The Jewish Question
In the end, I accepted Anton Drexler's invitation and joined the German Workers' Party (DAP).
On my first day, I spent time introducing myself to the people at the party office.
"Falkenrain? I've heard that name. Didn't you give a speech in Berlin?"
"A Junker officer who fought on the front lines and sacrificed for the fatherland! What an honor to have you join us."
"A Junker, eh? Why would a noble lord like you join our party?"
"I object. He's joining precisely because he's a Junker."
From the start, I drew tremendous attention among the roughly fifty party members. Unlike Hitler, I was a Junker by birth, and even during the war, I'd made a name for myself. It was only natural that people took notice when someone like me joined a small fringe party.
And on the second day, I scheduled my very next speech.
The venue was a different beer hall this time—not one open for regular business, but a gathering spot for various minor parties to mingle.
Anton Drexler kicked things off with the opening speech, and I followed.
I pictured Hitler in my mind. I replicated his speech perfectly.
This time, I thundered about Germany's destiny.
"We are great only when we are one! You are Germany! Germany is not the land! Germany is not the flag! It is the people! Germany is the people! You are Germany! Your fate is Germany's fate!"
In that beer hall meeting, I mimicked Hitler's gestures and flourishes as I unleashed my tirade. I held the audience's gaze—no one could look away from me, not even for a second. I kept them riveted.
With searing rhetoric, a booming voice, dramatic movements, and crystal-clear logic, I seized control of the room in an instant.
"How magnificent is this! The purity and myth of the German people are no illusion! How glorious, how worthy of gratitude! Why would you languish in idleness? We are the world's finest race! Even after this cataclysmic defeat in the Great War, our people did not fall! Make Germany great again!"
My oratory hit home. The crowd erupted in cheers.
But the more they cheered, the closer I felt that moment of choice drawing near.
"That was incredible, Mr. Falkenrain."
Anton Drexler approached me after the speech. He offered me a cigarette. I declined.
"Ah, you don't smoke?"
"I don't care for them much."
"My apologies."
He lit one up and clamped it between his lips. He wasn't about to show consideration just because I didn't smoke. It was an era when some folks still thought cigarettes were medicinal herbs, after all.
"Your speeches... they stir something deep in the chest. You make it feel like Germany really could be great again."
"You're too kind."
"But... I have one question."
Anton Drexler took a deep drag, the smoke curling from his mouth. Then he paced over to face me directly.
"So, who exactly are the ones invading our Germany?"
"It changes with every speech. After all, invaders who seek to undermine us from within our own camp have always existed. The Social Democrats could be one example."
"No, Mr. Falkenrain. That's not what I'm asking. Hmm... right. Anger. You use that word a lot. Who should we be angry at?"
"At the lethargy and apathy that undermine us. At the separatists who seek to tear Germany apart. At enemies within and without..."
"No. That's not it. Since you won't answer, allow me."
Anton Drexler cut me off, stubbed out his cigarette on the wall, and tossed it carelessly to the floor.
"The Jews."
"..."
Yes. The moment of choice had arrived.
It closed around my throat like a noose: the Jews.
Would I make them the enemy to seize power swiftly and easily? Or keep them out of the crosshairs to preserve my conscience?
In other words, side with the Jews or against them?
Hitler would choose the latter, without question. And in this era, it was the right call. People craved scapegoats when life grew hard, and no target fit the bill like the Jews.
It wasn't just Germany, either. France had the Dreyfus Affair, didn't it?
"Listening to you... it actually makes me wonder why you don't name the Jews outright. You talk of enemies within, say true Germans must unite against them... but you never mention the Jews. Isn't that ironic?"
"Is there a problem?"
"Yes, there is, Mr. Falkenrain. From now on, call out the Jews. This is pure realpolitik. I've seen enough of the political game to know..."
"I refuse."
But I refused.
The choice was made.
Even if sparing the Jews made the road ahead harder.
I'd made my decision. One I wouldn't regret...
Because...
Save Germany. Just as you did in the heart of steel.
The condition is Germany's salvation. If they are German citizens, they are Germany—Germanic or not.
And I had no intention of repeating Hitler's mistakes.
I'd mimic his speeches, but everything else had to be different.
There was nothing worth taking from him beyond his deranged oratory.
I'm not Hitler.
I'm Lucas von Falkenrain.
The man who replaced Hitler, became Germany's new Führer in the third loop, and now watches countless histories swirl into chaos as variables shift...
I would be Germany's new Führer.
Politics isn't just about speeches.
As I said, it requires funds. Not just funds—public support, and sometimes violence.
Yes, violence.
A political party without violent means is far too vulnerable in the current Weimar Republic.
If everyone's cheating, the only fool is the one who plays fair.
Germany's far-left German Communist Party, for instance, commanded legions of red paramilitaries.
The right-wing German National People's Party had their own Steel Helmets as muscle.
The major parties all wielded violence openly.
And we underdogs expect to win clean without it? Impossible. We'd end up ruined.
We're growing in size. Time to secure some violent muscle.
One name sprang to mind first: Ernst Röhm.
Once an SA leader in the Nazis, arrested and purged around the time I was cozying up to Hitler. He'd stirred plenty of internal conflict.
No... he's a double-edged sword. No need to tangle with him.
But I decided to erase Ernst Röhm from my mind.
There were plenty of others who'd align with my ideology.
Besides, Röhm was an extreme antisemite with strong socialist leanings. Keeping him close would spell trouble later.
Time was short, though. I needed to build my private paramilitary on the sly, away from the German Workers' Party.
Then, unexpected luck came knocking.
"You..."
"Pleased to meet you, Major Falkenrain. I heard you were in Bavaria and came right away. Closer than I thought."
Luck strikes suddenly.
Most of my past luck I'd earned through effort—promotions, honors, wealth, fame, all rightful rewards.
Not this time.
"Krichz. Long time no see. How many years has it been?"
I reunited with Yahn Krichz, one of the assault troopers who'd fought alongside me in the Falkenrain Offensive—a survivor from the 200-man unit I briefly commanded, one of only 26 who made it to war's end.
A veteran by wartime credentials, a year younger than me.
Sergeant Yahn Krichz. Discharged from the Sixth Army like me, final rank sergeant.
He'd been a corporal when I had him under my wing... promoted to sergeant major after Falkenrain, then mustered out as sergeant while I wasn't looking.
"I never dreamed you'd remember me, Major Falkenrain."
"Of course. I remember most of the men who've served under me. Especially a lunatic like you—how could I forget?"
I'd remembered him, and he'd thought well of me, because I'd looked after him.
His personality reminded me of Richter, the witty one who'd co-authored Junker's Defecation.
Tragically, Richter took a bullet to the head mid-charge right in front of me. But Krichz had scraped by somehow.
"Hahaha, harsh words, sir. I'm not under your command anymore."
"True enough. So how about dropping the 'Major Falkenrain' and just calling me 'Brother Falkenrain'?"
"Sounds good, Brother."
Reuniting with a comrade who'd shared the trenches was pure joy.
And how he'd later fill the gap in my political foundation—violence—is a story for a little later.