NagandEmerald
His Imperial & Royal Majesty, Friedrich IV
- Aug 18, 2018
- 696
An early summer morning in Nuremberg, and one that was, in a way, familiar yet different to a man who walked the dimly-lit, fog-laden streets. It was here in this city that Wolfgang Shröder had met Leopold Hertzberg; he originally met the man, standing and looking to the former Rally Fields of the Nazi Party, hands clasped behind his back and with a heavy air around him. When Hertzberg turned to face him, it was clear that he was not disappointed in the state of his country, but disappointed in how it had been treated over the decades...yet he smiled; why did he smile? Leopold was a man who was patriotic, not nationalistic. He felt responsible, like many Germans, for the horrors afflicted upon people during the 2nd World War...but he believed that National Socialism could do better. He had a way with words, a way with showing that patriotism, by openly wearing the memorabilia of such a tumultuous time in German history, that Wolfgang had to know more.
He joined his group, who planned to oust the old government and rebuild the Third Reich. It was not to be though, when the Federal Republic of Germany came back to power and declared them traitors to the state...Hertzberg was tried and hung in this very city...the first National Socialist to die, once again, to the social decay of democracy. Shröder survived, but only because he had fled like a coward, and returned only when the statute of limitations was up. Like Hertzberg, Wolfgang was a patriot, not a nationalist. He felt responsible, but was willing to do what it took to realize his Führer's dream; he was not about to let his country fall into the hands of Bolshevism under the SPD...nor would he let the Kaiser.
Since the Nazi Party had officially been recognized as a legal party, Wolfgang knew that it was his time to come back to the ideology proper; he needed to make change, and not be ashamed of the fact that he was a National Socialist. He had managed to contact the party and arrange a meeting at the Nuremberg Rally Grounds. As Shröder pulled up to the Zeppelinfield Grandstand and approached the man waiting for him, he already felt rather disgusted by the lack of proper discreetness that the man showed to him, noticing that the man was already unashamed to come out as a Nazi instead of in plainclothes as Shröder had done. His black hair contrasted against his tanned, Caucasian face, and fit almost perfectly with his clothes. His uniform was pressed, with barely a single wrinkle upon it: a standard Brownshirt uniform, brown tie, and brown dress pants. On his left, he wore a Nazi armband, and on his tie was a pin of the Reichsadler. Wolfgang's disgust with the man was at its peak; with the way this man seemed to idolize the Nazi ideal instead of being discreet about it, it reminded him much of the way Hertzberg proudly displayed himself; it was rather dangerous to do, especially now with Bolshevism and Yellow Vests. When the man turned to Shröder, he didn't even hesitate to Heil Shröder as he walked to him, arm outstretched and legs placed together, as though he had practiced the salute day after day after day. It was not something that was practiced, but something that was instinctual! He held no high hopes now, and his face twitched, almost unbeknownst to him, in disgust as he approached the Brownshirt.
"Sieg Heil, fellow Aryan!" the man shouted, his voice booming and powerful. Wolfgang didn't need to make such a grand gesture, and simply raised his right hand in greeting, giving a quiet, yet still powerful "Heil Hitler," in return, stopping in front of the man as he inspected him. The way he circled him, the way he seemed to puff out his chest...it was indicative of a young, naive child like Mussolini or, perhaps, even the Italians today.
"So...tell me...is that it?" the Brownshirt criticized, "Is this all that comes from the Reichstag? I assumed that there would be more like-minded individuals..."
"Not many can claim to have assumed the role of a true National Socialist," Shröder began, his anger peaking and his tone beginning to raise drastically, "I would advise taking care of who you are talking to; I am Wolfgang Shröder, Deputy-Führer to Leopold Hertzberg, and a leader of the National Democratic Party! And I will not tolerate being chastised by a pompous, overzealous manchild who believes he is fit to wear that armband without public decency first!" Before the Nazi could retaliate with any threats or violence, Wolfgang grabbed him by his left wrist and grabbed the armband, sliding it off of him and throwing it to the ground. "You may be a Party member, but know that you will never be worthy to wear that armband unless you learn to be a proper man and act with grace and decency... now pick it up!" The Nazi, not wanting to obey further, pulled his hand away, looking at Wolfgang with insult and malice in his eyes. However, one gaze into those piercing blue eyes that Shröder possessed was all that was needed for the man to back down, and pick up his armband in defeat.
"You ran, coward...you abandoned your Führer in favor of survival..."
"I ran to fight another day...and that day is now, when the shadow of Bolshevism comes back to haunt us!" Wolfgang defended. He knew he was a coward, but he had more pressing matters than to discuss loyalty. "Who leads you? Hmm?" The man's dominant stance faltered, as he realized that Shröder had checkmated him.
"No one thus far...none have been fit to lead the Party," he admitted. Such arrogance to meet him in broad daylight, Heil him as a fellow Aryan, and wear such clothing when they did not even have a Führer?! Wolfgang smacked the man for his insolence, his gaze dangerous and calculating.
"Bring me to your office then. Let me speak with the candidates your 'party' has chosen." Upon the request, the man nodded and rubbed his face quietly, gesturing him to a 2008 Mercedes Benz Beetle parked nearby. Shröder watched the man step into his car as he stepped into his Mercedes Benz E-Class sedan, and followed him through the city of Nuremberg until he came to an officeplace in a rather deserted part of town. Stepping out, I watched him walk up to the door and open it, gesturing me inside. While the office outside was rather plain, the inside looked much more lively...yet still just as unnecessarily showman-like. It was like looking at an amateur reenactment party of Nazism, with several of the people looking at me not even fit to be wearing such uniforms with pasty, unkempt faces that possessed an array of acne markings and scraggly neck hair. Some were overweight, while others were even of a different color of skin than what could ever have been seen as acceptable to Adolf Hitler himself...it was...disastrous to Wolfgang! These were not National Socialists! Where were the Aryans? The Men, not boys who thought they were men?
"Gentlemen," Wolfgang began, his tone dangerous and the men looking at him with rather uninterested, disrespectful postures, "Is this all you have to offer me? Sad, angry children wearing uniforms for men? Look at yourselves! Do you really believe yourselves Nazis?!"
"Now see here!" one of them stepped forwards...an Untermensch in every sense of the word...his face pale and chubby, almost looking unable to fit in his stretched, not even pressed uniform! At least the man that Wolfgang had met at the Grandstand looked presentable in his uniform, if not too conspicuous. This creature was not a man, but some undesirable posing as a National Socialist. Shröder, despite his age, at least looked the part of a man fit for service in the Third Reich! He shoved the cretin away from himself, dusting his hand off on his clothes to ensure that they knew that he was disgusted.
"No...you see here! I am very disappointed...when I contacted your party, I expected men, not children. I expected Aryans, not Untermenschen...and I certainly expected to see more out of this party upholding a standard...not...this!" The children looked down in disappointment. Those who weren't paying attention to Shröder were looking up now, either neutral in their expression or angered.
"I came here seeking to rejoin this party...but it is clear that there is no place for a man among boys..." Shröder turned to start walking to the door, upset now that his time had been properly wasted.
"That is what I thought at first," a masculine voice added. Turning to the source, Wolfgang saw a man who, at a glance, looked almost akin to Joseph Goebbels, were it not for smoother skin and stronger cheekbones. He looked rather respectable and learned, wearing only a suit with the pin of the NSDAP on it and with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. "But as it turns out...not many people wish to follow our tenants, our creed...perhaps, instead of simply scolding these boys, we can mold them into true Aryans."
"No untermensch can ever truly be a man..."
"These are our supporters, and without a Führer, these men are lost...I believe that I spoke to you in that email," the man replied. Shröder cocked his head to the side, already now aware of his name.
"So, Mr. Heusmann...you want me to lead these boys into becoming men?"
"You are the most qualified among us, 'mein Führer'," the man, Martin Heusmann, cheekily hinted. He then stood to give a simple salute to Wolfgang, "Heil Hitler, Heil Hertzberg, Heil Shröder" Wolfgang simply turned back to the boys that were now all looking at him, either with stupid, childish expressions of glee or malice, or with dedication in their eyes.
"Hmm...I am giving you until 2015 to turn these boys into men Mr. Heusmann...if, by that point, these children have been weened out for the men, I will consider taking your offer. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," Martin whispered, confident yet reserved in the face of Wolfgang's gaze.
"I will support the ideals of the Party, even if I am not yet brought back into this fold...I want these boys to follow my example as they become men...I want your oath of loyalty to me, and to me alone." As soon as he said this, Martin gave a full Heil, and others in the room did as well, as Martin swore his loyalty.
"I swear: I will be faithful and obedient to you, Wolfgang Shröder, and to conscientiously fulfill my official duties, so help me God. Should I fail, this party shall be deemed as unworthy for Germany, and will disband in the name of the Führer, Adolf Hitler.." With that in mind, Shröder returned the Heil.
"Sieg —" he began softly, only to be interrupted by the entire group, yelling in unison.
"Heil!" the interruption earned Wolfgang's icy cold gaze, and he turned to them and barked, his arm high and his feet closed together.
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!" Satisfied that they were ready to follow, Wolfgang turned back to Martin with a gaze of pure dedication.
"Turn these boys into Men...for Adolf, for Hertzberg...for the Reich..." Upon saying this, he turned tail and left the office to start the drive back to Berlin. He now felt confident, if not concerned, by the state of the NSDAP. There were more than enough supporters, and while they were boys, children really...they could be made into men, whether they wanted it or not.
He joined his group, who planned to oust the old government and rebuild the Third Reich. It was not to be though, when the Federal Republic of Germany came back to power and declared them traitors to the state...Hertzberg was tried and hung in this very city...the first National Socialist to die, once again, to the social decay of democracy. Shröder survived, but only because he had fled like a coward, and returned only when the statute of limitations was up. Like Hertzberg, Wolfgang was a patriot, not a nationalist. He felt responsible, but was willing to do what it took to realize his Führer's dream; he was not about to let his country fall into the hands of Bolshevism under the SPD...nor would he let the Kaiser.
Since the Nazi Party had officially been recognized as a legal party, Wolfgang knew that it was his time to come back to the ideology proper; he needed to make change, and not be ashamed of the fact that he was a National Socialist. He had managed to contact the party and arrange a meeting at the Nuremberg Rally Grounds. As Shröder pulled up to the Zeppelinfield Grandstand and approached the man waiting for him, he already felt rather disgusted by the lack of proper discreetness that the man showed to him, noticing that the man was already unashamed to come out as a Nazi instead of in plainclothes as Shröder had done. His black hair contrasted against his tanned, Caucasian face, and fit almost perfectly with his clothes. His uniform was pressed, with barely a single wrinkle upon it: a standard Brownshirt uniform, brown tie, and brown dress pants. On his left, he wore a Nazi armband, and on his tie was a pin of the Reichsadler. Wolfgang's disgust with the man was at its peak; with the way this man seemed to idolize the Nazi ideal instead of being discreet about it, it reminded him much of the way Hertzberg proudly displayed himself; it was rather dangerous to do, especially now with Bolshevism and Yellow Vests. When the man turned to Shröder, he didn't even hesitate to Heil Shröder as he walked to him, arm outstretched and legs placed together, as though he had practiced the salute day after day after day. It was not something that was practiced, but something that was instinctual! He held no high hopes now, and his face twitched, almost unbeknownst to him, in disgust as he approached the Brownshirt.
"Sieg Heil, fellow Aryan!" the man shouted, his voice booming and powerful. Wolfgang didn't need to make such a grand gesture, and simply raised his right hand in greeting, giving a quiet, yet still powerful "Heil Hitler," in return, stopping in front of the man as he inspected him. The way he circled him, the way he seemed to puff out his chest...it was indicative of a young, naive child like Mussolini or, perhaps, even the Italians today.
"So...tell me...is that it?" the Brownshirt criticized, "Is this all that comes from the Reichstag? I assumed that there would be more like-minded individuals..."
"Not many can claim to have assumed the role of a true National Socialist," Shröder began, his anger peaking and his tone beginning to raise drastically, "I would advise taking care of who you are talking to; I am Wolfgang Shröder, Deputy-Führer to Leopold Hertzberg, and a leader of the National Democratic Party! And I will not tolerate being chastised by a pompous, overzealous manchild who believes he is fit to wear that armband without public decency first!" Before the Nazi could retaliate with any threats or violence, Wolfgang grabbed him by his left wrist and grabbed the armband, sliding it off of him and throwing it to the ground. "You may be a Party member, but know that you will never be worthy to wear that armband unless you learn to be a proper man and act with grace and decency... now pick it up!" The Nazi, not wanting to obey further, pulled his hand away, looking at Wolfgang with insult and malice in his eyes. However, one gaze into those piercing blue eyes that Shröder possessed was all that was needed for the man to back down, and pick up his armband in defeat.
"You ran, coward...you abandoned your Führer in favor of survival..."
"I ran to fight another day...and that day is now, when the shadow of Bolshevism comes back to haunt us!" Wolfgang defended. He knew he was a coward, but he had more pressing matters than to discuss loyalty. "Who leads you? Hmm?" The man's dominant stance faltered, as he realized that Shröder had checkmated him.
"No one thus far...none have been fit to lead the Party," he admitted. Such arrogance to meet him in broad daylight, Heil him as a fellow Aryan, and wear such clothing when they did not even have a Führer?! Wolfgang smacked the man for his insolence, his gaze dangerous and calculating.
"Bring me to your office then. Let me speak with the candidates your 'party' has chosen." Upon the request, the man nodded and rubbed his face quietly, gesturing him to a 2008 Mercedes Benz Beetle parked nearby. Shröder watched the man step into his car as he stepped into his Mercedes Benz E-Class sedan, and followed him through the city of Nuremberg until he came to an officeplace in a rather deserted part of town. Stepping out, I watched him walk up to the door and open it, gesturing me inside. While the office outside was rather plain, the inside looked much more lively...yet still just as unnecessarily showman-like. It was like looking at an amateur reenactment party of Nazism, with several of the people looking at me not even fit to be wearing such uniforms with pasty, unkempt faces that possessed an array of acne markings and scraggly neck hair. Some were overweight, while others were even of a different color of skin than what could ever have been seen as acceptable to Adolf Hitler himself...it was...disastrous to Wolfgang! These were not National Socialists! Where were the Aryans? The Men, not boys who thought they were men?
"Gentlemen," Wolfgang began, his tone dangerous and the men looking at him with rather uninterested, disrespectful postures, "Is this all you have to offer me? Sad, angry children wearing uniforms for men? Look at yourselves! Do you really believe yourselves Nazis?!"
"Now see here!" one of them stepped forwards...an Untermensch in every sense of the word...his face pale and chubby, almost looking unable to fit in his stretched, not even pressed uniform! At least the man that Wolfgang had met at the Grandstand looked presentable in his uniform, if not too conspicuous. This creature was not a man, but some undesirable posing as a National Socialist. Shröder, despite his age, at least looked the part of a man fit for service in the Third Reich! He shoved the cretin away from himself, dusting his hand off on his clothes to ensure that they knew that he was disgusted.
"No...you see here! I am very disappointed...when I contacted your party, I expected men, not children. I expected Aryans, not Untermenschen...and I certainly expected to see more out of this party upholding a standard...not...this!" The children looked down in disappointment. Those who weren't paying attention to Shröder were looking up now, either neutral in their expression or angered.
"I came here seeking to rejoin this party...but it is clear that there is no place for a man among boys..." Shröder turned to start walking to the door, upset now that his time had been properly wasted.
"That is what I thought at first," a masculine voice added. Turning to the source, Wolfgang saw a man who, at a glance, looked almost akin to Joseph Goebbels, were it not for smoother skin and stronger cheekbones. He looked rather respectable and learned, wearing only a suit with the pin of the NSDAP on it and with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. "But as it turns out...not many people wish to follow our tenants, our creed...perhaps, instead of simply scolding these boys, we can mold them into true Aryans."
"No untermensch can ever truly be a man..."
"These are our supporters, and without a Führer, these men are lost...I believe that I spoke to you in that email," the man replied. Shröder cocked his head to the side, already now aware of his name.
"So, Mr. Heusmann...you want me to lead these boys into becoming men?"
"You are the most qualified among us, 'mein Führer'," the man, Martin Heusmann, cheekily hinted. He then stood to give a simple salute to Wolfgang, "Heil Hitler, Heil Hertzberg, Heil Shröder" Wolfgang simply turned back to the boys that were now all looking at him, either with stupid, childish expressions of glee or malice, or with dedication in their eyes.
"Hmm...I am giving you until 2015 to turn these boys into men Mr. Heusmann...if, by that point, these children have been weened out for the men, I will consider taking your offer. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," Martin whispered, confident yet reserved in the face of Wolfgang's gaze.
"I will support the ideals of the Party, even if I am not yet brought back into this fold...I want these boys to follow my example as they become men...I want your oath of loyalty to me, and to me alone." As soon as he said this, Martin gave a full Heil, and others in the room did as well, as Martin swore his loyalty.
"I swear: I will be faithful and obedient to you, Wolfgang Shröder, and to conscientiously fulfill my official duties, so help me God. Should I fail, this party shall be deemed as unworthy for Germany, and will disband in the name of the Führer, Adolf Hitler.." With that in mind, Shröder returned the Heil.
"Sieg —" he began softly, only to be interrupted by the entire group, yelling in unison.
"Heil!" the interruption earned Wolfgang's icy cold gaze, and he turned to them and barked, his arm high and his feet closed together.
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!"
"Sieg —"
"Heil!" Satisfied that they were ready to follow, Wolfgang turned back to Martin with a gaze of pure dedication.
"Turn these boys into Men...for Adolf, for Hertzberg...for the Reich..." Upon saying this, he turned tail and left the office to start the drive back to Berlin. He now felt confident, if not concerned, by the state of the NSDAP. There were more than enough supporters, and while they were boys, children really...they could be made into men, whether they wanted it or not.
Last edited:
