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daemonofdecay

Lt. General
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Nov 23, 2003
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Karl-Book.png



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Through My Eyes - A TFH AAR



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that glorious stallion of a man said:
Author's Note:


Well, here I go again, attempting one of these AARs. My last one (The Sublime State, or TSS) has been on a *cough* hiatus *cough* for a number of reasons. Mostly because I'm as lazy as sin, but also because I decided initially to place it on hold while waiting for Magna Mundi to come out. "Aha!" said I, twirling my mustache, "I can take a break while I wait for this new and exciting game to come out, and then finish my AAR with it instead! Oh DoD, you devilishly handsome cad, you have shown yourself to be a genius once again!"

And then Magna Mundi got canceled, mustaches got untwirled, and instead of trying to do all the hard work of restarting the AAR I decided to get on with real life post-graduation. While working I managed to complete a little with my AAR, but I was moving more into short story territory and I felt like the spark had gone. But not all is lost! After all, EU4 is coming out! "Aha!" I declared to myself, twirling my long-neglected mustache, "This time I know I can continue my AAR in a new game! Oh DoD, you and your powerful brain-meats have done it again! This is totally not another example of you finding an excuse to ignore what needs to be done by using the publication of a new game at some vague point in the future as an arbitrary marker for when you might begin work again. You're just trying to preserve your genius for later!" At which point I told my melodramatic sub-conscious to shut up and get stuffed, but the damage was already done.

A story which leads neatly into why I am here: it is time for me to start trying to express myself creatively again. The Doctors say doing so is a positive sign of rehabilitation. Frankly I'm more concerned with my fondness for the second option whenever given the choice between a) writing something or b) sitting on the couch and watching an episode of 'Mystery Science Theater 3000' on YouTube.

And since the development of EU4 is a perfect excuse not to do the hard work of picking up where I had left off before I was left trying something new. And while I do love my copy of CK2, well, I wanted to do something focusing more upon a number of individuals rather than an entire extended family, complete with more bastards and incest than you can shake a stick at. As to Vicky 2... well, if there is one thing trying to do AARs before 1860 has taught me, it is that there are a severe lack of photographs available. That, and don't try to build armored cruisers because you will be destroyed by a fleet of three hundred British men-at-war.

Which leaves me with HoI3, a game I quite enjoy, but perhaps not for the same reasons every else does. My favorite part of HoI is the ability to organize command structure to create realistic armies and corps. I love to create armies down to the smallest formation, even when it is pointless and wasteful from a game play perspective. I'm the sad, Rain Man like figure who sits there and isn't satisfied until both the Oberkommando der Marine and the Oberkommando der Luftwaffe are represented on the map. When it comes to OOB, I'm OCD. My favorite part of the game are those wonderful pre-war years when I get to balance everything just right, creating a nation with a strong and organized military that reflects its national character and gives a true sense of historic gravitas to the entire game.

And then war gets declared and messes it all up.

What I'm trying to say is that I play HoI3 like it were Microsoft Excel. But then I had a moment of inspiration: "What if I were to create an AAR that would embrace my compulsive OOB-tinkering, letting me show the world how much fun it is to accurately name every Rifle Brigade in the Soviet Union!" I shouted loudly as I sprang to my feet, startling my dog. And then I smacked myself hard across the face a few times. "No, wait, that is stupid. That is a stupid idea, and you are stupid for suggesting it."

It might have been the first signs of a mild concussion, but I felt another flash of inspiration. "What if I were to create an AAR focusing on one division - nay, one individual within that division - and used my compulsive OOB-tinkering to flavor the world around him instead of being the focus of the entire endeavor!" I shouted again, driving my dog to leave the room. "That... is a less stupid idea. You are less stupid for suggesting it."

And thus my decision to do an AAR surrounded one man serving within the Panzer-Grenadier-Division 'Großdeutschland'. It is a big honking division (and eventually a corps) that provides me a unit that is strong enough to make following worthwhile (although if I get enough interest I may just begin an AAR exploring the exciting history behind 'Flak Regiment 103'), yet is small enough that I can have it inhabit the world rather than dominate it. Next, of course, was to come up with a name. At first, considering it was an AAR inspired by my love of OOBs and spending time naming irrelevant digital entities, I wanted to have OOB in the titles as well as HOI3, the name of the game. And then I thought that I should have TFH, as it is the latest expansion I purchased. But I had to trim it down when the title began to look like this: The Großdeutschland Division - A HOI3 TFH OOB AAR OMG BBQ LOL. A bit acronym heavy I think, and not too likely to draw in my target goal of several readers.

But then I started to realize that I was moving away from doing a story about a division and it became more about one man - as I wrote I was enjoying writing from his irreverent, sarcastic, greedy point of view. And thus my scope has changed. By focusing on one individual (although the Großdeutschland division will be his most prominent posting) I can explore Hearts of Iron from a different perspective - from the bottom up rather than the top down. Although my love (or as the judge said, my "violently compulsive obsession") of OOBs will need to be filled, I like the idea of not showing everything, always. We get to see the Wehrmacht in small doses, through a single man's eyes. If he is fighting the Russians, it is hard to imagine how he would have a perfect grasp of how Italy is handling the Greeks, after all. Instead of godlike omnipotence, I have to work to breathe life into the smaller details of HOI3. I hope I can do it justice.

But with this AAR I plan on doing much more than just watching one division go from one side of the map to the other. I've been working loosely on an overarching story that will change things up. Even though I am playing as Germany, I don't plan on reaching a point where I am pondering the best way to invade Uruguay. Despite the fun I had developing and writing my main character, I plan on having things turn out to be realistic and believable. I've been turning my amateur skills towards a few custom events with a goal of seeing how I can change things up and provide for a different experience, for myself and my reader.

My story is going to be in the first person in the form of the soon to be published memoirs of a German officer recollecting his sordid past as a drunk, lecherous coward who happened to get lucky now and again, the other (more important and capable) figures around him, and what it means for Germany as a whole. His will be the only voice in the story - although Herr Schneider, his editor, will contribute the odd detail or factoid that our "hero" Karl Ludwig Ritter von Weißbrücke happens to forget. It is a huge, roller coaster of an AAR in four hundred sizzling chapters. A searing indictment of military service in the twentieth century, with some hot gypsies thrown in.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! And I hope you don't hate the color green, because if this page is anything to go by, there is going to be a lot of it around here. And please, feel free to send my a message whenever you see a bit where I screw up the grammar, the spelling, the plot, etc. I don't send as much profanity in my responses, I promise. And apologies for this mind-numbing wall of text.​


Game Notes:


Hearts of Iron 3 TFH 4.01 with plenty of little tweaks by yours truly.​
 
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From Through My Eyes by Karl Ludwig Ritter von Weißbrücke

Foreword by the Author:


Let me begin by first thanking you, the reader, for choosing to pick up my book. Although the history of myself, the Großdeutschland Division, and our roles in German history have been covered in length over the past decades, I felt it was my obligation to give an honest account from a man who was there during it all. Certainly there are already other places you could look – including a sanitized version of my ‘memoirs’ probably close to this very book – but none of them will give you a real glimpse into the conflict as I saw it. But please, feel free to purchase my other book as well.

Firstly, I am a liar, a cheat, and a coward; a damned good one, too. As such, I wouldn’t normally dream of trying to contradict the stories that have arisen concerning myself. What others have told about me have been keeping my life comfortable for decades. I’ve been playing the hero for so long that honesty is difficult; alien. That armor of deceit of which I have worn my entire life is not so easily sundered.

And so you have my word – whatever that is worth – that everything you read in these pages will be the truth through my eyes. Perhaps it is the sentimentality of my age, but I feel the need to attempt to tell my story in full honesty at least one time, if just for the novelty of the act. My memory is not as sharp as it once was, but every word herein will be my thoughts, my feelings, my actions, as best I can remember.

I have toyed with the idea of writing this work for years, and have accumulated a number of pages and aborted drafts, so hopefully my patient editor Herr Schneider will be able to sort through my mess and help construct something coherent. If anything is out of place, if my grammar grows weak, or if you feel in any way dissatisfied with this book, then please feel free to blame him and demand a refund.*

And now, a warning: the contents contained within this book will scandalize and offend those with an inability to tolerate a life spent outside the nunnery. Although, considering my experiences with nuns, I imagine being inside a nunnery would be quite enjoyable indeed. But you know who you are; if you imagine that the inner thoughts of a self-confessed scoundrel might offend, then this book will do just that. You would be better served picking up a new copy of the Bible. I promised honesty, and frankly I’m old enough not to care about whether or not my words might offend.

Now, some of my readers will not believe a word I say. Hopefully my doubters will, given time, eventually find reason to evaluate my story on its own merits. All I ask is an open mind. But for those cannot – will not – doubt the official story… well, this book isn’t likely to affect you. I personally doubt you are able to read this at all, really. Go ask the nice lady behind the counter for directions to the children’s aisle and pick out something with plenty of colorful pictures instead; we will both be happier for it.

And finally there will be some in my audience who aren’t offended by real life and fully capable of free thought and. From these scholars all I request is that you consider and evaluate what I am telling you fairly. I am giving the truth as I remember and can promise nothing more. But understand that at this point in my life I have little reason to lie any more, and I reiterate that I will be as honest as one man can be throughout.

Thankfully this book will be published after my death, so I won’t have to deal with any of the ramifications of trying honesty for a change. Everyone else can deal with the controversy.

I said I was going to be honest, not brave.

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General Karl Ludwig Ritter von Weißbrücke (Ret.) - 12th June, 1994




Editor's Note: And my wife wonders why I started smoking again. Jesus, I don't get paid enough to deal with this. The General told me he didn't want anything cut due to reasons of taste, but this sentence is gone, and that is that. I refuse to deal with any mess this man deliberately starts. He drops a couple of boxes worth of loose papers covered with rambling hand-written notes, and then disappears on a trip for "medical reasons" to the south of France, leaving me to sort out his mess. I don't care if he is a decorated war hero - a bastard can still win medals.

At least if he follows through on his plans he won't live to see any changes I make. I mean, half of what he talks about lacks any references to outside events. Putting in the footnotes to ensure someone could actually follow along with what he is talking about is going to take months. Months! And that isn't counting the fact that he used no system at all to organize his papers - it is literally just cardboard boxes filled with loose sheets he tore out of an assortment of notebooks! And I don't even know how many of those are discarded first-drafts and idle doodles that should have been thrown away years ago, but even without them it is still thousands of pages and... alright, time for a smoke. Hopefully I can finish this before I lose the rest of my hair.
 
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Goody! You're back - I only managed the intro (darn lunchbreak ran out), but it was well-written. The only complaint I have is that you pre-empted my carping about your Ottoman AAR. ;)

Will read the real thing soon enough, sounds very appealing. One note: the red you use for editor's notes is also commonly used by the Mods for 'Speaking Moderator' - I don't know if that's an infringement on their color palette, or if it is merely running the risk of being confusing, but I would suggest a less controversial color. :)
 
Well, you sure got my attention with that introduction (I especially love the well executed but suitably modest graphical touches). I got a good laugh at your reasons for liking HOI3 and your OCD issues with organizing formations...man can I relate to THAT. But mostly what tantalizes me here is I see a writing style I enjoy. I'm curiously subscribed daemonofdecay
 
This looks awefully promising, will surely follow.

Thanks, I hope I don't disappoint! The next chapter will be posted tonight after classes.

Goody! You're back - I only managed the intro (darn lunchbreak ran out), but it was well-written. The only complaint I have is that you pre-empted my carping about your Ottoman AAR. ;)

Will read the real thing soon enough, sounds very appealing. One note: the red you use for editor's notes is also commonly used by the Mods for 'Speaking Moderator' - I don't know if that's an infringement on their color palette, or if it is merely running the risk of being confusing, but I would suggest a less controversial color. :)

That... would be unfortunate. My thinking was simply that red text gives the look of an editor's red pen, or even a highlighter. If one of the Mods does contact me about it, I'll have to change it right quickly.

And yes, I wanted to preempt all the Ottoman related carping. Which is a sentence I have never written before, and which makes me crave seafood.

Well, you sure got my attention with that introduction (I especially love the well executed but suitably modest graphical touches). I got a good laugh at your reasons for liking HOI3 and your OCD issues with organizing formations...man can I relate to THAT. But mostly what tantalizes me here is I see a writing style I enjoy. I'm curiously subscribed daemonofdecay

Well thanks! Again, I hope I don't let you down!

Looks interesting, I'll see your style and then decide if to follow through.

I should be posting some actual content this evening, so you should be able to decide then. I hope you enjoy it!
 
A pleasant start, love it!
 
I am slightly drunk (go West Bacon) so I can't process this precisely... it looks promising though. I hope it looks even better when I can actually read it :p :p
 
Karl-TitleBar-Redone.png

From Through My Eyes by Karl Ludwig Ritter von Weißbrücke



Book One - Chapter One

I was born on the 1st of September, 1918. Having such an ‘auspicious’ birth date has made it quite clear that the fates had decided that I was to be their plaything early on.

Of my childhood, there is nothing worth dwelling on. My absentee father died when I was a mere child; my alcoholic mother when I was entering my teens. The only things of worth they gave me were my rugged good looks, my sharp wit, and my deep and humble nature. How I inherited them I do not know. I assume – pray? – that I was adopted, as my parents certainly didn’t possess any of those qualities. I wouldn’t put it past the pair of them to have simply abducted me rather than deal with the work of actually adopting a child, but then such an act would require planning and foresight and thus is probably beyond them. Even my prodigious abilities as a liar and a crook are hard to claim as stemming from my parents, for I am actually good at it - something my career attests too.

Amongst the worthless trivialities they left me were a sizeable amount of debt and a worthless name - complete with a worthless piece of land confusingly titled a “manor” and a non-existent noble title. And right about now many a reader is wondering if they had ever head of the glorious von Weißbrücke family.

Let me save you some time and tell you that no, in fact, you haven’t. The von Weißbrücke lineage goes back to the far distant past of the late 18th-century when my great-great-something or other was, as a reward for glorious service to some prince, given the honorable task of collecting a toll for crossing a white marble bridge in Silesia; a bridge located far enough from any important towns that it was cheaper for the prince to give the land away and have someone else collect it rather than pay someone to do the job.

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The Weißbrücke.

My ancestors were, even in the best of times, glorified farmers with fancy titles. A small bridge between two small towns was not a source of monumental economic activity, and there were precious few tolls to collect to augment the income from the less-than-fertile farmland. And within two generations even that disappeared once the railroads were built. So my forefathers turned to the one thing they knew they could do well – follow orders and kill people.

Thus my family’s greatest – and perhaps only, if you ignore the inability to retain wealth – tradition was born: military service. Every male child of the von Weißbrücke family has served in the military. My grandfather and uncle both raised me upon stories of their glorified escapades fighting for the Kaiser. Even my father, when he wasn’t off drinking himself into a coma or trying to evade debtors by pretending to be dead, loved to bounce me on his knee and tell me about how he spent four years drinking himself into a coma with the rest of his Kavallerie comrades after learning that cavalry charges don’t work against barbed wire, trenches, and machine guns. He did his best to make delivering dispatches in Russia and protecting the Baltic coast sound exciting and, like everything else he turned his hand to, he failed miserably at it.

What skill my father did possess (which I learned he inherited from his father; again pointing to a genetic flaw and further supporting my ‘abducted at birth’ theory) was an amazing ability to convince himself that investing heavily in untested, untried, and unusable devices and schemes would eventually pay off. When they failed – and they always did – he would again be forced to flee his debtors. It was a cycle familiar to us all.

His absence meant that I was raised – and I use the term loosely – by my mother. From her personality and looks I developed another theory as I grew older: that my father absences weren’t always caused by money problems. The fact that he happened to make me – if that is true, as I have expressed my doubts about my parentage – shows that he certainly had more courage than I might give him credit for. Or maybe the gas had done more damage to his eyes than the medics had initially thought. Regardless, he never made the mistake of sleeping with my mother again as I was an only child.

Now, it is worth noting at this point (as if one couldn’t tell from my name) that my father was quite the supporter of monarchy. Not necessarily the German monarchy – just monarchy in general. Karl, I was told, came from the last Austrian Kaiser, a man my father claimed to have seen once - a distinction he shares with thousands other equally blessed individuals. Ludwig was in honor of the long dead Ludwig II of Bavaria – and I can confidently report my father never saw him, so at least I was spared any stories about glimpsing a distant figure through a huge crowd on an overcast day.

So I was named after two monarchs who epitomized success: one who ruled for months and died of a cold, and another who was a complete nutter and drowned in a puddle1. I had much to live up too from the beginning.

Now my mother was even more of a drunk than my father, only instead of passing out in some city gutter she would pass out on the kitchen floor. She was… fine, to put it nicely, when sober. I am thankful that during my youngest years we were still wealthy enough to afford a nanny – I doubt my mother could ever have managed to take care of a toddler on her own. Changing diapers would have interrupted her drinking time.

My father died when I was a little boy, and I little noticed. It might seem cruel to you the reader to hear me admit it, but it was true. The number of memories I had of him one could count on a single hand. The difference between a dead father and a father who is never seen nor heard from is small indeed.

The real tragedy of his death was that my mother and I were the only targets left to his army of vengeful debtors. By the time my mother passed away in the winter of ’34, my inheritance consisted of a worn down manor sitting upon a stretch of land so small you could spit from one side to the other. Selling the place provided enough to pay of the last of my father’s creditors and would help keep me fed and clothed through my school years.

All I did gain from my forgettable family lineage was acceptance into a prominent military school in Berlin when I was a teenager, which was a blessing: my talents outside of soldiering are quite limited. I spent my time as any young man did – I attempted to shirk my duties and get laid as much as was humanly possible. Which, interestingly enough, is how I have lived ever since. It's a philosophy that has served me well.

At the time, I didn’t realize how the military would eventually dominate my entire life. Outside of the stated womanizing and shirking, of course.




1: There is a great deal of mystery surrounding the death of King Ludwig II of Bavaria. His story as the mad-king is fairly well known, buy suffice it to say that his spending habits were threatening to bankrupt Bavaria. The "Mad King" was thus deposed on medical reasons - and the next day his body was found in the shallow waters of the lake near his residence... alongside the body of the doctor who had declared him insane. Make of that what you will, but he did not "drown in a puddle".

 
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and off he goes to fulfill his family destiny: follow orders and kill people.

What an awesomely cynical and succinct summary of the von Weißbrücke family history. I worry for the future of this young man, but I'm pretty sure his exploits will be amusing and entertaining along the way. I'll wager 100 Reichsmarks he becomes the alcoholic he so appreciated in his parents. Whatever happens, it's fun to read.
 
There is so much goodness in that update that I can't even pick my favorite quotes (always an easy way to respond) - I'd basically be quoting the whole thing. I like Karl's outlook and while he might be a lazy, cowardly bastard, he sure has a way with words (and, yes, ruggedly handsome looks - I guess his will might be weak, but the strength of his liver must rival those of the Norse gods partying hard at Valhalla).

Looking forward to more, much more! And at least a passing reference to Flakregiment 103 would be appreciated, in due time. ;)
 
and off he goes to fulfill his family destiny: follow orders and kill people.

What an awesomely cynical and succinct summary of the von Weißbrücke family history. I worry for the future of this young man, but I'm pretty sure his exploits will be amusing and entertaining along the way. I'll wager 100 Reichsmarks he becomes the alcoholic he so appreciated in his parents. Whatever happens, it's fun to read.

Alcohol with definitely feature prominently within his future. But then, when granted a golden liver of the gods, does one really qualify as an alcoholic?

There is so much goodness in that update that I can't even pick my favorite quotes (always an easy way to respond) - I'd basically be quoting the whole thing. I like Karl's outlook and while he might be a lazy, cowardly bastard, he sure has a way with words (and, yes, ruggedly handsome looks - I guess his will might be weak, but the strength of his liver must rival those of the Norse gods partying hard at Valhalla).

Looking forward to more, much more! And at least a passing reference to Flakregiment 103 would be appreciated, in due time. ;)

Flakregiment 103 will certainly play THE prominent role in the AAR. Somehow.
 
Karl-TitleBar-Redone.png

From Through My Eyes by Karl Ludwig Ritter von Weißbrücke



Book One - Chapter Two

What saved me during my life as a Kadet was my discovery that, for the first time in my life, I was doing well in an academic setting. I will be the first to admit that I am only as proficient in literature, mathematics and the sciences as the average man on the street. Military matters were different. Grasping tactical maneuvers come easily to a proficient liar - both required adaptability to changing conditions, an ability to flow around obstacles to reach ones goal, and a good grasp on the people whom you are trying to "lead".

Now I was, and am, no military genius - let us be clear. A large portion of the credit given to me is a result of misunderstandings and my stated proficiency as a first-rate liar. But I was able to pick up on the basics of my lessons with enough speed that I rarely had to spend time studying. My days were better spent leading my fellow Kadetts in war games, playing spirited games of football, chess1, and enjoying the odd bout of fencing. I might have been born into what is humorously labeled a "noble family", but fencing and horse riding are about the only noble activities I have ever enjoyed – and fencing only because the odds of me ending up actually hurt were very small indeed. I much preferred a night of obnoxiously loud singing in some working class bar than ballroom dancing. High society girls are infuriatingly hard to bed.

War games were also a wonderful experience because they allowed one to act like a soldier – shouting, screaming, and all those wonderful masculine pursuits all soldiers are ordered to enjoy – without any danger of being killed. Death and injury were one of the few things I had always sought to avoid, alongside marrying a woman in any way, shape, or form like my mother.

“Well then, General von Weißbrücke,” I can hear the astute reader say, stressing my rank, “if that is true, then how could you be as idiotic as to think that a military career would be a good decision?” A good question with a simple answer; I had only a few options after my mother died and half of my inheritance was used to pay off the debt that constituted the other half. I could try to get a real job working in some small office or sweaty factory – and blow my brains out within a decade from sheer boredom – or I could use what was left of my familial connections to get a job where I could tell other people what to do, wear fancy clothes, and live to a ripe old age in a career where work was done by a fisherman's son from Heiligenhafen looking for adventure.

And remember, dear reader, that when I started life as a Kadet I was aiming to join the Reichswehr, a military force with a severely limited potential to be involved in any wars in the near future. Of course by the time I entered adulthood the Wehrmacht had replaced the Reichswehr and Hitler was looking to build the armed forces into something more ‘proactive’; it seemed too late for me to attempt a new craft. Knowing what I know now, though, I might just have chosen the life of a quiet baker – but such is the benefit of hindsight.

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Kriegschule Potsdam c. 1932

My university days were quickly followed by acceptance into the Kriegsschule in Potsdam2, where I performed adequately once again. It was during this time that the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei first came to my attention. Of course I had heard about Hitler’s failed putsch in Bavaria, but considering that at the time I had been proud to use the toilet unaided I was not too interested in politics. And it might make me sound a bit slow, but even during the early 1930s I was never one much interested in anything that was going on in the halls of power. Being an accomplished liar meant I possessed an eye for identifying others with the same gift. And once you realize every politician is as much a crook as you are, you start to lose interest in the whole process.

But the Nazis became the topic of interest in my final years in training. It became quite infuriating for an individual such as myself who was apathetic about everything to do with politics – doubly so because those supporters of the recently elected Chancellor and self-appointed Führer were the sort of brutes who saw political discourse to be best served through liberal amounts of face-punching. Now, while I enjoyed fencing and living a fairly Bohemian lifestyle where bar fights were commonplace, I have always tried to avoid physical confrontation. I am fairly fit, but my athletic talents lay in the “running away” variety. Which was handy as my well-developed talent for manipulation always seemed to desert me after a few beers. While sober I could talk a nun into playing a game of “hide the wurst”. Inebriated, my inner witty bastard lacked any sort of filter or self-control. When amongst the right sort of crowd it gave me the ability to become the life of the party. But it could also be a very dangerous liability – and has gotten me into far too much trouble over the years.

But place yourself in my shoes and consider a completely hypothetical situation where you happen to be in the wrong place (a bar near a Wehrmacht barracks frequented by the local Landser) at the wrong time (a night after one of Hitler’s big speeches) and, after one too many Schnapps, happened to remark that the Führer's mustache happened to look like he has been doing an unsanitary act to an animal with an intestinal sickness and forgot to wash his face afterwards.

If you piss off enough fascists, you will learn quickly that man can fly. Through windows, mostly.

But during those days I was not too opposed to everything the Nazis were up too. After all I was looking towards making a long career in the Wehrmacht, and they certainly were looking to expand the size of the Heer, making my odds of landing a comfortable job commanding some artillery detachment far from any sort of conflict much more likely.

Now I think we can all appreciate that I am a fairly intelligent man, if I do say so myself – which I do, often. But mathematics was never one of my strengths. Thus as I progressed towards becoming a fully commissioned officer it turned out I was not qualified to be an artillery officer. I struggled with angles and measurements and the rest of that boring sort of trivia best left to those of a lower rank. Even serving as an officer in a Flak battery protecting some Saxon pig farmer required a level of mathematical knowledge that was not suitable to my talents – I could do the work, but I didn't want a job where I had to actually sit down and put in any real effort.

Thus in the later part of 1938, when I was destined for service in some front line Panzer- or Infanterie-Division, a friend I had known from my pre-Kriegsschule days contacted me – Hans-Joachim Lambert3. Soon I would be leaving the academy and would be going off to a more specialized school to finish my training, and serving in a branch that might actually see combat was something I was deeply opposed to on religious grounds: it would be a sin against creation to put such a magnificent specimen like myself into any real danger.

But Hans came bearing good news. “Karl, my comrade, I have something wonderful to talk to you about,” he began, his rounded face split by his unnervingly massive smile as he stood in the doorway to my modest little apartment. “My father has quite a few friends in high places4 and has heard that the premier unit of the Wehrmacht is going to expand and needs talented young men like you and me in its ranks!”

Looking back at him I blinked a few times. “What unit?” I asked him slowly, unable to picture anything but those panzer units that graced every propaganda poster in town. The last thing I wanted was to be put into one of those glorified tractors and forced to charge at hundreds of angry Frenchmen.

“What do you know about the Wachtruppe Berlin?”

“Wait, you mean those guys in the center of town who go on marches every other day?”

“Yes, them.”

“… they are expanding?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“What, are they short a few musicians for the marching band?” I laughed.

“No no no. You see Karl, recently they expanded the unit into a regiment. In a few months’ time they will be rotated back out of their units and a new batch of young, eager men are going to take their places. Which, interestingly enough, is just about the time when we will be exiting officers training as a pair of newly minted Leutnants… so, interested?”

A unit dedicated to marching through a Berlin park every week? A unit that’s sole purpose seemed to be protected a tree-covered straße in the capital? A unit that was garrisoned in the heart of a lively city filled with women, beer, entertainment, and women? Before I knew it I was smiling back at the plump little bastard as my anxieties rapidly faded.

I could have kissed him right on the lips of his grotesquely oversized mouth.

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1: Although General von Weißbrücke doesn't mention it often he is quite proficient at chess. The General actually won a number of school and regimental competitions before the war. It is one of the few pastimes I can picture him happily engaged in that doesn't involve showing off, drinking, or trying to get laid. Or, more commonly, all three.

2: Kriegschule Potsdam. Was renamed in the General's honor in 1956 when he became head of the OKW.

3: General Lambert and General von Weißbrücke met during their education as Kadets. Although the General always comments fondly on his long-lasting friendship with General Lambert, I personally believe the reason he doesn't go into details concerning their early years is that they mostly consist of waking up hungover trying to remember what they had been doing the previous night. And where. And to whom.

4: Herr Hans-Joachim Lambert the Elder had been a decorated Oberst during the Great War who had served briefly with the Großer Generalstab. Although he had retired to develop a fairly lucrative banking fortune after the war he still possessed strong connections with the military community, which is how Hans-Joachim Lambert the Younger managed to obtain spots in many premier educational institutions. Herr Lambert the Elder was a strong supporter of rearmament and, through his financial connections, was responsible for helping to purchase armaments and machines for the growing Heer. He was unfortunately killed in 1940 during an RAF bombing raid on Köln.

 
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KLR von W said:
But place yourself in my shoes and consider a completely hypothetical situation where you happen to be in the wrong place (a bar near a Wehrmacht barracks frequented by the local Landser) at the wrong time (a night after one of Hitler’s big speeches) and, after one too many Schnapps, happened to remark that the Führer's mustache happened to look like he has been doing an unsanitary act to an animal with an intestinal sickness and forgot to wash his face afterwards.

If you piss off enough fascists, you will learn quickly that man can fly. Through windows, mostly.

I'm glad the phones are quiet at work, otherwise I would have quite a problem projecting an image of quiet, hard-at-work professionality to our callers. ;) That was my personal highlight, but the rest's good too. And the editor's comments are equal parts enlightenment and pissing vinegar - 's nice, too. :)
 
I'm glad the phones are quiet at work, otherwise I would have quite a problem projecting an image of quiet, hard-at-work professionality to our callers. ;) That was my personal highlight, but the rest's good too. And the editor's comments are equal parts enlightenment and pissing vinegar - 's nice, too. :)

I'm glad you enjoyed that bit. I had a chuckle writing it. And I do like the editor's notes as well because they allow me to keep the reader informed without having to "slow down" or distract the main story.

love it! subscribed!

Thanks!