Post by ankh on Nov 3, 2017 19:06:04 GMT
Of Emperors and Communists
Prologue
On the Italian Front 13th December 1916
Franz was bored and the cold wind and snow that infested the Italian Alps in the winter did little to help his mood. The blasted Italians had been firing their artillery all day with little obvious result, whilst Franz’s compatriots fired back equally futilely. He had spent the night writing poetry to past the time, but the enjoyment was wearing somewhat thin.
“Guten Tag!” called a voice over the howling wind, jerking him out of his rhyme-filled reverie. Surely it was too early for the next man to be coming up. Franz poked his head out of the lookout post and peered out into the swirling snow, he could make out a figure making their way up the mountain path.
“Who goes there?” Franz called, scrabbling behind him for his gun as he did so. The figure continued to climb upwards and did not reply. Growing anxious Franz poked his rifle out of the opening.
“Identify yourself or I fire!”
“I’m a friend!” the figure called “It’s me, Karl!”
“Well get up here and shut up you idiot! We’re supposed to be silent near the lookout posts!”
“Says you, shouting out of your lookout!” Karl called back, “Anyone would think you’re an Italian spy, trying to get me killed.”
By that time, Karl had finally reached the lookout and climbed into the small shelter. His uniform was encrusted with frost and snowflakes fell from his cap as he ducked inside.
“Having a nice time up here?” Karl enquired, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“The night is dark and full of terrors, but it’s great for the poetic mind.” Franz replied facetiously.
“If you say so, you old hermit.” Karl slumped down, leaning on the lookout’s back wall. The extra person made the cramped lookout comfortably tight and Franz was anxious get out of this frozen hell, good for poets it may be but even poets feel the cold after several hours.
“You’re rather early tonight Karl. Has anything happened down at the camp?”
“Nein, I'm just wanted to tell the good news, before you left.”
“Good news? Have we won the blinking war yet?”
“I’m afraid not Franz, but it is sort of good news. King Ludwig III of Bavaria visited the Emperor last week and it was a riotous success.”
“You’re obsessed with the bloody royals Karl! Can’t you think about something else for once, just once?” Franz responded, exasperated. Karl seemed to dote on the Emperor and his family, you would think he was a personal friend to the lot of them from the way he talked.
“Of course I can’t Franz, you know as well as I do that the Emperor is the glue holding Osterreich together. If he goes, the empire goes with him.”
Franz sighed, it was bad enough having to stay in this freezing lookout post any longer than he had too but listening to Karl pontificate on the Habsburg family was more than he could bare. Gathering up his scraps of poetry, he stood up, as best he could in the cramped lookout, and began to make his way out of the lookout.
“That is all well and good Karl, but I was really must be going now or I won’t get my forty winks tonight.”
“If you must, I suppose you must. I’ll see you in a few hours old boy.” And with that Karl pulled his cap over his eyes and began to snore.
Shaking his head at Karl’s laziness, Franz began to trudge down the path, which was little more than a well-worn track, towards his bed. Humming quietly to himself as he stumbled along, he thought about what Karl had said. Karl was right, Osterreich does need a strong man at its head he thought to himself, but we have to win this infernal war first. He had nearly reached the first turning of the path when he heard a rumbling coming from higher up the mountain and, looking back, he saw a wall of snow plunging down the mountainside.
“Karl!” Franz shouted “Get out of there now!” But there was no stirring in the lookout. The swirling wave of snow and death surged closer with every second that pasted. In desperation Franz tried one last time to warn his friend.
“Karl, move right now!” Nothing moved. Powerless to stop it, Franz stood helplessly as his friend was engulfed in the avalanche and swept away to his frozen grave.
Minutes later, he came back to reality. A solider was slapping his face anxiously, trying to wake him up, moving to push the soldier back he glanced up and reeled back.
“Karl!” Franz cried in surprise. “But you’re dead!”
“I’m not Karl,” the soldier responded “Whoever he is, he’s long gone with that avalanche.” Franz blinked and looked again and, indeed, it was not his friend that stood before him but rather a private who he didn’t recognise.
“He was my friend and he was killed by the Italians, not by nature.”
“I’ll take you word for it sir, there was reports of artillery fire around the time of the avalanche but there is precious little evidence of it being the result of an Italian attack.”
“So I was right! The Italians will pay for this!” Franz responded angrily
“Sir, you must calm down. You’re clearly distressed by the death of your friend, but please...”
“That’s enough Private.” A voice called from behind him.
“Yes, Sir.” The Private backed away and a second man came forwards.
“The name’s Seyss-Inquart. I’ll be escorting you back to camp.”
Prologue
On the Italian Front 13th December 1916
Franz was bored and the cold wind and snow that infested the Italian Alps in the winter did little to help his mood. The blasted Italians had been firing their artillery all day with little obvious result, whilst Franz’s compatriots fired back equally futilely. He had spent the night writing poetry to past the time, but the enjoyment was wearing somewhat thin.
“Guten Tag!” called a voice over the howling wind, jerking him out of his rhyme-filled reverie. Surely it was too early for the next man to be coming up. Franz poked his head out of the lookout post and peered out into the swirling snow, he could make out a figure making their way up the mountain path.
“Who goes there?” Franz called, scrabbling behind him for his gun as he did so. The figure continued to climb upwards and did not reply. Growing anxious Franz poked his rifle out of the opening.
“Identify yourself or I fire!”
“I’m a friend!” the figure called “It’s me, Karl!”
“Well get up here and shut up you idiot! We’re supposed to be silent near the lookout posts!”
“Says you, shouting out of your lookout!” Karl called back, “Anyone would think you’re an Italian spy, trying to get me killed.”
By that time, Karl had finally reached the lookout and climbed into the small shelter. His uniform was encrusted with frost and snowflakes fell from his cap as he ducked inside.
“Having a nice time up here?” Karl enquired, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“The night is dark and full of terrors, but it’s great for the poetic mind.” Franz replied facetiously.
“If you say so, you old hermit.” Karl slumped down, leaning on the lookout’s back wall. The extra person made the cramped lookout comfortably tight and Franz was anxious get out of this frozen hell, good for poets it may be but even poets feel the cold after several hours.
“You’re rather early tonight Karl. Has anything happened down at the camp?”
“Nein, I'm just wanted to tell the good news, before you left.”
“Good news? Have we won the blinking war yet?”
“I’m afraid not Franz, but it is sort of good news. King Ludwig III of Bavaria visited the Emperor last week and it was a riotous success.”
“You’re obsessed with the bloody royals Karl! Can’t you think about something else for once, just once?” Franz responded, exasperated. Karl seemed to dote on the Emperor and his family, you would think he was a personal friend to the lot of them from the way he talked.
“Of course I can’t Franz, you know as well as I do that the Emperor is the glue holding Osterreich together. If he goes, the empire goes with him.”
Franz sighed, it was bad enough having to stay in this freezing lookout post any longer than he had too but listening to Karl pontificate on the Habsburg family was more than he could bare. Gathering up his scraps of poetry, he stood up, as best he could in the cramped lookout, and began to make his way out of the lookout.
“That is all well and good Karl, but I was really must be going now or I won’t get my forty winks tonight.”
“If you must, I suppose you must. I’ll see you in a few hours old boy.” And with that Karl pulled his cap over his eyes and began to snore.
Shaking his head at Karl’s laziness, Franz began to trudge down the path, which was little more than a well-worn track, towards his bed. Humming quietly to himself as he stumbled along, he thought about what Karl had said. Karl was right, Osterreich does need a strong man at its head he thought to himself, but we have to win this infernal war first. He had nearly reached the first turning of the path when he heard a rumbling coming from higher up the mountain and, looking back, he saw a wall of snow plunging down the mountainside.
“Karl!” Franz shouted “Get out of there now!” But there was no stirring in the lookout. The swirling wave of snow and death surged closer with every second that pasted. In desperation Franz tried one last time to warn his friend.
“Karl, move right now!” Nothing moved. Powerless to stop it, Franz stood helplessly as his friend was engulfed in the avalanche and swept away to his frozen grave.
Minutes later, he came back to reality. A solider was slapping his face anxiously, trying to wake him up, moving to push the soldier back he glanced up and reeled back.
“Karl!” Franz cried in surprise. “But you’re dead!”
“I’m not Karl,” the soldier responded “Whoever he is, he’s long gone with that avalanche.” Franz blinked and looked again and, indeed, it was not his friend that stood before him but rather a private who he didn’t recognise.
“He was my friend and he was killed by the Italians, not by nature.”
“I’ll take you word for it sir, there was reports of artillery fire around the time of the avalanche but there is precious little evidence of it being the result of an Italian attack.”
“So I was right! The Italians will pay for this!” Franz responded angrily
“Sir, you must calm down. You’re clearly distressed by the death of your friend, but please...”
“That’s enough Private.” A voice called from behind him.
“Yes, Sir.” The Private backed away and a second man came forwards.
“The name’s Seyss-Inquart. I’ll be escorting you back to camp.”
