. They had been left to rot in their undergarments, like himself. Perhaps the Koreans the Russian had been with needed their uniforms for some new act of banditry or terrorism. Perhaps they had been left like this out of spite.


    Imada was relieved that he could still hand, even if his depth perception felt off. He tried to focus but it felt too painful to do so for more than a few seconds and so he went forward in a blurry haze, away from the bodies of his comrades.


    It was hard to say where he was. At that moment he couldn’t even have been sure if his interrogation had actually happened or had merely been some fever dream. Imada didn’t know where he was going but he set out all the same. Amidst his injuries, the sun bearing down upon and an ever increasing thirst the day went on and he continued to limp, gaining a focus of sorts.


    If he had not been allowed to die it must have been for a reason. Perhaps destiny would have it that the information the Russian had saddled him with needed a living messenger to carry it back to the Kwantung Army.



    Perhaps he would find himself a glorious death after all.




    It was all worth staggering around in circles for at any rate and as he kept on going he wondered whether those who had held him back from launching the incident the previous year were happy with themselves now. Perhaps in this sorry state he could make them listen.



    ---


    The poster is Imperialists and all other reactionaries are paper tigers by Chen Xiaoxi and Guo Kekuan
     
    Chapter CX
  • Instead of leaving it to the hypocritical phrase-mongers to deceive the people by phrases and promises concerning the possibility of a democratic peace, socialists must explain to the masses the impossibility of anything resembling a democratic peace, unless there are a series of revolutions and unless a revolutionary struggle is waged in every country against the respective government.


    ~ Vladimir Lenin, The Question of Peace







    1597535051848.png







    There is a historical debate to be had as to whether the World Disarmament Conference ever had any practical chance of success however few would deny it was an admirable endeavour.




    Notions of world peace can be traced back to the Bible and even further, however the concerns of the conference were practical. The three primary concerns were to identify which weapons were hazardous to world peace, how stocks of these weapons could be limited or eliminated altogether and, most importantly, how the powers involved could be ensured of their security without such weapons. It was on this basis the conference went forward and one can credit Lloyd George’s second ministry with a heartfelt attempt in finding an outcome to these issues.



    The British delegation was led by Anthony Eden, the Conservative turned Action Foreign Secretary who took to the challenges of the conference with a vigour his new party purported to espouse. Eden had witnessed first hand the horrors of the trenches in the First World War and was determined not to see that nightmare repeat itself. Alongside his junior LIberal counterpart at the foreign office, Herbert Samuel, the case was made for an approach of ‘principle and realism’. This would include the United States joining the League of Nations and with that a more standardised League approach to conflict resolution which would be the arbiter of disputes in a demilitarised world. The recent cases of League arbitration in regards to the German Civil War and the Austro-Italian war were presented as examples of what this model could look like.


    Although these incidents were meant to be the precedents for this new international framework they were not objectively seen as good outcomes. Count Ciano, the Italian foreign minister alleged that Italy had been previously mistreated in simply trying to administer their responsibility as a regional power to curb Communist aggression and was wary that such bias would continue on any collective forum which contained “Marxist” voices. In effect he was calling for the German and Soviet delegations to be excluded before any work could be done, effectively making the conference one of determining anti-Socialist collective security.


    The French delegation led by Louis Barthou were not unsympathetic to the Italian view. They argued that Germany had been rewarded for aggression and as such any form of collective security which prevented a powerful French military could be exploited by the Germans in the future. The leader of the German delegation, Hermann Muller, attempted to reason with Barthou by pointing out that Germany needed international arbitration to solve its problems and that cooperative attitudes should not be seen as threatening. Eden’s agreement with Muller in this regard seemed to only further aggravate the French delegation who aired suspicions of being colluded against. Ciano was happy to join in with these accusations.


    The conference was thus already at an impasse due to these issues, even before concrete news began to arrive of the events in North-Eastern China. What had previously been dismissed as increased bandit activity in the area now transpired to be large numbers of Japanese and Soviet military personnel occupying the Manchurian region to the south and north respectively. Despite the protests of the Chinese delegation and the attempts of Eden and Samuel to use the crisis as an opportunity to apply the new framework they had been proposing, they met a brick wall in the form of the Japanese and Soviet delegations. Both denied any knowledge of what was happening, then denied any evidence to the contrary and eventually blamed each other.


    The Japanese delegation now pulled out of the conference, principally in opposition to what they saw as Soviet aggression but also because the crisis had caused their own government to fall. The leader of the delegation, Count Uchida Kosai, had to be informed he was no longer the Foreign Minister whilst still in Geneva.


    Attempts were made to encourage the Soviets to desist, or at least to continue the dialogue but the Soviet delegation, led by Alexandra Kollontai, had also had enough. Departing without ceremony she would later give a statement declaring that whilst the international working class wished for nothing more than world peace it was clear that the conference had become about the means of maintaining imperialism.


    Whilst Kollontai could be described to be as fanatical as Adolf Hitler, her statement underlined the theme of the developing global conflict within Comintern circles. There could be no peace whilst capitalist states existed, other than that of the grave.


    With the exit of the Japanese and Soviet delegations the conference was no longer able to deal with the sort of crisis it was meant to provide an answer to. The Chinese delegation, led by Dr. H. H. Kung, had to sit by with the realisation those responsible for the crisis were now no longer committed to any sort of solution. Whilst Chinese troops were forced to retreat from their own territory in the face of foreign aggression, the incident had made a mockery of the continuing dialogue. The final blow would come with the exit of the American delegation led by Henry Stimson. Like his Japanese counterpart it had become clear Stimson would soon no longer be Secretary of State.


    With the defeat of President Hoover in the 1932 Presidential election the conference had lost one of its most enthusiastic supporters. Although the President-elect, Franklin Roosevelt had made it clear he was sympathetic to the conference’s aims he had stressed that his urgent domestic agenda meant that the United States could not consider joining the League of Nations to be a priority. The Conference had wound up before his inauguration in March 1933, by which time Germany also had a new Chancellor.


    The failure of the British delegation was denounced back home as a damning of the government’s foreign policy by the Tory opposition. It provoked another attempt at the removal of the government by a vote of no confidence. Similar to the debacle over the Land Value Tax, the Action-Liberal government would survive but their vision of a better world had indeed fallen by the wayside.


    By 1936 the government would be propelled into electoral success amidst the King’s Election where, having established their link to the people ,they undertook rearmament with an energy that called for a younger man. Lloyd George would retire in favour of such a fellow before the Second World War had broken out.


    Perhaps by the beginning of 1933 it was clear already that the failure of the conference marked the failure of the liberal internationalism and pacifism that had arisen out of the horrors of the First World War. In its place lay the road ahead for the final collision of the classes.




    It would not be long before Lenin’s Global Civil War triumphed over Lloyd George’s dreams of international harmony.





    ~ Prof. James Brown, British Papers on the Second World War




    ---



    The painting is Impossible Love by Marc Brunet
     
    Chapter CXI


  • The Communists do him an injustice by calling him a renegade, as do the Social Democrats by calling him a convert. He was an international revolutionary Socialist of the Rosa Luxemburg school, he never denied it.

    ~ Carl von Ossietzky







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    Lindenstraße, Berlin; February 1933






    Ernst stretched out in the comfy interior state car and tried to relish it for as long as possible. Such indulgences were generally frowned upon these days, particularly outside Social Democratic Party headquarters. Willi Munzenberg’s example of even the most senior public officials making their own way back and forth to work had put most of his colleagues to shame. An exception was made for Ernst’s travelling partner, he wasn’t long after having an operation after all.



    Hermann Muller, Foreign Minister and former Chancellor, retained the same austere expression he had worn for much of the train ride back from Geneva. If his health allowed him a state car it also apparently disallowed from flying despite its increasing popularity. Ernst would have preferred to take the plane, if only so that the new experience might have shaken Muller up a bit.


    They had been making several such trips back and forth to Geneva for the best part of a year and Ernst had witnessed Muller’s enthusiasm decline throughout. It seemed this would be their last. The World Disarmament Conference opened with so much promise and there had seemed to be a genuine enthusiasm on display, at least from the American and British delegations. Ernst and his fellow members of the German delegation had tried to make their country proud by going in with a similar spirit of optimism but they had soon been made to feel like the ghosts at the feast by the French and Italians. They seemed to be outraged that the Germans were here as equal partners rather than merely receiving another diktat like the one handed down in the Treaty of Versailles.


    Muller had been part of the German delegation in 1919 and Ernst could forgive the man’s darkening mood as their delegation was faced with Franco-Italian aggression, then the Japanese and Soviets bickering with one another and eventually the Americans deciding they had lost their enthusiasm for world peace in favour of dealing with their domestic problems. The Foreign Minister was returning with bad news once more, even if it was better to return empty handed than with the humiliating terms brought back from Versailles. At least this time he was less likely to end up with a target on his head.



    “We did what we could, we’ll always have that to remember.” Muller said, perhaps to himself. He continued to look out of the window at the expanding metropolis around them. The evening lights were beginning to brighten up the city.


    “I think we came out of the whole process looking good. At least better than most.” Ernst replied, hoping to motion towards all that was going well in the capital.


    Berlin was growing beyond any anticipated size once more. The expropriations and tax hikes which had seized much of the wealth of the old industrial elites had been plunged into infrastructural development and housing. This had made the economy shudder to life and now unemployment was lower than before the Wall Street Crash. People might not have always enjoyed their new jobs but they were able to eat again.


    New urban development projects led the advance of the city and its workers. The formerly middle class clerks and officials who had found themselves without their old status in the wake of the civil war were now living in newly built complexes amongst the proletariat, where they were encouraged to behave like part of a larger family. In many cases they had to build their own complexes over wrecked homes which had once been their own. Ernst was privately glad of this private perk to his role in the conference delegation, it meant the party had stopped encouraging him to give up his own flat.


    “That will only make us more paranoid now.” Muller responded. “We might be coming together as a people but the world will be seen to be hardening against us in response. World peace is off the agenda and the Soviets are our only real friends. That isn’t a situation to feel pleasant about.”


    “Well we have the new American President to look to, he might be turning inward but he’s still interested in what the National Reconstruction Council has achieved, and the Soviet trade we can enable. If we can get a delegation into the White House we can perhaps turn ourselves towards the Americans and fully recover together.”


    “That was my aim as Chancellor.” Muller remarked, Ernst had his attention now but the older man’s face still had that jaded look to it.


    Suddenly it turned to confusion. The car was slowing to a halt in the middle of the road. It seemed there was a hold-up despite the fact they should only have been a few moments away from Social Democratic headquarters.


    “Police blocking the road.” Their driver called out absentmindedly. A policeman approached the driver’s window but he seemed more concerned about having the end of his shift delayed than anything else. Ernst took it upon himself to find out what was going on.


    There were a lot of police huddled around and it soon became clear that they were outnumbered only by the press.


    “What's happened?” Ernst asked in his most official tone. The policeman wasn’t forthcoming regardless.


    “Can’t say, there’ll be a statement shortly.”


    “Are we allowed to get through?”


    “No sir, the area’s cordoned off to the general public.”


    “The foreign minister is in that car,” Ernst jerked out his arm towards the vehicle for emphasis. “He's expected back at the party headquarters. Would you like to be his reason for being late?


    That got the policeman to relent to a satisfying degree. He had a deference as traditional as his Prussian uniform. Ernst wondered if that was something that would survive the United Front. In returning to the car, his animated state seemed to faze Muller as they spoke through the window.


    “There’s been some sort of incident. The police won’t let the car through but they say we can pass. Are you alright to walk the rest of the way?”


    “With those vultures? Hardly likely. I knew we’d end up having to explain ourselves."


    Ernst nodded and went off on his own, reassuring Muller that he would be back to explain what was happening. In spite of having to be escorted through the crowd of photographers and reporters he seemed to slip by unnoticed. To be asked if he was a detective was grating and perplexing at the same time.


    The reporters were kept well away from party headquarters and even the numbers of police seemed to thin as Ernst drew nearer. They were replaced by large numbers of distraught party workers, many in tears, some apparently hysterical whilst others huddled around to comfort them.


    Hermann Gott was wandering in a circle, it looked like he was lost. Ernst tried to approach him. The man was still the party’s head of internal disciple but it seemed he might be struggling to pull himself together.


    “He fell.” He said in a dreadful monotone.


    “What? Who fell?”


    “Levi, he just fell from the building. We didn’t realise until we heard the cracks.”


    “Cracks?”


    “He’s dead. Paul Levi’s dead.”



    Amidst the confusion Ernst soon found himself just as lost as everyone around. There was a bloody shape lying on the cobblestones. There was no light on it but people were keeping a wide berth. He approached the scene warily. It seemed there was some uncertainty as to whether the body should be moved but someone had had the decency to throw a blanket over the Chancellor.

    Ernst felt like he could sob.



    Levi had always been an adventurous dreamer but his commitment to the United Front had seemed unshakeable. There had been unconditional decency to the man, one that had seen him welcome Ernst back into the party when many would have disparaged him. Now Levi was gone and the United Front might follow suit.



    If it were to survive, he feared there was only man who would be viewed as up to the task.







    ---




    The painting is Portrait of a Man by Aleksandr Kolomenkov
     
    Chapter CXII
  • He will remain in the memory amongst the few incurable outsiders who are inseparable from the idea that revolutionary politics also involve strong independent individuals, and that, with a man like Paul Levi, one will fare much better than with the polite office-managers of radicalism.

    ~ Carl von Ossietsky








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    Palace of the Reich President, Berlin; February 1933






    The finery and opulence that might be expected from the residence of the German head of state was lacking in the interior of the complex.



    There had always been a state service element to the buildings that housed the President ever since the creation of the Republic but its current resident had had any remaining finery limited to what was absolutely required by his constitutional duties.


    A visiting head of state likely would have had some sort of special treatment when visiting but that certainly wasn’t the case entering through the deliveries entrance that led to the complex canteen.


    It had been some time since Adolf Hitler had to be brought into a building so surreptitiously. Even in the early days of the civil war where he had needed to flee the capital he remained the first among equals in being escorted from one safehouse to the next until they had arrived in Hamburg.


    The danger was no longer the Reichswehr but reporters and this way he was safe from them. Only workers preparing lunch could be found in there and to go further would reveal floor after floor of offices cramped with paperwork, as if the building might be held up by files. In fairness the place probably could have been doing with renovation work but the President would have none of it.


    Adolf was certain he would have had a similar no-nonsense attitude to the revolutionary work being conducted here. That self-belief focused him now the same way it had done in a Bavarian jail cell twelve years before. Dressed in black and nodding solemnly to the sombre workers going about their jobs in spite of the national mourning, he didn’t allow himself to lose sight of his goal. Today he would become the second most powerful man in the republic.


    To do that he would have to be appointed by the first.


    Adolf had a great deal of respect for Erich Zeigner, more than he had for most Social Democrats. The man was a fighter and had faced the wrath of the Freikorps and his own party leadership back in the day, primarily because he had been willing to work with Communists when he was Minister-President of Saxony. That legacy was enough to make him an ideal candidate for a United Front President but Zeigner was also a captivating speaker with a fire burning inside of him that Adolf sometimes felt matched his own. Sometimes he had feared Zeigner overshadowed him and felt glad he had stuck with the Social Democrats throughout the years. He could have been a fearsome opponent if he had decided to join the Communist party but this way he could be an ally at arm’s length.


    The fire seemed lacking in the President today. Even as Adolf was beckoned to go into his office Zeigner seemed to have his mind on other things. The room could hardly be described as small but the large amount of paperwork covered up the ornate furnishings that had previously been on display. In this way it was cosy and indistinguishable, both in terms of the files and the grief.



    “I almost turned down your request for a meeting. Comrade Levi’s body is barely cold and you’re already out to get his job. It feels unbecoming.”


    Adolf dwelled on that for a moment. This sorrow could be tapped into but only if he displayed his own.


    “When we received the terrible news of what had happened to Comrade Levi, I was left with the same feeling of emptiness which always occurs when a martyr is taken from the cause. In the sad hour of this occasion it is very hard for me to think of a man whose deeds speak louder and more impressive than anything I could say. That would be unbecoming.”


    Paul Levi was dead and the nation was still in mourning. Complications from a long-term lung infection was the reason given to the public for the Chancellor’s sudden passing. The President and the leader of the largest party in the Reichstag had to maintain this front outside but not to each other.


    “We still haven’t established whether it was an accident or…” Zeigner wasn’t able to finish. He seemed overcome even whilst making a show of trying to work. Now he had dropped his pen.


    “Foul play?” Adolf blurted out.


    “All possibilities are being examined but there is a theory he may have jumped of his own accord.”


    Adolf thought back to the dark place Levi had been in before he had approached him over their joint anxieties of a looming right-wing dictatorship. The United Front had seemed to give him a new lease on life but, despite their successes, two years of trying to get bills passed with no majority in the Reichstag, with compromises that forced one group of workers or the other to be left in the lurch. That was undoubtedly a lot for even the most seasoned politician, perhaps Levi simply couldn’t take it any more?


    It was feasible.


    “We need to do our best by Comrade Levi now he is no longer with us.” Adolf said matter-of-factly. “The circumstances have left the nation shaken, we need a renewed sense of direction.”



    “As you say, time must be taken to process this tragedy. " Zeigner replied sternly.


    “There must be time for mourning as well as contemplation. You will get your opportunity to state your case but as with Comrade Levi, the broader United Front will come into it.”



    “It is a job that I want Erich and I believe it is best to have it declared as quickly as possible. I understand the need to keep the press unaware for the moment but we will soon have to get control of the story around this.”


    “At a time when your party is moving closer to Moscow I cannot see that as us taking control. They threw the man out of your party on Lenin’s orders and you don’t think replacing him with a Communist isn’t going to be part of the story?!”


    “We may need Moscow.”


    The fire in Zeigner was back but now it was directed at him. The absorption of the Austrian Communists into the German party had left Hilter agreeing to the German party taking on an observer role in the Comintern. With Germany’s diplomatic relationship with the Soviet Union blossoming it had seemed like a good time to break bread with Stalin. But the Chancellorship mattered more.



    “Perhaps it was never made clear to you why Levi was willing to join with me.” Adolf went on. “It was because we were both able to see the impending threat that fascism posed to Germany. We must always be vigilant but we now have the Italians on our southern border, with the Crown Prince arranging his return home at an opportune moment. He will capitalise on Levi’s death, believe me.”



    “Regardless of your clairvoyance you are not the only person who might fit the role. The strength of revolutions do not come down to one man after all.”


    “That is true and it is why I have come to the conclusion that it is time for our parties to tie our fates. A united German workers party. One which will enshrine Levi’s sacrifice in perpetuity.”


    “No more political ties with Moscow?”


    “None. If you make me Chancellor we will no longer need them. And then, together, we will build the future he has given us.”


    The deliberations went on for some time but it was becoming clear that Zeigner was coming around to the idea. It was a sacrifice but one made in the name of even greater state power. In his heart, Adolf was grateful that Paul Levi’s own sacrifice had enabled this.



    Just like Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg before him, he had given his life for the cause.




    ---


    The portrait of Erich Zeigner is by Walter Tiemann
     
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    Chapter CXIII

  • Culture, which has for so long – for too long – had only the weapons of the intelligence to defend it against the material weapons of the aggressors, that culture is itself not only an emanation of the spirit but also and above all a material thing. And it is with material weapons that it must be defended.

    ~ Bertolt Brecht, Speech at the Second Congress of Writers for the Defense of Culture





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    Kama Tank School, near Kazan; October 1933





    Beers were passed around whilst the projectionist fumbled with the outdated machinery to the mockery of his comrades. He was always able to respond back that he had proven to be the least useless in getting the thing to work.



    The viewing house wasn’t the most comfortable cinema Peter had ever sat in but it felt like a privilege all the same. The students of the tank school hadn’t had a cinema at all during his previous excursion to the Soviet Union and it felt like a luxury. Even if it was little more than a hut with a screen and some chairs.



    Peter was happy for the distraction, film or not. It was the sort of comfort that made his life easier in the duplicitous role he was playing. He wished he could have pursued something that actually corresponded to his official remit for the National Reconstruction Council but he was glad the People’s Guard were more willing to look after their soldiers despite them being posted so far away. Like the Reichswehr before them events had made it paramount to continue the military cooperation with the Red Army whilst economic cooperation strengthened even further between their two countries. The Soviets needed Germany just as much as the Germans needed them it seemed, though they maintained the rumours of a devastating famine in the months beforehand weren’t true. Their Red Army hosts were more accommodating than they had ever been before, it was one of the reasons they were finally able to get German films in without a lengthy review by Soviet censors.


    The projector spluttered to life and a cheer arose from the assembled audience as the lights in the barn were dimmed. All eyes turned to the newsreel preceding the film before another cheer from the Communist members among the crowd as the first story featured Chancellor Hitler, opening a tractor factory. Those attending the event were also shown to be clapping enthusiastically whilst Hitler spoke about their continued efforts to achieve a powerful worker-based economy. The workers didn’t control the factory itself but they did manage it. Peter supposed that was a start.


    The next story showed that the progress Germany had made wasn’t going unnoticed, some of his supposed colleagues in the National Reconstruction Council were visiting Washington D.C. as part of a trade delegation. The Foreign Minister was pictured in the White House shaking hands with the new American President.


    Roosevelt was no socialist himself but he was clearly impressed by what Germany had achieved and Peter couldn’t help but wonder whether this move was also something of an indication of the United Front’s new direction. The effort to unite the Communists and Social Democrats was a troubled one but perhaps efforts to renew a relationship with the Americans showed that the Communists were willing to indulge the Social Democratic vision of what the republic should be. It certainly seemed to be a concern amongst his comrades.


    Footage of protests in France went on to show yet another French government collapse, this time over increased defence spending. The French left were outraged by this, even if they were far more divided than their German brothers. It was more reassuring to see Spain’s left-wing government survive in the following story. More strife was then shown on the streets of Colombia as a general strike turned into a wave of riots. The screen froze on a man and a woman, apparently the leaders of the dissension, being bundled into a police car.


    Hammering on the projector followed until the machine relented, now a football match between Borussia Dortmund and a visiting Scottish team replaced the couple on the screen. German football had suffered in the wake of the civil war and reconstruction, Dortmund had become one of the better sides by virtue of their squad holding together better than most in the aftermath. All the same the match ended 5-1 to the Scottish side, a complete disaster. Peter was sure his own Bayern Munich would have made short work of the Scots a few years ago, back when they were the major source of local pride in their home city instead of dreams of Bavarian independence.


    There was a general muttering throughout the barn, Peter wasn’t aware of any Dortmund fans amongst them but the German team losing so badly stung them all regardless. It was unifying in its own way but they had settled down by the time the film had begun.


    The feature was called The Testament of Dr Mabuse by Fritz Lang and Thea von Harbou. It was a talkie sequel to a previous two-part silent film made by the pair. Peter had been too young to see the previous film when it had first come out and with his father subsequently denouncing Lang as a Bolshevik he had had to wait until the aftermath of the civil war to watch the thriller.


    Its sequel began with a power plant in an unnamed German city where the workers were complaining of strange noises. They were forbidden from talking about it by the owner of the power plant, only for it to turn out the man was being controlled by the noise. The demonic Dr Mabuse was giving orders to the plant’s owner remotely with his mind, for the criminal mastermind was living in exile in a crypt beneath Rome. The aftermath of the previous films had forced him to flee to Italy where he had first perfected his mind control.


    The heroes of the film were the workers of the power plant instead of the detectives from the first film. The police were portrayed as also being susceptible to Mabuse’s control and aided the owner in attempting to use the power plant to supercharge the villain’s mind power, allowing him to take over the entire city.


    Peter found himself transfixed in a different way by the eeriness of the film. Although the workers found that they were able to resist the hypnosis by their collective class consciousness the film ended without Mabuse being defeated, instead it finished with him resolving that he would try the same scheme over and over in different parts of the country until he was victorious. The screen faded to black with only the warm light used to represent the combined power of the workers flickering until it too faded.


    The lights in the viewing house were turned back on but an awkward silence remained before Peter and his fellow tankers awkwardly started to shuffle out.



    The cold night brought a relief to the tension and soon the group were making their way to the tank school’s bar. Like the cinema it was managed by themselves and provided a socialistic atmosphere amongst the different ranks. Their own triumph of cooperation over hierarchy.


    His colleagues were new to this place, his old group scattered. Klaus’ talents had apparently been deemed sufficiently worthwhile to keep him in the fatherland. Franzhad died in Lehrte alongside many of his former friends in the civil war, whether they had belonged to the secret reading group or not. Those who had survived had fled or were sent back to their families, not ideologically suitable for the People’s Guard. Some were still in prison.


    This left Peter as something of an old man amongst the new set, even though his young face didn’t give him much seniority. His rank had also been elevated beyond his years but the People’s Guard had less consideration for that than the old Reichswehr, especially amongst this small island within the Soviet Union.


    The world's first socialist state was no longer considered to be the epitome of evil in the same way it had been by the Reichswehr, even if the German revolution marched at a different pace fraternisation of the sort Peter could only have dreamed about before now took place openly. The same fears about spies remained in place but it had always been clear that the fraternisation itself had been what had made the Reichswehr leadership so paranoid. The Bolsheviks were not meant to be their friends, merely the enemy of their enemies.


    He paused outside the bar for some fresh air, the stark imagery of the film lingering in his thoughts. The welcoming light from the windows was joined with shouts of greeting as the German party joined the Russians inside. Peter wondered if this was the sort of solidarity the film had been trying to instill.



    In spite of the darkness the silhouettes of the tanks they had been working with stood out defiantly. They represented the continued triumphs of German-Soviet cooperation, an alliance that seemed increasingly to be borne of its time. The bodies of the machines were larger, their shapes more fearsome, than anything the Reichswehr had been working with three years beforehand.


    Soon they would be ready to face the world outside, either to rally against the encroaching darkness, or to spread their light to others.



    Peter wondered if he would be ready by then to embark on another crusade.



    ---



    The still is from The Testament of Dr Mabuse
     
    Chapter CXIV
  • The belief in progress, in the embrace of happiness and perfection by future humanity, appears now as nothing but an illusion, useful perhaps for the maintenance of the status quo, if it is true that man deploys a greater effort in the hope of an indeterminate happiness than he would for the preservation of a state which he often declares himself dissatisfied with.


    ~ Jules de Gaultier, A Critique of the Idea of Progress







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    Lipansk Airfield, near Moscow; November 1933





    The tyres of the Polikarpov biplane made contact with the runway, causing Johann to shudder for a moment whilst his aircraft bounced back into the air momentarily before returning to earth much more calmly.



    Slowly rolling to a halt, he still felt high up in the clouds. The Soviet ground crew approaching him continued on regardless of the dazed look in his eyes, before finally asking if everything had worked.


    “Congratulations Comrades, best thing I’ve ever flown!” Johann chirped before hoisting himself out of the cockpit. The Russians could speak German but focused on hauling the craft away for refueling. Johann didn’t mind, his dreams of returning to the air were being realised at last and nothing could spoil this moment for him.

    The events in Austria had won him plaudits amongst the People’s Guard but also from the new Chancellor.

    Adolf Hitler had promised him before the civil war that the Red Front would soon have need for an air force and he had delivered. Part of this had been Johann’s own experiences in Austria, where Italian control of the sky had left the People’s Guard and their Austrian brethren at a perilous disadvantage. It hadn’t been enough to allow the fascists through the well defended heights of the Brenner pass but it had left an impression on all those involved. Johann had subsequently lobbied for a German air force and, with the Austrian Bundesheer having been incorporated into the People’s Guard, he had new colleagues with experience in setting one up illicitly.

    At the same time international disarmament talks were being pursued the old Reichswehr relationship with the Red Army was being rekindled by the People’s Guard in the same clandestine fashion as their reactionary predecessors. A new generation of German combat aircraft and pilots would be needed in case the talks were to fail and by the time they had, the Treaty of Versailles had become increasingly redundant in the People’s Guard’s calculations.

    The French and Italians had made it clear that nothing would ever remove them as a threat to the German people and so rearmament became essential, particularly now Germany shared a border with both countries.

    It was as good an excuse as any to get him flying again

    German biplanes were in development alongside the Soviet models they were helping to test. The new Heinkel dive bomber was a source of particular pride, being faster and more maneuverable than anything Johann had flown in the days of the Ruhr uprising. He had been rusty after having gone without flying for so long but after having become comfortable with the training craft it was a rush to fly something so powerful. The knowledge that even better planes were in development left him full of anticipation for the future.

    It was a future that Johann was certain would be secured by his fellow German pilots, who now came out to greet him. So far there was no specific uniform for the air wing of the People’s Guard but they were still better put together than Johann in his worn flight suit. All the same he was senior to most of them, many had been toddlers during the World War.

    “How was she?” Asked Heinrich, one of the younger pilots, with an eager grin.

    “Flies like a dream, machine guns work perfectly as well.” Johann responded with similar enthusiasm. The circumstances of why they were here were intoxicating to those with dreams of flying and Johann was reluctant to get out of his flight suit.

    “Glad to know, it’s my turn next.” Heinrich said proudly, as if to dissuade from Johann from trying to have another go at the aircraft that was already refueling. Heinrich had a look of anticipation that many had amongst the German group, Johann knew it well. Some of those in the German mission had flown reconnaissance missions for the People’s Guard, or even dropped leaflets on Reichswehr troops in the closing stages of the war but he doubted any of them would have strafed Freikorps like he had. Flying with live ammunition had that extra sense of adventure to it.

    Johann was ready to head back to his quarters to change and was about to ask Heinrich if he was coming to get his flight suit on whilst the ground crew finished preparing the Polikarpov to go up again. This was before he was distracted by the familiar buzzing sound of another aircraft approaching the airfield.

    “I don’t remember anyone else being scheduled to land.” Johann commented neutrally, transfixed by the large aircraft that wasn’t coming into land. Instead it was now circling above the airfield.

    “I don’t recognise the make. Is it Soviet?” The sound of gunfire seemed to answer Heinrich’s question.

    Soviet flak cannons surrounding the airfield opened up on the aircraft which now ceased circling and began to head back west, the direction it had arrived from. The presence of the anti-aircraft guns had always seemed odd to Johann, the airfield was deep inside the Soviet interior for a reason after all. What enemy nation would be flying this far into Soviet airspace? It seemed someone had considered it worthwhile and now Johann felt he had an opportunity to prove his own worth.

    With an apologetic glance at his young comrade, Johann darted back over to the Polikarpov. The ground crew stood around the biplane, transfixed at the aircraft departing amidst the puffs of smoke caused by the flak.

    “Get me back up there as quickly as possible.” Johann shouted above the din.

    “We don’t take orders from you.” The head of the group refueling the craft replied in heavily accented German.

    “And if you think that you can take-off when there’s flak cannons firing-” The Ukrainian went on to continue before Johann cut him off.

    “The flak cannons have missed, it’s getting away. I’m ready to fly, I can catch it. If you allow me to do so then I take responsibility for the consequences. However, if you prevent me from doing so, that will be your responsibility. And what happens if it becomes clear we just allowed an enemy aircraft to fly away unmolested, no doubt they had cameras. Think about it!”

    The ground crew seemed to make quick calculations of their own whilst the alien aircraft disappeared into the distance, soon it would be unreachable. In the meantime they were now hauling Johann back into his seat with final checks being ignored in favour of clearing the airstrip.

    Johann took off, his fellow pilots cheering in anticipation.

    The Luftstreitkrafte was back.

    Up in the air again he had a chance to recollect his thoughts and wonder whether this was a good idea. He had just apprehended a Soviet plane to go off and pursue an aircraft of unidentified origin. He wasn’t exactly being furtive.

    The aircraft in question came back into view amidst the cloudy blue sky, the small Polikarpov doing its job of outpacing larger opponents. The mystery aircraft was far larger than his own, appearing to be of French design albeit not one he could recognise. It had one wing with four large engines whilst machine gun turrets protruded from the body of the craft Johann swung wide, trying to keep his distance in the hopes he could go unspotted for as long as possible.

    He was still debating on what to do, before the aircraft made its decision for him by trying to dart away.

    Believing he had been spotted, Johann accelerated in order to catch up again, moving in closer. The French markings on the aircraft were clearly visible now although that didn’t necessarily explain where they had come from. It seemed unlikely for it to have come from Syria even with so many engines, at any rate it was still headed west.

    The French plane veered away from him again but it was clear that they remained on that course. Johann was able to exploit the maneuverability and speed of his biplane to outdo the pilot trying to lose him. In response the French went to a higher altitude and warily he followed again. The Polikarpov could purportedly go higher than almost anything flying but he didn’t want to find out it couldn’t when the engine cut out several thousand feet up in the air. It ascended again and he followed above.Johann wondered if the pilot was also unsure of his new aircraft for there was no third attempt.

    They were high above the clouds all the same. Johann kept his eye on the plane’s turrets and moved in once more. He could see they were manned now but as he flew to the left of the aircraft it no longer attempted to evade him. Perhaps their impressive range was limited to only a certain amount of aerobatics or perhaps the pilot had just grown tired of it. Either way he was now able to go wing to wing with him, close enough to see each other.

    They stared at each other momentarily through goggles before Johann raised his hand and pointed downward with his index finger. He repeated the motion with greater emphasis to make sure the French pilot acknowledged his request for him to land. In response he raised his middle finger to the canopy before pulling away again.

    Johann grunted and nervously eyed his fuel gauge. He was enjoying the cat and mouse game but he would not be able to keep it up for much longer if he was to return back to base in one piece. He had no doubt the French aircraft had been able to outlast him in this regard, without further interruption they would make it back to Poland, Romania or wherever else they had come from. Once back they would report on what they had seen, alongside any photos they might have taken or film they might have shot. For them to return back safely would put the defence of the German worker at risk, alongside his own dreams of flight. The time had come to make a decision.

    He wrenched his elevator towards himself in the hope it would convince the French he had given up. Instead he gained height and hovered over the enemy aircraft, before diving into attack. He tried to imagine it was just another test of the weaponry, soaring down before opening fire with his machine guns, scoring a hit on the left side of the French wing.

    Swooping past, Johann noticed one of their engines was now in flames. He thought about trying to threaten the aircraft down but was wary of getting near the enemy turrets. It was unlikely they would remain silent now. The only thing left to do was to make sure the French could not get back at all and that required disabling their engines enough to force them to land.

    Johann soared up once more, taking advantage of the sun becoming more dominant in the sky. The French plane sat glimmering below him and he hoped the crew would be too dazzled to respond. Diving down he prepared to open fire again only for bullets to rattle all around him. The French turret was active and in his surprise the Polikarpov nearly collided with its target.

    The shock was hard for him to process and Johann breathed in and out heavily before coming to his senses. Wasting oxygen was an indulgence he couldn’t afford at this altitude. He had taken the Polikarpov out of immediate danger but his wings were covered with bullet holes, another attempt to bring down the French plane might not allow him such a lucky escape.

    All the same they were getting away and would the Soviets really be happier that he had damaged their aircraft if he had done so only to fail? Would his young comrades have been impressed?

    Johann brought the plane up into the glare of the bright sun once more, even higher this time, before closing his eyes and turning the craft downwards The French aircraft was a much smaller object from this height but it was growing rapidly in size. Johann realised his breath was held in anticipation and suddenly he found himself emitting a defiant roar. The French turret opened up and he responded with his own machine guns. For a moment he was back in Ruhr.

    He soared past the craft only for a different object to fly by him. It was part of the French wing. A very large part. Johann hollered in victory before regaining his breath. The rest of the French aircraft was sent careering down into the clouds, spinning in increasingly violent circles.

    Watching the wild pattern of descent he hovered in vain waiting to see the crew bail out before the craft began to come apart amidst the turbulent descent. The scattered wreckage soon disappeared underneath the clouds.


    Johann made his way back to base in a troubled mood. He had taken off in excitement without entirely thinking his actions through but now he had a story to tell.



    His French counterparts had had theirs taken from them.



    ---



    The painting is Aeropittura 2 by Tulio Cralli.
     
    Chapter CXV
  • We have always predicted that capitalism, having reached its decline, would not fall on its own sword like a ripened fruit. We have never ceased repeating that it would defend its privileges by every violent method, not retreating before fascism and terror.

    ~ Marcel Cachin, In the Factories, at the Building Sites, and at the Stations:
    Demonstrate!






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    Although the circumstances in which the French people found themselves following the end of the First World War made the demise of democracy a likely outcome it would be wrong to consider that the rise of the Pétainregime in France was somehow preordained. The takeover of France by reactionary forces was drawn from lingering resentments found at the beginning of the Third Republic but also the contemporary global crisis.



    The Great Depression was a global crisis but it had arrived in Europe via Germany. German dependence on American investments and loans had seen the country dragged into economic freefall with the Wall Street Crash almost as quickly as the Americans themselves. The French, like the Americans, had maintained an adherence to Gold Standard but in their case it had allowed them to weather the storm. This was because they had manipulated their currency to stabilise their economy, leaving the Franc undervalued in a deflationary shock. Although this had caused problems for the French worker prior to the crash in terms of higher prices and lower wages than their American or German counterparts it had left the French economy far more robust than any other capitalist power. France became seen as a safe haven for capital and the lifting of exchange controls had made it so that by 1932 a third of the global gold supply was held by France.


    This financial stability allowed the French government to pursue state spending to prop up industry in a time where austerity measures were being implemented in all capitalist economies. This strategy did not prevent an increase in unemployment and an economic downturn within France following the German Civil War but the French economy remained the healthiest in Europe for a time. The recovery of first the German and then the American economies would unsettle this and as her economic rivals remerged, French protectionism began to grind the economy to a halt. The depression would only truly catch up to France in the midst of other powers beginning to recover.

    Unemployment skyrocketed in a way the successive had previously assured the French people they were insulated from, the spending used to keep industries afloat had now vanished and in its place were severe cuts to social programs. Disillusionment with the republic was nothing new with French public life and though the French people were now suffering in a way that was common throughout Europe, the drastic solutions being proposed had already had the groundwork laid for them by the preceding decades of turmoil. Whilst the political tensions were heightened by the depression spread across Europe, in France they had already been simmering for a long while.

    The French Third Republic was not beloved by its people. It was a regime borne of a bourgeois revolution and a stifled proletarian one, both having played out with the end of the Franco-Prussian War. Its main legislative organ was an assembly that by the interwar years was evenly divided between centrist, conservative, liberal and socialist parties. This led to countless governments being formed over the twenties and early thirties, none lasting particularly long.

    The character of these coalitions was somewhat consistent, tending to be made up of centrist and conservative figures. and although the rise and fall of successive governments, some only lasting a few days, set-up an almost permanent instability within the French legislature. France was still able to function for as long as the economy remained healthy enough to avoid popular discontent but with economic turmoil came threats from familiar opponents to the bourgeois democracy the republic was built upon.

    This legislative strife had already led to increased militancy on the left but it was divided by the time the crisis point came. The two primary left-wing parties at this time were the social democratic French Section of the Workers International (SFIO) and the Comintern-aligned French Communist Party (PCF) with both being at odds with one another.

    The SFIO had been the primary party of the trade unions and the working class since the beginning of the twentieth century with its own Marxist origins. These had been put aside in the face of the First World War in a similar way to their German counterparts in the name of a more patriotic approach that saw them abandoning the class struggle to collaborate with French parties across the political spectrum in the name of victory.

    The war had dragged on with the SFIO becoming increasingly disenfranchised. The bloodshed and destruction left the party shaken whilst different coalitions throughout saw them increasingly lose influence. Even in victory there was widespread disgust at what the war had wrought on the French nation. Many were left jaded with the patriotic effort and looked towards the ongoing revolution in Russia as an example for the French proletariat to follow. Indeed this was the view amongst the vast majority of party members, when it came to a decision on whether or not to join Lenin’s new Communist International almost two thirds voted to do so. The party leadership disagreed and amidst violent clashes the French Communist Party came into being, taking much of the party membership with it alongside the SFIO paper, L'Humanité.

    The enmity that arose from this split had only grown in the prevailing years of economic and political instability throughout France. Whilst it had initially seemed the PCF might go the way of many left-wing splinters it would become a political force throughout the twenties, gaining seats in the legislative assembly and presence within the trade unions, particularly the railways and the burgeoning aircraft industry. This success came largely at the expense of the SFIO, leaving the working class divided in France.

    The PCF grew stronger but also underwent the process of the ‘Stalinisation’ far more seamlessly than their German counterparts, indeed they joined in the condemnation of Hitler and the KPD after the German split with the Comintern in 1930. A reappraisal of Hitler followed in the wake of the United Front’s victory in the German civil war and their subsequent rise to power but the KPD were still seen as having missed rather than gained an opportunity for the total overthrow of capitalism by the PCF leadership. Any such cooperation with the SFIO was dismissed and the feeling was mutual with factions within both parties being purged for advocating for a similar approach.

    These elements would unite with other disparate leftist groups to form what would in time become a major force within the ‘Renaissance de l'espoir’ movement, the Popular Workers Party (PPT.) For the moment their relevance was minor, their influence being relegated to a handful of towns and a few suburbs with Paris. They would one day come to supplant the reactionary forces within France but at this moment it was the forces of reaction which in the ascendancy. With the left divided it was they who posed the true threat to the Third Republic.

    Although the state of the French left was not dissimilar to that of Germany prior to 1930 the same could not be said for the forces of the right. The Third Republic had always been plagued by reactionaries who saw its inception as the defining moment of French decline. The nature of this varied widely and often hung on resentments based around major crises within the life of the republic, whether it was the Paris Commune, the republican secularisation campaigns against the Catholic church, or most infamously the Dreyfus Affair.

    The Dreyfus Affair had been a scandal in which the French artillery officer Alfred Dreyfus had been convicted of spying for Germany. The evidence for Dreyfus’ conviction was weak however and the eventual reexamining of the case heightened divisions in France. Dreyfus’ Jewish background and the prejudice he had faced because of it won him sympathy in many liberal and left-wing circles, however it also gave rise to new antisemitic and reactionary forces across the society and increasingly within the French military. Dreyfus himself was eventually reconvicted but released upon his acceptance of his initial guilt, a messy compromise designed to settle the affair. Instead the divisions from the incident would only produce a lingering resentment.

    The two primary movements within the French far-right were French Action (AF) who had arisen in reaction to the Dreyfus Affair. Predating the development of Italian fascism this group were embodied with the same beliefs that Mussolini would later impose on Italy; ultranationalism, militarism, and a fervent Catholicism which endured regardless of the Catholic Church officially proscribing the organisation. They were also monarchists, and though Mussolini would also support the monarchy in Italy, the AF saw a return of the monarchy as an instrument of national revival.

    In these goals they were joined by the Patriot Youth (JP), a paramilitary league which framed itself as the continuation of the patriotic desire for revenge against Germany prior to the First World War and now saw themselves as patriotic defenders of the French people from any perceived threats. What they believed these to be were similar to the enemies of the AF and were willing to work alongside them in the joint aim of bringing down the republic’s parliamentary democracy. Both could rely on a broad range of support from sources which were not actively reactionary in their politics but willing to tolerate such movements both at home and abroad,

    The strongest in number were the Cross of Fire (CF), another veterans league albeit one which at this point in time claimed to be non-political. All the same their tens of thousands of members were ready to join in something which could be framed as an anti-communist cause. Many French business leaders and industrialists maintained a similar perspective. In this they were joined by American and formerly German investors who missed the days of France being a financial safe haven. The Catholic church, who had been wary of the Third Republic’s existence ever since its inception, were willing to turn a blind eye. The Holy See had been actively at odds with France ever since the republican’s secularisation campaigns in the late nineteenth century.

    However, not even the Pope could have called upon the same level of support as Philippe Pétain.

    Marechal Pétain’s victory at Verdun in the First World War had made him a living legend and had granted him levels of popularity that few would-be dictators could dream of. In Petain the reactionary right had the leading figure that neither Hohenzollern nor von Schleicher were able to be. Though well into his seventies by 1934 he was happy to entertain notions that he would be the man to lead the nation towards the national rebirth his adherents on the right were calling for. In this the military were willing to follow him.

    The Bastille Day celebrations of 1933 featured a parade of the French military through Paris as its highlight. The quintessentially republican holiday commemorated the storming of the Bastille fortress which signified the beginning of the French revolution. The military were sworn to protect the republic but they had long since grown wary of their democratic masters. The Dreyfus affair had alienated them from the French left and bred scepticism of the democracy they were supposed to uphold. Many officers of monarchist or religious backgrounds had found a home amongst the reactionary right. Many others were simply frustrated over the seeming inability of republican governments to deal with German rearmament whilst suppressing their own desires to professionalise the army. This fueled a feeling throughout much of the officer corps that the republic had to be dismantled for the good of France.


    The reactionaries had the strength and cohesion needed in order to carry out their own vision for France but in Pétain they had the final, decisive, piece of the puzzle. Now all that was needed was a spark, one which a divided and disillusioned left could only react to when it came.



    A fresh scandal would be the perfect opportunity.


    ~ John Penny, The Unpopular Front



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    Sacré-Cœur, Paris, February 1934






    The Sacred Heart basilica stood awkwardly over the capital, above it and beyond it. It had been built in opposition to a century of moral decline that had culminated in the dawning of the French Third Republic. It had stood in judgement of the French people ever since, a visual display of what the liberalism, socialism and secularism of the Third Republic had allowed to fester. It had stood over them in glory, offering an alternative. A path to renewed French strength through the one true faith.



    The Third Republic was at last drawing to a close and Colonel Charles de Gaulle could think of no better site to announce it from. Marechal Pétain, the man all of France now looked to, had decided to call time upon it from this sacred site of all that was pure and holy in France.

    He spoke now to an assembled crowd of tens of thousands.

    A stage of sorts had been constructed in the hours beforehand, with a speaker system hooked up to allow the Marechal to project over the vast crowd gathered around the basilica. De Gaulle stood upon it with several other young officers, flanking the Marechal whilst doing their best to embody the military discipline France needed.


    The Marechal had begun by addressing the French nation on the ill winds he had seen brewing at home and abroad. He spoke of how the time had come to dispense with the years of failure and intrigue that had darkened the post-war age. The time had come to act.


    It had started with a scandal.


    The affair was tempestuous by any measure. The defrauding of Parisian pawn shops via worthless financial bonds had been rather unique in defrauding both the richest and poorest in Parisian society.

    The culprit behind the fraud, Serge Alexandrovich Stavisky had pulled off large cons before but had eventually found himself out of his depth with his one. To defraud the city he had involved many in the highest reaches of Parisian society in his schemes. Including former liberal cabinet ministers.

    For the right this was made all the worse by Stavisky’s religious background and his foreign origins. When justice had caught up with him the previous month he had taken his own life but the scandal had burned through society regardless. Action Francaise had made great play of the scandal, framing it as both a Judeo-Bolshevik plot and a masonic conspiracy designed to undermine what little decency the French people had left.

    De Gaulle did not care for Jews personally but even he had felt uncomfortable with some of the gnashing of teeth around the affair. The wave of unrest that had followed, the tens of thousands of indignant rioters in the centre of Paris had called for military intervention.

    This was not extraordinary in French history, but rarely had the army been on the side of the rioters.

    Quelling the riots had summoned the army to Paris, Marechal Petain had different plans however.

    The Marechal had spoken briefly on the affair itself but he had quickly alluded back to the rot it was indicative of before declaring the path ahead. It was one he had already relayed to his subordinates at the war college when he had first made his plans clear.

    De Gaulle had obeyed him and his presence had brought order to the mob in an unnatural fashion. The entry of the army into the city with Petain at its head had brought acclaim from those seeking a more definitive end to the republic via the scandal whereas those on the left of French politics had reacted with their own protests. It had been easy to put these down, ironically with the aid of those who had previously been the source of disruption.

    The news that the government had fled the city in reaction to Petain’s entry into the city had received a mixed reaction from within the ranks of the war college. Those who had been eager to see the military take its proper place within French society as the defender of the nation from Communist subversion and previously unchecked German aggression had to contend with those wary of igniting a civil war. Most however, had been willing to follow the Marechal regardless of their personal doubts.

    The conscripts had mostly done as they were told and the majority who hadn’t had chosen to desert. There were few signs of armed scuffles as of yet, though from his standpoint de Gaulle could see smoke plumes emanating from the banlieues. It appeared the revolutionaries had been less prepared for this turn of events than their German counterparts, there had been no signs of an armed uprising from them either. Indeed the only immediate danger came from Germany directly where de Gaulle feared desertions might leave France temporarily exposed, even in the name of strengthening her against the German threat.

    Still for every deserter there had been a veteran willing to replace them, the popularity of Pétain was not merely down to Verdun after all. For many veterans of the world war Pétain had been their only true voice in a position of power and now many loyally came to his side. De Gaulle was certain that any attempted revolution, any German invasion, would be crushed. Not necessarily by guns but by the bonds that had been built in the trenches. The sort of fraternity he had sought ever since he was a young boy.

    Pétain now spoke with this spirit and de Gaulle felt all his doubts drain away.

    “It is no longer a question today of public opinion, often uneasy and badly informed,” he now stated,

    “For you, the French people, it is simply a question of following me without mental reservation along the path of honor and national interest. If through our close discipline and our public spirit we can conduct ourselves in the same fashion as so many did at Verdun then France will surmount her enemies and preserve in the world her rank as a European and colonial power.”

    This pronouncement brought more cheers from the crowd but even to those behind Petain it had suddenly become clear that his face had turned stern.

    “Authority no longer emanates from below. The only authority is that which I entrust or delegate.”

    If the crowd was shaken by that pronouncement, the Marechal did not give them a chance to consider it. That was now his right, after all.

    After the promise of a return to order and glory once again Petain’s speech came to an end. He moved from the microphone as the audience was still displaying their acclaim, even whilst the fires on the outskirts of the capital worsened.

    The Marechal stopped in front of de Gaulle before the assembled officers departed the rickety stage.

    “If it is to be my last act on this earth I will see my country’s future secure. I know you believe these political aspirations to be my indulgences but they are hope of France and they are vibrant. And so, my friend, are you. We need a professional military and we need your theories underlying it. The Germans will already be trying to capitalise on this moment of temporary weakness. Together, we will ensure they are put down once and for all.”


    For once, Charles de Gaulle felt lost for words but at last they came.



    “Together, my Chief.”






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    Order Reigns was one of many posters designed and produced anonymously by Atelier Populaire during Mai 68
     
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