pirated stuff

Wilhelm Heinrich Goering was a professional flatterer; he knew how and when to give praise at a moment's notice. In the corporate world, such a sycophantic attitude would land him somewhere nicely along the corporate ladder as some CEO's favorite pet. But behind Goering's stellar performance as a fighter ace and handsome veneer was a dangerous, dangerous man. As far as I could remember from my books in Japan, he was the Fuhrer's Number Two. You didn't reach a position of power like that in the treacherous landscape of a Fascist dictatorship just by being a pretty face.

I would need to match him wit for wit.

So far, he held the advantage: the meeting was taking place at a castle in Bavaria, his "home field." It looked like something ripped straight out of a Disney film: pure white stones with blue-tipped towers, a massive gate flanked by banners of a Junker family's heraldry. Of course, Goering was not a member of the nobility, rather he had been sent here as a representative for the broad coalition of Junkers and industrialists which made up the conservative bloc, but he sure as hell acted like one. Still, the smile on his face was infectious.

"Argent Silver! I am so glad you could make it." He leaned down to kiss my free hand.

Gah!

Wass everyone going to be kissing my hand?! This should be illegal! He was initially about to reach over to grab my attache but I quickly jerked it away. Goering didn't look offended at all, choosing to move on instead.

"I hope you enjoyed the scenery on the way here. The fresh air does wonders in restoring the vigor and health of the body."

That I could agree with.

"Compared to the smoke and artillery guns, this is heaven on earth." I answered as he led me deeper into the castle. To my surprise, it was filled with various bigwigs and many socialites too; from aristocrats to business magnates, and even a celebrity or two.

"Am I intruding on a special event?" I asked.

"Argent Silver, YOU are the special event!" Goering gave a small laugh. "Your actions in defending our countrymen against the Dacians and the Legadonians were spectacular! Why, I had even quit my job at Fokker in order to join the fight in Daneland, but the war was already over by the time I got to Juteland! If only the Great War had been as easy."

"If it were an easy war, we wouldn't have fought in it."

"Indeed! We Germanians balk at easy victories. You know how the saying goes: Viel Feind -"

"Viel Ehr." I finished much to my chagrin. This is the attitude that got my original nation nuked twice by the Americans. To live to fight is a fast track to dying early.

Compared to the realities of encroaching hyperinflation, the elites made idle talk about their companies' finances and complained about the inaction of the SPD-led government. But as soon as they saw my face, the topic of the room shifted towards me and only me. Goering, thanks to his massive ego, made sure to be in every picture taken of me.

There was even a reporter from the DNVP present who had asked for an interview. An opportunity that I had to postpone for later.

Finally, we ended up in a room reserved for our meeting. Several aides brought dishes of the highest quality and wine of the finest Germanian vintage. Hell, I would give concessions to the Junkers just on the good hospitality alone. They clearly recognized my role in the Weimar Republic. I was the last credible voice that the conservatives and militarists had.

"Now, I have been made aware that you sought out a meeting with the conservative coalition to discuss the future of the Republic." Goering asks.

"Yes." I nodded, "I wanted to talk about the reparations."

"Indeed, the socialist traitors are content in ripping the honest Germanian citizen of his -"

"Herr Goering. You have clearly mistaken my stance. I fully endorse the government action to pay off the war debt the Francois and the Albish have forced upon us."

The former fighter ace nearly choked on the wine he was given, utterly astonished at my words.

"What? You seriously don't mean -"

I held up my hand.

"This is serious. The government needs money. Money that the Junkers and the industrialists have. I am here to implore the conservative right to also invest in government bonds. By buying these federal bonds, they will help stabilize the economy and restore public confidence in the republic."

"The republic was forced upon us!" Goering was just below the level of shouting. "No one in Germania asked to be Francois puppets!"

"Better a puppet than a slave." I retorted, "For the former can cut his strings while the latter would need to break his chains. Since these conservative patriots would sooner cede Lothiern and the Rhineland to Parisee than to accept the new status quo, I would have to ask who the real traitor to Germania is."

"I can't believe that you would side with the Judean scum and those socialist traitors! You-you-!"

"Relax, Herr Goering. Drink some water and calm down. We're both veterans of the Great War. I serve the Fatherland, whether it is a monarchy or a republic is completely irrelevant. All I seek is to protect my home from Bolshevik scum."

That was enough to calm him down. It would do me no good if the representative walked out on me. Not when so much was at stake.

"They betrayed our country. Our Fatherland…"

Pulling up my briefcase, I revealed its contents. It was the same report I had given to Stromming albeit with a few revisions after my experience here in Germania. I slid it over to Goering for him to read.

"If this sounds familiar to you, it is because it is. The SPD of Daneland didn't give this to me, it was I who came to them with the truth. If you find any inconsistencies with my counterargument with the 'Stab-in-the-Back,' I welcome you to write a rebuttal to disprove my points. Then we can have a proper debate on the Reichstag floor instead of settling a disagreement through blood."

It was highly amusing to watch the Five Stages of Grief flash before the veteran's face. He was trying so desperately to say I was wrong and misinformed, but the numbers do not lie.

"Our armies are the greatest in the world." Goering still clung to that poison like a drug addict. "We subdued the Legadonians, we captured Parisee, we pushed back against the Red horde, the Illdoans were humiliated and even with the Albish and Americans against us, we did not crumble."

"We were the greatest army in the world," I replied, "But that was before four and a half million men of the Fatherland perished after eight long years of attrition. With it, the valuable experience was gone. In the first year of the war, over 40% of the trained, experienced personnel were lost. By the second year, that number rose to 60%. By the fourth year, over 80% of the corporals, sergeants, and captains had to be replaced. If we were the greatest army in the world, why did we have to resort to allowing 16-year-olds into service?"

"It's because the ethnic minorities of the Empire did not contribute to the war effort! The Judeans were draft dodgers, for God's sake!"

"Interesting accusation. How many draft dodgers did you identify? Did you compare the numbers to how many were called into service? If it was such a serious issue, how come I was not notified? I did several recruitment ads during my tenure in the Imperial Mage Corps; the Kaiser should have sent me on a domestic tour to rally popular support."

The fighter ace seemed to push through that retort. "Our industrial base was unmatched in the world. We had the most advanced weaponry possible to give to our armed forces."

"You're right. Our industrial capacity was the largest in Europe. But against half of the world? Against the combined weight of the Unified States, the Albish Commonwealth, and the Russy Federation? No, we could not have outproduced them. Time was against us and we were running out of valuable metals needed for the factories. One V-1 missile is still one missile. Our bombers could not touch the American heartland while our cities remained vulnerable to theirs."

"Our leadership is superior to theirs and our mages are the best in the world. Your existence proves it."

"Our enemies aren't idiots. They are just as intelligent and fallible as you and me. It takes 15,000 men to train a major general; more than enough to get our opponents to adapt to new technologies and strategies to defeat us. We were simply outmatched in the long run. Rudensdorf is a good man and a great commander but even he could not have fought a war on four fronts. Even I could not take on the entire planet and win. I was still only one person among many in the meatgrinder of the Great War."

"We could still win!" Goering shot up from his seat. It was almost adorable seeing him try to grasp at straws to cement his beliefs as reality.

"How?" I demanded. "How?! This isn't the age of the glorious cavalry charges. This is an era of modern war! We could not have won through decisive victories alone; victory was granted to whoever could produce more guns and butter than the rest. You're a brilliant fighter ace in your own right, but even you cannot shoot down every plane our enemies throw at you. I've had my fair share of near-death experiences, and I'm sure you have too."

Goering settled back down in his chair but before he could open his mouth again, I once again held my hand up to silence his great maw.

"Herr Goering, I believe we are getting off-topic from the original purpose of this meeting," I said, returning to my seat. "Once again, for the safety of our country and to preserve what integrity it has left, the Junkers and the industrial magnates need to financially support the government; no time to be frugal."

"What's in it for us?" Goering demanded.

"Cease your hostility; let me remind you that the people you represent have no real friends in the Reichstag. The Communists plot to seize their wealth and redistribute it and the National Vanguardists plot to do the same. You could either continue to negotiate with me or you could have an audience with Rohr or Lutzebuerg."

That shut him up real quick, perhaps he could finally act like a reasonable person and not some faux noble with a fanboy streak. The man went deep into thought, brows furrowed and hand on his chin as though deliberating on something, before he answered.

"...the Rhineland is plagued by Bolshevik rhetoric. Thanks to its status as a demilitarized zone, the communists have entrenched themselves like ticks, disrupting production with their talks of a workers' revolution." Goering huffed, "Westphalia is no better."

"Why haven't the Reichswehr suppressed these communist groups?" I raised an eyebrow.

"God only knows. Believe me, I had a similar question. I hate the Treaty of Triano but even I know that there's a clause that would at least allow us to use the army to suppress revolts in that region."

"Is that their only concern?"

"Essentially. My clients have massive investments and properties in the Rhineland they would like to see liberated. Drive the Reds out, break some fingers, and the Weimar Republic may just earn enough goodwill among the conservatives to gain their support."

"I'm glad we're on the same page. However, there's also this attitude towards Triano that needs to be adjusted."

Goering grunted in acknowledgement.

"The Germanian National People's Party are three things: monarchist, anti-semitic, and anti-parliamentarian," I listed out the problems. "Tell the party leader, Heinrich Class, that in return for stopping all publications of the Stab-in-the-Back myth and replacing that lie with my reports, I can organize a referendum on his behalf on the question of a royal restoration."

The former fighter ace seemed to smile.

"And if he refuses?"

"Then tell him that I will meet with him in person and that would be the only warning I would give. Class is not the only person who thinks this country is infested with vermin."

The reporter's name was Johannis Stricher and he was the first man to greet me as soon as I exited the room. He looked half a decade older than Visha yet was just as enamored basking in my presence. Whether or not Stricher was a newbie reporter, he'd struck gold with the chance to interview me. The feeling was also mutual.

What better way to tear down an entire party than to humiliate it in its own domain?

After secluding ourselves into another corner of the castle to avoid any unnecessary distractions from the conservative crowd, I found myself across the table from Stricher. Unlike Goering's table, the refreshments and snacks were more humble yet no less delicious: pineapples, apple cider, and fresh cheese.

The reporter began, "Fraulein von Degurechaff, I appreciate you giving your time. Our readers are eager to hear your thoughts on the events of the Great War. Some claim that certain traitorous factions, including individuals of a particular background and of questionable morals, were responsible for Germania's defeat. What are your insights on this matter?"

I looked at him with a calm but stern glance.

"The narrative of blaming a specific group for the nation's defeat is erroneous. The Great War was a complex conflict with multifaceted reasons for its outcome. Attempts to attribute it solely to any particular community are misguided and undermine the national unity necessary for our country's progress. Why, have you not seen what the government of Daneland has published?"

He shifted uneasily, clearly attempting to steer the conversation toward more divisive rhetoric. "I have certainly read over what the Danish Social Democrats have said; it was an intriguing read. But surely, there were elements within certain communities that didn't align with the nation's interests. How do you address that?"

I can feel my blood boiling. How many times do I have to address this?

"Every society comprises individuals with diverse perspectives. It's critical to make decisions beyond blanket judgments. Our focus should be on fostering unity and cooperation among all citizens for the betterment of our nation. Blaming particular groups only hampers progress and perpetuates dangerous divisions. I was there on the frontlines; we were defeated by the Allied Powers. There was no secret Judean cabal orchestrating our downfall. We were simply outmatched."

Before Stricher could open his mouth to spew more idiotic nonsense, I held up my hand to get him to cease.

"Moreover, the rise of anti-Semitism is a concerning trend that must be addressed and opposed in all directions. Prejudice against any group, based on religion or ethnicity, has no place in a modern, enlightened society. We must strive to educate and build bridges rather than succumb to baseless hatred. If we don't, Germania will be weaker in the face of Francois imperialism."

"I cannot tolerate this notion any longer," I added, "For a party that is for the patriots and the Fatherland, it is most insulting for it to find excuses to cover up the defeat in the Great War. If Herr Class truly loves his country, he would identify the real problems that have seen our nation defeated and partitioned by the Francois Republic and introduce real solutions. Instead of acting like a child, finding ghosts where there are none, like a false shepherd."

The interview concluded without much further fanfare. Each one of my responses to his next series of questions left him more and more baffled until the very end. I knew that challenging such entrenched beliefs required a delicate approach, but sometimes, the direct response is the most effective response.

I certainly was looking forward to how Stricher would try to twist my words in the next set of DNVP newspapers.

If the Reichsbanner were to become a formidable force in defending the Germanian Republic, they would need more than just pistols. Although the 100,000-strong Reichswehr could theoretically put down a large revolt, in the four months since my meeting with Goering, the Communists had acquired up to 500,000 fighters while membership in the SA had reached one million. It fell upon us to assist the federal army in dismantling these violent movements. It was an unfortunate reality, but Herr Schlage and his colleagues' vision for a nonviolent defence force was simply untenable. We needed to champion peace but be capable of violence, or otherwise be rendered toothless and vulnerable.

Training was a straightforward affair. Many if not all of the men of the Reichsbanner were veterans of the Great War so I didn't have to start from the basics. However, although we would be heading towards the Rhineland, it wouldn't be trench warfare again. No. It would be urban street fighting; we would have to conquer the living room before advancing into the kitchen and the attic.

The rifle is a dear friend but it is too cumbersome to be used in tight spaces. It would be far more useful to be assigned to snipers and designated marksmen. No doubt the Communists had spent a significant amount of time militarizing their trade unions into a coherent guerrilla force. We'd need superior firepower to flush them out of their nests.

Revolvers and handguns are good weapons in close-quarter combat and axes, bludgeons, and the spade have proven their worth in the trenches. In such an environment, those tools would be invaluable in breaking down the doors to allow my units to rush in with their small arms drawn.

Discipline was key, however, and even though we were not in the army, it would ruin our PR standing with the voter base if my followers devolved into a mob burning and looting their way across western Germania. Thankfully, Koenig, Weiss, and Neumann made terrifying drill instructors in a pinch, drilling into our volunteers' heads that this was not some adventure or mere game but their one and only chance to secure public order and maintain freedom and liberty for their homeland.

In establishing ourselves as trainers, it seemed as though a bond had begun to grow. I'd noticed more and more of the Reichsbanner troopers, from the standard members to the officers, asking advice from both me and my subordinates on various topics; from combat tips to even patrol routines and command decisions. It was good to see the men beginning to see us as one of them; camaraderie and trust were important in any armed force.

Speaking of her subordinates; for months on end, Weiss had been requesting that he be able to wear the color black for his uniform instead of the "hideous" beige garb. Humoring him, I allowed him to craft his own if he could manage to find a tailor. Since his request was beyond the normal budgetary constraints, Weiss would need to pay out of his own pocket; a restriction that didn't seem to faze him one bit. I could sympathize with his enthusiasm; these pale brown uniforms were a blank canvas for an artistic mind to paint over.

If my subordinates wanted to paint it black, who was I to refuse? As long as identifications remained consistent and visible.

A knock on my door shook me out of my thoughts. It opened to reveal Visha with a curious smile on her face.

"Herr Larsen wishes to talk with you, Tanya."

Larsen? Why was he here? And how did he find me?

If Daneland needed my aid again, it better be an actual emergency. I expect the entire Legadonian army to be on the march right now.

What kind of business does a Dane, a Czech, and a Magyar have in Germania? Arms trafficking.

Across six trucks belonging to Skoda Works were wooden crates and barrels labelled as "Butter", "Bread", and "Beer". Their contents were rifles, machine pistols, submachine guns, light and heavy machine guns, stick grenades, ammunition bayonets, and even computation orbs and trench guns.

Made in the Czech-Slovak State. There was enough war material here to outfit an entire battalion.

I looked up at Larsen with a quizzical face. I hadn't ordered any of these at all! Who gave them the idea in the first place?

"You helped us save our country." Larsen lit a cigar as if this whole encounter was a night in a beer hall. "It is time we help you save yours. The Prime Minister sends his regards."

"The Royal Regent sends his regards." The Magyar representative bowed.

"The President also sends his regards." The Czech followed suit.

"Does President Mazarik know that such an act would violate his nation's friendship with the Francois Republic?" I had to know that man's reasoning. Wasn't he the one who called for Czech independence?

"Pardon my manners, Argent Silver, I should have introduced myself first. I am Edurard Henlein, and yes, he does know." Henlein answered with a sly smile. "The Francois are so desperate to keep the Little Entente alive that even if they catch wind of this, they'll overlook it in order to preserve any semblance of unity."

"Will this gratitude be offered only once or will we be breaking open the breadbox in a routine?"

It was the Magyar who spoke up, Felix Czalzi, with a devilish smirk. "Once, but we can go through this arrangement two or three more times. Though I suspect, by then, you won't need to rely on government handouts."

He was not wrong. The Treaty of Triano was inherently untenable. The Germany back in my old life had already begun violating it the moment the ink had dried on that piece of paper. General Secretary Lergen must already be collaborating with the Minister of Defence, Adolf von Hammerstein, in rebuilding the Reichswehr in secret.

Given how unnerved Lergen was in my recent encounter with him, he doesn't seem privy to sharing details. He already has too much on his plate. First, the secret armament and now the conspiracy theory he would need to root out.

All the more reason I would need to ensure public safety is restored on the streets.

I thanked the representatives for their time and got to business organizing these "donations" to be given to my men. That solved one problem but I would still need to set up a logistics chain to ensure a steady stream of ammunition for the guns. 100 bullets for a bolt action rifle may seem like a lot but in a prolonged firefight, it would not be enough to squeak out a victory.

Still, I took the men into my office to pry a little more information out of them. Apparently, Daneland and Magyarorszag had purchased several shipments of small arms to be used for their own armies and decided it was cheap to secure a transportation route through Germania. That was the official line, anyway. Stromming and Horvath really did not care about being caught it seems; giving me a small mountain of armaments and a month's worth of ammunition.

The mask had finally slipped and now the Germanian Republic was in greater danger than ever. The insidious demon, Tanya von Degurechaff, despite her soft words and angelic appearance, had begun to corrupt the Reichsbanner from within and set her plans for a future that could not be more disturbing for the Progressive Bloc - at least to Zentrum.

Berning was right not to trust Argent Silver. The veteran party chairman of Zentrum was right to protest and denounce her entry into the DDP. Her status and messages were simply too good to be true.

Deep in the heart of the Reichspräsidentenpalais, under every layer of security afforded, Berning paced back and forth before the leaders of the Progressive Bloc. His face was both wroth and fearful at the prospects of Tanya's latest agenda. Sure, he was thankful that she had made the conservatives more amicable in their negotiations, allowing for a more stable, and hopefully secure, election in the coming November. Voting day was just around the corner.

But now that Argent Silver was amassing an army of ideological fanatics, his concerns could no longer be buried.

"She needs to be stopped. Once and for all." Berning bemoaned, turning to face his political allies. "What were you thinking, Herr Schlage? Allowing her to amass so much gravitas?"

Heimal Schlage rubbed his own eyes underneath his glasses, hoping to wipe away the shame. In hindsight, he should not have allowed her to act with so much autonomy. But with her political acumen, her insight into economics, and her ability to rally men at the snap of her fingers, it was too easy to assign more responsibilities, whatever he could think of, to the war hero. She had brought nothing but success. Too much success. It was already well into August and Tanya had practically guaranteed a dominant coalition government.

But at what cost to the moderates?

President Erbel was turning pale by the second.

"You don't mean to…assassinate her?" He asked sheepishly.

"We still have the Reichswehr. We can use it to crush the Argent Silver and her Black Army." Chancellor Herimann suggests, "Let's wait for her to bleed herself dry against the Reds and the Greys."

"She's a decorated war hero." Schlage protested.

"She's gaining too much influence over the Reichsbanner; more and more of our units no longer follow our directives. They approach Degurechaff and her subordinates for approval instead of us. We must take action before she launches a putsch with our own men!"

"Even so, who can guarantee that the Reichswehr won't join such a putsch? The regular army would worship her as a goddess!"

The radio messages, the campaign speeches, the political ads - those were not her words. Degurechaff was the perfect political chameleon, being able to unite the far-right with the moderate left. Her smile was too wide, her joy too infectious, her advice on economic matters too helpful, but Berning knew better; there were few actors in the world that could pull off the same charade. The young woman's heart belongs in the Empire, no doubt about it.

"We'll resort to assassination if all other options fail," Berning stated the words and they tasted like poison in his mouth. He hated the concept of murdering a fellow Papalist, but the future of Germania had to be free from her authoritarian, militarist streak.

Such an act would be the highest betrayal ever done to the Fatherland; to kill its greatest soldier. But history would vindicate him.

Not another dictator. Not another Kulturkampf. Not another Sophist in Berun.

"We have to send her away, far away, from the capital." The Zentrum leader continued, "Keep her as far away from the center of politics and we will be able to work on dismantling her power base. By the time she returns, the Argent Silver will be unable to remove the safeguards protecting the democratic process."

"Where do we send her?" Schlage asks.

"Yugoslavia." Chancellor Herimann spoke up after a moment of deliberation. "The Bolsheviks have made their way to Beograd, forming a Red Front to oppose the monarchy. Degurechaff would not resist the scent of communist blood."

"It's our best option." President Erbel sighs, "Lothiern is too stable, Daneland has already been helped by her, Pullska and Magyarozag would only feed her ambitions; quite frankly, there's nothing to do in the Czech-Slovak State or Osterry."

"We'll have to contact our friends in Beograd to entice Degurechaff to come over. But we have to do it on separate occasions to prevent her from catching on; she is far too cunning for her own good." Berning stated.

"What happens if she cleans up Yugoslavia too early?" Schlage said.

"Unlikely, the kingdom is a melting pot of ethnicities. Various separatist groups are threatening to give the nation its own version of Trianofication. She'll be occupied for a long time."