marathag
Banned
There is a lot of the 'No TRUE Scotsman....' fallacy in regards to Communism.
There is no pure Communism on Earth, just as there is no pure Capitalism.
Der Kampf: The Rise and Fall of the Austrian Führer
- Thread starter Tanner151
- Start date
There is no pure Communism on Earth, just as there is no pure Capitalism.
It's such a bullshit argument even disregarding everything else wrong with it. Who gives a shit if it isn't "real communism," all that matters is what it is in praxis, not in theory. All theories are going to change as they clash with realities because no one person can account for everything. It doesn't matter what Marx said in his stupid pamphlet. Communism, like anything else, is what it is put into practice and communism in practice is a failure.
I think there are two different arguments going on here, one is whether "communism" will inevitably fall and the other about whether the Soviet Bloc will inevitably fall.
I don't see that the second of those two things is inevitable, though a TL where the USSR survives into 2023 probably involves some level of internal reform that would lead people to say that it's "no longer communist" and that communism failed (as they do with the PRC).
Anyway, let's stop with the thread derail, mmkay?
Which is what my original argument was in the first place.
Also, while I agree that we should stop talking about it, don't say it like that. It comes off as smug and condescending and is more liable to prompt a "fuck you"-type reaction rather than an affirmative
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Yeah, I realize it's pretty hostile and uncalled for. I had just finished arguing with some punk who tried to attack me personally for saying that people, regardless of who they are, shouldn't be lynched. I was on a bit of a hair trigger for perceived hostility. I'd like to apologize for that.
Accepted. Let us celebrate this accord by the adding of chocolate to milk.
Just a way of saying "and a pleasant rest of the day to you as well".
Agreed!
Anyway indeed let's end this discussion, I'll throw in a question related to the TL to change track:
How do people think the Anglo-Japanese War might break out?
When the Japanese attack British forces in Malaya, Singapore, and Hong Kong.
Casting Crown
Banned
It really does sound like a good idea when you just read a pamphlet. .
But reading a pamphlet is often so different than what it is actually like.
The reality is Stain, Mao, Pol Pot.
The opposite is Hitler, Franco, Mussolini, Hurst.
The world is better in shades of grey.
And I threw in Hurst because that man was a robber baron who inevitably sparked the war on drugs, he didn't want hemp paper competing with his timber.
We don't really do well with absolute ideology.
Because you usually got to kill the non-believers, so-called saboteurs.
The Japanese aren't stupid, IRL they only attacked because Britain was embroiled in a war. What on earth could push them to do something so drastic?
When Hokushin-ron fails, the Japanese will go with Nanshin-ron to obtain resources.
I don't believe Communism can survive long term. The USSR, even with Sverdlov at the helm and a longer application of the NEP (New Economic Policy), will fail eventually. In my rough outline of the timeline, I have the Soviet Union collapsing in 2001. The world in the 21st Century is more stable and peaceful, though there are wars and a War on Terror equivalent.
That is true. I do want Communism to fall, I want democracy to emerge triumphant. But I didn't want it to be copy and paste of OTL. Hence why the USSR lives longer and the Bucharest Pact (TTL's Warsaw Pact) exists into the 21st Century but will fall.
Mhmm, Hitler still wants power and to "right the wrongs of the Great War."
So my original idea was a confrontation that gets out of control. A Japanese squad and British soldiers from the embassy get involved in a scuffle, probably at a bar or something like that, and the Japanese commanding officer in Beiyang is bloodthirsty and ambitious and this scuffle ends up in a Japanese assault on the embassy, starting the war in early/mid-1940. The Japanese won't back down or apologize due to pride and honor, and the British won't take this lying down.
If this seems unfeasible, let me know.
Going off the idea above, how does the idea of after this attack the British attempt a negotiated settlement and the Japanese drag their feet for weeks, but then strike at Malaya, Singapore and Hong Kong? I am open to suggestions.
Overconfidence, pride, refusing to look weak. It does still need tweaking.
With the Empire of Manchuria an allied state (I wouldn’t quite go puppet yet with the Old Marshal still in control), the Japanese get very favorable trade agreements with the Manchurians, helping solve a good chunk of their lack of resources. And with Tsarist North Sakhalin, the Japanese will have some though not all of their oil needs met. The Japanese will see the British, French, Dutch, Soviets and Americans as their biggest roadblock to future expansion,
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Six
Upon Fragile Paths
Berlin, Germany
German Reich
October 1928
Upon Fragile Paths
Berlin, Germany
German Reich
October 1928
Paul Lutjens threw another cigarette stub onto a ground littered with them. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the pack of Ecksteins. Grabbing another, he quickly lit it, taking a deep drag.
Exhaling, feeling his nerves calm a bit, he chuckled. One of the other men standing outside the hospital looked at him quizzically.
“Real and right,” he said, referencing the Eckstein tagline.
The other man chuckled. “May I grab one off of you?”
“Sure, yeah.” Lutjens handed him a cigarette.
“Got a light?” The man asked, cigarette dangling from his lips as he talked.
“Here,” Lutjens handed him a matchbox. Striking it, the cigarette was lit and the man took a deep breath.
“Oh that’s good. True tobacco, none of that ersatz stuff we were forced to smoke during the war. Thank God we have real cigarettes again!”
Lutjens nodded in agreement. Things had changed for the better in Germany over the past few years. American loans and the repayment scheme set up with the Dawes Plan had seen a fragile sense of fiscal stability return to Germany.
The Weimar government, despite all who clamored against it, still stood as an institution. The democratic government, having dealt with all manner of military coups, workers’ strikes, Communist uprisings, and an increasing partisan political system, was at last finding its legs.
Economic stability led to political stability. The chaos of the early ‘20s was at last fading. Lutjens himself was a construction supervisor, a steady and well-paying job. And his personal life had changed as well. Speaking of which…
“Herr Lutjens?” a woman in a nursing uniform popped her head out of the hospital.
“Yes?” he said apprehensively.
“Your wife is fine,” she smiled. “As are your two children?”
“Two?” Lutjens said, numb from more than just the cold. The man he had given a cigarette to slapped his back.
“Congratulations!” he said.
“Thank you,” he said, still shocked.
“Come, sir. Your wife is waiting.”
Lutjens laughed. “Ursula always hated waiting.” He extinguished the cigarette, pocketing the rest, and followed the nurse into the hospital’s maternity ward. Expecting fathers waited nervously in the lobby, shuffling their feet and downing cup after cup of cheap coffee. Lutjens was led past them, down a too-white hallway, and brought to a room. Ursula Lutjens, nee Winkler, stared up at him, a look of anger on her face. A doctor and another nurse stood by, reading over some paperwork.
“You did this to me,” she slurred.
“Well you were enthusiastic about it at the time,” he chided, eliciting a snort from the doctor.
“You’re unbearable,” his wife said acidly.
“Guess that’s why you married me,” Lutjens said cheerfully. His positivity broke through his wife’s ice facade, as it always did. She gave him a warmer expression.
“Meet your daughters,” Ursula said. And it was then Lutjens noticed the two bundles of pink clothing. Inside them were reddish-pink babies, faces scrunched up, eyes closed. They were whimpering.
Lutjens kissed his wife’s sweat-damped head. Girls meant Ursula would name them, they had an arrangement. “What names did you decide on?”
“Frederica and Karla.” She looked at him, as if daring him to comment.
Lutjens closed his eyes in amusement. Ursula still worked in the propaganda wing of the KPD, the names for the girls smacked of a devoted ideologue. He doubted that would ever change, but he loved her despite their political disagreements.
“Those are wonderful names, my love.” He looked at his daughters and wife, feeling lucky to live such a life.
Exhaling, feeling his nerves calm a bit, he chuckled. One of the other men standing outside the hospital looked at him quizzically.
“Real and right,” he said, referencing the Eckstein tagline.
The other man chuckled. “May I grab one off of you?”
“Sure, yeah.” Lutjens handed him a cigarette.
“Got a light?” The man asked, cigarette dangling from his lips as he talked.
“Here,” Lutjens handed him a matchbox. Striking it, the cigarette was lit and the man took a deep breath.
“Oh that’s good. True tobacco, none of that ersatz stuff we were forced to smoke during the war. Thank God we have real cigarettes again!”
Lutjens nodded in agreement. Things had changed for the better in Germany over the past few years. American loans and the repayment scheme set up with the Dawes Plan had seen a fragile sense of fiscal stability return to Germany.
The Weimar government, despite all who clamored against it, still stood as an institution. The democratic government, having dealt with all manner of military coups, workers’ strikes, Communist uprisings, and an increasing partisan political system, was at last finding its legs.
Economic stability led to political stability. The chaos of the early ‘20s was at last fading. Lutjens himself was a construction supervisor, a steady and well-paying job. And his personal life had changed as well. Speaking of which…
“Herr Lutjens?” a woman in a nursing uniform popped her head out of the hospital.
“Yes?” he said apprehensively.
“Your wife is fine,” she smiled. “As are your two children?”
“Two?” Lutjens said, numb from more than just the cold. The man he had given a cigarette to slapped his back.
“Congratulations!” he said.
“Thank you,” he said, still shocked.
“Come, sir. Your wife is waiting.”
Lutjens laughed. “Ursula always hated waiting.” He extinguished the cigarette, pocketing the rest, and followed the nurse into the hospital’s maternity ward. Expecting fathers waited nervously in the lobby, shuffling their feet and downing cup after cup of cheap coffee. Lutjens was led past them, down a too-white hallway, and brought to a room. Ursula Lutjens, nee Winkler, stared up at him, a look of anger on her face. A doctor and another nurse stood by, reading over some paperwork.
“You did this to me,” she slurred.
“Well you were enthusiastic about it at the time,” he chided, eliciting a snort from the doctor.
“You’re unbearable,” his wife said acidly.
“Guess that’s why you married me,” Lutjens said cheerfully. His positivity broke through his wife’s ice facade, as it always did. She gave him a warmer expression.
“Meet your daughters,” Ursula said. And it was then Lutjens noticed the two bundles of pink clothing. Inside them were reddish-pink babies, faces scrunched up, eyes closed. They were whimpering.
Lutjens kissed his wife’s sweat-damped head. Girls meant Ursula would name them, they had an arrangement. “What names did you decide on?”
“Frederica and Karla.” She looked at him, as if daring him to comment.
Lutjens closed his eyes in amusement. Ursula still worked in the propaganda wing of the KPD, the names for the girls smacked of a devoted ideologue. He doubted that would ever change, but he loved her despite their political disagreements.
“Those are wonderful names, my love.” He looked at his daughters and wife, feeling lucky to live such a life.
Vienna, Austria
Republic of Austria
November 1928
Republic of Austria
November 1928
Jakob Kuhr walked out of the grocer’s market, bag of food in hand. He was conflicted at that moment. The prices in the grocery store had fallen substantially over the past few years, much to the relief of people’s stomachs and wallets. However, lower prices and a more stable currency meant the Party’s attacks on the Austrian government’s economic policies were defanged, seeming more petulant than scathing.
With the day-to-day life of most Austrians improving, Kuhr couldn’t blame his countrymen for continuing to support the Seipel government. They were blind to the flaws of democracy, to its inherent vulnerability to radical socialism. As fiscal stability returned to Austria, the KPÖ had become more radicalized and violent, appealing to those desperate or foolish.
It did not occur to him the hypocrisy of criticizing the Communists for using similar strategies the Social Nationalists had been implementing since its inception.
He walked down to Party headquarters in Floridsdorf District, the same place Hitler had created the ÖSNVP almost four years ago. Entering the district was like arriving to a new world. Party banners and mottos hung from dozens of buildings. Posters of Hitler were dominant, but there were others of parliamentary members, those who switched from National Liberalism to Social Nationalism back in 1925 and the few that gained seats for the Party in the ‘27 election.
Kuhr had truly believed, as did many in Hitler’s inner circle, that the 1927 election would prove to be the catalyst for great change, a step towards national revolution. In the two years from the Party’s creation to the parliamentary election, the Social Nationalists had swayed, haggled and threatened hundreds of thousands, promising a strong Austria, with a prosperous economy, an extensive social welfare safety net for its citizens, a racially pure nation-state fit for the Aryan Race, with irredentist claims to territory stolen by the Treaty of Saint-Germain.
Columns on newspapers were paid for, radio slots used, while propagandists crowed the Party line on street corners and outside the gates of factories, office buildings, and as close as legally able to government institutions. Hitler himself went on an exhaustive and thorough tour of Austria, speaking in nearly a hundred different cities and towns in two months, deriding the CS-NLF coalition, claiming their interests were the wealthy industrialists and Jewish bankers, rather than the common man and woman.
The Party's funds, having been built from scratch, were spent in almost their entirety. However by 1927 the economy had started to bounce back, hyperinflation started to cool down, the new schilling currency had put confidence back into the market, and prices began to stabilize as wages and purchasing power increased.
Things were still not as they were in pre-war Austro-Hungary, but the situation was a marked and visible improvement over the years immediately following the Great War.
The district held several oil refineries, factories, and retail warehouses. The apartments in the area were largely inhabited by educators, shop owners and laborers, a bustling center of lower-to-middle-class workers, ripe for the ideals and goals of Social Nationalism. In spite of the Party struggling with rural communities it had been making steady headway into urban areas, or so it thought.
Kuhr remembered election night, hearing the returns coming in. Within hours a picture began to form. The ÖSNVP had gone into the election with seven National Councilmen, all defectors from the National Liberal Front, so expectations were high that they could form a large bloc in Parliament, possibly enough to unseat the NLF.
However when all was said and down, the result of the 1927 election was bitter disappointment. The Party gained a measly six seats whilst losing two, bringing it up to a total of eleven. The Unity List, the Christian Social-National Liberal-Landbund-Heimatblock ticket, had won ninety-four seats, giving it a legislative majority. The Social Nationalists, despite winning more seats than the National Liberals, were not invited into government by the Christian Socials.
They were not even part of the Opposition, which was led by the SDAPÖ with nascent support from the more moderate wing of the KPÖ and a half-dozen minor parties. Social Nationalism had done well, but not good enough to change government, and had to content itself with criticizing and voting down every measure the government proposed.
The election was only the beginning of the Party’s woes. The support base, numbering nearly four hundred thousand voters, began to quickly dwindle as the months followed. Hitler’s rhetoric and the Party’s solutions seemed too drastic, too alarmist, and too dangerous to the average voter.
Now, a year and a half past the election, the Austrian Social Nationalist People’s Party was struggling to remain relevant and not descend into mediocrity. Registered Party members had drastically fallen from a height of a hundred and ninety thousand to around seventy thousand members. Several ÖSNVP branches throughout Austria had been forced to close their doors and allocate resources to the remaining Party infrastructure that cling to life.
Kuhr snorted as a thought occurred to him. Social Nationalism might have been struggling in the land that birthed it, but it had surprisingly found elsewhere to take root.
Social Nationalist sister parties had formed in Germany, Switzerland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, countries with a significant German-speaking population. Kuhr remembered the Central Committee’s decision to tacitly support and endorse said parties to help popularize Social Nationalism amongst the burgeoning fascist movements growing in popularity across Europe.
From the English Channel to the Polish-Soviet border, from the fjords of Norway to the Mediterranean Sea, the far-right was spreading. And Kuhr would be damned if fascism would be dominated by the Italians.
Arriving at the warehouse that had been the beating heart of the Austrian Social Nationalist People’s Party, the Sturmwache guards patrolling the perimeter nodded as he walked in.
“Sturmbannführer!” Saluted the door guards, arms extended in the Fascist salute. Kuhr returned it with his free hand, the other still holding the grocery bag. Entering the warehouse-turned-headquarters, he moved to Hitler’s office, nestled near the center of the room. A half-dozen guards stood within shouting distance. Attacks on public figures had increased in recent months, across the political spectrum.
Arriving at the Führer’s office, he knocked twice.
“Enter,” came the voice.
Kuhr entered, seeing Hitler and Starhemberg sitting opposite one another at the small table in the corner. A coffee pot and two mugs were out, half-filled, as were various documents placed between them
Kuhr respectfully nodded to Starhemberg. Not only was he a National Councilman, Starhemberg was also the Oberführer of the Sturmwache, commander second only to Hitler but who saw to the day-to-day operations of the Party’s paramilitary unit. It was by Starhemberg’s recommendation to Hitler that Social Nationalism needed a defender.
So was created the Sturmwache to act as a new and improved Kampfgruppe Wolf, open to any who passed rigorous standards, many of whom came disenfranchised from Heimatschutz units. To further cement that connection between the Wolves and SW, the Sturmwache’s symbol was a wolf’s head flanked by lightning bolts.
Starhemberg returned the nod, raising his coffee mug to drink. Hitler looked up from a paper he was reading.
“Yes?” asked the Party’s undisputed leader.
“Here are the liver dumplings you wanted, mein Führer.”
“Ah, thank you, Jakob. Must feel strange for the Party’s equivalent to a major going to fetch me some food.”
“It is no problem, sir. I needed to get some other stuff anyway.”
Hitler took a deep drink of his coffee, blue eyes twinkling.
“I have been talking to Ernst about your record since you returned from South Tyrol. Impressive, very impressive. You led several breakups of Social Democrat and Communist rallies the last few months. Good work, and your activities in South Tyrol were inspiring.”
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me, coming from you.”
Hitler shrugged. “When I see someone or something useful, I’ll move heaven and earth to get it. I do have one question though, Jakob.”
“Sir?”
“Was it hard leaving South Tyrol? You created the rebellion there and led it for four years. Now you’re here, away from the action and away from home.”
Kuhr gave a smirk. He had expected the question for months now, since he returned from South Tyrol to Vienna.
“It was hard, mein Führer, but the rebellion in South Tyrol has petered out. The more lax hand of the current Italian general has led to many either accepting Italian rule or, in some cases, embracing it.”
Hitler scowled at that but Kuhr continued.
“I knew that if South Tyrol was ever going to be free, it would do so at the behest of the Austrian government. Only an incredible diplomat or a strong military will kick Mussolini and his henchmen out of my home. You are that diplomat, sir. Your accomplishments in Japan proved that, and with you as leader of the country, whether it be as president or chancellor, Austria would be able to do as it wishes, free of the shackles laid upon us. I knew I could do more here beside you than I ever could back in South Tyrol. I did not abandon my men in South Tyrol, despite what some of our national comrades have whispered. Before I departed Bruneck, I put my second-in-command Peter Hofer in charge of the Social Nationalist resistance, but per your orders they are to keep a low profile,”
Hitler tapped his chin in thought and looked at Starhemberg. “He will do. Dismissed.” Hitler went back to reading the document in hand.
Starhemberg rose form his chair, coming to attention briefly before turning to leave, gesturing for Kuhr to follow.
Once outside the Party Leader’s Office, Kuhr looked quizzically at Starhemberg.
“The Führer wants to create a bodyguard unit to protect him and key Party personnel. It will be named Stoßtrupp-Adolf Hitler. By my recommendation, the Führer had chosen you as its commander. This means you’ll be promoted, with the associated pay increase and other benefits given.”
Starhemberg eyed him critically. “The Führer’s life will be in your hands. You served him well in Carinthia, and did as he ordered in South Tyrol, keep doing that, and keep him alive. Don’t screw up.”
Starhemberg stuck out his hand and Kuhr shook it, feeling dazed.
“Congratulations, Obersturmbannführer Kuhr. You earned it.”
“Thank you, Oberführer!”
Starhemberg nodded and left, two of the Sturmwache trailing him discreetly.
Kuhr looked at his own desk, stationed not far away. An unopened bottle of schnapps was placed there in a bowl of ice. Kuhr smiled. Well he wouldn’t want that to go to waste.
With the day-to-day life of most Austrians improving, Kuhr couldn’t blame his countrymen for continuing to support the Seipel government. They were blind to the flaws of democracy, to its inherent vulnerability to radical socialism. As fiscal stability returned to Austria, the KPÖ had become more radicalized and violent, appealing to those desperate or foolish.
It did not occur to him the hypocrisy of criticizing the Communists for using similar strategies the Social Nationalists had been implementing since its inception.
He walked down to Party headquarters in Floridsdorf District, the same place Hitler had created the ÖSNVP almost four years ago. Entering the district was like arriving to a new world. Party banners and mottos hung from dozens of buildings. Posters of Hitler were dominant, but there were others of parliamentary members, those who switched from National Liberalism to Social Nationalism back in 1925 and the few that gained seats for the Party in the ‘27 election.
Kuhr had truly believed, as did many in Hitler’s inner circle, that the 1927 election would prove to be the catalyst for great change, a step towards national revolution. In the two years from the Party’s creation to the parliamentary election, the Social Nationalists had swayed, haggled and threatened hundreds of thousands, promising a strong Austria, with a prosperous economy, an extensive social welfare safety net for its citizens, a racially pure nation-state fit for the Aryan Race, with irredentist claims to territory stolen by the Treaty of Saint-Germain.
Columns on newspapers were paid for, radio slots used, while propagandists crowed the Party line on street corners and outside the gates of factories, office buildings, and as close as legally able to government institutions. Hitler himself went on an exhaustive and thorough tour of Austria, speaking in nearly a hundred different cities and towns in two months, deriding the CS-NLF coalition, claiming their interests were the wealthy industrialists and Jewish bankers, rather than the common man and woman.
The Party's funds, having been built from scratch, were spent in almost their entirety. However by 1927 the economy had started to bounce back, hyperinflation started to cool down, the new schilling currency had put confidence back into the market, and prices began to stabilize as wages and purchasing power increased.
Things were still not as they were in pre-war Austro-Hungary, but the situation was a marked and visible improvement over the years immediately following the Great War.
The district held several oil refineries, factories, and retail warehouses. The apartments in the area were largely inhabited by educators, shop owners and laborers, a bustling center of lower-to-middle-class workers, ripe for the ideals and goals of Social Nationalism. In spite of the Party struggling with rural communities it had been making steady headway into urban areas, or so it thought.
Kuhr remembered election night, hearing the returns coming in. Within hours a picture began to form. The ÖSNVP had gone into the election with seven National Councilmen, all defectors from the National Liberal Front, so expectations were high that they could form a large bloc in Parliament, possibly enough to unseat the NLF.
However when all was said and down, the result of the 1927 election was bitter disappointment. The Party gained a measly six seats whilst losing two, bringing it up to a total of eleven. The Unity List, the Christian Social-National Liberal-Landbund-Heimatblock ticket, had won ninety-four seats, giving it a legislative majority. The Social Nationalists, despite winning more seats than the National Liberals, were not invited into government by the Christian Socials.
They were not even part of the Opposition, which was led by the SDAPÖ with nascent support from the more moderate wing of the KPÖ and a half-dozen minor parties. Social Nationalism had done well, but not good enough to change government, and had to content itself with criticizing and voting down every measure the government proposed.
The election was only the beginning of the Party’s woes. The support base, numbering nearly four hundred thousand voters, began to quickly dwindle as the months followed. Hitler’s rhetoric and the Party’s solutions seemed too drastic, too alarmist, and too dangerous to the average voter.
Now, a year and a half past the election, the Austrian Social Nationalist People’s Party was struggling to remain relevant and not descend into mediocrity. Registered Party members had drastically fallen from a height of a hundred and ninety thousand to around seventy thousand members. Several ÖSNVP branches throughout Austria had been forced to close their doors and allocate resources to the remaining Party infrastructure that cling to life.
Kuhr snorted as a thought occurred to him. Social Nationalism might have been struggling in the land that birthed it, but it had surprisingly found elsewhere to take root.
Social Nationalist sister parties had formed in Germany, Switzerland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, countries with a significant German-speaking population. Kuhr remembered the Central Committee’s decision to tacitly support and endorse said parties to help popularize Social Nationalism amongst the burgeoning fascist movements growing in popularity across Europe.
From the English Channel to the Polish-Soviet border, from the fjords of Norway to the Mediterranean Sea, the far-right was spreading. And Kuhr would be damned if fascism would be dominated by the Italians.
Arriving at the warehouse that had been the beating heart of the Austrian Social Nationalist People’s Party, the Sturmwache guards patrolling the perimeter nodded as he walked in.
“Sturmbannführer!” Saluted the door guards, arms extended in the Fascist salute. Kuhr returned it with his free hand, the other still holding the grocery bag. Entering the warehouse-turned-headquarters, he moved to Hitler’s office, nestled near the center of the room. A half-dozen guards stood within shouting distance. Attacks on public figures had increased in recent months, across the political spectrum.
Arriving at the Führer’s office, he knocked twice.
“Enter,” came the voice.
Kuhr entered, seeing Hitler and Starhemberg sitting opposite one another at the small table in the corner. A coffee pot and two mugs were out, half-filled, as were various documents placed between them
Kuhr respectfully nodded to Starhemberg. Not only was he a National Councilman, Starhemberg was also the Oberführer of the Sturmwache, commander second only to Hitler but who saw to the day-to-day operations of the Party’s paramilitary unit. It was by Starhemberg’s recommendation to Hitler that Social Nationalism needed a defender.
So was created the Sturmwache to act as a new and improved Kampfgruppe Wolf, open to any who passed rigorous standards, many of whom came disenfranchised from Heimatschutz units. To further cement that connection between the Wolves and SW, the Sturmwache’s symbol was a wolf’s head flanked by lightning bolts.
Starhemberg returned the nod, raising his coffee mug to drink. Hitler looked up from a paper he was reading.
“Yes?” asked the Party’s undisputed leader.
“Here are the liver dumplings you wanted, mein Führer.”
“Ah, thank you, Jakob. Must feel strange for the Party’s equivalent to a major going to fetch me some food.”
“It is no problem, sir. I needed to get some other stuff anyway.”
Hitler took a deep drink of his coffee, blue eyes twinkling.
“I have been talking to Ernst about your record since you returned from South Tyrol. Impressive, very impressive. You led several breakups of Social Democrat and Communist rallies the last few months. Good work, and your activities in South Tyrol were inspiring.”
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me, coming from you.”
Hitler shrugged. “When I see someone or something useful, I’ll move heaven and earth to get it. I do have one question though, Jakob.”
“Sir?”
“Was it hard leaving South Tyrol? You created the rebellion there and led it for four years. Now you’re here, away from the action and away from home.”
Kuhr gave a smirk. He had expected the question for months now, since he returned from South Tyrol to Vienna.
“It was hard, mein Führer, but the rebellion in South Tyrol has petered out. The more lax hand of the current Italian general has led to many either accepting Italian rule or, in some cases, embracing it.”
Hitler scowled at that but Kuhr continued.
“I knew that if South Tyrol was ever going to be free, it would do so at the behest of the Austrian government. Only an incredible diplomat or a strong military will kick Mussolini and his henchmen out of my home. You are that diplomat, sir. Your accomplishments in Japan proved that, and with you as leader of the country, whether it be as president or chancellor, Austria would be able to do as it wishes, free of the shackles laid upon us. I knew I could do more here beside you than I ever could back in South Tyrol. I did not abandon my men in South Tyrol, despite what some of our national comrades have whispered. Before I departed Bruneck, I put my second-in-command Peter Hofer in charge of the Social Nationalist resistance, but per your orders they are to keep a low profile,”
Hitler tapped his chin in thought and looked at Starhemberg. “He will do. Dismissed.” Hitler went back to reading the document in hand.
Starhemberg rose form his chair, coming to attention briefly before turning to leave, gesturing for Kuhr to follow.
Once outside the Party Leader’s Office, Kuhr looked quizzically at Starhemberg.
“The Führer wants to create a bodyguard unit to protect him and key Party personnel. It will be named Stoßtrupp-Adolf Hitler. By my recommendation, the Führer had chosen you as its commander. This means you’ll be promoted, with the associated pay increase and other benefits given.”
Starhemberg eyed him critically. “The Führer’s life will be in your hands. You served him well in Carinthia, and did as he ordered in South Tyrol, keep doing that, and keep him alive. Don’t screw up.”
Starhemberg stuck out his hand and Kuhr shook it, feeling dazed.
“Congratulations, Obersturmbannführer Kuhr. You earned it.”
“Thank you, Oberführer!”
Starhemberg nodded and left, two of the Sturmwache trailing him discreetly.
Kuhr looked at his own desk, stationed not far away. An unopened bottle of schnapps was placed there in a bowl of ice. Kuhr smiled. Well he wouldn’t want that to go to waste.
Zhongyuan (Central Plains), China
Empire of Manchuria
December 1928
Empire of Manchuria
December 1928
Garth Culpepper looked through the binoculars and whistled in awe.
“That’s a lot of guns,” he commented to the Chinese fellow beside him, a captain in the National Revolutionary Army.
“That there are, Mister Williams.”
Culpepper, his hair cut and dyed white-blond, nodded. His alias was Robert Williams, an agent of His Majesty’s Foreign Ministry, there to inspect and determine what sort of aid Britain would give. A convenient cover for his true mission of gauging the border strength of the Manchurian and Japanese Imperial Armies stationed along the Yellow River.
Said river was still littered with the failures of the last assault before the ceasefire. Half-sunken transport boats, a few corpses here and there, and even a ferry that had caught fire. Oil leaks marred the river’s surface, besmirching its natural… well not beauty, it looked like sewage water, but its visage gave off a polluted and war-ruined look to it.
Culpepper scanned the fortifications, the trench works, machine gun nests. The Imperial flags of Japan and Manchuria billowed in the wind over their earthen bunkers, defiant and victorious.
The British spy grimaced. If the Nationalists had been given more support early on, there might have been a chance for a crossing to secure a bridgehead. Instead Chiang Kai-shek had launched attack after attack against the Manchurian and Japanese positions. The Manchurians were woefully equipped, only their elite units fielded proper equipment and support. The Japanese Army was not much better on average, with Japanese soldiers using brutality as intimidation to acquire foodstuffs, alcohol and pleasure women.
But the Japanese had been smart enough to not do that on their side of the Yellow River, rather in Chinese Nationalist territories. The two key factors that had crippled Chiang’s Northern Expedition had been the Japanese air and naval support.
Merchant vessels destined for port in Nationalist China, ships laden with supplies vital to the KMT war effort, had been turned away, When the blockade proved insufficient in slowing down the flow of aid, as well as angering European and American governments, the Japanese had instead invaded, capturing most of the major port cities on the east coast
Dozens of port cities were now feeling the oppressive heel of the Empire of the Rising Sun. Not only were the Japanese robbing Nationalist China of trade, it had sent fractures through Chiang Kai-shek’s fragile alliance, even within the KMT, split between the Nanjing and Wuhan factions. Several warlords had already returned home, exhausted after years of frequent fighting and angered by Chiang’s leadership.
Culpepper looked at the NRA officer, a young captain by the name of Cheng Guo. Guo seemed a good man, a boy by all accounts, though he had seen war. Shrapnel scars pockmarked his face and he walked with a noticeable limp.
“When will supplies from England arrive?” Guo asked.
“Depends on my recommendation but I’d say within a few months.”
Guo frowned. “That’ll be too late. The peace talks will be over then.”
Culpepper shrugged in a ‘well what can you do’ gesture and went back to scanning the other side of the river.
“Most likely,” Culpepper agreed. “But at least you’ll be ready for next time.”
Guo said nothing, just frowned again but eventually nodded.
“Sir!” Came the voice of a corporal, running out of the communication tent, the static pops and thrum of radio equipment following him out. Culpepper’s Mandarin was not bad, but it wasn’t good either.
“Yes?” Captain Guo asked
The corporal handed him a piece of paper, saluted then left when Guo returned the salute.
Guo read over the paper, his ever present frown deepening.
“What is it?”Culpepper heard himself ask.
“This, Mister Williams, is a reminder of my country’s failure in unification. The peace talks have concluded, the war is over.”
He put the binoculars down, the leather strap hanging them from his neck. “And the terms?”
“The Yellow River is to remain the border between the Empire of Manchuria and the Republic of China. The Japanese have agreed to withdraw from most of the port cities except for Qingdao, Yantai, Hangzhou, and Shanghai. Those will remain under Japanese military occupation for a period of no less than twenty-five years.”
Culpepper grimaced in understanding. The Japanese likely withdrew from the other port cities due to manpower or logistical issues, or a combination of both, and to end the war on their terms now instead of garrisoning half the Chinese coast, they instead were securing their hold in four of the biggest and most important cities.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” Guo admitted in a downtrodden manner.
“I do.”
“Hmm?”
“There will be peace, of sorts, for a time at least. But war will come again, Captain Guo. Mark my words. And when it does, it’ll be cruel and bloody but I’m certain when the smoke clears and the markers on the map are checked, your country will be reunited under the KMT with the pretender and his Japanese masters driven from your land.”
Hope stirred in the Chinese man’s face.
“You think so?” He said.
“Damn right I do. And when war breaks out, as I’m sure it will, you can be certain the United Kingdom will be on your side, aiding you in your struggle.”
Guo smiled and turned, walking back to the car.
Culpepper knew he stretched the truth there. it wasn’t so simple. It all depended on when the war started, how it started, and which political party was in charge of the government back home, but he was fairly confident that the British Empire would back the Chinese Nationalist Party when push came to shove. Not out of any true love for the oft-corrupt KMT rife with factionalism and warlordism, but rather because the alternatives were far worse.
“That’s a lot of guns,” he commented to the Chinese fellow beside him, a captain in the National Revolutionary Army.
“That there are, Mister Williams.”
Culpepper, his hair cut and dyed white-blond, nodded. His alias was Robert Williams, an agent of His Majesty’s Foreign Ministry, there to inspect and determine what sort of aid Britain would give. A convenient cover for his true mission of gauging the border strength of the Manchurian and Japanese Imperial Armies stationed along the Yellow River.
Said river was still littered with the failures of the last assault before the ceasefire. Half-sunken transport boats, a few corpses here and there, and even a ferry that had caught fire. Oil leaks marred the river’s surface, besmirching its natural… well not beauty, it looked like sewage water, but its visage gave off a polluted and war-ruined look to it.
Culpepper scanned the fortifications, the trench works, machine gun nests. The Imperial flags of Japan and Manchuria billowed in the wind over their earthen bunkers, defiant and victorious.
The British spy grimaced. If the Nationalists had been given more support early on, there might have been a chance for a crossing to secure a bridgehead. Instead Chiang Kai-shek had launched attack after attack against the Manchurian and Japanese positions. The Manchurians were woefully equipped, only their elite units fielded proper equipment and support. The Japanese Army was not much better on average, with Japanese soldiers using brutality as intimidation to acquire foodstuffs, alcohol and pleasure women.
But the Japanese had been smart enough to not do that on their side of the Yellow River, rather in Chinese Nationalist territories. The two key factors that had crippled Chiang’s Northern Expedition had been the Japanese air and naval support.
Merchant vessels destined for port in Nationalist China, ships laden with supplies vital to the KMT war effort, had been turned away, When the blockade proved insufficient in slowing down the flow of aid, as well as angering European and American governments, the Japanese had instead invaded, capturing most of the major port cities on the east coast
Dozens of port cities were now feeling the oppressive heel of the Empire of the Rising Sun. Not only were the Japanese robbing Nationalist China of trade, it had sent fractures through Chiang Kai-shek’s fragile alliance, even within the KMT, split between the Nanjing and Wuhan factions. Several warlords had already returned home, exhausted after years of frequent fighting and angered by Chiang’s leadership.
Culpepper looked at the NRA officer, a young captain by the name of Cheng Guo. Guo seemed a good man, a boy by all accounts, though he had seen war. Shrapnel scars pockmarked his face and he walked with a noticeable limp.
“When will supplies from England arrive?” Guo asked.
“Depends on my recommendation but I’d say within a few months.”
Guo frowned. “That’ll be too late. The peace talks will be over then.”
Culpepper shrugged in a ‘well what can you do’ gesture and went back to scanning the other side of the river.
“Most likely,” Culpepper agreed. “But at least you’ll be ready for next time.”
Guo said nothing, just frowned again but eventually nodded.
“Sir!” Came the voice of a corporal, running out of the communication tent, the static pops and thrum of radio equipment following him out. Culpepper’s Mandarin was not bad, but it wasn’t good either.
“Yes?” Captain Guo asked
The corporal handed him a piece of paper, saluted then left when Guo returned the salute.
Guo read over the paper, his ever present frown deepening.
“What is it?”Culpepper heard himself ask.
“This, Mister Williams, is a reminder of my country’s failure in unification. The peace talks have concluded, the war is over.”
He put the binoculars down, the leather strap hanging them from his neck. “And the terms?”
“The Yellow River is to remain the border between the Empire of Manchuria and the Republic of China. The Japanese have agreed to withdraw from most of the port cities except for Qingdao, Yantai, Hangzhou, and Shanghai. Those will remain under Japanese military occupation for a period of no less than twenty-five years.”
Culpepper grimaced in understanding. The Japanese likely withdrew from the other port cities due to manpower or logistical issues, or a combination of both, and to end the war on their terms now instead of garrisoning half the Chinese coast, they instead were securing their hold in four of the biggest and most important cities.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” Guo admitted in a downtrodden manner.
“I do.”
“Hmm?”
“There will be peace, of sorts, for a time at least. But war will come again, Captain Guo. Mark my words. And when it does, it’ll be cruel and bloody but I’m certain when the smoke clears and the markers on the map are checked, your country will be reunited under the KMT with the pretender and his Japanese masters driven from your land.”
Hope stirred in the Chinese man’s face.
“You think so?” He said.
“Damn right I do. And when war breaks out, as I’m sure it will, you can be certain the United Kingdom will be on your side, aiding you in your struggle.”
Guo smiled and turned, walking back to the car.
Culpepper knew he stretched the truth there. it wasn’t so simple. It all depended on when the war started, how it started, and which political party was in charge of the government back home, but he was fairly confident that the British Empire would back the Chinese Nationalist Party when push came to shove. Not out of any true love for the oft-corrupt KMT rife with factionalism and warlordism, but rather because the alternatives were far worse.
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My knowledge of Korea late 19th and early 20th century is limited but I am fairly certain there were quite a lot of what you've just described between Japanese and American forces during that grey zone where Korea was being tossed around. They never led to war. Furthermore, I know at least one case where the Japanese commanding officer was forced to commit seppuku for being too aggressive.
The part where you mention honour, I would argue against. The Emperor and his will go above the Bushido Code, and a war between Japan and Britain is to the detriment of the Emperor. Japan backed down loads of times IRL to avoid a war with the West, so I can't really see this reason making much sense, my apologies.
Japanese overconfidence only really came about after the astonishing success of Pearl Harbour (similar to how German overconfidence only really emerged after June 22nd, 1940). And even despite its success Nagumo retreated because he was so darn nervous about the American carriers... the Japanese were quite cautious IRL in my opinion despite common popular beliefs (and some myths). Japan actually very genuinely tried very hard to avoid attacking the West, in the end (from its point of view) it had no other choice. Roosevelt called the Japanese diplomacy during the time their carriers were already moving toward Pearl 'deceit' but they were actually REAL attempts to get America to restart oil exports- the Japanese were planning to instantly call off the attack if a diplomatic breakthrough was achieved.
Japan cared a lot for its Empire and throughout its existence made a lot of cautious moves. In a scenario where WWII hasn't even occurred yet and the West isn't embroiled in war I seriously doubt the Japanese would "not back down" and be willing to go to war against the British.
Of course, there are always other ways for the two to go to war... anyway this is just my opinion!
P.S. I am posting this reply before I read your new chapter to which I am looking forward to, I will post a second reply for a response to the chapter instead of editing this one since I will include grammatical corrections and the such.
Haha cool
I don't think that's possible, it's like 2 cities a day
As it is today...
He is going to get Night-Of-The-Long-Knives-ed isn't he
Its official name was the Empire of Manchukuo, Manchuria was the Chinese name for the region.
I think the comma has to be a full stop
Need a full stop
Pretty great chapter not as action filled but still interesting