Anyway, while I stall for time wait for my laptop to be fixed, here's a a new poll. While I do intend to cover all groups, I'm not sure I can devote my full attention to each individual one. We'll never get to the 80s-90s at this rate. Note that Soviet puppet states aren't included since I would have to look into them individually anyway. :3
Prussia - A Kaliningrad Story (Post WWII USSR Timeline)
- Thread starter Remitonov
- Start date
- Status
Episode 6-4
Sorry for the short post. I'm on tablet, so my typing power is limited.
Sonnenallee, Treptow, East Berlin, German Democratic Republic
Morning, 12th February, 1957 C.E.
'Sun Avenue', intersecting the West Berlin district of Neukölle and East Berlin's Treptow. One of the last remaining links through the Iron Curtain, the avenue's checkpoint is ringed woth border guards, all scouring for anyone attempting to slip across to the capitalist enclave. Heavy penalties and increased enforcement had done little to seal the porous border, the result of the Postdam agreement by the Allied powers. With the once cordial agreement turning into a flashpoint for the Soviets and the East German government, the fear that the West would rob the budding DDR of its best and brightest continued to weigh heavily on its leaders. Something drastic had to be done, a permament barrier as was erected in the inner German border...
But how many would flee before then?
For now, however, such ideas were beyond the thought of Beata, sitting beside her father in a simple Czechoslovak Škoda 1200. It was her first time going on holiday, outside the drab classroom of her East Berlin school. Her father was a simple clerk and a committed communist, and had only managed to squeeze through the constricting bureaucracy of its immigration office to get a visa. And their vacation awaited just next door, in West Berlin, practically their only access to the West at that point.
"Say, Dad," she squealed to her father on the wheel, adjusting her blue shawl and furcoat, "where do you think we should visit first? The Berlin Zoo? Postdamer Plafz?"
"I wish I know, sweetie," the unassuming, dark-haired clerk remarked, adjusting his spectacles, "I never thought we'd get a permit, to be honest. Barely anyone does these days. I didn't want to go too far for a vacation too. That stack of paperwork won't vanish without me around."
"There you go with work again," grumbled Beata, "you barely come home to work as it is."
Bowing his head a bit, the father apologized, "sorry... ever since your mother left, I haven't been spending much time with you. At least for the night, we can spend some time together, just the two of us..."
Hearing about her mother, Beata could hardly understand what he meant. She had hardly been in Beata's life, disappearing one lone night when she was just a baby. Having to struggle between his job and raising a child, her father had found it hard to spend time with his 'little sunshine'. And yet there they were, on a short overnight trip around West Berlin. It seemed like a dream come true. No work, no late nights, just the two of them...
However, as they slowed in front of the border checkpoint, something disturbing was beginning to unfold. There appeared to be a jam, and quite a long one.
"My god," grumbled went the driver, trying to get a better look of the jam, "so much for a first time... Stay in the car. I'll check what's wrong."
Hunched on her seat, the impatient Beata watched as her father packed his visa and passports, storming forward to the angry crowd at the checkpoint. Peering over, she could see a single border guard hailing the crowd with the loudspeaker, trying to appeal for calm. Hordes of incensed commuters, however, responded with frustrated heckles, waving their visas in the air in outrage.
"Do you know how long it took to get this permit," yelled one driver.
"Why did you close the checkpoint," demanded another.
"I have a brother to visit over there," snapped a third, "get a move on!"
Trying not to get flustered, the hapless guard appealed, "please! Please! Everyone, just calm down! We're trying to sort out the technical issues. Please, be patient!"
Spotting another guard approach the hailing guard, Beata could see the latter bending over to listen to his whispers. Raising his voice, he asked, "who here have permits signed by a certain Isaak Weber? If so, please step to the side of the road. We have some questions you like to ask."
"Weber," blurted the surprised clerk, looking down at his visa. To his shock, the paper bore the suspect's signature and name in full ink, as did many of the bewildered commuters around him. Clueless, he and some of the commuters began stepping to the side as ordered, hardly suspicious of the guard's orders. But others, as it turned out, were, and without warning, broke out in a violent stampede.
"It's an arrest warrant," yelled one of the commuters, fleeing at full speed from the checkpoint, "run!"
To Beata's horror, dozens began storming the road, fleeing an increasing cordon of border guards armed with AK-47s. It felt like a flood was coming, seeking to sweep everyone aside. As panicked passengers began fleeing their vehicles as well, the helpless Beata could only watch her father in the midst, shambling around in bewilderment at the surreal escapade. Ironically, as his 'reward' for heeding the guard's orders, he was suddenly wrestled to the ground by a pair, his hands raised in the air as he begged his captors not to hurt him. Screaming as the guards began pounding him with their rifle butts and boots, the mortified Beata tried to yank the door open. But more guards were already at the scene, beating and pinning down anyone they saw.
"W-Why are they doing this," Beata mumbled in terror, huddled on her seat as she tried to block out the screaming, "what're we doing wrong? We... we're just going on vacation!"
Beatrise Kutsche's 'vacation' had only just begun...
Cast
Sonnenallee, Treptow, East Berlin, German Democratic Republic
Morning, 12th February, 1957 C.E.
'Sun Avenue', intersecting the West Berlin district of Neukölle and East Berlin's Treptow. One of the last remaining links through the Iron Curtain, the avenue's checkpoint is ringed woth border guards, all scouring for anyone attempting to slip across to the capitalist enclave. Heavy penalties and increased enforcement had done little to seal the porous border, the result of the Postdam agreement by the Allied powers. With the once cordial agreement turning into a flashpoint for the Soviets and the East German government, the fear that the West would rob the budding DDR of its best and brightest continued to weigh heavily on its leaders. Something drastic had to be done, a permament barrier as was erected in the inner German border...
But how many would flee before then?
For now, however, such ideas were beyond the thought of Beata, sitting beside her father in a simple Czechoslovak Škoda 1200. It was her first time going on holiday, outside the drab classroom of her East Berlin school. Her father was a simple clerk and a committed communist, and had only managed to squeeze through the constricting bureaucracy of its immigration office to get a visa. And their vacation awaited just next door, in West Berlin, practically their only access to the West at that point.
"Say, Dad," she squealed to her father on the wheel, adjusting her blue shawl and furcoat, "where do you think we should visit first? The Berlin Zoo? Postdamer Plafz?"
"I wish I know, sweetie," the unassuming, dark-haired clerk remarked, adjusting his spectacles, "I never thought we'd get a permit, to be honest. Barely anyone does these days. I didn't want to go too far for a vacation too. That stack of paperwork won't vanish without me around."
"There you go with work again," grumbled Beata, "you barely come home to work as it is."
Bowing his head a bit, the father apologized, "sorry... ever since your mother left, I haven't been spending much time with you. At least for the night, we can spend some time together, just the two of us..."
Hearing about her mother, Beata could hardly understand what he meant. She had hardly been in Beata's life, disappearing one lone night when she was just a baby. Having to struggle between his job and raising a child, her father had found it hard to spend time with his 'little sunshine'. And yet there they were, on a short overnight trip around West Berlin. It seemed like a dream come true. No work, no late nights, just the two of them...
However, as they slowed in front of the border checkpoint, something disturbing was beginning to unfold. There appeared to be a jam, and quite a long one.
"My god," grumbled went the driver, trying to get a better look of the jam, "so much for a first time... Stay in the car. I'll check what's wrong."
Hunched on her seat, the impatient Beata watched as her father packed his visa and passports, storming forward to the angry crowd at the checkpoint. Peering over, she could see a single border guard hailing the crowd with the loudspeaker, trying to appeal for calm. Hordes of incensed commuters, however, responded with frustrated heckles, waving their visas in the air in outrage.
"Do you know how long it took to get this permit," yelled one driver.
"Why did you close the checkpoint," demanded another.
"I have a brother to visit over there," snapped a third, "get a move on!"
Trying not to get flustered, the hapless guard appealed, "please! Please! Everyone, just calm down! We're trying to sort out the technical issues. Please, be patient!"
Spotting another guard approach the hailing guard, Beata could see the latter bending over to listen to his whispers. Raising his voice, he asked, "who here have permits signed by a certain Isaak Weber? If so, please step to the side of the road. We have some questions you like to ask."
"Weber," blurted the surprised clerk, looking down at his visa. To his shock, the paper bore the suspect's signature and name in full ink, as did many of the bewildered commuters around him. Clueless, he and some of the commuters began stepping to the side as ordered, hardly suspicious of the guard's orders. But others, as it turned out, were, and without warning, broke out in a violent stampede.
"It's an arrest warrant," yelled one of the commuters, fleeing at full speed from the checkpoint, "run!"
To Beata's horror, dozens began storming the road, fleeing an increasing cordon of border guards armed with AK-47s. It felt like a flood was coming, seeking to sweep everyone aside. As panicked passengers began fleeing their vehicles as well, the helpless Beata could only watch her father in the midst, shambling around in bewilderment at the surreal escapade. Ironically, as his 'reward' for heeding the guard's orders, he was suddenly wrestled to the ground by a pair, his hands raised in the air as he begged his captors not to hurt him. Screaming as the guards began pounding him with their rifle butts and boots, the mortified Beata tried to yank the door open. But more guards were already at the scene, beating and pinning down anyone they saw.
"W-Why are they doing this," Beata mumbled in terror, huddled on her seat as she tried to block out the screaming, "what're we doing wrong? We... we're just going on vacation!"
Beatrise Kutsche's 'vacation' had only just begun...
Cast
- Beatrise Kutsche (CV: ベアトリス)
- Klaus Kutsche (CV: ?)
Yup. It's only a matter of time before Princess Principal characters make their debut. 
Yup. It's only a matter of time before Princess Principal characters make their debut.
Of course. They're right next to my random dream-idea of them sabotaging an experimental Reich airship guarded by Tanya and co, but that one is harder to nail out. :3
Trivia: Uniform Designs by kyuzoaoi
*checks poll*
I see an unusually high demand for Estonians, next to East and SE Asians, Latvians and Finns.
Good news is, I'm actually working on a draft for East Asians, complete with cast members to work with. Estonians, thou... :V
EDIT:
Also, some uniform designs by kyuzoaoi. Wasn't expecting any, but it was nice of him to make some. :3
I see an unusually high demand for Estonians, next to East and SE Asians, Latvians and Finns.
Good news is, I'm actually working on a draft for East Asians, complete with cast members to work with. Estonians, thou... :V
EDIT:
Also, some uniform designs by kyuzoaoi. Wasn't expecting any, but it was nice of him to make some. :3
Last edited:
I'm still working on it, sorry. A bit stuck on the latter part. Here's a hint why:
EDIT: Good news is, I'm almost done! I should have it out tonight or tomorrow. :3
Last edited:
Chapter 6-5
Frederick Ballroom, Swissôtel Kaiserhof, Kyonigsberg, Kyonigsbergskaya Stolitsa
Night, 30th January, 2016 C.E.
‘…in all, a total of 80,000 new Germans were registered in Kaliningrad from 1956 to 1963. More than half, some 52,000 were Germans from the Soviet Union, emigrating from far-flung areas such as Sverdlovsk and Petropavl. Most of the remainder, approximately 25,000, were East Germans, most of who were economic migrants. An estimated 7,000 were abductees captured and exiled by the Stasi, a small number compared to the 3.5 million who had emigrated to West Germany during this period. It is not known how many potential defectees were deterred or intimidated by rumours of the abduction program. But historians generally agreed that the stop-gap measure, intended to deter defections until the construction of the Berlin Wall, were largely ineffective in stemming the tide. Regardless, thousands of political prisoners were to be exiled to the West Baltic SSR – the so-called ‘Prison Republic’ – from 1956 to the 1980s…’
Gleaning through the personal effects on display, the girls could sense a strange contrast between the migrants’ fates. While the narrative of the ‘prison oblast’ held true for many East Germans caught in the abduction program, the same could not be said of a great number of others. Most had simply wanted a better life, leaving behind their home towns for an alien land nestled on the coast of the Baltic Sea. In many ways, the tales of the German Diaspora were not too different many other groups. But the myth of the ‘prison country’ never went away, and the belief that those of German blood would seek a German restoration still rang strong among the noble caste that once ruled Prussia. But time had shown some the error of their judgement, though many apparently refused to acknowledge that Prussia was no longer the same.
“Come to think of it,” Vasilka queried Ludmilla, looking over an old passport belonging to Vissarion, “I could have sworn I’ve seen that name before…”
“That’s because we did,” chimed Ludmilla, point at the label below, “’on loan from Professor Roman Vissarionovich Vorarlberg’. It’s on the exhibit.”
“That’s a bit surprising,” blurted the blonde Russian, “small world…”
“Oi, we’re heading back in,” Ausra suddenly called out, waving to the two at the ballroom entrance. Giggling to each other, the two girls simply rejoined their friends, their unspoken bond strong as ever, within their little circle of friends.
Arriving back inside the ballroom, the girls could still see the rift between the rival camps. While peppered with dancers waltzing to the live orchestra, it was not hard to tell from their movements how little they were crossing the floor. Only the front stretch, crowded by the younger guests, was more mixed, but even then, it was not hard to see the divide.
“Your sister is quite popular, isn’t she,” chimed Leila to her cat-faced friend, as they watched Astrid being accosted by a group of young naval cadets. As the elder Kaufmann blew her top at particularly short, feisty young man in a bandana, Zisel could not help but chime, “she is. She’s an instructor in the marines, after all, but she also trained army cadets from time to time. They like to call her a little demon. You think if I stepped in, they’d get frightened?”
“I doubt so, Zisel,” Laila refuted her; “those are military academy brats. You’re too nice and cute to pass of as an instructor. They’ll find out right away.”
As the boys’ attention turned to the trio, the bashful girls gave a light wave to Astrid’s wards. Among them, a short young boy with orange spiky hair gave a large grin, waving back while his friends gave a more muted response. Unsurprisingly, the scowling sister bent over in his view, her eyes gleaming with ire. Unwilling to get sucked in, the trio quickly fled back to the others’ company, abandoning the young cadet to a grim fate.
“Where the hell is your tact,” Tarana chastised the three, “we’re school idols. You don’t just wave at random boys. The paparazzi will snap that up.”
“Please…” Maria grumbled, “we’re not that popular. Just look around. Barely anyone’s ever spoken to us, besides Ludmilla’s acquaintance.”
“Naïve,” Tarana criticised, “you plebs have no idea the kind of social status you’ve attained, especially you, Zisel. If people knew your relationship with your sis, her charges will get her no end of grief.”
“Don't be silly,” Zisel went, clearly not perturbed, “her recruits are already giving her that. She told me all about it.”
Cringing at the unfettered reaction, the Azeri merely grunted, “You…”
“I see Starshina Kaufmann hasn’t changed a bit,” another voice added, a regal, princely tone in his speech, “I almost forgot how nasty she was.”
Cutting in was a dashing young man with curly, silken gold hair, his navy blue, Prussian naval uniform impeccable as always.[2] His adjutant, a chiselled redhead, accompanied beside him. Jumping a bit, most of the girls, Tarana especially, were a bit shocked to have an officer speak to them. But Zisel appeared totally unfazed, greeting the men with her usual cat-like grin.
“Reinhard, Eckbert,” Zisel blurted, “I wasn’t expecting you two here.”
“Yes, we’ve only just docked this morning, Ms Kaufmann,” the blonde captain responded courteously, “the Königsberg is already at the end of her days. Might be the last time she sorties out.”
“You know these men,” Tarana yelped in shock, her jaws agape as she broke out in cold sweat. Giving a light chuckle at the girl’s reaction, the blonde introduced himself, “Reinhard von Sommer, Captain 2nd Rank of the Prussian Navy’s Koni-class frigate, Kyonigsberg.[1] This is my adjutant, Captain-Lieutenant Eckbert Berger. Her sister gave us a hard time back when we were cadets,” he quipped half-jokingly, “if I couldn’t tell the two apart, I might have hit her by mistake.”
“Careful, Captain... She’ll get angry if you do that,” Eckbert quipped to his friend before turning to the girls, “don’t worry about it, he’s just joking. She might look irritable, but she cares a lot about her trainees. We’re not naval infantry, but we’ve had some scrapes at close quarters ourselves. Can’t say we’re not grateful to her.”
“A-Ah…” Tarana went, still a bit disturbed at Zisel’s acquaintance, “my name is Tarana, and this is Maria. I suppose you had an invite?”
“Yes,” he went, a slight melancholy on his face, “the Junker Association wouldn’t miss the chance to add more men in uniform to the batch, even from noble families with almost absolutely no reputable actions. Nothing but a hollow expression of lost power, this ball... Between ourselves, I’d never have attended if there wasn’t someone here I’m looking for. And no, if you’re wondering, it’s not Starshina Kaufmann. She’s not my type anyway. What of you, young ladies? A friend in high places, perhaps?”
“Well…” Zisel crooned, “she’s not rich or anything. She’s just-“
“Achtung! Achtung! May I have your attention, please~!”
At the corner of her ear, a high-pitched, forced chuckle rang like sandpaper as the girls peered at the forefront of the hall. Surrounded by a tuxedo-wearing posse, a young, pompous-looking blonde in an ornate, custom white uniform was a bit too loud for comfort, blasting shrilling German for all to hear. Ringing his wine glass to gain attention,
“Who is that,” Tarana whispered to the others, a bit put off by his shrilling voice, “he sounds like a pampered hick.”
“That,” Reinhard answered with a hint of disdain, “is Prince Wilhelm Ferdinand, son of Prince Christian Sigismund of the House of Hohenzollern; fifth in line to the crown of the German Empire. That means, he’s also concurrently in line for the crown of the Prussian kingdom.”
“What’s this talk about succession,” Tarana went, “what part of ‘republic’ in our country’s designation do they not understand?”
“The part where Prussia as the progenitor of the modern German nation has ceased to exist,” Reinhard stated, “even though the current head of the Hohenzollern family, Georg Friedrich, has stated that he and his family would refuse the crown of Prussia if it were ever restored. Wilhelm’s father, in such a case, would then be first in line to the kingdom of Prussia-“
“-and him as his heir,” Ritva grunted, crossing her arms with a sulk on his face. As the prince began his speech, a quick glance around the crowd showed just how little affection he was getting. The elder Junkers, for one, could only dream of a return of Hohenzollern rule, but the same cannot be said for many others. Much less could be said about Wilhelm’s own peers, the young men and women who would make up the aristocracy in his Prussian kingdom. Fortunately, it appeared that most, even the uniformed cadets on board, wanted nothing of Wilhelm’s deluded ambitions.
“Attention~! Attention, please~,” the prince announced in a crisp German accent, struggling a bit with his English as he rang his wine glass, “may I have your attention~! Ladies, gentlemen, fellow guests… Once again, I extend my warmest welcome to this hallowed night. In eight months, we celebrate the quarter-centennial of Prussia’s liberation from communist oppression. Twenty-five years on that day, justice has been delivered! The suffering of the expellees, who were ruthlessly driven out of their home by the barbaric Red Army, has been righted at last! However, much still needs to be done! With your support, we will bring back, by grace of God and nations, the inalienable right of our forefathers! This coming parliamentary election, me and the National Movement for Order and Progress plan to stand in as the true representatives of the people and the restoration of our kingdom of Prussia.”
Peering around the audience, the girls could see a fair few heads whispering to each other. The Junkers by the prince’s side reacted with a mix of enthusiasm and scepticism. Some did not appear sure if he could succeed, while others are too optimistic or dense to doubt it. The other guests, however, were far less kind. Some elder Baltic Germans scoffed at the idea. Many more reacted with outrage.
“Is he crazy,” questioned Vasilka aghast, “what makes him think we want a monarchy?”
“He doesn’t care if you don’t want a monarchy,” Reinhard grumbled, trying to restrain his disgust for the prince, “he only cares if they want one. The Germans comprise about a fifth of the entire population, yet our influence in Prussia is disproportionate to our size. While most of us are from former East Germany and Russia, many Germans here are former expellees who have returned to reclaim their lost lands. They and their descendants have a vested interest in restoring the Prussia they knew and loved before the Second World War. These are the people he’s trying to win over. Most will never say it out loud without being accused of Nazism, but they do not see the current Prussia as a legitimate nation-state. In their eyes, each and every one of you, save the German race, is an illegal squatter on hallowed German soil.”
The grim tone of his voice and the stern look in his eyes said it all. The prince was an idiot and an extremist; a seditious party who held absolute contempt for Prussia’s current inhabitants. While his party had next to no hope of breaking into the Seym, Prussia’s unicameral parliament; that did not mean he was incapable of angering others. Biting her lips, Vasilka had to wonder why he was allowed into the country at all.
“The monarchy is dead, Wilhelm,” declared a young woman in the crowd in Russian, “only a clown would think of expelling two out of two-and-a-half million people.”[3]
Stepping out to confront the prince, a young blonde girl with a delicately-tied braid appeared stern at Wilhelm’s announcement. Marvelling at her pristine white dress, Ausra asked, “who’s that? She looks pretty.” The intrigued murmurs around her only confirmed the Lithuanian’s words, as Ludmilla gave a coy smile.
“She,” Ludmilla quipped gingerly, “is Anastasia Romanova; Maria Vladimirovna’s granddaughter and grandniece to the late Tsar Nicholas II.”
“Tsar Nicholas II,” Zisel yelled in shock, “that makes her over a hundred years old! She barely looks older than us.”
“She said ‘grandniece’, idiot,” Maria corrected her, “not ‘daughter’.”
“What’s she doing here, though,” Mariyne queried, “she’s not German nobility.”
“Technically, she is,” Ludmilla refuted gingerly, “the Romanov’s male line ended a long time ago. The current Romanovs’ claim their lineage from Peter II of Holstein-Gottorp, son of a German duke and Peter the Great’s daughter. Some say the line ended altogether with Catherine the Great’s son, Paul I, allegedly illegitimate from her lover. Regardless, this princess is particularly troublesome for Prince Wilhelm.”[4]
“Why,” Ausra asked, munching on a cupcake as she observed the altercation.
Giving a devious smile, the Ungern-Sternberg stated coyly, “her father is a Hohenzollern.”[4]
Tensing up at the sight of the Romanov princess, Wilhelm’s usual smug face twisted into an ugly scowl. Self-control, it appeared, was his weakness, and he had no qualms letting his ire show. But more importantly, he appeared silent on her criticism. Unbeknownst to the girls, it was not because he was not quick to retort. He literally did not understand her words. Russian was a language he never bothered to master.
“Who invited this harlot,” he blustered, wagging his finger angrily at Anastasia as he tried to hide his inability to understand Russian, “you think I don’t understand a word you said? You’re mocking me, aren’t you!?”
“If you never had the will to master the dominant tongue of your future subjects, what hope do you have of winning a single seat in the Seym,” Anastasia reprimanded, this time in English, “this Prussia is the legal successor of the West Baltic Soviet Socialist Republic, not the province of East Prussia. You are holding on to a pipe dream you have no hope of returning to. Not only that, how do you intend to win enough votes with that platform? Half the room alone is made up of people who have a lot to lose if you got into power.”
“Don’t bullshit with me,” the jittered prince denied, “the threshold for entry into the Seym is five percent. I don’t need-“
“Do you honestly believe you do not need other votes,” Anastasia criticized again, “you’ll find that’s not easily the case. At your current course, you’ll have trouble even competing for far-right German voters with the Teutonic Front. In what world do you think you can subvert a democracy with such paltry efforts?”
Wilhelm felt overwhelmed. Outraged beyond belief, he could see the folks behind her jeering him like rabble, ready to back her up. Unconsciously trying to down the air in his empty glass, Wilhelm looked close to breaking into a tirade. But the aide by his side was quick to quell his temper, whispering a few words in his ear as he finally simmered down.
“You’d love that, won’t you,” he sneered back in a quivering voice, exasperated by the taunting, “our crown on your head. You have no chance to reclaim your birthright against the oligarchs, so you’re going after me. But I’ll tell you this… I’d die than hand over my crown to you!”
“Are you prepared to back up that statement,” Anastasia calmly refuted him, “because I see a lot of people among us who are prepared to back up theirs. The constitution of the Prussian republic protects the sovereign rights and freedoms of each and every citizen, regardless of race, language, religion and creed. Are you prepared to stake your life prying their home away from them?”
This finally cut the prince short. Glancing through the crowd, Wilhelm was confronted with the glares of many uniformed young men. Army, navy, air force, police… it hardly mattered which branch they were from. All of them swore an oath upon joining to protect the people and constitution of Prussia. And that oath did not include Wilhelm, his family or a crown.
His hand trembling as the glass rattled on his finger, Wilhelm found himself conceding, “fine… you made your point. But know this… you can’t hide what happened seventy years ago. Every Slav, every Turk and god-knows-who-else know very well they’re living on the graves of centuries of German history. Don’t expect any gratitude from me.”
‘Gratitude’… It was an audacious claim from an arrogant German dynast. At no point did Prussia – the new Prussia – expect any sort of gratitude from the expellees. The expellees were able to return simply because they could, not out of any sort of obligation to right any wrongs. However, Prussia’s sudden revival, when the very idea of recovering any territory east of the Oder-Neisse had long perished, had caught the newly reunited German nation off-guard. That so many would become disillusioned by the lack of compensation was of little surprise.
“I hate to think people like him are common,” Ritva grumbled, watching the prince storm off, “and from how he sounds, he must think she’s a usurper.”
“Well, the tabloids do enjoy harping on it,” Reinhard admitted, “a rather unhealthy obsession of his. Even a brainless twit like him could tell. If there ever were a choice for a monarchy, its people would choose her over him. It’s part of a long list of things he despise about its current inhabitants. Had he come a few years earlier he would have already been arrested for sedition.”
Biting her lip, Vasilka reacted a bit more aversely than the others. After all, who, out of the four serving prime ministers so far, had prosecuted people for sedition? Gram had nothing of it in Tonchev’s years as his Minister of the Interior, and certainly not the ones that came after. As much as she would have liked to see the arrogant prince’s reaction to an arrest by the UB, it was hard to pretend it was not a charge abused by far lesser leaders than him.[5]
“Well, my apologies for the spectacle,” Reinhard answered, “it’s one of the many reasons I don’t usually come for this sort of functions. In any case, enjoy the evening, ladies. And send my regards to the sergeant for me, Miss Kaufmann.”
As the two naval officers parted with them, Vasilka was starting to understand why Ludmilla was this reluctant to come. The meaningless politicking, the facades… it was almost like a hive of snakes. Whispering in her ear, she asked, “should we take our leave too? I’m beginning to understand why you hate this place.”
A sincere smile on her face, Ludmilla admitted, “it’s ok. I know who I am. I’m the great-great-granddaughter of the Mad Baron, and the great-granddaughter of the Lion of Xinjiang.[6] I’ve known that as Airi Haneda and Ludmilla von Ungern-Sternberg. But I’m also Ludmilla, student of Singenwaldhang Girls High and her school idol group, Muse. That’s the ‘me’ my friends see. You and the others…”
It was hard to escape the past, both for Ludmilla and Vasilka. No one has a choice of who their family was, or where they came from. But the granddaughter of Vladimir Tonchev knew they could still choose who they wanted to be. Their fathers made the choice to live their own lives, and so would they.
“Duel,” screamed an excited young guest at the door, “there’s a duel coming up at the gym!”
“Who,” blurted some of the patrons, the murmurs filling the room again as they overheard the shouts.
“Some army colonel and naval captain,” blurted the lad, “Bassenheim and Sommer, I think.”
Overhearing the commotion, Ausra yelped in astonishment, “wasn’t that the guy we were talking to earlier!? What’s going on?”
“I… I don’t know,” Vasilka admitted, “I have no idea.”
The night was not over yet.
OOC Notes
Cast
Night, 30th January, 2016 C.E.
‘…in all, a total of 80,000 new Germans were registered in Kaliningrad from 1956 to 1963. More than half, some 52,000 were Germans from the Soviet Union, emigrating from far-flung areas such as Sverdlovsk and Petropavl. Most of the remainder, approximately 25,000, were East Germans, most of who were economic migrants. An estimated 7,000 were abductees captured and exiled by the Stasi, a small number compared to the 3.5 million who had emigrated to West Germany during this period. It is not known how many potential defectees were deterred or intimidated by rumours of the abduction program. But historians generally agreed that the stop-gap measure, intended to deter defections until the construction of the Berlin Wall, were largely ineffective in stemming the tide. Regardless, thousands of political prisoners were to be exiled to the West Baltic SSR – the so-called ‘Prison Republic’ – from 1956 to the 1980s…’
Gleaning through the personal effects on display, the girls could sense a strange contrast between the migrants’ fates. While the narrative of the ‘prison oblast’ held true for many East Germans caught in the abduction program, the same could not be said of a great number of others. Most had simply wanted a better life, leaving behind their home towns for an alien land nestled on the coast of the Baltic Sea. In many ways, the tales of the German Diaspora were not too different many other groups. But the myth of the ‘prison country’ never went away, and the belief that those of German blood would seek a German restoration still rang strong among the noble caste that once ruled Prussia. But time had shown some the error of their judgement, though many apparently refused to acknowledge that Prussia was no longer the same.
“Come to think of it,” Vasilka queried Ludmilla, looking over an old passport belonging to Vissarion, “I could have sworn I’ve seen that name before…”
“That’s because we did,” chimed Ludmilla, point at the label below, “’on loan from Professor Roman Vissarionovich Vorarlberg’. It’s on the exhibit.”
“That’s a bit surprising,” blurted the blonde Russian, “small world…”
“Oi, we’re heading back in,” Ausra suddenly called out, waving to the two at the ballroom entrance. Giggling to each other, the two girls simply rejoined their friends, their unspoken bond strong as ever, within their little circle of friends.
_________________________
Arriving back inside the ballroom, the girls could still see the rift between the rival camps. While peppered with dancers waltzing to the live orchestra, it was not hard to tell from their movements how little they were crossing the floor. Only the front stretch, crowded by the younger guests, was more mixed, but even then, it was not hard to see the divide.
“Your sister is quite popular, isn’t she,” chimed Leila to her cat-faced friend, as they watched Astrid being accosted by a group of young naval cadets. As the elder Kaufmann blew her top at particularly short, feisty young man in a bandana, Zisel could not help but chime, “she is. She’s an instructor in the marines, after all, but she also trained army cadets from time to time. They like to call her a little demon. You think if I stepped in, they’d get frightened?”
“I doubt so, Zisel,” Laila refuted her; “those are military academy brats. You’re too nice and cute to pass of as an instructor. They’ll find out right away.”
As the boys’ attention turned to the trio, the bashful girls gave a light wave to Astrid’s wards. Among them, a short young boy with orange spiky hair gave a large grin, waving back while his friends gave a more muted response. Unsurprisingly, the scowling sister bent over in his view, her eyes gleaming with ire. Unwilling to get sucked in, the trio quickly fled back to the others’ company, abandoning the young cadet to a grim fate.
“Where the hell is your tact,” Tarana chastised the three, “we’re school idols. You don’t just wave at random boys. The paparazzi will snap that up.”
“Please…” Maria grumbled, “we’re not that popular. Just look around. Barely anyone’s ever spoken to us, besides Ludmilla’s acquaintance.”
“Naïve,” Tarana criticised, “you plebs have no idea the kind of social status you’ve attained, especially you, Zisel. If people knew your relationship with your sis, her charges will get her no end of grief.”
“Don't be silly,” Zisel went, clearly not perturbed, “her recruits are already giving her that. She told me all about it.”
Cringing at the unfettered reaction, the Azeri merely grunted, “You…”
“I see Starshina Kaufmann hasn’t changed a bit,” another voice added, a regal, princely tone in his speech, “I almost forgot how nasty she was.”
Cutting in was a dashing young man with curly, silken gold hair, his navy blue, Prussian naval uniform impeccable as always.[2] His adjutant, a chiselled redhead, accompanied beside him. Jumping a bit, most of the girls, Tarana especially, were a bit shocked to have an officer speak to them. But Zisel appeared totally unfazed, greeting the men with her usual cat-like grin.
“Reinhard, Eckbert,” Zisel blurted, “I wasn’t expecting you two here.”
“Yes, we’ve only just docked this morning, Ms Kaufmann,” the blonde captain responded courteously, “the Königsberg is already at the end of her days. Might be the last time she sorties out.”
“You know these men,” Tarana yelped in shock, her jaws agape as she broke out in cold sweat. Giving a light chuckle at the girl’s reaction, the blonde introduced himself, “Reinhard von Sommer, Captain 2nd Rank of the Prussian Navy’s Koni-class frigate, Kyonigsberg.[1] This is my adjutant, Captain-Lieutenant Eckbert Berger. Her sister gave us a hard time back when we were cadets,” he quipped half-jokingly, “if I couldn’t tell the two apart, I might have hit her by mistake.”
“Careful, Captain... She’ll get angry if you do that,” Eckbert quipped to his friend before turning to the girls, “don’t worry about it, he’s just joking. She might look irritable, but she cares a lot about her trainees. We’re not naval infantry, but we’ve had some scrapes at close quarters ourselves. Can’t say we’re not grateful to her.”
“A-Ah…” Tarana went, still a bit disturbed at Zisel’s acquaintance, “my name is Tarana, and this is Maria. I suppose you had an invite?”
“Yes,” he went, a slight melancholy on his face, “the Junker Association wouldn’t miss the chance to add more men in uniform to the batch, even from noble families with almost absolutely no reputable actions. Nothing but a hollow expression of lost power, this ball... Between ourselves, I’d never have attended if there wasn’t someone here I’m looking for. And no, if you’re wondering, it’s not Starshina Kaufmann. She’s not my type anyway. What of you, young ladies? A friend in high places, perhaps?”
“Well…” Zisel crooned, “she’s not rich or anything. She’s just-“
“Achtung! Achtung! May I have your attention, please~!”
At the corner of her ear, a high-pitched, forced chuckle rang like sandpaper as the girls peered at the forefront of the hall. Surrounded by a tuxedo-wearing posse, a young, pompous-looking blonde in an ornate, custom white uniform was a bit too loud for comfort, blasting shrilling German for all to hear. Ringing his wine glass to gain attention,
“Who is that,” Tarana whispered to the others, a bit put off by his shrilling voice, “he sounds like a pampered hick.”
“That,” Reinhard answered with a hint of disdain, “is Prince Wilhelm Ferdinand, son of Prince Christian Sigismund of the House of Hohenzollern; fifth in line to the crown of the German Empire. That means, he’s also concurrently in line for the crown of the Prussian kingdom.”
“What’s this talk about succession,” Tarana went, “what part of ‘republic’ in our country’s designation do they not understand?”
“The part where Prussia as the progenitor of the modern German nation has ceased to exist,” Reinhard stated, “even though the current head of the Hohenzollern family, Georg Friedrich, has stated that he and his family would refuse the crown of Prussia if it were ever restored. Wilhelm’s father, in such a case, would then be first in line to the kingdom of Prussia-“
“-and him as his heir,” Ritva grunted, crossing her arms with a sulk on his face. As the prince began his speech, a quick glance around the crowd showed just how little affection he was getting. The elder Junkers, for one, could only dream of a return of Hohenzollern rule, but the same cannot be said for many others. Much less could be said about Wilhelm’s own peers, the young men and women who would make up the aristocracy in his Prussian kingdom. Fortunately, it appeared that most, even the uniformed cadets on board, wanted nothing of Wilhelm’s deluded ambitions.
“Attention~! Attention, please~,” the prince announced in a crisp German accent, struggling a bit with his English as he rang his wine glass, “may I have your attention~! Ladies, gentlemen, fellow guests… Once again, I extend my warmest welcome to this hallowed night. In eight months, we celebrate the quarter-centennial of Prussia’s liberation from communist oppression. Twenty-five years on that day, justice has been delivered! The suffering of the expellees, who were ruthlessly driven out of their home by the barbaric Red Army, has been righted at last! However, much still needs to be done! With your support, we will bring back, by grace of God and nations, the inalienable right of our forefathers! This coming parliamentary election, me and the National Movement for Order and Progress plan to stand in as the true representatives of the people and the restoration of our kingdom of Prussia.”
Peering around the audience, the girls could see a fair few heads whispering to each other. The Junkers by the prince’s side reacted with a mix of enthusiasm and scepticism. Some did not appear sure if he could succeed, while others are too optimistic or dense to doubt it. The other guests, however, were far less kind. Some elder Baltic Germans scoffed at the idea. Many more reacted with outrage.
“Is he crazy,” questioned Vasilka aghast, “what makes him think we want a monarchy?”
“He doesn’t care if you don’t want a monarchy,” Reinhard grumbled, trying to restrain his disgust for the prince, “he only cares if they want one. The Germans comprise about a fifth of the entire population, yet our influence in Prussia is disproportionate to our size. While most of us are from former East Germany and Russia, many Germans here are former expellees who have returned to reclaim their lost lands. They and their descendants have a vested interest in restoring the Prussia they knew and loved before the Second World War. These are the people he’s trying to win over. Most will never say it out loud without being accused of Nazism, but they do not see the current Prussia as a legitimate nation-state. In their eyes, each and every one of you, save the German race, is an illegal squatter on hallowed German soil.”
The grim tone of his voice and the stern look in his eyes said it all. The prince was an idiot and an extremist; a seditious party who held absolute contempt for Prussia’s current inhabitants. While his party had next to no hope of breaking into the Seym, Prussia’s unicameral parliament; that did not mean he was incapable of angering others. Biting her lips, Vasilka had to wonder why he was allowed into the country at all.
“The monarchy is dead, Wilhelm,” declared a young woman in the crowd in Russian, “only a clown would think of expelling two out of two-and-a-half million people.”[3]
Stepping out to confront the prince, a young blonde girl with a delicately-tied braid appeared stern at Wilhelm’s announcement. Marvelling at her pristine white dress, Ausra asked, “who’s that? She looks pretty.” The intrigued murmurs around her only confirmed the Lithuanian’s words, as Ludmilla gave a coy smile.
“She,” Ludmilla quipped gingerly, “is Anastasia Romanova; Maria Vladimirovna’s granddaughter and grandniece to the late Tsar Nicholas II.”
“Tsar Nicholas II,” Zisel yelled in shock, “that makes her over a hundred years old! She barely looks older than us.”
“She said ‘grandniece’, idiot,” Maria corrected her, “not ‘daughter’.”
“What’s she doing here, though,” Mariyne queried, “she’s not German nobility.”
“Technically, she is,” Ludmilla refuted gingerly, “the Romanov’s male line ended a long time ago. The current Romanovs’ claim their lineage from Peter II of Holstein-Gottorp, son of a German duke and Peter the Great’s daughter. Some say the line ended altogether with Catherine the Great’s son, Paul I, allegedly illegitimate from her lover. Regardless, this princess is particularly troublesome for Prince Wilhelm.”[4]
“Why,” Ausra asked, munching on a cupcake as she observed the altercation.
Giving a devious smile, the Ungern-Sternberg stated coyly, “her father is a Hohenzollern.”[4]
Tensing up at the sight of the Romanov princess, Wilhelm’s usual smug face twisted into an ugly scowl. Self-control, it appeared, was his weakness, and he had no qualms letting his ire show. But more importantly, he appeared silent on her criticism. Unbeknownst to the girls, it was not because he was not quick to retort. He literally did not understand her words. Russian was a language he never bothered to master.
“Who invited this harlot,” he blustered, wagging his finger angrily at Anastasia as he tried to hide his inability to understand Russian, “you think I don’t understand a word you said? You’re mocking me, aren’t you!?”
“If you never had the will to master the dominant tongue of your future subjects, what hope do you have of winning a single seat in the Seym,” Anastasia reprimanded, this time in English, “this Prussia is the legal successor of the West Baltic Soviet Socialist Republic, not the province of East Prussia. You are holding on to a pipe dream you have no hope of returning to. Not only that, how do you intend to win enough votes with that platform? Half the room alone is made up of people who have a lot to lose if you got into power.”
“Don’t bullshit with me,” the jittered prince denied, “the threshold for entry into the Seym is five percent. I don’t need-“
“Do you honestly believe you do not need other votes,” Anastasia criticized again, “you’ll find that’s not easily the case. At your current course, you’ll have trouble even competing for far-right German voters with the Teutonic Front. In what world do you think you can subvert a democracy with such paltry efforts?”
Wilhelm felt overwhelmed. Outraged beyond belief, he could see the folks behind her jeering him like rabble, ready to back her up. Unconsciously trying to down the air in his empty glass, Wilhelm looked close to breaking into a tirade. But the aide by his side was quick to quell his temper, whispering a few words in his ear as he finally simmered down.
“You’d love that, won’t you,” he sneered back in a quivering voice, exasperated by the taunting, “our crown on your head. You have no chance to reclaim your birthright against the oligarchs, so you’re going after me. But I’ll tell you this… I’d die than hand over my crown to you!”
“Are you prepared to back up that statement,” Anastasia calmly refuted him, “because I see a lot of people among us who are prepared to back up theirs. The constitution of the Prussian republic protects the sovereign rights and freedoms of each and every citizen, regardless of race, language, religion and creed. Are you prepared to stake your life prying their home away from them?”
This finally cut the prince short. Glancing through the crowd, Wilhelm was confronted with the glares of many uniformed young men. Army, navy, air force, police… it hardly mattered which branch they were from. All of them swore an oath upon joining to protect the people and constitution of Prussia. And that oath did not include Wilhelm, his family or a crown.
His hand trembling as the glass rattled on his finger, Wilhelm found himself conceding, “fine… you made your point. But know this… you can’t hide what happened seventy years ago. Every Slav, every Turk and god-knows-who-else know very well they’re living on the graves of centuries of German history. Don’t expect any gratitude from me.”
‘Gratitude’… It was an audacious claim from an arrogant German dynast. At no point did Prussia – the new Prussia – expect any sort of gratitude from the expellees. The expellees were able to return simply because they could, not out of any sort of obligation to right any wrongs. However, Prussia’s sudden revival, when the very idea of recovering any territory east of the Oder-Neisse had long perished, had caught the newly reunited German nation off-guard. That so many would become disillusioned by the lack of compensation was of little surprise.
“I hate to think people like him are common,” Ritva grumbled, watching the prince storm off, “and from how he sounds, he must think she’s a usurper.”
“Well, the tabloids do enjoy harping on it,” Reinhard admitted, “a rather unhealthy obsession of his. Even a brainless twit like him could tell. If there ever were a choice for a monarchy, its people would choose her over him. It’s part of a long list of things he despise about its current inhabitants. Had he come a few years earlier he would have already been arrested for sedition.”
Biting her lip, Vasilka reacted a bit more aversely than the others. After all, who, out of the four serving prime ministers so far, had prosecuted people for sedition? Gram had nothing of it in Tonchev’s years as his Minister of the Interior, and certainly not the ones that came after. As much as she would have liked to see the arrogant prince’s reaction to an arrest by the UB, it was hard to pretend it was not a charge abused by far lesser leaders than him.[5]
“Well, my apologies for the spectacle,” Reinhard answered, “it’s one of the many reasons I don’t usually come for this sort of functions. In any case, enjoy the evening, ladies. And send my regards to the sergeant for me, Miss Kaufmann.”
As the two naval officers parted with them, Vasilka was starting to understand why Ludmilla was this reluctant to come. The meaningless politicking, the facades… it was almost like a hive of snakes. Whispering in her ear, she asked, “should we take our leave too? I’m beginning to understand why you hate this place.”
A sincere smile on her face, Ludmilla admitted, “it’s ok. I know who I am. I’m the great-great-granddaughter of the Mad Baron, and the great-granddaughter of the Lion of Xinjiang.[6] I’ve known that as Airi Haneda and Ludmilla von Ungern-Sternberg. But I’m also Ludmilla, student of Singenwaldhang Girls High and her school idol group, Muse. That’s the ‘me’ my friends see. You and the others…”
It was hard to escape the past, both for Ludmilla and Vasilka. No one has a choice of who their family was, or where they came from. But the granddaughter of Vladimir Tonchev knew they could still choose who they wanted to be. Their fathers made the choice to live their own lives, and so would they.
“Duel,” screamed an excited young guest at the door, “there’s a duel coming up at the gym!”
“Who,” blurted some of the patrons, the murmurs filling the room again as they overheard the shouts.
“Some army colonel and naval captain,” blurted the lad, “Bassenheim and Sommer, I think.”
Overhearing the commotion, Ausra yelped in astonishment, “wasn’t that the guy we were talking to earlier!? What’s going on?”
“I… I don’t know,” Vasilka admitted, “I have no idea.”
The night was not over yet.
OOC Notes
- The Koni-class frigates were a class of Soviet-made anti-submarine warfare ships intended to replace the older Riga-class, but were instead exported to friendly countries. Formerly part the German Democratic Republic’s Volksmarine, the Berlin - Hauptstadt der DDR, Rostock and Halle were scrapped in OTL in the 1990s following the fall of the Berlin Wall. ITTL, the ships were purchased by the nascent Prussian Navy, following the failure of negotiations with the Russian government regarding the division of assets of the Baltic Fleet, much of which were located in the West Baltic (and in OTL, still is). The current names of the vessels are as follows:
- Kyonigsberg - formerly Berlin-Hauptstadd der DDR, named after OTL Kaliningrad
- Tsimmerbude - formerly Rostock, named after OTL Svetly
- Sventomest - formerly Halle, named after OTL Mamonovo
- The current Prussian naval uniform is based on the former East German Volksmarine and the Soviet Baltic Fleet, though I picked the former as a visual reference. See kyuzoaoi's work on Prussian military uniforms for details.
- My earlier estimate of 6 million, as it turned out, was wildly off the mark, so I reduced it to 2.5 million, about level with other small-sized countries
- OTL information. Maria Vladimirovna’s heir and Anastasia’s father (ITTL) is Grand Duke George Mikhailovich of Russia, or George Michael of Prussia from his father’s line, Prince Franz Wilhelm of Prussia. The reason Wilhelm is this petrified is because Anastasia’s father has a legitimate claim on the throne of Prussia, if a weaker one than his. Anastasia herself doesn’t, but the idea of a Russian-majority Prussia voting in another monarch than his family is a grave concern for him.
- The Security Bureau, or UB, (Russian: Управление безопасности; Upravleniye bezopasnosti) is the domestic intelligence agency of the Prussian police services, succeeding the West Baltic branch of the KGB alongside its foreign intelligence counterpart, the Foreign Intelligence Directorate (IRU) (Russian: Иностра́нное разве́дывательное управле́ние; inostránnoye razvedyvatel'noye upravleniye).
- The Mad Baron is OTL, belonging to you-know-who. However, ITTL, Roman escaped to China following the overthrow of the Bogd Khan. ITTL, the Lion of Xinjiang is the moniker given to his son, Nikolai, based on a vignette I've wrote on him.
Cast
- Singenwaldhang Girls High School (from left to right)
- Aušra Švedaitė (CV: 高坂 穂乃果)
- Ritva Pajari (CV: 園田 海未)
- Mariyne Mugu (CV: 南 ことり)
- Maria Hayrapetyan (CV: 西木野 真姫)
- Tarana Irevani (CV: 矢澤 にこ)
- Vasilka Lyobomirova Toncheva (CV: 絢瀬 絵里)
- Ludmilla Aleksandrovna von Ungern-Sternberg (CV: 東條 希)
- Leila Pääsuke (CV: 小泉 花陽)
- Zisel Kaufmann (CV: 星空 凛)
- Prussian Navy
- Starshina/Master Sergeant (OR-8) Astrid Kaufmann (CV: アネット・ホーゼンフェルト) - Zisel's elder sister
- Captain 2nd Rank Reinhard von Sommer (CV: ラインハルト・フォン・ローエングラム)
- Captain-Lieutenant Eckbert Berger (CV: ジークフリード・キルヒアイス)
- Cadets (first picture above)
- Guests
- Prince Wilhelm Ferdinand von Hohenzollern of Prussia (CV: シュヴァーン)
LackeyPersonal Guard (CV: マギー)
- Princess Anastasia Georgievna Romanova (CV: アセイラム・ヴァース・アリューシア)
- Prince Wilhelm Ferdinand von Hohenzollern of Prussia (CV: シュヴァーン)
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Both royal pretenders seem incredibly delusional, but Wilhelm Ferdinand-kun is the most delusional of them all.
Given that I based him off Prince Schwan of ACCA 13-Territory Investigation Dept., he's not going to win any seats in the Seym, that's for sure.
As for Anastasia/Not!Asseylum, I tried not to make her seem crazy (she doesn't believe in forcing a monarchy on Prussia, given most people don't want it anyway). Not sure if it worked. :V
EDIT: OOC Notes updated with more info.
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Both royal pretenders seem incredibly delusional, but Wilhelm Ferdinand-kun is the most delusional of them all.
It's strange considering Ludmilla's family has a reputation for crazy heirs (even more than OTL, where Roman's bloodline ended with him). His eldest son earned the name 'Lion of Xinjiang' for this little stunt in my vignette, and many, many more throughout 30s-40s China. And her grandfather and father are only a little more down to earth.
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Crazyness must run in the family!It's strange considering Ludmilla's family has a reputation for crazy heirs (even more than OTL, where Roman's bloodline ended with him). His eldest son earned the name 'Lion of Xinjiang' for this little stunt in my vignette, and many, many more throughout 30s-40s China. And her grandfather and father are only a more down to earth.
It most probably is the cause of centuries of inbreeding and the influence of the Mad Baron.
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