Election (6): A Higher Goal
The chill of winter approached vibrantly in December, and Königsberg welcomed its people with fresh snow blanketing the roads in pristine white. Those trudging through the snow had set aside the previous clamor, adapting to their increasingly ordered lives. Even as they passed by, East Prussia—on the cusp of elections—drew crowds to every possible gathering spot without fail. The square was already packed solid, with latecomers clinging to building windowsills.
"There he is."
"That's him."
Someone pointed at the SPD's East Prussia branch building, and the third-floor window flew open. There stood the man everyone had been waiting for.
"The prince!"
"The Red Prince!"
Some cheered ecstatically.
"That guy again...."
"He's just a mixed bag of nonsense."
"Still thinks he's a prince."
Others glowered. But from above, I gazed down at them all in silence for a moment, hand resting on my hip.
"Citizens of Königsberg!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Some might curse me as an opportunist or dismiss me as nothing, but no one could ignore my influence.
"Since the last election, our SPD has shouldered much of the blame for the war, and Germany's politics have splintered into factions, leaving our nation teetering on the brink of collapse!"
I swept my arm wide and pressed on.
"But if we unite and hold Königsberg! If Königsberg leads the way, showing Germany—and the world—that the SPD can rise again—!"
I paused, surveying the hushed square. They hung on my next words.
"Then we'll show them what we can do! For the Republic! So let your will be known—vote with your hands!"
The roar was thunderous. I raised a hand, and the cheers gradually faded as they waited again.
"Some say democracy is a string of failures. But that's the cry of the ignorant who don't grasp that democracy alone lets us rise again!"
I swung my arm forcefully to draw their focus, emphasizing the start and end of each phrase.
"I was born a prince."
The square fell utterly still.
"And I have known war."
Their faces hardened.
"That's why I can say this: It's not the nation with the most guns that survives—it's the one where people choose, the free nation!"
Cheers exploded once more, and I shouted over them.
"A country that abandons its returning soldiers has no patriotism. But a country that cries for war again has no future!"
The square's reaction was mixed. Some still cheered wildly, but others frowned, double-checking if they'd heard right. As I met their eyes without speaking, their murmurs deepened.
That was my cue.
"Forgive me, but I have no intention of becoming emperor. Nor do I seek to rule or conquer anyone. That's not why I entered politics."
A quieter tone this time, but it carried.
"...Yet I have one duty! To block the path to ruin for the German people! That's my mission, my obligation!"
I leaned over the railing, shouting as if I might topple forward.
"So I ask you!"
I looked down.
"Who will choose this nation's fate?"
Silence.
"The king? The emperor? The army?"
More silence.
"No! The ones who choose this nation are—"
I thrust my hand skyward.
"You!"
The square shook with cheers, chants of "Red Prince" and "Joachim" blending into a deafening wave. I nodded along, scanning the crowd.
Ahead of the East Prussia elections, the SPD has rallied to a degree that could hardly be exceeded. Yet the party's own limitations prevent further consolidation here; expectations are for at least two seats, perhaps three at most.
No matter how much they expand and solidify support, breaking five seats remains an insurmountable barrier of reality.
"The papers are full of it—you've earned quite the glorious titles."
Braun nodded at the moniker "Red Prince" that dominated the newspapers daily. I smirked.
"What would I have left without my name value?"
"Hah!"
He burst into hearty laughter, and I gave a wry chuckle in return.
"So, what's your plan now? Ride out the momentum until February?"
"I don't think more campaigning will change much. With our base split as it is, anything extra might backfire."
Braun stroked his chin thoughtfully, then nodded. My current supporters consisted of the military drawn by Ludendorff's endorsement and my princely status, the SPD's core workers, and East Prussia's farmers. Pushing further risked alienating one group. The previous essay had targeted party members, while this speech stirred patriotic defense of Germany, pleasing both sides. One wrong word now, and I'd lose either the workers or the military.
"But indifference is death to a politician. You know that—though your careful planning might make you the center of conflict come the '24 elections."
Sound advice. I paused. Whatever happened here, 1924 would bring fiercer battles. I knew that much. Starting in '23, the Ruhr occupation would trigger hyperinflation, the Beer Hall Putsch would boost the Nazis. I'd pulled Ludendorff in to ensure Hitler flopped harder there. But diving into such intricate maneuvering already... my head ached at the thought.
"The good news is, everyone 'likes' you."
He chuckled briefly.
"The problem is..."
His gaze sharpened on me.
"That 'everyone' is different people. You've gained too much to stop here."
I blinked, not following. He set down his coffee and continued.
"...Meaning, you could be chancellor. What do you think?"
"Chancellor?"
He tilted his head as if surprised I hadn't realized.
"Fehrenbach's cabinet is failing on reparations. Handing it to Müller now won't fly with the coalition."
He eyed me like I should know this too.
"As the largest party, SPD won't tolerate a minority Center cabinet. Better to coalition with Center or People's Party—and push you as chancellor."
"Aren't SPD and People's Party historic enemies?"
"Better than Independent Socialists or Nationals, at least. Many of us, including me, think so."
I let out a hollow laugh. Proposing me now was poison chalice. Weimar chancellors rarely lasted a year. It was just a test: Prop up the military-trusted prince, and discard if it fails.
"...No need for chancellor."
Braun narrowed his eyes.
"That seat isn't one to linger in."
I glanced out the window, pausing.
"I'm aiming for one that lasts longer."
What I truly targeted was the 1925 presidential election—after Friedrich Ebert's death, when Hindenburg would win. Seizing that seat was how I'd truly rewrite history.
Braun laughed at my words.
"We all are."
Snow still fell outside.