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I'm a bit curious how you managed to prevent the Soviets from declaring war. When I tried to play somewhat as you describe in your AAR, i.e. no M-R pact, the Soviets either declare war on Lithuania a short time after I'm done with my Poland campaign, or, in case I declare war on Lithuania to "preventively" take it over, they declare war on my or a member of my alliance.

No idea. The Soviets did declare ware on Lithuania, pretty much out of the blue as far as I could tell, and then when I invaded Lithuania as described... nothing happened. Good thing, too, because I don't think the forces I had in place would have been sufficient to pull off an early Barbarossa.
 
Huh. Okay, then I'll try to do it in that order; waiting till the Soviets DoW Lithuania, then DoW and invade Lithuania myself.
If that doesn't work, I'll probably have to go with the M-R pact (limited, likely); I'd rather not face the Soviets in '39 (though I do have a number of allies at my back, such as Nationalist Spain, Romania, Hungary, Greece, Turkey, Persia, and - best of all - Fascist Scandinavia! :eek: ) or have the Soviets "at war" (with no way to actually end it) from '39 onwards, with reduced consumer needs and all.

- Kelenas
 
FWIW, the way my Barbarossa eventually started was that the Soviets declared war on... Poland. They did this the in-game day after I'd decided not to invade the USSR that year.
 
From that, it seems like Soviets are either Psychic... or extremely random. Because when I tried to follow your advice (DoW Lithuania after the Soviets do), and thus loaded my game, and waited ... and waited ... and it appears they suddenly decided that they aren't interested in the Baltic nations after all, as it is now Februray '40, I'm currently re-deploying/organizing my allies troops (for some reason the Spaniards and Poles decided to pile up all their troops in a single province that wasn't even remotely connected to possible enemy fronts) and the Soviets are still sitting around without doing anything.
 
FWIW, the way my Barbarossa eventually started was that the Soviets declared war on... Poland. They did this the in-game day after I'd decided not to invade the USSR that year.

Oh, that'll be a fun update. :D
 
'Kay, the Soviet AI is apparently somewhat whacky. In the end, they did end up declaring war on Lithuania, but it took them 'till summer '40 to so. Following c0d5579's advice I did the same, and had it annexed by my Polish puppet.
 
43. Coming Down

Naval Aviation Training Facility Rügen
Rügen, German Empire
3 January 1940


On the first workday of the new year, Peter Volkmann came to work to find the fleet's "carrier godfather" already waiting for him. He had long grown used to Canaris coming and going as he pleased, so the admiral was greeted with nothing more than a weary sigh, a salute, and a cup of brandy-reinforced coffee, offered without asking as soon as he saw the distinctive little silhouette through the glass partition.

Once he had settled into his desk, Peter looked across at his visitor. "So what brings you here today, Admiral?" he asked, more or less politely. Canaris smiled, a surprisingly warm, personal smile. "Peter," he began, and Peter was instantly on guard; for his superiors to call him by his first name was more than unusual, it usually meant disaster. "You've done a hell of a job here. We actually have enough pilots to field a proper carrier force. More important," he added, "we have enough instructors. As a result, the nature of your job is changing." Canaris shifted in his seat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "What we don't have is a lot of men qualified to evaluate aircraft. Most of that's done by people like that fellow Tank in Bremen. Not a bad man for a cavalry captain, but... well, you and I know he's not a carrier man. Plus these memos you've been sending the Torpedo School - lit a fire over there, I'm afraid." Peter listened quietly, sipping his coffee, then finally broke in, "Excuse me, sir, but what does all of this mean?"

"Effective next month, this is the Naval Aviation Development Center Rügen. The old pilot's school is going to go to Fregattenkapitän Halders, and your focus is changing purely to evaluating aircraft and more importantly figuring out how to use them." Canaris saw this sink in and raised a hand. "None of this is to say you're being punished or even criticized, there's just too much to manage for one man, so we're splitting the command. Besides," he added almost as an afterthought, "your time here's running out anyway, don't you think it's time to get back out to the fleet?" Canaris gave him a probing look. "Word is that the Kronprinz is asking about you as the Geschwaderkommodore for the Zeppelin, and if Prince Siggi ever figures out which way's up in the Navy now that he's back, he'll probably beg for you for Prinz Heinrich. You can write your own ticket if you really want, Peter."

Peter frowned, fingers drumming on the chair's arm. He should probably be thankful; chances are whoever followed him in the technical office would probably dismiss Vogt the moment he could and replace him with a "proper" officer. On the other hand, it still bothered him that he was shuffled around so easily by the Naval bureaucracy. He had gotten comfortable here at Rügen, and now Canaris was talking about a "return to the fleet!" Eventually he shrugged and nodded. "All that makes sense, sir. But the torpedo problem really does need to be fixed." Canaris smiled, standing and clapping him on the shoulder. "If anyone can fix it, Peter..." He suddenly straightened and clapped his hand to his forehead. "What a fool I've been! I almost forgot... those people in Bremen... your wife... ah, Peter," he asked, apologetically, "you think you could take a look at this machine of theirs? Quick trip to Bremen? Won't be wonderful weather," he admitted, "but Lufthansa contracted for a bigger version of that silly contraption at the motor-show, and Frau Volkmann's flight out to the Kaiser's summer cruise... well, there are some who think it might have some potential." Canaris looked vaguely sheepish, as if to apologize for the intrusion.

They moved out of Peter's office to the hangar, staring at the two-seat Focke-Wulf autogyro that sat, pampered and babied, in its center, Canaris stroking his chin and Peter with his hands resting on his hips. Finally Canaris broke the silence. "So how was it, being in Britain during the war?"

Peter shrugged. "When we got to London, we were attacked... yes, that's the right word... by Prince Battenberg... Mountbatten, whatever it is he calls himself." He chuckled at the memory. "Showed up on the tarmac at Croydon and began jabbering away at us in German. Apparently he's some sort of staff officer for their Fleet Air Arm. Not a pilot, mind." Peter glanced apologetically at the admiral, whose wings were largely by courtesy, and Canaris gestured for him to continue. "Climbed all over the Heinkel, top to bottom. It's a mail-carrier version, so I wasn't going to complain too much. Besides, he invited us to dinner. We didn't exactly fit in." Canaris snorted, hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, Mountbatten's 'set' is a mix of royals and sailors. You're at least in the respectable half of that list."

"Anyway, sir. We were actually in Edinburgh when the Kaiser got shot. When we went to war, the British were very polite about it, but we weren't allowed to leave. We spent a lot of that time being actual tourists. The British didn't seem to mind us being at war with Poland too much... felt very strongly about the attempt on the Kaiser. I eventually had to call this Mountbatten fellow, ask if it would be possible for us to fly up to Scapa Flow. I'm not sure how he got approval for it, but he managed."

Canaris frowned. "Well, that explains that. I'll tell you how he got approval. It was on a quid pro quo basis. The Admiral -" Raeder, by implication - "recently informed me that in June, we can expect not one, but two 'blue-ribbon' panels. One from the Americans, one from the Royal Navy. Point of all of this is that we want to show them the fleet... battleships, cruisers, and yes, carriers. They're coming over for Kiel Week. Apparently, it was all this Mountbatten's idea, and the Kaiser extended an invitation to the Americans. But not," he added with an amused snort, "the French."

Peter shrugged. "Mostly what I learned was that the Heinkel just doesn't have the legs for a proper attack on Scapa Flow unless by some miracle we launch from somewhere Aarhus or north. It also doesn't have enough in the way of torpedo payload to offset the risks." Canaris nodded. "Mm. About what I expected, to be honest. So I have one more task for you, Peter. This new Junkers bird the Luftwaffe's got, the 88. Take a look, see what you think."

"So let me get this straight, sir. Right now, we have four major technical projects... Vogt and the fighters, this Focke-Wulf super-autogyro, the torpedos, and now checking out this Junkers bomber?" Canaris grinned, a mad gleam in his eye. "You forgot escorting the British and the Americans around for Kiel Week, since it's your fault."

---

Focke-Wulf Flugzeugbau GmbH
Bremen, German Empire
6 January 1940


The autogyro wobbled as it came in to hover, Peter leaning out over the side to check his ground clearance. It settled slowly on the brown grass field before bumping to a rest, and his rear-seat passenger leaned forward, clapping him on the shoulder and yelling in his ear. "Told you it was the easiest plane in the world to fly!" Hanna yelled before vaulting from the cockpit. Peter winced, waiting for the inevitable decapitating stroke of the rotors. Every time she did that, he was sure she would lose her head; he had fortunately been wrong every time, today included.

henrichfockemitfa233sma.jpg

A balding man in a long brown coat clutched the skirts of his coat with one hand and a fedora with the other, keeping them from blowing away in the rotor wash. "Henrich!" Hanna exclaimed in delight, running over to kiss him on the cheek. The older man looked faintly embarrassed by it, but gave her a quick, one-armed hug, releasing his coat to do so. Peter dismounted while this was going on and the rotors were spun down to stillness. "Herr Focke, I presume?" he asked, skinning off his flight gloves and offering a hand.

"Yes, captain, though your face seems familiar... were you at that silly stunt at the motor show?" Focke asked, slightly embarrassed still by Hanna and the memory of the exhibit-hall flight. Peter smiled, liking Focke immediately. "Yes... Peter Volkmann. I was with the fire brigade in case my wife crashed." Hanna glared at him, and Focke blinked. "Your wife...?" Realization dawned and he beamed at Hanna. "Well, congratulations. And, if I may say so, good luck, captain, you'll need it." Peter nodded, smiling still.

"Now, if I may, can we see this super-plane of yours?" he asked as they began to walk back toward the hangar complex. Focke frowned. "You mean that thing?" he asked irritably, waving at a speck circling on the horizon. "Tank's baby? He's running me out of my own company, captain, makes me wish we'd never merged with Albatros. Why..." Peter raised a hand, forestalling what he feared would be a torrent of complaint about the other plane. "No, sir. I mean your super-plane. The autogyro." Focke blinked, stopping in place, and beamed. Peter could tell he had just made a friend, and Focke immediately picked up his pace, not quite running toward the hangars.

"Here is what we have," he said, waving inside. "It's not ready to fly, but compare it to what you came in." Peter's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and he gasped.

fa223.jpg

"When I was asked to come down here, professor, I didn't expect anything so... large!" Focke waved it away. "This is a beginning, captain. This is the first machine of a new era. It is also," he said somewhat bitterly, "what I am allowed to work on; Tank monopolizes the rest of the firm." Peter glanced at the professor, and saw deep lines etched in his face by the light. He had not realized the strain the man had been under, and a flash of pity passed through him. He shook it off and asked instead, "Professor, how have the flight tests been going?" Focke frowned and replied, "To be honest, it has been difficult. We have to develop a whole new set of testing protocols for it, because it is so radically different." Peter nodded and Focke moved over to a workbench. "Here, though - here are the initial hover reports. As you can see, we have problems with the engine, but BMW swears they will be ironed out soon."

Peter perused the reports in silence, with Focke at his elbow and Hanna walking around the helicopter. She came back uncharacteristically subdued, and Peter glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. "When I flew out to the Deutschland," she explained, "it was nothing, just a stunt. But Peter... think about what you could do with a machine like this. You could carry wounded men from the battlefield, or get medicine to places where before it would have required mule trains. If we can make it work, we can save lives."

The moment he heard that 'we,' he knew he had been committed to the project. He turned to Focke and asked in resignation, "All right, professor, how can His Majesty's fleet help?"

---

1. Fallschirmkorps Kampfschule
Stendal, German Empire
15 January 1940


The students in the corps finishing school had heard rumors of their new company commander - that he was the hardest man in the corps, bar none, that he had been wounded in battle in Poland and had only left his position when the battle had been won, that his wife was the most desirable on post. The truth was far more prosaic, and when the thin, sparely-built Oberleutnant appeared in front of his first company formation, he was not what they had expected. For one thing, he walked with a slight limp, and rather than the dozen decorations that he was said to have, he had a wound badge, both orders of Iron Cross, and the cross of the Red Eagle at his throat. He wasn't even an infantryman - his collar tabs marked him as a Pioneer! He set them at ease and began speaking, surprisingly conversationally.

"This company is a 'finishing school' for riflemen and specialists, so you are probably wondering why an engineer lieutenant is standing up here. I am Oberleutnant Volkmann. I made the Lodz jump and, as you may have gathered, was wounded outside Warsaw. In short, what separates me from you is six weeks of fighting, not much in the scheme of things. What I have to teach you, though, is how to survive those six weeks. Studies in the Great War showed that the vast majority of casualties were in that initial period - that if you survived your first exposure to fire, you'd likely survive your second, and so on.

"The first task ahead of you is an aptitude test... fairly simple, really... to determine whether you stay riflemen, become marksmen, or, for the truly fortunate -" and his mouth twisted wryly - "to join the divisional assault battalions." He paused for a moment, then continued. "My people." For a moment, Wilhelm's mind drifted back to now-Feldwebel Bechtel and Fitzgerald, freshly returned in Unteroffizier shoulderboards from the corps NCO academy, and wondered how that new lieutenant was handling his platoon.

"With no more ado, your training officers will take charge of you from here. Officers, take charge of your platoons!" He saluted, the three lieutenants under him - all men who had made the step into commission in Warsaw rather than freshly graduated lieutenants - returned the salute, and he walked off to the right, leaving them in charge.

The officers and "mother" NCOs were obvious in their jump smocks; the trainees stayed in field-gray until this course was complete. One of the trainees, big and strongly built, attracted his attention. He could swear he had seen the man before, and he lingered for a moment, trying to determine the man's name from conversation. He answered to Schmeling at roll call, and Wilhelm headed into his orderly room, calling over at the clerk, "Gefreiter, get me Schmeling's file." The clerk acknowledged the order and scrambled to find the file, and Wilhelm settled behind his desk to begin the day's round of paperwork.
 
Not the greatest update ever, but to be honest, I got tired of writing and re-writing it and went with "something's better than nothing."
 
Something tells me that Schmeling chap could be useful in hand-to-hand combat :D.

Good update, even if you don't seem to like it yourself. Its true nothing groundbreaking happened and neither is it as actionpacked as the Polish updates. But I like these kind of 'what-do-they-do-if-they-aren't fighting' updates, sometimes its a nice change of pace.
 
Busy man, this Peter :D Anyway, hopefully the German Navy / Airforce will have the new model aircrafts etc. quickly to sustain the Competitive Advantage over Britain, but more important France. What about relations between Germany and USA, Britain France etc.?

Tim
 
Something tells me that Schmeling chap could be useful in hand-to-hand combat :D.

Good update, even if you don't seem to like it yourself. Its true nothing groundbreaking happened and neither is it as actionpacked as the Polish updates. But I like these kind of 'what-do-they-do-if-they-aren't fighting' updates, sometimes its a nice change of pace.

Or, since there are a couple years of peace ahead, in the 1940 Helsinki games, either as a competitor or as a coach. I suspect future generations will look back on 1940 as the Golden Year, given that it was a year of peace and an Olympic year to boot.

Busy man, this Peter :D Anyway, hopefully the German Navy / Airforce will have the new model aircrafts etc. quickly to sustain the Competitive Advantage over Britain, but more important France. What about relations between Germany and USA, Britain France etc.?

Tim

He gets busier. As for the relations - that's what the Kiel Week visit is meant to represent; there's not a good way to say "Oh, and the Foreign Minister says we barely influenced Britain!" Goodwill visits from their navy, though...
 
Well, 1940... golden summer of peace... I wonder how 1941 will be remembered...
 
Well, 1940... golden summer of peace... I wonder how 1941 will be remembered...

I somehow believe sort of like OTLs 1940/41.



As for Mr. Focke: The problem is, with Tank's baby more money can be made short term. Mind you, autogyros are cool.
 
Well, 1940... golden summer of peace... I wonder how 1941 will be remembered...

That depends. We talking about in France, or in Germany?

Without spoiling anything, 1940 is the last time that a number of national teams get to compete. The displacement is actually much worse in Europe than anywhere else, though the Co-Prosperity Sphere does a number in Asia.

I somehow believe sort of like OTLs 1940/41.



As for Mr. Focke: The problem is, with Tank's baby more money can be made short term. Mind you, autogyros are cool.

True, and the Fw 190 is, as I've said elsewhere, now getting properly funded. The fact that Focke was not hounded out of his own company to turn its production capacity over to making Messerschmitts actually helps Tank out here.

Assault battalion is close to a suicide. :rolleyes:
But sounds geil.

33% casualties fighting Poles is "heavy but acceptable." And yes, being in an airborne unit in the '40s specifically tasked with attacking whatever the strongest point in the line is, that's pretty much suicide.
 
44. Union

Kaiserzug "Tannenberg"
West of Vienna, Republic of Austria
21 January 1940


Otto von Habsburg stared moodily out at the Austrian countryside, conflicted as ever about his role. On the one hand, if he had not acceded to the Kaiser's plans, he would likely still be an exile more certain of being stopped at the border than that ridiculous, putsching corporal a few years ago. Hister, Adler? Something like that. Silly little man, totally unfit for high office. The Kaiser at least had allowed him the chance to return home to Austria.

On the other, to do it like this, as an obvious lapdog to Berlin? He was Habsburg enough that the mere thought set him on edge. There were, of course, going to be those... like Horthy in Hungary.... he expected, who merely laughed off any restoration in Vienna. All of this, he thought unhappily, could be traced back to Königgrätz. If they had beaten the Prussians then, who knows, a Hohenzollern might have had to crawl to Vienna for aid. But no...

He straightened, shaking his head as he saw someone approaching. No sense in reliving the past. He glanced over to see who it was, a distraction from the gray weather outside, and blushed slightly. It was Wilhelm, with his daughter on his recovered left side, arms intertwined, laughing at some private joke. The Kaiser approached Otto, smiling and clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, Otto, are you ready?" Otto nodded once, rapidly, glancing over at Cecilie before looking away. "Yes, Majesty," he half-mumbled. Cecilie noticed the glance and giggled, and Wilhelm looked tolerantly at the two of them. "Otto, would you care to show my daughter around your city?" The Kaiser put a slight but unmistakable emphasis on the word "your," and Otto was forced once more to look him over.

How had this man, generally thought of before the Restoration by those who thought of him at all as a bon vivant more interested in the bosoms and backsides of hairdressers and opera singers than affairs of state, managed such an astonishing recovery in Germany? It couldn't all be Papen's fault; Otto had met Papen years ago and instantly dismissed him as a riding instructor and professional fop. In Vienna thirty years ago they would have given him a sinecure at the Spanish School and ignored him until it was time for a horse show. The fact that he had since shown himself to be a cunning, perhaps even ruthless, politician merely made some, Otto among them, nervous in his presence. There was always a sense that Papen was preparing some sort of backhanded maneuver.

Wilhelm, though... Otto had known the Kaiser relatively well ever since the conference in Bavaria a few years ago, and he still did not understand the man, and this transformation from high-living princeling into statesman was nigh-incomprehensible. Otto recalled the recruiting posters last year, showing an old man in King Wilhelm's now-trademark short spade beard cradling a fallen body, pointing accusingly outward, red-white-black and demanding vengeance in block letters. Since then, the Kaiser had seemed transformed, a man on a mission, self-stated as a reunion of all the Germans.

Wilhelm noticed his stare, raising his eyebrows politely. "Otto, I say... are you quite all right?" The young Habsburg came back to himself, nodding. "Yes, Majesty, I would be quite happy to show the Princess around Vienna." He offered his arm, and Cecilie gracefully transferred herself from Kaiser to would-be king.

---

Wiener Opernhaus
Vienna, Republic of Austria
1 February 1940


Wilhelm III had come to Austria. His visit, the first of its kind in memory, had been well-timed; he had barely secured an invitation to the Opera Ball and had arrived in great style by train, greeted at the station by President Miklas and Chancellor Dollfuss. The contrast between the tall, aristocratic Wilhelm and the little Dollfuss would be the meat of weeks' worth of political cartoons.

It was a measure of the esteem in which he was held that Wilhelm III was put up at Schönbrunn; it had not been until the last minute that he had revealed that among his entourage was the man who would be king, Otto von Habsburg. Wilhelm had pointedly taken Otto everywhere with him during the past week, exposing the Viennese to the young prince, a likeable, moderate man who lacked the demonic energy that they had come to associate with Chancellor Dollfuss. The Viennese responded wildly to Otto's presence, a partial reaction to the success of the Restoration to the north. Miklas and Dollfuss had at first been dismayed by this reaction, but exposure to Otto brought Miklas, at least, around; Dollfuss remained intensely suspicious.

The Opera Ball was the height of the social season, and the unexpected appearance of Kaiser and Kaiserin heightened its importance. The stately parade of gowned, uniformed figures - the Kaiser in black Totenkopf Hussar uniform complete with pelisse and shako, the Kaiserin in sea-green with the Order of the Black Eagle on her breast where a corsage might have been on a lesser woman, Otto in the uniform of a colonel of the Hoch- und Deutschmeister regiment, arm well-decorated by the Kaiser's youngest daughter, Cecilie, like her father in uniform, though this time in a skirted version of the ubiquitous First Foot Guards livery - they added an additional sheen to an already glittering event. Previous generations of Kaiser might have disdained it as a common event and the waltz as beneath their station; Cecilie would gladly have killed to attend just the Viennese opera, and Wilhelm was at his best and happiest dancing. Of all of the German royal party in attendance, the least happy was, ironically, Otto, to whom Vienna meant memories of his childhood, of what might have been. What could still be, he thought as he stared out into the night, if the Kaiser meant what he said.

He did; Wilhelm eventually called to signal a halt in the dancing with a raised hand. It might be bad form, but the Kaiser, flushed with happiness, chose the moment to propose his toast. "I have long regarded Vienna as a fine city, and the people of Austria as our German brothers. It seems such a pity that a nation of ten million should be denied its desires simply by an unfair peace treaty. I should think... I should think there would be a way for our two German nations to be united, fairly and equitably!" The room stayed silent for a long moment, then the applause began, slowly at first but building. Otto felt his heart at his throat; Wilhelm flushed red with the moment's triumph, and Dollfuss scowled in the corner, apparently forgotten.

Only Neurath, invisible in the crowd in the glow of his sovereign, went pale at the difficulties that the Kaiser's off-the-cuff speech had presented. He had no doubts whatsoever that the Kaiser had come to Vienna specifically to deliver precisely this kind of statement. This recent mania for "reuniting the Germans" had quite consumed him, and the week prior he had lingered perhaps overlong at the Hofburg, staring at the Crown of the Holy Roman Emperors. He disappeared from the Ball and sped to the Embassy, bursting through the front door in tails and top hat, battering aside the startled, gray-coated guard and bursting in upon the duty cypher clerk. "Get me Rome and Budapest," he growled at the hapless clerk.

---

FM: C NEURATH, HIM FOREIGN MINISTRY, OBO HIM WILHELM III
TO: HH PIUS XIII, HRH VITTORIO EMMANUELE, HE MIKLOS HORTHY, HE FRANCISCO FRANCO
DT: 2 FEB 1940

REQUEST CONFERENCE YOUR CONVENIENCE MUTUALLY AGREED LOCATION SUGGEST LATERAN PALACE - PURPOSE CONFERENCE DISCUSSION EUROPEAN SETTLEMENT - SPECIFIC ISSUES RESOLUTION AUSTRO ITALIAN BORDER - RESOLUTION BALKAN SITUATION - SPANISH, AUSTRIAN, HUNGARIAN SUCCESSION - GERMANY WISHES EXERCISE GOOD OFFICES ESTABLISH UNITED FRONT SOCIALISM EUROPE, NOT RPT NOT IMPOSE FRIENDS - COMMUNICATE THIS OFFICE FIRST OPPORTUNITY

---

Lateran Palace
Vatican City
15 February 1940


To describe the Rome Conference as unprecedented since Vienna in 1815 would be fair. That this conference took place in the Vatican during Lent, involving the heads of state of four major European powers and without attracting significant comment on its content, was a testament to the efficiency of security provided by the Pope's guards. Strangely, the German delegation had insisted on the substitution of the Noble Guard for the Swiss; the Pope, himself a descendant of the so-called "black" nobility who had once formed its backbone, gave his cautious assent.

The primary negotiator for Germany was Germany's foremost Catholic - Franz von Papen - who for the first time met the Spanish General Franco face-to-face when that dignitary arrived in Rome, ostensibly to pay his respects during Lent to the Pope. Horthy, like the Kaiser, remained at home, but sent his representative, his foreign minister Kálmán de Kánya. The five nations thus assembled, under the official auspices of the Pope, deliberated extensively on the fate of Europe. It was lost on no one that this essentially Catholic bloc had two distinctly non-Catholic members, first Germany under Papen, and the silent mass of the Ottoman Sultanate to the east, tightly bound to Germany. This gave Germany exceptional leverage in these negotiations.

It was leverage which Papen was quite prepared to use as a cudgel or a scalpel, whichever suited his mood by the day. Daily, he was charming, urbane, humble - the high-status pilgrim during Lent - and at night, he was, as Ciano later recollected, "a snarling beast... hardly a man, let alone a gentleman!"

Therefore, it was hardly surprising that some of Papen's would-be allies were bitterly resentful of him by the end of the conference - but he had achieved his aims. He appeared on the steps of the Lateran Palace at the Pope's right hand, with Mussolini, the Italian with whom former Cardinal Pacelli had negotiated for the independence of the Vatican from Italian affairs, relegated to the Pope's left, brow furrowed with anger. Mussolini had confronted the Pope personally about this the night before the announcement, and Pius XII had replied, characteristically pragmatic, "My dear Duce, I completely sympathize, but you must understand - Papen is doing what you have merely said!"

Thus, when they appeared, publicly smiling, Mussolini could not but think of how Istanbul had cost Italy any chance of influence in Greece, and how the German promises for the Italian future all relied so heavily on a victorious war against the world's greatest army. Inside, he was knotted and sour, feeling that he had lost far more by this ridiculous agreement over the Brenner and the fate of Austria than he could possibly have gained. So Papen had promised Savoy, so what? What did any of that matter when it could not possibly be attained? He almost missed what Papen said to the Pope, leaving Pius laughing and nodding in approval as the German waved to the crowd and the Pope raised two fingers in benediction. And here in Rome, of all places, they were acclaiming someone without the shouts of "Du-ce! Du-ce! Du-ce!" What had he done?

He glanced sideways at Papen, and the glint in the man's eye sent a shiver down his spine as he found the answer to that question. Benito Mussolini, never a particularly religious man, realized that he had made a deal with the Devil.

---

Good evening, America, this is William Shirer in Berlin for the Columbia Broadcasting Service. Recent discussions between Germany and Austria came to a head recently with the tallying of plebiscite results for the addition of Austria as a member of the German Empire. The plebiscite, which was organized after the reception of the Kaiser's visit to Vienna, resulted in an overwhelming vote for joining. Negotiations between Austrian Chancellor Dollfuss and German Chancellor Papen continue, with the target of the end of March for full joining. It is expected that, as all of the constituent states of the empire are constitutional monarchies including the Empire itself, the heir-apparent of the last Habsburg Emperor, Otto von Habsburg, will be crowned King. For the Columbia Broadcasting Service, this is William Shirer in Berlin, signing off.

---

240px-Stephansdom_wien_1912.jpg

Cathedral of St. Stephen
Vienna, German Empire
31 March 1940


"Do you people accept this man as your King?" asked Cardinal Innitzer, turning away from Otto von Habsburg for a moment in the crossing of St. Stephen's Cathedral. The roar came back, rebounding from the walls, shaking the dual red-white-red and red-white-black tricolor banners. "YES!" bellowed the assembly, and the banners fluttered. On the dais, the Emperor himself, Wilhelm, third of that name, sat on his throne, level with Otto's. Innitzer turned back to Otto, where he knelt beneath the heavy coronation robes, head bowed, and lowered the crown to his head. It was not the eight-sided crown of the Emperors, but a newer device to reflect Otto's status as merely King of Austria - the Kaiser had even agreed that Austria was to remain the Österreich, though a subordinate part of the Kaiserreich. The seat between Wilhelm's throne and Otto's was occupied not by the Kaiserin, but by the link between their houses - Wilhelm's youngest daughter, Cecilie, a beauty in her mother's image and, after a decorous period, to be Queen of Austria.

"In His Holy Name, I proclaim thee Otto, King of the Austrians," Innitzer intoned as he lowered the crown onto Otto's head. "Rise and receive thy people." Otto straightened, struggling under the robes but righting himself. As he raised his scepter, the assembled crowd roared once more in acclamation, and he slowly, steadily walked the length of the nave to be hailed on the steps as Austria's first king as part of the German Empire.

Wilhelm, eyes glistening with tears, turned to his daughter and murmured, "My dear, may your marriage be as happy as this day is for me." She smiled, patting his hand reassuringly as they watched Otto at the door, the people's roars carrying back to him. "Relax, Papa. Otto is as decent a man as one is likely to find, let alone a royal." Wilhelm nodded, smiling fondly at Cecilie, an image of her mother thirty years prior.

"One more hall under our roof," the Kaiser murmured, eyes cast upward to the time-honored regimental colors that hung from the cathedral ceiling.
 
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A fantastic update yet again! One quibble though - I am 99% sure that Otto would be proclaimed Archduke of Austria / the Austrians rather than king; Austria was always an archduchy rather than a kingdom as far as I know.
 
I wonder... what is London and Paris thinking about all this? Paris, for sure, may be quite worried.
 
A fantastic update yet again! One quibble though - I am 99% sure that Otto would be proclaimed Archduke of Austria / the Austrians rather than king; Austria was always an archduchy rather than a kingdom as far as I know.

Probably correct; I went off the major constituent entities of Germany in 1871 as my guide, rather than Austria, which is an oversight on my part. This could be argued as a workaround to avoid the constitutional crisis that would cause, though.

I wonder... what is London and Paris thinking about all this? Paris, for sure, may be quite worried.

What, a potential alliance between Germany, Spain, and Italy? Can't see why Paris would be worried in the slightest...