Bavaria's Black Night
January 1922. Yahn Krichz and the Wave Corps, including the party that attacked DDRAP, declared war on the communists.
"There's no way that small party actually planned the terror attack themselves. Some bigger leftist outfit must've put them up to it."
That was Krichz's conclusion. And he sharpened his blade of vengeance.
He gathered intelligence, scouted their party buildings, dug up dirt on every leader and executive—their weaknesses, family ties, everything. He scattered loyal Wave Corps members to tail them. And when he judged the time was right...
"So... you just need my go-ahead to launch right away?"
"I've already greased enough palms with the local guards and police. Even if investigators try to poke around, their bosses'll shut it down. No big issues."
"Krichz. Isn't this playing with fire?"
"Brother, I'll take full responsibility. Give me a shot at something big for once."
His eyes still burned with rage. Rage at the communists—no, hatred and contempt that went beyond rage. Ever since the terror attack, he'd been obsessed with payback against them, maniacally so. That obsession made him meticulous, thorough, which was useful.
"Alright. I'll trust you."
I approved his plan. Krichz nodded and left the office.
Violence is the most primal force.
In those days, to play politics, you needed violence and money. Most minor parties lacked one or the other, so they stagnated or folded fast. If you had to pick, though, violence mattered more than capital. It was closer to hand for us.
"Hngh...!"
"Stay still, you red scum!"
"Guh...!"
January 23, 1922. With the tacit approval of local police and Bavarian guards, Yahn Krichz unleashed the Wave Corps on communist-affiliated parties for revenge. The leftists were already getting wiped out in Bavaria anyway. Starting retaliation when the power balance had already tipped? Fatal.
Unlike Ernst Röhm, Krichz planned and executed every payback meticulously. He dragged other right-wing parties into it, turning it into a mini civil war in Bavaria.
Punish DDRAP's attackers, and you had to punish the other rightists too—which meant total leftward tilt in Bavaria. If the people didn't want that, it was impossible. He held all Bavaria's right-wing forces hostage, creating a lawless free-for-all.
Yahn Krichz's scheme.
"Bavaria's done for now. On the flip side, it'll go fully right-wing."
Once the left parties dissolved or couldn't withstand the violence and vanished, only right-wing ones would remain in Bavaria. And among them, none could rival DDRAP—making Bavaria our unchallenged domain. Even if problems arose, blame the Wave Corps' rogue actions; he'd take the fall and go to prison. That was Yahn Krichz's plan.
"Come out! All of you, you red bastards!"
"What the hell are the guards doing?! Even if Germany's a mess, they can't just let mobs run wild?!"
"Guards? Oh, you mean these guys? Ex-guard myself."
"What?!"
"Drag 'em all out!"
Overwhelming violence begat overwhelming retribution. It dragged on for three full days. During that stretch, several bodies went into Lake Chiemsee. Crammed into wooden crates, poured with concrete, sealed tight, and buried. The crates were treated to rot as slowly as possible. Still, decay would creep in eventually.
Thus, Bavaria descended into chaos for three days. Party power dynamics flipped completely; the leftist factions, barely holding defensive lines, got swept away wholesale.
Later, academics dubbed it the Bavaria's Black Night.
From January 23 to 26. The three-day orgy of violence ended leaving countless victims. Police and military police showed zero will to investigate, and thanks to Ernst Hanfstaengl's political pull and Yahn Krichz's timely schmoozing, it never blew up.
I'd worried about the risks at first, but it turned out fine. As Krichz predicted, German cops and guards were more corrupt than expected; they turned a blind eye to the rampant violence. Sure, a few Wave Corps guys who actually swung fists got nabbed, but pruning the tail like that was no loss.
Results were good, so time to praise Krichz.
"Yahn. Good work. Your planning and execution were sharper than I expected."
"Can't compare to you, Brother."
"Which brings me to this: you're too good to just handle the Wave Corps, don't you think?"
"I get what you're saying, but the core members are all like my little brothers. Same as you looking out for the party rank-and-file. I can't abandon my bros."
"Yahn. I never told you to ditch the Wave Corps. Sometimes you gotta aim higher. If you want, down the line I could hand you a major role in Germany."
"Sorry, Brother. This level's just right for me. Honestly, even this feels like more than I deserve."
Unfortunately, he was small-caliber. No ambition. His subordinate Gregor Strasser, on the other hand, appointed himself my secretary—aide, acting in ways that helped me while openly hungering for power and growth.
Krichz? Already content. Complacent.
A person's capacity is mostly talent, but ambition claims its share too. No drive? Even top talent won't claw its way up. That's Krichz to a T.
"Krichz. Then why risk it all on this plan? Not after some personal gain?"
"No gain. Just pissed you nearly died, Brother. That's it."
"You went this far for that?"
"Brother, you know I'm no savior for Germany. Street rat born and bred, and everyone I've linked up with's no different. But you? You're not."
"Origins don't matter that much."
"Souls do, though. You've been leader material from the start. I'm satisfied just helping you. Anyway, pure patriotism drove me. Protecting you is my patriotism."
Krichz was a gift of a man. But a bittersweet pang hit me.
Regrettable, but for Germany's sake, I'd have to cut him loose someday. A spaceship doesn't launch proper without ditching spent fuel tanks. That's why multi-stage rockets shed them relentlessly.
When his fuel ran dry, I'd discard him without hesitation. He wasn't the type to ride all the way up with me.
"Got it, Krichz. Good work anyway. Take a few days off; I'll send a little something."
With everything wrapped, I sent Krichz on his way.
"Haa..."
Afterward, I pondered what lay ahead.
Ruhr occupation... and the Munich uprising.
Playing only in Munich wouldn't make me Germany's chancellor. I needed to expand DDRAP nationwide. And for that, a trigger.
In the original timeline, Hitler sparked his in November 1923 at the Munich Beer Hall. The putsch failed, but his fiery speech moved the judge to early release. He wrote Mein Kampf. By then, he was famous. That base propelled him to stardom in central German politics.
I'll milk the Ruhr occupation for now.
Like Hitler did. Prep time. Slight worry my butterflies might butterfly away the occupation altogether, but France would probably grab the Ruhr anyway.
Germany can't/won't solve reparations like in the original.
The Ruhr occupation shattered German faith in the Weimar government. A golden chance for underdogs like us.
"Strasser."
"Yes, Chairman?"
"Prep a letter. One to my father-in-law."
First, evacuate Catalina's family, then plan.
Time flew. Post-Bavaria's Black Night, DDRAP steadily grew. Max Amann's Bavarian Workers' Newspaper sold like hotcakes beyond Munich—to Baden, Saxony, nearby regions. Hanfstaengl's efforts brought donors; funds swelled.
October 31, 1922. Mussolini's Blackshirts marched into Rome; his gamble paid off. My butterflies aside, the outcome barely shifted.
The March on Rome rippled to us too. Paul Joseph Goebbels, now Max Amann's secretary in that brief span, reported it straight to me.
"We can do it too! Wave Corps is nearing 3,000 strong! Italians pulled it off—what can't we?!"
Not just Goebbels. Strasser got fired up over the March too.
"Can't we make that call ourselves?"
Party members clamored to march on Berlin. I shut it down.
"Not yet."
But violence needs justification. Even Bavaria's Black Night had the terror attack as pretext for some leeway. March on Berlin sans cause? I'd be just another rebel chief.
"Not yet... the chance'll come. Wait."
And it did, fast.
January 8, 1923. Three days earlier than the second loop, that event arrived.