Wedding: Anton Drexler's Surrender
'Anton Drexler' surrendered to me. At the party convention in early 1921, I became the new chairman through a vote, and with Anton Drexler acknowledging it, we staged a perfect picture.
"You're playing your cards well, Drexler. Sure, you spewed a lot of nasty words like 'traitor' on the surface, but none of that was sincere. You know that, right?"
"Of course, Falkenrain... Anyway, thank you for your consideration."
He said the words, but Drexler's expression was dark. He came to me, officially joining the new movement I'd created, the Third Wave Movement, and handed over real control of the party at the same time. It was surrender, plain and simple.
In return, I ensured his life didn't fall apart. Just as Hitler had done, I placed him in the honorary chairman position of the DAP and treated him decently enough. Of course, it was just a figurehead role with no real power...
After Anton Drexler's surrender, I swiftly seized control of the party internals. I formally integrated the violent squad known as the Wave Corps into the party structure and gave a little 'lesson' to those who opposed my leadership to the bitter end. Some supported me to survive, some rode the wave of my madness, and most just backed me without a second thought.
So this is what it feels like to rule the masses... There was a reason Hitler got drunk on power.
And just like that, I—who had been a major in the German Imperial Army two years prior—became the chairman of a mid-tier Bavarian political party. In the process, Yahn Krichz, who had helped me, became the leader of the Wave Corps, now fully merged with the party's security department.
"You did it, brother. Ah, you were talking with Anton Drexler... I mean, the honorary chairman, right, brother?"
"Yahn. Good work."
I kept the dirty political infighting hidden from the public. Good is good, after all... and it was better if the filthy, dark parts didn't show.
I even hid all this political strife from Catalina, whom I was about to marry. If she found out, it'd shock her badly.
There's a Japanese proverb for this: Put a lid on what stinks. If you can't clean it up, at least cover it.
A majestic march echoed through the cathedral. At its end, Catalina slowly approached in her white dress.
The wedding news had drawn some familiar faces after a long time. The founder of the Ruhr Industrial Newspaper and Catalina's father—my father-in-law. He approached me with a crumpled expression and patted my shoulder.
"Falkenrain. I knew you were capable, but who knew you were such a thief... I'll make you pay dearly later. Got it?"
"Of course."
"Tch... Live happily."
Then he handed Catalina over to me. We clasped hands and walked down the soft red carpet.
Even amid it all, my eyes didn't rest, scanning ceaselessly. Even on this special day, my mind was steeped in the dark ink of politics and schemes.
"Lucas. A day like this has come."
"It has, Catalina."
"You two shall love each other for life..."
Since this was a cathedral, priests who had come to bless us officiated the ceremony. It was a Falkenrain family wedding, after all—we couldn't make it shabby. But compared to the grand scale, there weren't many guests.
I hadn't invited the broader Falkenrain family, and Catalina came from a typical working-class home. So most of the attendees were her friends from the Ruhr or people from the printing business. On my side, they were mostly political figures, and I'd limited them to executives to avoid intimidation. In total, about 30 guests—but that was plenty.
Next up...
"Lucas. Kiss me."
I gently pulled Catalina into my arms and pressed my lips to hers.
Even with my eyes closed, I thought: The expenses for this wedding are bigger than expected.
It hadn't been an issue so far. I'd saved up in advance, and Germany's crumbling economy meant money flowed for a while. But things changed once I became chairman.
The DAP had less funding than I'd thought. Membership and events were growing, but we lacked solid sponsors.
I'd secured violent means. Our forces were steadily expanding. The party's platform was set, and above all, my oratory skills were improving daily.
But money—the truly vital thing—was short. I'd prepared a reserve for times like this, but expenses were higher than anticipated. Not just my personal funds, but the party's political war chest was dwindling too.
Ah, but the kiss was sweet.
Ernst Hanfstaengl. Having graduated from Harvard, he'd walked an elite path. While staying in Germany on business, he got a proposal from a friend.
"Heard about it? A German far-right party that supposedly hates antisemitism. Anti-antisemitism and far-right coexisting? Is that even possible?"
"What're you talking about?"
"Listen, friend. Tired of opera every day, right? Let's go hear a DAP speech."
"What if something happens?"
"It's fine."
Ernst chuckled at his friend's words. But the friend ignored it and handed him a flyer.
It was a DAP speech event falling on Hanfstaengl's day off. And it read: Toward the Third Reich. February 7, 1921.
Toward the Third Reich
February 7, 1921
Hanfstaengl's eyes widened at the bold phrasing and the unique wave symbol.
"This design... This is DAP's?"
"So they say. What do you think?"
He nodded quietly. What caught his eye wasn't the speech itself, but the striking words and colors. With his artistic background and interest in commercial art and marketing, Hanfstaengl nodded only after seeing the flyer.
"The speech is starting soon. Let's go together."
"Good call, Hanfstaengl."
German Workers' Party. Nicknamed DAP. I'd agonized over that name for a long time.
Time to change it...
Indeed, Hitler had immediately added a few words after seizing the party, turning DAP into NSDAP: National Socialist German Workers' Party. The Nazis we all know.
As I pondered the emblems of DAP and the newly formed Third Wave Movement, my party secretary came and called me.
"Herr Falkenrain. The speech is soon. The crowd is huge this time."
"How many?"
"At least four thousand, by rough count. We're at the point where we might need to rent an opera house instead of a hall."
"Impressive."
It was still small compared to the sweeps across Germany ahead. I gave my appearance one last check in the mirror. I swept my hair back once. No ugly Hitler mustache. At a glance, I looked like a Hollywood leading man. Handsome, that is.
No need to grow a mustache.
And good looks were a bigger political advantage than expected. Who wouldn't like a likable face singing Germany's hope?
I tore my eyes from the mirror, stood slowly, and stepped out of the waiting room. Bright lights stung my eyes.
I pulled down the officer's cap I'd worn since the Great War and ascended the podium. No money yet, but work to do.
Snap—
"Falkenrain!"
"Falkenrain!"
"Falkenrain!"
I surveyed the crowd chanting my name, then raised a hand for silence.
Start simple. Never yell. A speech needs narrative like a novel: exposition, rising action, crisis, climax, resolution. The structure of great novels—and great speeches.
"My fellow Germans. I lost too much in the Great War."
"..."
"Family, friends, comrades who never returned to my side. Too many. Herz. My friend from cadet days. We shared a dorm, dreaming of a bright future for the German Empire."
I removed my officer's cap quietly, as if paying respects. Then I deliberately scanned the audience with broad gestures. They no longer interrupted. Most here had come to hear me.
"What else did we lose in the Great War? Friends, family, comrades... and our lives. But compared to what we truly lost, those might seem trivial! We lost our future! Our growth! Our hope!"
Calling the deaths of family and friends trivial—that imbalance stirs hearts. Family, friends, homeland, comrades had been our whole world.
"Our Germany is so broken that even the deaths of family and friends feel trivial! This tragedy! This misery! It's no exaggeration—it's the reality you face. Last night, I soaked my pillow with bloody tears over it!"
I appealed to that frustration.
"I cried like a child! I, who stayed composed through comrades' deaths and family farewells! But before Germany's defeat and lost hope, I crumbled!"
Exposition and rising action done. Next: the heart of the novel. Crisis, climax, resolution.