Stories of the Kaiserreich

Story 6
So We Came Home


It was very dangerous to play in the hills these days, or at least that was what the grown-ups said. Everyone seemed to be afraid of the constant German air raids from occupied France. Richard didn't pay much mind to those concerns though. His family was far from those big cities of London and Birmingham. Oh he had seen a handful of German planes but they never were dropping bombs on his house or in his fields. he had gotten a right good scolding from his mother for being out when that was happening though. It wasn't his fault that the one air raid siren didn't reach him when he was out with his friends!

So who really could stop him if he wanted to play out in the hills? No one, that's who! Not his big sister Molly or anyone else! Besides, it was so lonely out here these days now that so many of the older young boys and girls were put to work. He knew that it was supposed to be good work that they were doing, but it still was sad that his friends had to go away. So for now Richard would play by himself and hope that all the older Children would be safe at home soon. Some of the adults were talking about the Germans coming in the South, but all that seemed so far away.

It was on the crest of a hill that Richard thought he saw something funny below and to the west of him. In a standing oak tree, sitting on a strong branch, there was a man. He dressed like a soldier, but not any type of soldier that Richard recognized from the posters or the market square. Now, his mother and father taught him to never talk to strangers, but Richard was curious all the same. The soldier was sitting in the tree, leaning back easily under the other branches as if he was waiting for something.

If Richard were older and paid more attention to the radio or the adult talk at the dinner table he might've remembered that no soldiers were supposed to be posted to this area of the hills. They were all dedicated to defending more important urban centers from the suspected German naval invasion. Curious as young boys are, and as interested in the new and unexpected as they are wont to be, Richard moved closer to the tree with the strange man. It looked like he had a radio next to him and it sounded like it was playing some sort of jazz music like the ones that the older children liked to dance to.

When Richard got closer he could see the soldier also looked to be young, not that much older than the children that were put to work by the government. Richard got within a stone's throw from the soldier before he was properly noticed, it seemed the young man was listening so intently to the radio as not to notice the boy at first. When the soldier noticed Richard he raised a quirked eyebrow at the young lad before he cleared his throat.

"Good morning," The soldier said with a cheerful voice as if all was right in the world, "It's a lovely day eh?"

Richard had always been taught to be polite at least, and so with his own smile replied.

"Yes it is! Much nicer than the four days of rain earlier!"

In fact it was just the perfect day in the countryside. The skies were clear and bright without so much as a hint of a cloud in the air.

"What are you doing in that oak tree mister?" Richard asked as he tilted his head to the side.

"Me? I'm just waiting for the radio," The soldier cocked his head over to listen to his radio as the music cut out.

"Waiting for what, your favorite song?" Richard began to take a closer look at the soldier's uniform and began to notice just how different it was from the other soldiers.

For one thing the soldier had a funny hat instead of those round helmets the other soldiers had. His uniform was also darker and had a lot more pockets. Yet one thing that stuck out above all was that the flag on his uniform was wrong. His flag was blue with the Union Jack while the normal soldier's was red with the Union Jack.

Richard thought he was forgetting something important but found himself sparked out of thinking when the radio perked up.

"Oh it's starting, listen close lad!" The soldier turned on his side and leaned his ear close to his ham radio.

Richard wasn't in the tree up with the soldier but he found himself moving closer to the tree to get a better listen.

"This is Nicholas Faircrest and you're listening to Royalist Radio. We come to you now with an important announcement. All regular programing has been canceled. In his will, our late King George V stated that this speech was to be played on eve of Operation Reclamation. Today is that day, we are coming home. God Save the King."


The Soldier clambered out of his place in the tree and grabbed his radio. Holding it close to his person. He looked to Richard with another bold smile and then pointed to the next hill over.

"Lad, if you want to see something spectacular, come and follow me!" With that the soldier took off towards the hill.

Richard remembered that from that little hill you could see the coast where a handful of fishermen took in their small catch. Sometimes he would go out to look at the waves when he wasn't playing in the hills. What could be so exciting to see today of all days. Richard's small legs couldn't carry him as fast as the soldier's, but even so he followed up the hill behind him. Richard could hear little snippets of what was being said on the radio.

"We can go home again..."


When they reached the crest of the hill it seemed a small fog was rolling in. A light early morning’s fog that looked like something that would blow away in the next few hours or minutes.

The soldier put down his radio as he kept his eyes towards the sea. A old voice Richard did not recognize continued to speak up.

“We shall fight in the Isles,
We shall fight on the seas and oceans,
We shall fight with growing confidence, and growing strength in the air.
We shall retake our island, whatever the cost may be.”


The fog began to roll away, and from the mist came a vision more fantastical than any storybook Richard had ever known. Cutting through the fog and the blue waters of the Atlantic was a massive armada of ships and landing craft. Flying above them was a flurry of aircraft in beautiful wingtip formations. Richard could not clearly see the flags from this distance, but there were so many and with so much color that he knew a great many nations were assembled here.

“When future generations speak of what we have done here,
they will say, it was our finest hour.”


“Your mum and dad talk much about the old days?” The soldier asked while the ships rolled in with the tide, drawing closer and closer to the beach.

“No Mister,” Richard felt his heart pounding in his chest with excitement, “My uncle used to a lot, before he went away to the city.”

“My mum and da miss my uncle, I miss him too,” Richard confessed as the soldier slung his rifle over his shoulder, “Mister, what’s going on?”

“Citizens of Britannia, no longer shall you suffer the yoke of the syndicalist lie!
No longer, shall you cower in fear”


The soldier reached in his pack and unfolded something out of his bag. It was a flag, a full flag with a simple Union Jack. Bright and bold, the symbol of an Empire, the true symbol of Britannia.

“Hang this on your door, son. Go back to your mum and da, tell them to break out the King’s set of China,” He handed the young boy the flag, “Tell them, the king and your cousins are coming home!”

“Men of Britain - Wales, Scotland, and Ireland.
Your king demands it.
Stand for your freedom, today is the day of reclamation.”


Richard wasn’t sure he understood everything that was going on. But something in his heart felt as though it was leaping with excitement. He began running down the hill back home with his new flag. Above him, planes of a dozen nations flew high and proud. It was impossible to know why, but young Richard knew that he’d remember this day the rest of his life. August 22, 1944. This was the Day of Return, the Day of Reclamation.
 
Amazing writing as always Jank! I especially like how you are hinting at darker things going on, and the style gives me some parallels to The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas. Always like to see a good Ententewank, beats a boring Syndiewank any day.

I have literally never understood the unironic Entente love myself.

Mate
 
Definition from the dictionary of the logical fallacy "Reductio ad Pelley"

The first case is by implying that since Pelley supported a policy, such policy is immoral. Two ideologically opposite examples of the fallacy:
1- Pelley supported a (whites only) welfare state, so all supporters of a welfare state are legionarist and white supremacists;
2- Pelley was a (excomungated) Christian, so all Christians are legionarist and white supremacists.

The second definition of the fallacy is when someone tries to claim that if Pelley supported one policy, the opposite policy is good based only and solely on that. Here two ideologically opposite examples:

1- Pelley hated the Entente, so the Entente is good;
2- Pelley supported isolationism, so diplomatic hawkish against Germany or the Entente is positive.
 
Story 7
That fateful day

I remember the hope everyone had when Reed and Long came to negotiate with the president.

Despite all that happened to us, the depression, the riots, we all thought that between these leaders, a compromise could be found.
If the Republicans and Democrats could find common ground, whey couldn't long and reed? they both claim to fight for the common man after all.

Remember seeing that photo of a minuteman sharing a smoke with a red guard militia in the newspaper?

But we were wrong. Dead wrong.

With Long's inability to compromise for all to see, everyone felt like the end is nigh and there is no turning back.
I think that it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, you see the irony? Long being Long, but the people choose to act.
Not just in St. Louis but all across America, in every city, everywhere.

Brother attacking brother, Fathers against sons.

Everyone lost their mind.

And who won in the end? no one. We all lost.
 
Story 8
New Orleans, capital of the American Union State. August 3rd 1937:

Huey Long is with his entire cabinet. They all look quite and slightly dishevelled.

" What's the word from the front? How are our boys doing?" Long asked.

General George Van Horn Moseley just looked at him. Even from where he was sitting, Long could smell the alcohol on him. "We're losing mister President. Badly."

"What?!"

"That's defeatist talk!" William Pelley shouted angrily.

"It's the goddam truth!" Moseley shouted. "No matter how many men we've got on the front, no matter how many gun-toting rednecks, sheet-wearing illiterates and liquored-up hillbillies we've drafted, the Reds keep advancing, with barely any causalities of their own. We've throw wave after wave at them, but the damn Jew-lovers keep mowing them down with machine gun fire and tanks. Hundreds of tanks! We may have lost half a million men across the entire northern front!"

Pelley was undeterred. "That's impossible. Good, Godley White men would never lose that easily to those Syndicalist heathens!"

Moseley glared at him. "They might do better if your damn Silver Legion weren't shooting them in the back!"

Long turned to look at him angrily. " What's he talking about Bill?"

Pelley touched his Klan lapel nervously. "It's...for discipline. To remind the men that cowardice in the face of duty will not be tolerated ."

"Your thugs are rounding up our soldiers at random and executing them. If not, they're at the rear of the battlefield, shooting anyone they think will try to escape or surrender." Mosley snapped.

Long slammed his fist into the table, shaking it. "This is outrageous Bill! You'll have to answer for this!"

"We need to keep discipline in the ranks. Order!" Pelley insisted. " We need to push them forward to secure the future of the White race!"

"It wont matter at this rate," Mosley slurred. "Our spies say that every factory in the Rust Belt is working overtime to produce ammunition and vehicles for Reed's troops. Seems the workers are happy to work long hours just to win this war. We thought they'd protest and give up...but we were wrong. That and the fresh volunteers from France and Britain have given the Reds a boost in numbers and moral. Not to mention the darkies and Red sympathisers in North Carolina have rebelled and inflicted heavy causalities on our garrisons."

Long shook his head angrily. "But we can't lose. It's not just about us. Everyone in the Union State has made sacrifices for the good of America. I refuse to allow those sacrifices to be for nothing. I refuse to believe that after all of this suffering and death, the America we love will be destroyed!"

Moseley shook his head. "In a different world, Mr President, you would have been one of the greatest leaders our country ever had. But not in this world, I'm afraid. It's over....they're coming."

He leaves the room. Then after a few short moments, the sound of gunfire could be heard, and the loud thump of a body hitting the floor out in the hallway.
 
Story 9
Olympic Sweepstakes Schnitzer

This was inspired by an old episode of the Simpsons I re-watched recently....;)

Berlin, Germany 1984


Oskar Burkhart walked into the studio, where a set of one of his restaurants had been built. He hated making commercials. The studio lights, the makeup, it was unbearable for him. But, as the CEO of one of Germany’s largest fast food chain, it was expected for him to partake in this from time to time, especially now. It was a big year for the Kaiserreich, after all.


Hamburg had been chosen to host the 1984 Summer Olympics, and they were determined to make it perfect. They had not hosted the games since Berlin in 1924, even with the global order they had established. Every company was unveiling their special products, hotels had been booked over a year in advance. It seemed like every house now had a flag on display, something he had not seen since the Second Weltkrieg. Even the commercial zeppelins that travelled across the world proudly displayed the Imperial flag as they floated serenely across the land.


The director made his final checks with the cameramen, then looked to the CEO. “Alright, Herr Burkhart, please stand on your mark.”


He sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”


A stagehand sat down near the camera and held up the cue cards. The director announced “Rolling...in five, four, three, two...”


Oskar forced a smile and began to recite his lines. “Hello, Germany! We are only two months from the Olympic Games, and we at Himmlers Köstliches Huhn wish to celebrate with you! That is why, we are introducing our ‘Germany Wins!’ scratch cards! Get one with each meal purchase, and if our athletes win a gold medal, you get a free Chicken Schnitzel burger!” He gave his trademark “thumbs up” and smile. "Go, Germany!"


“And cut!” shouted the director.


Immediately, the facade dropped. As much as he hated doing these commercials, Oskar knew they were vital. After all, HKH didn't become one of the largest fast food companies in the world by sheer luck. It was through hard work, perseverance and these annoying commercials that allowed the company to become one of the leading restaurant chains in the Reichspakt (with new restaurants popping up in the Entente, the Co-Prosperity Sphere and the Ottoman Empire; as well as neutral nations such as Ireland, Ethiopia and the Pacific States). The company certainly went through a rough patch after the founder Heinrich Himmler unexpectedly committed suicide on May 23, 1945. Although Oskar did often wonder if that was for the best, considering the unsettling rumors of Himmler's controversial political beliefs.


He walked off as Jacob, one of his assistants, approached. “Excellent work, sir! We’ll be able to have that on every network by the end of the week!”


“Get to the point, Jacob. How much is this going to cost us? The shareholders aren't going to like that we're giving away free food.”


“Not to worry, sir. We’ve already rigged the cards. They're all in events that Syndicalists never loose. Especially the Americans.”


Oskar smiled. "Excellent, Jacob. Excellent. Everyone will be too drunk to realize it. And even if they did, they'll never be able to prove it."


At that moment, his secretary Sofie Becker rushed in. “Sir, there’s just been a report from headquarters that I really think you need to see.”


“My flight to Dar es-Salaam leaves in an hour, Miss Becker. Please give me the short summary."


“The Internationale are boycotting the Olympics. Germany is unopposed in most of the events.”


Hearing this, Oskar paled. “Jacob...how does this affect our giveaway?”


Jacob took out a calculator and put in some numbers. “The company stands to lose 44 million 'marks.”


“Mein Gott...”
 
Last edited:
Olympic Sweepstakes Schnitzer

This was inspired by an old episode of the Simpsons I re-watched recently....;)

Berlin, Germany 1984


Oskar Burkhart walked into the studio, where a set of one of his restaurants had been built. He hated making commercials. The studio lights, the makeup, it was unbearable for him. But, as the CEO of one of Germany’s largest fast food chain, it was expected for him to partake in this from time to time, especially now. It was a big year for the Kaiserriech, after all.


Hamburg had been chosen to host the Summer Olympics, and they were determined to make it perfect. They had not hosted the games since Berlin in 1924, even with the global order they had established. Every company was unveiling their special products, hotels had been booked over a year in advance. It seemed like every house now had a flag on display, something he had not seen since the Second Weltkrieg. Even the commercial zeppelins that travelled across the world proudly displayed the Imperial flag as they floated serenely across the land.


The director made his final checks with the cameramen, then looked to the CEO. “Alright, Herr Burkhart, please stand on your mark.”


He sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”


A stagehand sat down near the camera and held up the cue cards. The director announced “Rolling...in five, four, three, two...”


Robert forced a smile and began to recite his lines. “Hello, Germany! We are only two months from the Olympic Games, and we at Himmlers Köstliches Huhn wish to celebrate with you! That is why, we are introducing our ‘Germany Wins!’ scratch cards! Get one with each meal purchase, and if our athletes win a gold medal, you get a free Chicken Schnitzel burger!” He gave his trademark “thumbs up” and smile. "Go, Germany!"


“And cut!” shouted the director.


Immediately, the facade dropped. As much as he hated doing these commercials, Oskar knew they were vital. After all, HKH didn't become one of the world's largest fast food companies in the world by sheer luck. It was through hard work, perseverance and these annoying commercials that allowed the company to become one of the leading restaurant chains in the Reichspakt (with new restaurants popping up in the Entente, the Co-Prosperity Sphere and the Ottoman Empire; as well as neutral nations such as Ireland, Ethiopia and the Pacific States). The company certainly went through a rough patch after the founder Heinrich Himmler unexpectedly committed suicide in May 23, 1945. Although Oskar did often wonder if that was for the best, considering the unsettling rumors of Himmler's controversial political beliefs.


He walked off as Jacob, one of his assistants, approached. “Excellent work, sir! We’ll be able to have that on every network by the end of the week!”


“Get to the point, Jacob. How much is this going to cost us? The shareholders aren't going to like that we're giving away free food.”


“Not to worry, sir. We’ve already rigged the cards. They're all in events that Syndicalists never loose. Especially the Americans.”


Oskar smiled. "Excellent, Jacob. Excellent. Everyone will be too drunk to realize it. And even if they did, they'll never be able to prove it."


At that moment, his secretary Sofie Becker rushed in. “Sir, there’s just been a report from headquarters that I really think you need to see.”


“My flight to Dar es-Salaam leaves in an hour, Miss Becker. Please give me the short summary."


“The Internationale are boycotting the Olympics. Germany is unopposed in most of the events.”


Hearing this, Oskar paled. “Jacob...how does this affect our giveaway?”


Jacob took out a calculator and put in some numbers. “The company stands to lose 44 million 'marks.”


“Mein Gott...”
I love it.
 
Story 10
From the New World


Parliament Hill, Ottawa

The feeling in the room was tense as generals and politicians alike looked to the Prime Minister at the head of the table. William Lyon Mackenzie King was not one to give away his thoughts easily in his expression. The leader of the Liberal Party, and the architect of Bill C-7 and the Constitution Act had devoted untold amounts of time and energy in building up the nation, and news from the south threatened to place that all in jeopardy. While Canada had been rebuilding, the United States had been crumbling in terms of public order and civil unrest.

A seemingly unending Great Depression combined with Germany’s Black Monday left the economic giant reeling, and not even the interventionist Garner-Lang Bill seemed to offer the panacea that Americans were hoping for. Canada for its part had extended its hand towards the United States after the renegotiation of the war debts being deferred for the time being. It had seemed to Ottawa that Washington might look on their neighbors to the north with a friendlier eye as Canadain money helped fund shipyards in Corpus Christi and factories in Tennessee.

But the news from Chicago and New Orleans had changed everything. Huey Long and Jack Reed had both declared themselves the rightful leaders of the country after the failed negotiations in Chicago. The Rust Belt and the Deep South were in chaos as several state governments declared they would not answer President Olson and General MacArthur’s demands for surrender. On the 59th day of the 60 day deadline, at 7:42 Eastern Standard time, a phone call came to Parliament Hill. It was President Olson, calling directly from the Oval Office.

King had been in his private office, preparing for the special meeting of cabinet and the chiefs of staff.

“Prime Minister, I call you today on a matter that concerns the security and freedoms of both our two great nations,” One could hear the stress and tiredness in his voice, held under a mask of professionalism and statesmanship, “It is not hyperbole to state that the fate of the entire continent might be decided in the coming months.”

Military units and militarized portions of the mounted police were already stationed along the Great Lakes and the New England Borders. The Commonwealth had even requested forces from the Carribean to supplement the forces that were sitting, waiting. Everyone on Parliament Hill, Liberal, Tory, Progressive, and Loyalist, knew the danger of letting a new syndicalist power rise in the vast United States. Some argued for staying out of the inevitable sprawling conflict, but the phone call by President Olson put things in another potential perspective.

“Relations between our two great nations have not always been amiable, but I believe that we share common values if not always common cause,” Olson had gone on and King listened carefully. He knew that there were times the most difficult thing, and the correct thing, was to be patient, “It is in that common cause that I call you today.”

“Mr. President, Canada has been watching the situation to the south very carefully,” The Prime Minister bit his lip slightly, carefully didn’t begin to describe the flurry of activity and debate that had been going on across the Commonwealth, “It is the opinion of my government that the affairs of America will echo across the world. I won’t say I was expecting a call like this, but...”

“But you had plans either way,” Olson finished for King, “Any leader would.”

“You said you had a reason for calling, Mr. President, and I know it wasn't just to ask about the winter weather in Canada.”

“Then I’ll cut to the point, my generals tell me that even in the best case scenario it will take months to defeat even one of the rebel factions, years to defeat them both. The fact remains that their bases of power are far from the federal bases and strong points.”

“But not Canada’s lines,” The Great Lakes were all that seperated Canada’s armed forces from Chicago and Detroit, two of the syndicalists largest strongholds, “I don’t think I’ve jumped the gun here.”

“No you haven’t, Prime Minister,” Olson sounded as though he had just exhaled a huge sigh, “I haven’t been blind to the buildup along the border, I’ve read all the reports. If Canada thinks it’s going to make a move across that line it’s going to be on my terms.”

Olson stressed the my, evidently he had not forgotten his place as leader of the most powerful republic in the world despite his stress.

“What are you suggesting?” King gripped the phone a bit tighter, but kept his voice calm, now was no time for bluster.

What the President had offered Prime Minister King boiled down to Entente intervention in exchange for American support in future conflicts and further econonmic and politcal cooperation. President Olson had stopped short of saying that America would commit to the Entente as an alliance partner, but the door would certainly be mucher further open.

King had put down the phone without giving a firm yes or no answer, and told the President he would call back before the sun was down. Winter meant that those hours would be coming fast, and now the generals and politicans were arguging over the merits of Olson’s offer.

“If we do a full scale intervention the costs would be astronomical!” The Minister from the Treasury said.

“And to do nothing would cost us everything,” Spoke the Minister of the Interior

“A partial intervention could be in order...” Offered one of the generals.

“That could work, Defense Plan 2 and New England at least would be secure.”

“We have received messages from the New England governors,” The Foreign Minister brought up, “They are willing to receive our support should the need arise and we move our troops in that direction.”

“We would be protecting them, keeping them safe from the Civ-”

“We will not enact Defense Plan Two,” Came the decisive voice of the Prime Minister as it hushed the voices of the various men in the room, “Not the least because it would turn all of the rest of America against us.”

“So what then is the idea?” General Ironside’s voice carried through the chamber, the old general having never lost his bite even after the Weltkrieg. “If Defense Plan 2 is not the approved course of action, what is?”

There was a quiet in the room as all eyes once again turned to the Prime Minister. There was not a sound to be heard, and it seemed everyone was holding their breath. When William King finally did speak, he sounded strained and tired. He was making a decision that would affect the lives of millions, Canadians and Americans both.

“How soon can we be prepared for a full intervention in the Rust Belt?”






In the Oval Office, Chief of Staff George Marshall continued to read over the strategic situation to the President. A successful federal revolt in Texas had been offset by the news that North Carolina had been taken over by the Longists. The syndicalists had seized New York city but were being held off upstate and across the Mississippi at Missouri and Minnesota.

All the while the President wore the same grim expression he had on his face ever since he had come back from Chicago.

“And as the fighting is relatively close Mr. President, I do believe it might be prudent to follow General Craig’s plan to relocate the Capital from D.C. to perhaps Denver or maybe even San Francisco.”

“If it comes to that we’ll have left much of the nation in the hands of the rebel governments,” Olson countered, “But I will tell Craig I see his point. He can begin the transfer of government documents and non-essential personnel west. If they get moved it's one thing, if they get captured it's entirely another.”

The telephone rang, and the President raised his hand to ask the general for a moment. A tired smile grew on Olson’s face as he heard the message relayed to him. After a few yeses and thank yous he put down the phone and folded his hands.

“Good news from the neighbors?” Marshall asked, hoping for good news after several weeks of bad.

“You could say that,” Olson said as he looked at a map of North America and let out a large sigh before he continued again with just a bit of rebuilt vigor, “Inform MacArthur that the Pennsylvania Offensive is approved and tell McNair and Bradley they’ve got to hold against Long with everything they’ve got.”

“And Groves’ Command in New England?” Marshall felt like he knew what was coming, but felt the need to ask anyway, one could get a small kick out of asking about it.

“Grove’s will have the troops for his push once his reinforcements arrive. It won’t be easy to work with them and I don’t expect it to be smooth, but God willing we’ll have at least half this country back together before this year is over.”

“Sir!” Marshall saluted his commander-in-chief and took down the notes he would need to issue the commands, “Permission to get to work!”

“Granted, General. The United States is one nation indivisible, let’s remind everyone of that fact,” Olson reminded himself that he was elected to save this country, he couldn’t do it at the negotiating table, maybe he could do it in the war room.

America was in crisis, there was no question of that. The world was changing, and America would no longer be able to wait behind the oceans isolated from the world, no matter how this war turned out. Olson wondered if perhaps the deal he had made with the Canadian Prime Minister was a prelude to a more dangerous road ahead, but the battle in front of him needed to be won first. Olson was not using hyperbole when he stated his belief that America’s War would echo across the world. Canada would have a part to play in this drama, and America would have one in whatever came after. For better or worse, hard choices had to be made in the here and now.

President Olson just hoped that he had made the right ones.
 
Top