Very hard/aggresive, Austria, 1936, 1.03b, no mods.
The pale man with his black moustasches took a lookaround. Yes, it was familiar. Very familiar. He had seen it all before. He could see the happy days of his childhood, when the sun always seemed to shine, the grass always seemed to be green and when "papa" sat straight-backed in this chair and the room silenced at his bidding. But that was long ago.
It was familiar, but still not the same. He remembered the heavy days. When everyone seemed to die, "papas" wife, "papas" son, when the glow died in "papas" eyes and his back bent under the strain of the sorrows and the years. And when cousin Ferdinand married a Duchess, how "papas" rage had been so hollow. Ferdinand had not cared, so few had the last years.
Then came the war, and "papas" back bent even more under the news, Przemysl lost, one hundred thousand surrendered was the killing blow. After that, "papa" was dead, even though he continued to breathe for months.
At least "papa" had been spared the accursed offensive by Brusilov, the return of the filthy Serbs, and worst of all, the betrayal of the Hungarians at Isonzo.
And then the betrayals, one after another. And the Hungarian refusal to let him claim what was his by birthright. And the disease, how weak had he not been? But he had defeated the pneumonia that the doctors had though would kill him that cold spring fourteen years ago. And now he would defeat outside enemies.
Emperor Karl Franz Joseph von Habsburg-Lothringen lifted his head and in his dark eyes the terrible resolve of a man who has lost all could be seen. He turned around, turning his back at the throne hall of Schönbrunn. That was not his place now. Nor did he wear the heavy garnments of the Habsburg monarchy. He was dressed in the feldgrau uniform of an Austrian Field Marshal.
The way back had been long and cumbersome. Building support and loyalty. Newspaper ads, leaflets and radio transmissions. It had costed him a greats deal of his fortune, and it would probably never have succeeded, if it hadnt been for the depression. "The Emperor had people employed!" and "The Emperor kept law and order!" was increasingly commonly heard on the streets of Wien in the early thirties, as the lines at welfare kitchens grew longer and desperate people took desperate measures to support their families. It was a turbulent, violent time, and brute brown-shirts could be seen roaming the streets, attacking political opponents, or just people who they did not think payed them enough respect.
The times looked dire for Austria indeed, but then came the two things that changed everything, two things that paved the way for the return of the Habsburgs to the throne of Austria, and set the path for Imperial Glory, or death at the hands of the traitors to the Empire.
First was the death of Archduke Wilhelm, once a pretender to the Ukranian crown. Wilhelm had been popular in Wien, yes, his fame was wide-spread in all of Austria as a just, noble and above all fair man. His death, presumably by mistake, at the hands of brown-shirts in one of Wiens many beatiful parks, caused a massive outrage in all of Austria and support for the brown-shirts declined. A massive crowd broke into the police station were the three brown-shirts had been held and the lynching was a thing unworthy Austria. There was a sentiment of hopelessness and lack of guidance in Austria. From the north came a long statement, full of accusations of jewish influence and socialist or even bolschevik plots to frame the brown-shirts. This was a mistake in these times. Dormant national pride was fueled again, and suddenly started to burn with hot, red flames again. The idea of Anschluss with Germany and the brown-shirts in power there suddenly dwindled.
At almost the same time, the Prime Minister Kurt Schuschnigg was drawn into a corruption scandal. State funds had been used for adultery at a bordello, and several million marks were missing from the coffers. Despite his attempts at defending himself, Schuschnigg could never really explain the adultery affair, which seemed to have been going on for several years at one of Wiens more distinguished bordellos. There was deep resentment in the still very catholic Austria, and soon Schuschnigg was forced to retire. At this time, agitators dressed in the old Imperial uniforms started to show up on the streets of Wien and every other major Austrian city. Known veterans, respected Generals and several politicians yet untouched by corruption scandals stepped forward and spoke of times when everything was good and predictable, of times when everyone had a job and the government was fair and just, a time of glory and might, a time when Austria was a major player in the world politics and everyone listened when the leader of Austria spoke. They reminded the people of the good days of the Empire, of the law and order, of the glory and honour.
They offered an alternative to the bolscheviks or the socialist and their radical ideas, they offered an alternative to the brute brown-shirts and their violence and yelling, they offered an alternative to corruption and Godlessness.
In the confused times of unemployment, violence and lack of guidance, in the vacuum of the lack of leadership, the people remembered the good days of the Empire. For eighteen years Austria had been reduced to a small patch, she had been robbed of her pride and glory by treason! The Hungarians and Czechs had betrayed their protectors and beneficiers!
There was a massive uproar for the return of the Emperor, for strong leadership by catholic moral and for honour and glory. For an Austrian to lead Austria back to what she deserved. It was a masterfully orchestrated campaign at the exact right time, and when the people cried out for the Emperor, the Emperor came.
At Wien Central station he spoke to massive crowds that had gathered to greet his train. He was closer to them now, much closer than before, wearing a simple uniform and no Imperial garnments at all, he was one of them. An Austrian to lead Austria.
"Friends!" he spoke, not calling the people that had arrived to greet him "subjects" or "citizens", but "friends". "Friends, my beloved people, my fellow Austrians! I thank you for greeting me. For far too long have we been kept apart. I never abdicated, because I knew that one day I would return to you, as I am but your humble servant. I left to spare you the pain and suffering of the betrayal, but now I am back, not to bring you more pain and suffering, but to relieve you of it! Long live Austria!!"
The cheering had been a massive, deafening sound as the Emperor made way from his railway cart towards a waiting automobile that would take him to Schönbrunn.
Emperor Karl was back at his throne - but much remained to be retaken in the Austrian Empire. Böhmen, Mähren, Sudet, Slovakia, Rutenia, Galicia, Hungary, Transylvania, Slovenia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Croatia...
But he had learned from the years lost in exile, and he would prevail, even if it meant allying with the yelling brute to the north.
Long live Austria!
The pale man with his black moustasches took a lookaround. Yes, it was familiar. Very familiar. He had seen it all before. He could see the happy days of his childhood, when the sun always seemed to shine, the grass always seemed to be green and when "papa" sat straight-backed in this chair and the room silenced at his bidding. But that was long ago.
It was familiar, but still not the same. He remembered the heavy days. When everyone seemed to die, "papas" wife, "papas" son, when the glow died in "papas" eyes and his back bent under the strain of the sorrows and the years. And when cousin Ferdinand married a Duchess, how "papas" rage had been so hollow. Ferdinand had not cared, so few had the last years.
Then came the war, and "papas" back bent even more under the news, Przemysl lost, one hundred thousand surrendered was the killing blow. After that, "papa" was dead, even though he continued to breathe for months.
At least "papa" had been spared the accursed offensive by Brusilov, the return of the filthy Serbs, and worst of all, the betrayal of the Hungarians at Isonzo.
And then the betrayals, one after another. And the Hungarian refusal to let him claim what was his by birthright. And the disease, how weak had he not been? But he had defeated the pneumonia that the doctors had though would kill him that cold spring fourteen years ago. And now he would defeat outside enemies.
Emperor Karl Franz Joseph von Habsburg-Lothringen lifted his head and in his dark eyes the terrible resolve of a man who has lost all could be seen. He turned around, turning his back at the throne hall of Schönbrunn. That was not his place now. Nor did he wear the heavy garnments of the Habsburg monarchy. He was dressed in the feldgrau uniform of an Austrian Field Marshal.
The way back had been long and cumbersome. Building support and loyalty. Newspaper ads, leaflets and radio transmissions. It had costed him a greats deal of his fortune, and it would probably never have succeeded, if it hadnt been for the depression. "The Emperor had people employed!" and "The Emperor kept law and order!" was increasingly commonly heard on the streets of Wien in the early thirties, as the lines at welfare kitchens grew longer and desperate people took desperate measures to support their families. It was a turbulent, violent time, and brute brown-shirts could be seen roaming the streets, attacking political opponents, or just people who they did not think payed them enough respect.
The times looked dire for Austria indeed, but then came the two things that changed everything, two things that paved the way for the return of the Habsburgs to the throne of Austria, and set the path for Imperial Glory, or death at the hands of the traitors to the Empire.
First was the death of Archduke Wilhelm, once a pretender to the Ukranian crown. Wilhelm had been popular in Wien, yes, his fame was wide-spread in all of Austria as a just, noble and above all fair man. His death, presumably by mistake, at the hands of brown-shirts in one of Wiens many beatiful parks, caused a massive outrage in all of Austria and support for the brown-shirts declined. A massive crowd broke into the police station were the three brown-shirts had been held and the lynching was a thing unworthy Austria. There was a sentiment of hopelessness and lack of guidance in Austria. From the north came a long statement, full of accusations of jewish influence and socialist or even bolschevik plots to frame the brown-shirts. This was a mistake in these times. Dormant national pride was fueled again, and suddenly started to burn with hot, red flames again. The idea of Anschluss with Germany and the brown-shirts in power there suddenly dwindled.
At almost the same time, the Prime Minister Kurt Schuschnigg was drawn into a corruption scandal. State funds had been used for adultery at a bordello, and several million marks were missing from the coffers. Despite his attempts at defending himself, Schuschnigg could never really explain the adultery affair, which seemed to have been going on for several years at one of Wiens more distinguished bordellos. There was deep resentment in the still very catholic Austria, and soon Schuschnigg was forced to retire. At this time, agitators dressed in the old Imperial uniforms started to show up on the streets of Wien and every other major Austrian city. Known veterans, respected Generals and several politicians yet untouched by corruption scandals stepped forward and spoke of times when everything was good and predictable, of times when everyone had a job and the government was fair and just, a time of glory and might, a time when Austria was a major player in the world politics and everyone listened when the leader of Austria spoke. They reminded the people of the good days of the Empire, of the law and order, of the glory and honour.
They offered an alternative to the bolscheviks or the socialist and their radical ideas, they offered an alternative to the brute brown-shirts and their violence and yelling, they offered an alternative to corruption and Godlessness.
In the confused times of unemployment, violence and lack of guidance, in the vacuum of the lack of leadership, the people remembered the good days of the Empire. For eighteen years Austria had been reduced to a small patch, she had been robbed of her pride and glory by treason! The Hungarians and Czechs had betrayed their protectors and beneficiers!
There was a massive uproar for the return of the Emperor, for strong leadership by catholic moral and for honour and glory. For an Austrian to lead Austria back to what she deserved. It was a masterfully orchestrated campaign at the exact right time, and when the people cried out for the Emperor, the Emperor came.
At Wien Central station he spoke to massive crowds that had gathered to greet his train. He was closer to them now, much closer than before, wearing a simple uniform and no Imperial garnments at all, he was one of them. An Austrian to lead Austria.
"Friends!" he spoke, not calling the people that had arrived to greet him "subjects" or "citizens", but "friends". "Friends, my beloved people, my fellow Austrians! I thank you for greeting me. For far too long have we been kept apart. I never abdicated, because I knew that one day I would return to you, as I am but your humble servant. I left to spare you the pain and suffering of the betrayal, but now I am back, not to bring you more pain and suffering, but to relieve you of it! Long live Austria!!"
The cheering had been a massive, deafening sound as the Emperor made way from his railway cart towards a waiting automobile that would take him to Schönbrunn.
Emperor Karl was back at his throne - but much remained to be retaken in the Austrian Empire. Böhmen, Mähren, Sudet, Slovakia, Rutenia, Galicia, Hungary, Transylvania, Slovenia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Croatia...
But he had learned from the years lost in exile, and he would prevail, even if it meant allying with the yelling brute to the north.
Long live Austria!
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