The Chancellor's Oath
The official appointment of the Falkenrain Cabinet as Chancellor took place in September 1931—exactly one year after the sixth general election in September 1930.
"Fritz Lucas Ernst von Falkenrain. Do you swear to devote yourself to the German nation, to serve and dedicate yourself to the people with justice and integrity at all times?"
"I swear it."
As I declared my oath, Hindenburg stepped forward with a sword in hand. He suddenly drew it and placed it on my shoulder—a ceremony traditionally performed by a king when dubbing a knight. But the Weimar Republic had no king anymore. Hindenburg sheathed the sword and then handed it straight to me.
The chancellorship ceremony was kept simple and abbreviated. It had been appointed under the president's emergency powers, so there was no need for pomp and circumstance.
I received the chancellorship document and the sword from Hindenburg.
"Falkenrain. I appoint you as Chancellor of Germany."
September 14, 1931. And so, I formally became the Chancellor of Germany.
The moment I took office, Hindenburg exercised his presidential authority to dissolve the Reichstag once again—a customary step to form the new cabinet. Thus, the Papen Cabinet was dismantled after just one year, and I stepped into its place.
The election ran until September 16, and the results came in. DDRAP secured a whopping 271 seats. The National People's Party, which joined as a coalition partner, took 52 seats—forcing the ruling coalition over the majority threshold.
Most of those seats belonged to DDRAP, but that hardly mattered. What counted was the majority. It signaled the end of tensions between the Hindenburg faction and DDRAP.
"Let's make it work from here on out."
By September 20, the cabinet was fully assembled and operational in the blink of an eye. Midway through, the German Communist Party sent me a protest letter, but I tossed it without even reading it.
Government operations swiftly returned to normal. With the ruling coalition holding a majority in the Reichstag, everything from then on was handled posthaste. The Communists submitted another no-confidence motion, but no other party sided with them this time.
"No-confidence against the Falkenrain Cabinet... What a joke."
The Communists, as the second-largest party with 101 seats, posed no threat whatsoever. Even if half the Reichstag vanished, I could now bend it to my will.
And so, I began the next step to keep the ever-climbing Communists in check.
"Mr. President. We must enact the Anti-Treason Special Law. I'll secure Reichstag approval."
"What's that?"
"I'll send up the report. It's a law to broadly punish acts of treason—selling the nation to foreign powers. For instance, any party trying to hand Germany over to Soviet Russia could be prosecuted."
It was aimed squarely at the German Communist Party. Having coordinated with Hindenburg in advance, I brought it back to the Reichstag.
October 1, 1931. The Reichstag convened. Nearly 600 members gathered in the Reichstag building. Most of the agenda items set for passage that day had been previewed just beforehand.
"Anti-Treason Special Law? What's the difference from the existing Anti-State Law?"
"Listen, this one includes parties and members in the investigation scope. And the criteria for probes are way looser—start sniffing around at the slightest whiff."
"Isn't this basically for political revenge?"
"It's wrapped in national security packaging, but the guy's got dark intentions underneath. We can't let this pass."
"But what can we do?"
No one had an answer to that congressman's question. There simply wasn't one. That's the terror of a majority.
And so, Falkenrain—the bearer of the bill—took the podium, drawing all eyes.
From the Reichstag rostrum, Falkenrain began his explanation.
"The Anti-Treason Special Law. A law enabling broad investigations and punishments for treasonous acts and betrayals against the German people. In these chaotic times, it's more essential than ever. We gather here today—members of the Reichstag—to secure your consent for its enactment."
Chancellor Falkenrain's explanation continued. On the surface, it seemed vital for security. But the members knew exactly who it targeted: the Communists. And the SPD, which still clung to life.
The Communists were a pro-Russia party pushing Soviet-style planned economies and communism in Germany. The SPD could be tied to Poland with the right cooking. In short, it was a law to eradicate Germany's leftist parties in one fell swoop.
Aware of this, the Communists and SPD submitted no-confidence motions right there and boycotted the session. But the majority was already in the coalition's hands.
"A no-confidence motion that fails to pass holds no power. Leaving the Reichstag now will be considered forfeiture of your vote. We proceed to the vote."
With the Speaker's calm declaration, voting began. The National People's Party and German National Socialist Workers' Party rose en masse in favor.
The vote was over in a flash. The majority coalition's power was formidable in every way. And no one could stop it—not even if the new law violated the constitution.
Thus, with majority consent, the law passed. It would take effect from November 1931.
November 4, 1931. Under the pretext of investigation, military police raided the Berlin Communist Party headquarters. The Communists mobilized their private militia to block them, but noncompliance itself was an "anti-national act," inviting even greater violence.
"Military police here?! No! Stop them!"
"You filthy Stalinists! Get out of the way before we draw our guns!"
In the end, the Communists drew weapons and resisted, but the military police returned fire with reinforcements, escalating into a bloody clash.
This was promptly spun for propaganda.
"Behold! They swear loyalty not to the people or nation, but to Stalin alone! What shame is this? They fired on our young soldiers! They murdered German citizens for Stalin! They committed murder for Russia!"
Goebbels seized the moment with fiery speeches against the Communists and columns in the papers. Meanwhile, DDRAP's Wave Corps and the National People's Party's Iron Helmets began rooting out Communist sympathizers in back alleys.
From November 4 to 11, 1931. In one week, 760 Communist Party members were arrested—300 of them high-ranking cadres. Most were charged with treason to Soviet Russia, briefly jailed, then sentenced to death under the Anti-Treason Special Law.
Even those not executed faced harsh penalties: life imprisonment, 15-year hard labor, 7-year hard labor, and so on. And far more were quietly dealt with by vigilante groups.
"That's enough for now. Time to turn to the SPD."
With the Communists reeling, the next target was the SPD—slapped with the label of pro-Poland traitors.
The German Social Democratic Party, or SPD, flatly denied it. Unlike the Communists, they played it smart: welcoming the investigators and cooperating fully.
"Search all you want. There's nothing to find."
The SPD's strategy worked to a degree. Still, a few were charged with treason to Poland—and some even convicted. It was inevitable; the investigations were rigged from the start.
Compared to the Communists, though, the SPD got off lightly.
"This clears our name."
"Idiots. They don't even realize we let them live."
But neither the SPD nor Communists knew this was all part of DDRAP's plan. Sparing the SPD and not fully crushing the Communists was calculated to foster division among the leftists.
January 1932. With the Communists and SPD on the back foot, DDRAP had fully seized the political landscape. Just five years prior, it had been a mid-tier Bavarian party; now, it was undeniably the ruling power. Even Hindenburg backed me—though I'd jumped through hoops to flatter him into it.
"Pleased to meet you, Karl Dönitz."
"Likewise, Chairman."
"Long time no see, Manstein senior. You remember me, right?"
"How could I forget? Seeing you like this brings back memories."
I also invited future key military officers to Berlin for a social gathering. Networking is politics 101. It was a joy reuniting with Manstein and Guderian.
A few even expressed interest in joining the party.
"Hermann Göring—the hero of the Great War, isn't he? How could we refuse someone like you? Welcome aboard, Göring."
"Heroes of the Great War, let's save Germany together."
Led by Hermann Göring, several attendees joined DDRAP outright: Dönitz, Raeder, Göring, and more.
Manstein even joked during our chat.
"Should I join your party too?"
"Senior, you're one of the few clear-eyed men in the Reichswehr. No need to play Cyclops—stay neutral."
"Didn't expect that from you."
"I'd welcome you, but we both know you won't."
"You know me well. Don't go too extreme, Lucas."
Of course, it was just banter. He and Guderian had tried to stay neutral in the Reichswehr even in the second timeline's Nazi era. They were Junkers, after all—stubborn in their old-guard ways over the new Nazis' radicalism.
But that's what made them valuable. Seeing them unchanged from the second timeline actually put me at ease.