The Munich Beer Hall Putsch
November 8, 1923, 8 p.m. Bürgerbräukeller beer hall. The fifth anniversary rally of the November Revolution was in full swing here.
"Comrades! It's been five years since the horrific war ended and a new era dawned! How does it feel? If the war had dragged on, what would have become of your lives? Your friends and families?!"
A young man had climbed onto the wooden stage in the Bürgerbräukeller and was raising his voice in a passionate speech. He thrust both arms wide.
"Comrades! What is 'thou'? It is what we've longed for with all our hearts since the Great War! 'Thou' means freedom, comrades!"
"Shut your bullshit mouth!"
And that was when it happened. Men in the new uniforms of the Wave Corps began filing into the beer hall one after another. In an instant, the rally participants fell into chaos. The Wave Corps pushed through the crowd, firing pistols into the air to silence everyone.
Bang!
"Quiet down! Who's making noise on this sacred day?!"
The Wave Corps acted without hesitation, as if they feared nothing. In short order, about three hundred Wave Corps men surrounded the entire beer hall, while another two hundred entered to restore order.
Once the interior had been secured, a young man strode in dressed like the final boss himself—in a bluish-green military uniform. He propped his foot on a wooden chair and polished his boot with a handkerchief.
"Falkenrain...!"
"Shut up, you red scum!"
One of the few surviving communists trembled at the sight of the young man's face and shouted his name. He was quickly subdued by the Wave Corps. The red armband on his shoulder marked him as one of the few communists in Bavaria.
Having created perfect silence, Falkenrain slowly lowered his foot from the chair. The only sound echoing through the hall was the clack of his military boot.
He ascended the stage and unfurled a flag from within his coat.
"The German Struggle Alliance declares the dissolution of the Bavarian state government and the establishment of a new one. This is the patriotic resolve to save a crumbling nation—a wave, a movement, toward the Third Reich. Long live the German people!"
"Long live the German people!"
"Long live the German people!"
"Long live the German people!"
The young man raised one fist high, and the Wave Corps echoed him in unison. The eerie spectacle left the onlookers stunned in horror.
Around 9 a.m. on November 8, 1923. Word that the rally—packed with Bavarian party officials and politicians—had been seized by the "Wave Corps" reached the guard unit about an hour later. They immediately notified the military police and assembled a suppression force to deploy. The initial deployment numbered a whopping five hundred men, with more reinforcements on the way.
Click.
"Those DDRAP bastards... I knew it. They pretend to be Germany's saviors, but they're no different from the far-right or far-left fanatics."
Their actions didn't look much different from the SA's in the original timeline. The key difference? The DDRAP had far more manpower. With backing from Jewish businessmen, their funds were always plentiful, allowing them to mobilize over ten thousand Wave Corps men for this incident alone—not counting the pure "German Struggle Alliance" participants.
"More numbers than expected? Fall back for now. Defend the government offices and key facilities first."
"Big trouble! The Munich police station is already under attack!"
"What...?"
"They've... sent their demands."
And just like that, the demands arrived bold as brass. The messenger was Paul Joseph Goebbels, a fervent DDRAP zealot. Knowing he might be arrested, Goebbels had hurled a glass bottle containing the demands from afar toward the guard unit's building. The guards retrieved and reported it—meaning DDRAP operatives were swarming the area nearby.
The guard captain's face drained of color.
"Any rioters in the vicinity?"
"None."
"They're hiding their identities. It's too dangerous to act now. Their eyes and ears are everywhere. Dress the guards in civilian clothes and scatter them around. Wait for the right moment and strike to wipe them out in one go."
"Understood."
He first had the guards change into plain clothes and redeployed them for policing duties. Then he contacted the police force. The police were already in a frenzy from the assault on the Munich station.
"We need guard unit help right now! Immediately!"
"The military police will handle your side. Just hold on a bit."
"The rioters are storming in!"
"Got it. Sending some troops your way."
Click.
That gave a rough read of the situation. Things were bad. Major politicians had suddenly been taken prisoner, the "German Struggle Alliance" of Bavarian right-wing parties had sparked violence, response times lagged, the police station was under siege, and military police deployment was delayed.
But...
"It's not over yet."
The guard captain clung to hope. His duty was to protect order in Bavarian Munich.
"Good. The demands should have been delivered by now, right?"
"Yes. Goebbels—the fellow I mentioned earlier—handled it."
By 10 a.m. the same day, amid the rapidly shifting chaos, I had seized the beer hall and was monitoring the situation with a map spread out before me.
"How's it going, Falkenrain?"
"General, you've arrived."
"Yes. Can't let the young ones have all the fun without me. So, what's your plan?"
"We've declared the establishment of a provisional Third Reich government. General Ludendorff, please take command as military supreme commander of the provisional government."
"So be it."
Ludendorff had arrived right on cue and asked for an update. So far, everything was going smoothly—precisely to plan. But we couldn't get too carried away. The goal wasn't success; it was a perfectly ordinary failure.
"Defense Minister Lossow, Police Chief Seisser, State Governor Kahr—all will retain their posts."
"Hold on. They're not members of our German Struggle Alliance, are they?"
"Exactly. That's why we must hoist them into the same boat with us."
For that reason, I'd arbitrarily appointed Lossow, Seisser, and Kahr to the provisional government. Guns and knives to their throats, I forced them onto the podium to deliver speeches endorsing the government and statements accepting their roles. They complied without resistance.
"General Ludendorff. Your turn."
Ludendorff—a war hero with immense political clout. Honestly, it was a shame to have him stuck in the DDRAP. He nodded at my words and issued a statement supporting the Bavarian provisional government.
Finally, I took the podium for a brief speech myself. The spectacle of two war heroes turning the tide—that was unstoppable for now.
With the statements and speeches wrapped up simply, around noon came word from Yahn Krichz's subordinates: the Munich police station had been seized. They'd stripped it of weapons, armed themselves, and hung a banner outside with our demands. Total occupation.
"Excellent. What about the communications facilities?"
"Report just in. Secured successfully."
At 1 p.m., a detachment led by Gregor Strasser took the communications hub. Unlike the original timeline where the SA failed, the DDRAP was ruthlessly thorough.
By 3:30 p.m., the local health office and hospital fell. At 4 p.m., thirty minutes later, the Munich garrison headquarters was ours. By 5 p.m., even the post office—all key buildings occupied.
At this rate, the "Beer Hall Putsch" looked set to succeed. But our orders weren't to hole up in Bavaria for independence. We had to reenact the "March on Rome." Without pushing to Berlin, it meant nothing.
I asked Ludendorff to release Lossow, Seisser, and Kahr when the time came.
"You sure about letting them go?"
"They're in the boat now. No need to keep them chained."
"If you say so. Just until tomorrow?"
"Yes."
I met with the three, had a brief chat, and promised their release by tomorrow. I threw in some lip service about granting them key roles if our patriotic coup succeeded. After that, at 8 p.m., Krichz's force returned from the police station raid, fully armed.
"Good work, Krichz."
"This is my specialty, brother. Smashing those pigs felt damn good."
"Gregor Strasser's detachment will arrive soon. The German Struggle Alliance members will arm up and join us too."
"So... you're really going to do it?"
"We have to. That's the third wave."
I praised Krichz while outlining the next step: the street march. The problem? We might actually pull it off. But success wasn't what I wanted.
He never became unified Italy's head of state, but by laying down his own power, Giuseppe Garibaldi completed the unification. Like Garibaldi, I planned to be the hero who voluntarily forsook success for failure.