Showing posts with label New Book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Book. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Dragon Souls, book 3, Chapter 2




     I've been working on book 3 of Dragon Souls.  I don't have a definite name for the book yet, so for now it's book 3.  I had to look back at his chapter to write the chapter I'm working on, and I realized that this would be a good one to share.  The first chapter is posted on the blog, too.  You can find the link to it on the Wednesday Writing tab above.  Here's chapter 2

Chapter 2

                Erroyle rushed to the gates.  Nervous dwarves stood at the ready with bows and pikes.  She snatched the bow from one of the closest dwarves before he could put up a fight.  He grabbed her wrist as she reached for his full quiver of arrows.  Fayern raised a hand to halt the foolish young dwarf.  He released her and nodded to the dwarven prince behind her.  Erroyle was glad for the acquiescence; she would have killed the dwarf had he not.  The poor dwarves had been through enough.  She didn’t want to fight them, but she would not allow anyone to get in the way of her and Cal.  She needed to be with him.  She needed to feel his love, his acceptance, his nonjudgmental gaze.  She had never felt that kind of love from anyone but her father.  Her own people ostracized her because of her Gaian gift.  Knowing the emotions of others was more of a curse than a gift, really.  Her purple eyes marked her as different, and her people feared her for it.  Only the boy had loved her without prejudice.  He did not fear her gift.  After ten thousand years she had finally found someone to love her as she was.  She was not going to let him be taken away.
                Erroyle looked back at the dwarven prince and nodded her appreciation as she picked up the quiver of arrows.    The prince was probably only a few centuries old, but in his short life, he’d aged more than any dwarf his age.  Deep creases from wrinkles of worry and stress wore out the corners of his eyes, and around his nose and mouth.  He had no beard, which was beyond strange for a dwarf, but that wasn’t the only thing strange about the dwarf.  He was tall… tall for a dwarf, anyway.   About the average height of a man, but built twice as wide.  His brown hair was prematurely graying at his temples, and swooped back in a tangled mess just above his shoulders.  His grey eyes were tired.  This was a man who knew he was about to lose everything he loved.  Erroyle promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen.  She would save the dwarves on her way to save Cal.
A massive beam of the door splintered inward, affording them the first view of their pursuers.  Erroyle wasted no time.  She grabbed four arrows, placing one between each finger, and drew back the string.  In a whoosh they were away.  Through the freshly made hole, four dark creatures cried out as each arrow sunk deeply into their skulls.  Before they hit the ground Erroyle loosed eight more arrows.   In a span of seconds, the battering team was down, with the wicked battering ram lying heavily on their dead carcasses.   
                For the first time since the siege of the inner sanctum, quiet rang through the cavern.  Erroyle could almost see the wave of relief was over the dwarves’ faces.  She felt no joy.  She knew all too well it would only be a matter of moments before other dark creatures continued what their fallen comrades had started.  She grabbed another quiver from a nearby dwarf, hers having been partially used up, and ran to the opening.  She knocked two more arrows from the first quiver, stripping the feathered blades off the inner parts of the shafts and fired at two onrushing orcs.  They fell dead mid stride.  The others behind them paused, not wanting to join the growing heap of bodies.  Erroyle didn’t wait for them to advance, five more arrows zipped through the small crack in the massive door, and five more orcs went down.
                Finally, she was able to see what she was looking for; one of the orcs was shouting for others to press forward and pick up the battering ram.  He was their leader.  Before he could turn back to look at the ram, an arrow burst through his skull.  The orcs in front pressed backwards to get away from the new threat.  For a brief moment there was chaos in the ranks of the churning dark hoard.
                Erroyle looked back to the dwarven prince, pleading to him with a glance to let her out.  He shook his head sadly, and then nodding his consent.  A feeling of elation washed over her as she was finally given her chance to get back to her beloved Cal.  She fired twenty more arrows through the small hole just to ensure the chaos continued long enough for her to slip out among the orcs without them seeing her walk through what would appear to be solid rock.  Once through the magical wall Erroyle ran down the passage to her left to circle around the massive wooden gates.  The passage was riddled with dwarves, but her nimble gate carried her past them.  Sometimes using a wall, shoulder, or head to keep her forward momentum, she made it to the front before the orcs had regrouped. 
                Dropping the bow and quivers of arrows, she loosed the two massive swords from her back… Cal’s swords.  She would return them to his hands if it was the last thing she ever did in this world.  The massive blades were light as feathers in her hands because of the fallen dwarven king’s magic.  The blades were as tall as she was.  Each blade resembled a dragon’s maw agape with the blade protruding like a blast of fire from its mouth.  They were sharper than any weapon she had ever wielded, and laced with magic to penetrate even shields of dark magic.  They were fitting swords for a powerful warrior such as her, but they were his.  They belonged to her beloved.  They would be his once again.
                She kissed each blade, and then quickly darted out, through the magical opening, and into the sea of back filthy bodies.  Before she even touched the ground she had taken the head of three orcs.  As soon as she landed, she spun, extending the swords to their full length, and cutting down a dozen other dark clan soldiers. The area around her was cleared, and the invading hoard drew back, away from her.  They had fought her outside of the main gates, and once again in the main hall.  None of the Dark Clan soldiers were eager to repeat the encounter.  More chaos erupted as those around her tried to flee back behind the ranks of others, all the while they were trying to stay away from the crack in the gate which had mowed down a few dozen of their comrades in a matter of seconds.  The chaos brought a smile to the beautiful elven princess’s lips.  She would enjoy exacting revenge on these dark creatures.
                Before they could regroup Erroyle was moving, pressing them back farther.  She spun, lunged, kicked, flipped, spun again, and rolled.  Each movement cut down the enemy.  Not a move was wasted.  The magnificent weapons cut through anything they made contact with; be it metal or bone.  She pressed the enemy clearing thirty paces between them and the door they so desperately wanted to breach. 
                To her surprise, Erroyle heard the door creak loudly as it opened.  The dwarves came pouring out to meet their foe.  She felt a sense of pride for them.  She knew they were hurt, every last one of them, but they pressed anyway.  They would not be slaughtered in retreat, but rather fight the enemy head on.  Erroyle would ensure they lived to boast of their bravery.
                She ran at the cowering orcs and darkinder.  The short darkinder proved to be a bit troublesome as she had to strike up and down, but none of the enemy put up a fight.  A blur of bodies passed before her eyes.  The way the elves trained to fight, they never stood still.  Battle was an elegant dance.  Every limb was used in fluid motion to cut down their enemies.  Erroyle’s golden armor had sharp protrusions on the heels, toes, knees, elbows, and shoulders, so if she made contact with an enemy she would always draw blood.  She spun and flipped and kicked and rolled, pressing ever forward.  Hundreds fell before her.  She was covered in blood, none of it hers.  The grips on her magnificent swords would have been slick with the sticky substance if it weren’t for the magic.  Her hands held true to the grips, and she continued her onslaught. 
                Some orcs tried to attack, but were slashed down mid swing, or before they could even raise a sword.  The large trolls and ogres took more than one blow, but they too fell like reed before the fire.  Erroyle saw only red.  Her rage had blinded her to anything else.  She needed to get back to Cal.  Time passed, a wake of bodies lay behind her and yet she pressed on.  She vaguely heard the roar of battle behind her as the dwarves slaughtered any of the Dark Clan who managed to slip past her destructive assault.  Erroyle had only one goal in mind; to make it out the front gate.
                A large ogre was suddenly before her.  He was glowing in an eerie black light.  Just before she rolled out of the way of his massive club, she saw the source of the incandescent black glow… a dark elf.  For the first time she recognized that she was fighting living creatures.  This was a cousin.  She knew him from thousands of years earlier.  His name was Aorilalie.  He had played with her sister when they were younger, before the dark elves had abandon elven society and turned to evil.  Aorilalie had been one of the many suitors of her sister.  He had loved Erai once.  Erroyle felt conflict in her actions for the first time.  How could she kill someone she knew?
                A sharp pain jolted her out of her memories.  A blade had nicked her just below her protective armor breastplate.  A small trickle of blood oozed down her hip from the scratch on her side.  Rage replaced her conflict.  She turned and took the head of the orc who had cut her, and then turned back to the large ogre, just in time to roll out of the way of his massive club.  In the middle of her roll, she extended her blade, severing the ogre’s hand.  The club fell with a loud thunk to the floor.  Erroyle used her momentum to leap up to the ogre’s knee.  With one foot she jumped off the knee and onto its back.  Standing with one leg on each shoulder, she swung her sword behind her and down, taking the ogres head, all the while keeping an eye on Aorilalie.  His eyes widened in surprise that her weapons could penetrate his dark magic shields.  As the Ogre began to fall to the earth, she jumped off his back, flipping in the air, taking the heads of two more orcs along the way, and landing two feet in front of the shocked dark elf.  Without a moment’s pause, she slashed criss-crossed with each blade, like a massive pair of scissors, cutting the dark elf in two at the middle. 
                The dark elf fell forward, grabbing onto her shoulders for support as his bottom half fell helplessly to the ground.  The look of horror and pain filled his eyes as he looked desperately into hers.  A feeling of revulsion washed through her as the young elf, whom had once courted her sister, hung desperately to her as if he could somehow hold on to his now forfeited life.  He moved his mouth to speak, but as his insides fell out of the severed bottom half of him.  He found he was without air to make the words.  She saw him mouth the words, “I should have known better than to fight you.” But only a whisper escaped his lips, and then the fingers relaxed and he slunked lifelessly to the ground.
                Errolye looked down in shock at the bloodied dark mass at her feet.  Fresh blood oozed down her pristine golden elven armor… his blood.  She felt sick.  She looked back at the river of dead bodies in her wake.  Thousands lay lifeless on the ground…  at her hand.  She thought she might throw up.  She remembered Cal crying himself to sleep after his first battle.  How he had said he murdered the dark clan.  She remembered how distraught he was.  She had felt his pain and anguish through her Gaian gift.  She had felt his guilt at murdering so many.  She had felt his sorrow over their lives, his worry for their families left without mother, or father.  He had had his innocence shattered that day. 
                Erroyle looked back again at all of the bodies bathed in a sea of blood, and then again at the one at her feet, the one she knew from the time he was a baby.  She had killed so many, and yet she didn’t feel the anguish her beloved had felt that day.  Perhaps it was the millennia of war and death.  Perhaps she was not as sensitive as the young human.  Perhaps she was justified in her killing, but either way she just didn’t feel guilt.  She felt sick at having to slay a childhood friend, but no guilt.  He had chosen his path.  She would not have slain him if he weren’t trying to invade the free world.
                The enemy were all around her, frothing at the mouths wanting to get to the object of their hate, but held back by a fear of her wrath.  She sneered at them, backing them up a foot or two, and then she looked back into the main hall of the dwarven stronghold.  She was standing in the doorway of the main gate, now battered and splintered into pieces on the floor.  Across the hall, at the back wall, she saw the last of the dwarves, fighting their way into an escape tunnel.  The young dwaven prince, Fayern , was looking back at her, a sad worried look on his face.

--------------------

                The fighting lasted all day, all night, and late into the next day.  As Fayern limped dumbly out in the open fields of the dragon plains he couldn’t help but feel small and insignificant.  What he had seen had scarred his already injured psyche for life.  Few had survived; mostly women and small children.  Even the young boys had taken up arms in the end to defend their mothers and sisters, only to fall at their heels as they fled the swarming mass of dark clan.  All of Fayern’s men had fallen.  All except, to his never ending shame, him.
                He shook his head sadly.  Why?  Why had his father left him to this fate?  Why had Mother Gaia shunned her beloved earth-dwellers?  Why hadn’t Sky Father stopped the slaughter?  What had the dwarves done to deserve such a horrid fate?
                He looked around at the bloodied dwarven women marching along with him in their small, sad procession.  Some carried small children on their hips.  Some, not more than children themselves, carried motherless children on their backs.  Fayern’s good arm held a hastily crafted crutch, the other hung limply at his side dripping the occasional drop of blood from his nearly severed shoulder muscle.  Even now, away from the fighting, he was not much help to his people.  The soldiers kept most of the danger away from him during the battle, until the last fell, and then the women tried to protect him.  He had fought vigorously to stay at the enemy front, but his people insisted on throwing themselves between harm and their ruler, costing more unnecessary lives.  In the end, his retreat was the only way to get his people to retreat.  He had shed his own blood, but not before others laid down their lives before him.
                The safety of the few remaining dwarves was not because of Fayern’s efforts, nor was it by some divine intervention by their beloved Mother Gaia or Sky Father.  It was, in fact, because of the elven princess. 
                Princess Erroyle fought like a demon.  Just as the Dark Clan was breaking in through the great doors of the inner sanctum, the elven princess ambushed them from the side.  True to her word, none saw where she came from.  Most didn’t see her until her blade ran them through.  She wielded Fayern’s birthright, the swords of the royal family, to free his people; something Fayern could not do even if he had the weapons.  Perhaps that was why his father had left them to the boy.  Perhaps the old king knew that this would be their final stand, and if his line somehow survived, it would only be at the great cost of life from others.
                Fayern shook his head.  “Curse you Father,” he said, under his breath.  “Curse my royal line.”
                “Highness,” asked a young woman at his side.  He hadn’t even noticed her until that moment.
                “Oh nothing, lass,” he said, trying to smile.  The swelling in his face forced a tear out of his eye in the effort.
                “It not be dat bad, Highness,” the young woman said.  “We be alive, an’ dat be reason to be thankful.”
                “I suppose you’re right, lass,” Fayern said. 
The woman was of low ranking among the dwarves; perhaps a cook or house-lady, so even if Fayern, had lived among his own people, wouldn’t have cause to know her.  Living away from his people made the lack of familiarity even more forgivable.  His father knew all the dwarves by name.  Fayern had been sent away to live with the humans when he was but a boy three hundred years ago.  He did not have the accent of his people, and certainly not the accent of the young woman, but he did have a slight gruffness of dwarf mixed in with his well-practiced human tongue.  The result was that Fayern did not fit in in either world.
                “Highness, do ya think she’ll be alright,” the woman asked.
                “I’m sorry,” Fayern held out his hand as if to ask her name.
                “Vaylehia, Highness.  Er juss Vayle, if it be pleasin’ yer majesty.”
                “Vayle then.  Vayle, I’ve never seen a living creature move the way that elf moves.  She must have killed a thousand orcs and half again as many trolls and ogres.  I don’t think the Dark Clan could stand against her if they gathered all their forces to do so.”
                “It’s so romantic, if’n ya think about it; her goin off to save her man like dat,” Vayle said as her jolly cheeks flushed red.
                The girl (for that was how Fayern saw her now, as a silly girl) was obviously trying to take his mind off the horrific thoughts of the slaughter of his people.  There was nothing romantic about what had happened in the dwarven city.  Especially what had happened at the end, as the last of the dwarves made it to the exit tunnel.
                Fayern shuddered at what had almost happened to his people at the end.  He tried to smile again, squeezing another tear out of his swollen eye.  “She’ll get her boy back.  I’ve no doubt.  That woman could do anything she wanted.  I could scarcely believe what she managed in the city, but having seen it, I’ve no doubt that she’ll get her boy back.”
                Vayle looked down at the ground.  “An’ what about da last bit?”  She looked up suddenly into Fayern’s eyes.  “You don’t suppose dat Mother Gaia sent dem do you?”
                Fayern Shuddered again.  “I couldn’t possibly know,” he said, a haunted look settling in his blank gaze, as he relived the horrific event.  “I’m just glad we weren’t in the city when they came through the wall.”
                Vayle wiped away a tear of her own; hers was not from a swollen eye, though.  “I know dey be da enemy, but dat be about da most horrific way of dyin’ I can imagine.”
                Fayern nodded sadly.  “No less than they deserved, though; always nipping at our heels, not letting decent folk live in freedom.  They’re animals, young Vayle.  You mustn’t let yourself be moved to compassion for them.  They’d have killed every last one of us if the princess hadn’t fought us out of our corner.  They’re evil, wicked, nasty. They want nothing but death and destruction, chaos and suffering.  I think I shall be happy knowing they aren’t spending a night of drunken celebration in our ancestral home.”
                Vayle seemed uncomfortable thinking it good that the Dark Clan had been burned the way they had.  She walked quietly in the waning light of day.  Marching… To where?  Fayern hadn’t had time to think yet.  He simply walked north, away from the battle.  Away from their ancestral home.  Away from the wicked Dark Clan who had invaded.  Away from the smell of their burning flesh.
                Fayern shuddered again at the thought of what had almost happened to the few survivors of his people.  He vividly recalled the lava creatures breaking through the thin walls of the hollowed out volcanic mountain.  Creatures which had fallen to myth and legend until that moment were suddenly real.  With them came the lava, of course, super-heated because of their mere presence.  It flowed unabated into the vast cavern.  Fayern had to run up the old lava shoot his people were using as an escape tunnel to avoid being burnt himself.  He only had enough time to look across the cavern at the elven princess fighting back the enemy at the main gates.  She saw the lava coming, and though he had reassured Vayle of her well being just moments before, he couldn’t see how she could have gotten out of the way fast enough to avoid the molten rock. 
                Hoping to lighten the mood, Fayern forced another smile, which pressed out another tear, which he gingerly wiped away from his rapidly swelling cheek as he spoke, “So Vayle, which family are you from?  What did you do in the old city?”
                The young dwarven woman brightened up again, and her cheery cheeks blossomed red.  “Oh I be juss a nobody, Highness.  I worked in da bakery by da ol’ smitty.”
                “Well, a baker could be the means to survival for our people, young Vayle.  You aren’t a nobody anymore.  You are a very important dwarf.”
                Vayle blushed profusely.  “I begin yer pardon, majesty, but it be you dat be important.  We be needin’ a leader now more dan ever.”  She looked around and the hundred or so dwarves.  “And we be needin’ men more dan anything.”
                Fayern looked around and the battered dwarves.  He could only see about ten males, most too young to father children.  Hopefully there were more he couldn’t see, but somehow he doubted it.  “That may be true, but right now we need to make it through the next couple of days.  Most of these people will die of infection if we don’t get them cleaned and stitched up.”
                The world started spinning for Fayern as the wound in his shoulder continued to bleed freely.  He needed to be stitched up or he’d be dead right along with them.  He had to push forward, though.  The farther away from the scene of the bloody battle they got, the better he’d feel.  Nausea washed over him as he thought of the destruction of his people.  Were there enough left to restart the race of dwarf?
                “Majesty?”  The young girl was pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.  “My lands, yer cold as night, an’ sweating sometin’ fierce!”  She pulled back his tunic to see the gaping gash in his shoulder.  “You’ll bleed ta death if’n we don’t get dat sewed.”
                Fayern tried to push her away, but in the effort he lost his balance and fell to the ground.  His groggy head heard only muffled noises as the young girl tried to rouse him.

                “Curse you, Father,” he managed, just as the world went black.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

NaNoWriMo Update


     I've been slaving away at a furious pace to keep up with the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) pace.  I'm almost 9k words and we're on day 5.  This would be fun if I didn't do Historical Fiction.  I don't know what I was thinking, lol.  For every sentence I write, I have to look at 2-3 websites and compare timelines.  It's a lot more work than I thought, but I've been feeling a sense of accomplishment with every day I meet my word count quota.  Now I see why people call this the "marathon" of writing.
 
     I don't know if I'll ever publish this novel, so I'm going to paste the first few chapters here.  I figure, even if I do publish it, it's okay to give teasers, so here is what I have so far.  It's long, very rough, and probably riddled with mistakes, but if you like history I hope you'll like this.



Chapter 1

In 1918, World War I ended.  Japan’s unexpected victory over czarist Russia left open the door for Japanese expansion in Asia and the Pacific.  There was instability worldwide because of the Great Depression.  Some nations, including, Germany, Italy, and Japan developed intense nationalist feelings, leading to a desire to expand.  Germany was displeased with the harsh terms forced on it at the conclusion of the First World War.  Competing ideologies fanned the flames of international tension.  A Russian Civil War established the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), a communist state.  Western Republics and Capitalists feared the spread of communism.  In many nations, such as Italy, Germany, and Romania, conservative groups rose to power as a reaction against communism.  The world was still in chaos, nation fighting nation, ideals and counter-ideals, until the beginning of World War II. 
1931 – Japan seized Manchuria from China.
1935 – Italy invaded and defeated Abyssinia in 1935.
1935 – Adolf Hitler re-militarized Germany’s Rhineland.
1936-1939 – The Spanish Civil War.
1938 – Germany occupied Czechoslovakia.
The two most significant events which plunged the world into war again were first, the “Marco Polo Bridge Incident” led to a prolonged war between Japan and China and second, September 1, 1939, when Germany invaded Poland, which led Britain and France to declare war on Hitler’s Nazi state.  The allied forces thought they were fighting nations.  They thought they could defeat a government or army, and the war would be over.  In reality, they were fighting an ideal, and ideals are not as easy to defeat as armies or regimes.  The ideal they fought went all the way back to the end of the First World War.
In the late 1920’s and the beginning of the 1930’s, Adolf Hitler’s Nazi Party exploited the discontent Germans.  At the end of the First World War, Germans were forced to sign the treaty ending the war in the same location they’d forced the French to sign the treaty ending the Franco Prussian war.  The terms offered to Germany were humiliating and debilitating; arms controls, war reparations amounting to billions of marks, and substantial territory concessions.  These problems, with the added weight of the Great Depression, left the German economy in tatters.  The influential powers left in the German government were powerless against such odds.  Hitler began telling the people that it shouldn’t be like this.  The idea behind the First World War was that Germany was worthy, Germany was great, and it deserved to grow.  Hitler used those ideals against the weakened government saying the German people were great, the German people were worthy, and the German race was supreme.  He blamed the corrupted government for the downfall of Germany.  He said the German government had been infiltrated by foreigners, the Jews, and laid the blame of a crippled Germany at their feet.  He made a defining line between those he considers true Germans, namely the “Aryan Race”, and the Jews, gypsies, and others he deemed undesirable.  With this mentality, the German people could shed the disgraceful acts and failures of the First World War. 
People flocked to this ideal.  Being Aryan meant that everything that had gone wrong with Germany wasn’t their fault.  It meant that there was someone else to blame for their suffering.  There was suddenly someone to fight, something to do to make things better.  It took away the sense of helplessness, and replaced it with purpose.  Being Aryan meant they weren’t part of Germany’s disgrace.  It meant that they were part of a German ascent, a Germany reborn, a Germany triumphant.  It was the hope the people needed to crawl out of their debilitated state.
The Nazi party was founded in January of 1919 as the pan-German nationalist and anti-Semitic German Workers’ Party.  By 1920, Hitler was its leader.  On the 24th of February 1920, Hitler publicly proclaimed the 25-point Program.  The program championed the right to employment, and called for the institution of profit sharing, confiscation of war profits, prosecution of usurers and profiteers, nationalization of trusts, communalization of department stores, extension of old-age pension system, creation of a national education program of all classes, prohibition of child labor, and an end to the dominance of investment capital.  The ideals were all about giving power to the people, and blaming the Jews for corruption of the government.
In 1923, Hitler, at the head of the Nazi Party, tried to seize power in Munich.  This gave Hitler his first national publicity.  He was arrested for treason and sentenced to five years in prison.  After only nine months, Hitler was released.  This failure to seize power caused Hitler to change the Nazi party’s tactics.  He wrote, Mein Kampf (My Struggle) while imprisoned, which outlined his political ideology and future plans for Germany.  He also explains how he adopted an anti-Semitic and anti-Communistic ideology; the two things he believed to be the world’s two greatest evils. 
In 1927, Hitler gave a speech at the Nuremberg Rally.  This famous speech is where Hitler proclaimed that the nation needed space, and the government was not addressing this issue.  He affirmed that industrialization was the future of European nations.  He proclaims that to achieve this goal, the nation needed power, and this power had three factors; first – numerical size, second – territory, and third – the inner strength of the people.  He stated that the first two factors, at that point in time, were laughable.  The nation had to depend on the strength of the people.  He stated that this strength was compromised due to a matter of blood, and he elaborates on the importance of pure Aryan blood.  He went on to state that the government wants to control population, and that there is no room for non-Aryan people, and that Germany must expand.  He ends by rallying the people behind a flag; a flag with the Swastika.  The swastika had been adopted by the Nazi Party early on, believing it to be an Aryan symbol, and because it was a unique symbol that would separate them from all other nations.
In 1929, the Nazi Party received recognition and credibility it had never seen before.  A referendum was held in Germany to introduce a law against the enslavement of German people.  The law, proposed by German Nationalists, would officially renounce the Treaty of Versailles, and free the German people from the crushing debt of billions of marks worth of reparations from the First World War.  The government negotiated the Young Plan with foreign nations, instead.  Under the Young Plan, there was a loosening of the heavy economic burden of the original Treaty of Versailles.  The Nazi Party vehemently rejected the Young Plan because they believed it was accepting the Treaty of Versailles.  Heated arguments, which lead to gunfire exchange between the two parties, ensued.  Coverage of the issue made Adolf Hitler a household name.  It gave him the credibility he lacked before.  The youthful enthusiasm of the Nazis appealed to voters.  In the end, the Young Plan was ratified, causing some distress among the people.
In 1930, an argument between Horst Wessel (a Nazi activist) and his landlady (A member of the communist party), lead to Horst Wessel being shot by another member of the communist party.  Before his death, Wessel wrote Horst-Wessel-Lied which would later become the Nazi anthem.  The song was publicized while Wessel lay on his deathbed, and the attack was used as an anti-communist propaganda for the Nazis.  The Nazi’s party grew and became the second largest party in Germany.
Following this boost in popularity, an unprecedented amount of money was thrown behind the Nazi campaign.  Millions of pamphlets were distributed.  Special attention was paid to Berlin where the support was the lowest.  The Great Depression hit, putting the people in a bigger bind than under the weight of the newly ratified Young Plan, and the first aggression from the Nazi SA (Schutzstaffel – the Fuhrer’s Praetorian Guard) against the Jews took place when they smashed the windows of Jewish-owned stores.  Both the Nazis and Communists pledged to eliminate democracy, and the Communists vowed that they’d rather have the Nazis in charge than the old republic.  The Chancellors were forced to rely on the president’s emergency power to govern. 
From 1931-1933, the Nazis combined terror attacks with regular campaigning.  Hitler flew to all corners of the nation, while the SA marched in the streets, beat up opponents, and interrupted their meetings and rallies.  The Social Democrats were all but destroyed, and the Communists were the only party strong enough to stand up to the Nazis.  There were fights in the streets between the two parties.  However, Moscow directed the Communists party to focus its efforts to destroying the Social Democrats because it felt that they were a bigger threat than the working class.  In the 1932 elections, the Nazi party became the largest party.  Hitler demanded the chancellorship.  Papen and Schleicher (the two contenders for the seat of president) fought each other by trying to make deals with Hitler. 
Behind the backdrop of political struggles, the KPD and Nazis’ violent encounters increased.  Jews suffered casualties, and the government banned the SS and SA.  This ban was repealed by Papen because anti-Semitism was supported by the German public at the time.  The KPD continued to suffer losses politically, so they turned more to violence.   The two sides clashed until the Nazis storm leader was assassinated.  The Nazis gained almost 14 million votes in the aftermath, and Hitler demanded to be made chancellor again.  Papen offered him the position of Vice-Chancellor, but Hitler refused. 
On January 30, 1933, Hitler was appointed Chancellor.  When Papen left office, he promised Hitler the Chancellorship if he, Papen, would be appointed Vice-Chancellor.  The new president, Hindenburg appointed Hitler Chancellor, and Papen was appointed Vice-Chancellor, still believing he could tame Hitler.  Papen only spoke out one time against the Nazi regime, and it almost cost him his life.  He never public denounced the organization again. 
Hitler was now the Chancellor of the coalition government.  The SS and SA led torchlight parades throughout Berlin.  In this new coalition, three members of the cabinet were Nazis.  Hitler then moved to consolidate power.  They began to suspend civil liberties, and eliminate political opposition.  However, Hitler still lacked the votes to secure a majority.  He needed the help of the Centre Party and Conservatives in the Reichstag.  He convinced them (surrounding the parliament with soldiers and telling them that it was their decision to choose between war and peace)to pass the Enabling Act in March of 1933, which gave him power “temporarily” to act without parliamentary consent, and even without constitutional limitations.   By July of the same year all Non-Nazi parties were outlawed.  When Hindenburg died in 1934, Hitler gained full dictatorship.
This charismatic leader was the man the people looked up to.  His ideals became their ideals.  A broken, humiliated, and deeply suffering people found a leader who spoke about their bright future.  These people found a leader who was always fighting for them against an enemy within the ranks of their own government.  They were promised that which they desperately needed: A voice. 
The Nazis were able to restore economic instability, and end mass unemployment by using heavy military spending and a mixed economy.  The return to economic stability greatly boosted the regime’s popularity. 
Racism, especially Anti-Semitism, was a central focus of the regime.  The Germanic people, mainly a Nordic race, were labeled as genetically superior.  Jews, and anyone else the regime deemed as undesirable, were persecuted or murdered.  Any opposition to Hitler’s rule was ruthlessly suppressed.  Even church leaders were imprisoned.  Education was focused on racial biology, population policy, and fitness for military service.  The youth, and general populace, were inundated by film, rallies, and radio propaganda to control public opinion.  It was time for the Aryan race to “get what they deserved”. 
In September of 1939 Hitler invaded Poland.  Hitler was fulfilling a second promise to his people to expand their territory.  In alliances with Italy and other axis powers, Germany conquered most of Europe by 1940. His people heard only the propaganda the regime repeated, and legions of youth joined the cause to expand German control.  Many held the ideals so closely to heart that it became almost religious to uphold the Nazi dictates.  It was their birthright, their proper place because they were a superior race.
In 1940, Germany threatened England.  In 1941, it invaded Russia.  The tide turned against the expanding Germany in 1943.  In 1944, large-scale bombing of German cities were executed by the allied forces.  By 1945, Germany was overrun by Russia on the east, and the allied forces on the west.  Faced with the defeat of his people and ideals, Hitler suffered a nervous breakdown on the 22nd of April.  He launched a tirade against the treachery and incompetence of his commanders, and then admitted that they had lost.  Hitler vowed to stay in Berlin until the end, to die as a martyr to his cause.  Later that day, he asked an SS doctor the most reliable method of suicide.
On the 30th of April, 1945, Hitler was informed that the troops protecting his bunker had run out of ammunition the night before, and allied forces would over-run them within 24 hours.  At 14:30, Adolf and Eva Hitler retired to their study.  At around 15:30, a gunshot was heard from the same study.  After waiting several minutes Hitler’s valet entered the room to find the Fuhrer had shot himself in the head, through the mouth, and his wife, Ava, had taken a cyanide pill.
On May 1, 1945, a radio announcement from Germany interrupted normal programming to announce that the Fuhrer was dead. 
Thousands of Germans took their own lives in mass suicides following the Fuhrer’s death.  The Germans were not to surrender.  The superior race of man was not to be defeated.



Chapter 2

May 1, 1945 – Fredda trembled in the dark corner of the bomb shelter as the earth shook all around her.  She desperately tried to hush her crying baby.  Dirt and sand rained down from the ceiling as the bombs bombarded the city outside.  Berlin was falling to ruin.  The Nazis had failed in their attempt to restore the world to the proper order.
Her precious baby wailed in terror.
“Shush, my darling.  Shh, my little Karl,” she pleaded.
The baby cried, just the same.  Fredda could almost imagine the allied forces hearing her young son’s cries.  She could almost see them investigating the rubble, and finding her bunker.  She couldn’t let that happen.  She had to protect her son.  She couldn’t lose the Fuhrer’s son.  He had radioed before they cut communications.  His line was to live on through Karl.  The Aryan cause had lost the battle, but the Nazis would rise again.  All would be set right. 
Fredda cried at the thought of losing the Fuhrer.  Her radio had been dead for days, and she didn’t know if he’d been able to escape the invasion or not.  He was a stubborn man.  He refused to leave Berlin.  Perhaps the SS could save him.  Perhaps he could negotiate a peace treaty to appease the allied forces, and buy time for Germany to rebuild her strength.  Even if he died…
Fredda had tears streaming down her face again.
Karl must live.
“Shush, my precious child.  Shhh,” she said, bouncing the baby to abate his rising fears.
Just then, a bright light flashed at the far side of the bunker.  The ground shook vehemently.  All Fredda could hear was ringing.  Rubble rained down from the ceiling.  Chunks of concrete and dirt pelted her from the front.  Fredda couldn’t understand what had happened.  She was sitting.  She hadn’t been sitting before, she was sure of it.  She tried to stand only to find that the world was tilting at odd angles.  She felt something warm running down her neck from her right ear.  Upon investigating it with her hand she saw that it was blood.  The world started dimming in her vision.  Karl wasn’t crying anymore.  She clutched her child to her bosom just as the light blinked out of existence. 

---------------------------
May 20, 1945 – Water sloshed against the side of the small ship as Fredda looked out at the endless expanse of water.  Her flight out of Germany was not without incident.  The allied forces had dropped a bomb right on her bunker.  Luckily, she and her baby were spared in that horrible moment.  She had lost the hearing in her right ear, and the SS soldiers who rescued her could not tell her if it would ever come back.  They smuggled her across the border into France.  It was the scariest four days of her life. 
The SS soldiers were trained to speak French perfectly.  Fredda found it difficult to believe that they were German, at all.  They had ties with the French underground.  The very people who were supposed to be working towards the upheaval of German rule were infiltrated by Nazi spies.  Fredda was in awe at the power and influence of the Nazi Party. 
Fredda was technically an American citizen.  She was born in Wichita, Kansas.  Her father had immigrated to America before the First World War.  He went to Kansas to help with the railroads.  Facing internment in 1917 because of his political affiliations, Fredda’s father decided to flee to Brazil (one of the few countries which would take him) to escape the internment camps.  He returned to Kansas in 1923, to work in an aircraft manufacturing company.  Fredda was born in 1925.  She was born an American. 
Her father would secretly teach her about the notion of Nationalism.  Those teachings from her early childhood always fascinated her.  When she turned sixteen, she moved to Germany.  Germany had been in ruin just years before because of a debt for war crimes during the Great War.  Now, they were at war to win back their freedom from the slavery of that debt.  Fredda had to sneak into the country because of the fighting.  Once inside Germany, she learned of a heroic leader who was fighting for the people, Adolf Hitler.  This was the Nationalism her father had taught her about.  This man, Hitler, was a true patriot for his people.  Young Nazi soldiers marched in the street, carrying their flag with pride.  Fredda had never felt so exuberant in her young life.  She had to meet Adolf.
Adolf Hitler was pressing an attack on both sides.  He was threatening Britain, while pushing an invasion of Russia.  The man never rested.  Fredda took a job in his office as a telegrapher.  Eventually, he took notice of her, and he arranged a meeting with her.  Adolf questioned her at length about her politics, ethnicity, and especially about her father.  He was saddened that she was an American, but seemed to be taken with her, just the same.  She was invited to special meetings where she would transcribe orders.  She instantly loved everything about the man.  She loved his passion.  She loved the way he fought for the working people.  She was devoted to him.  After a week or two of working personally with him, he, too, fell in love with her.  He could not be seen with her publicly because of her Capitalist heritage, but they became fast lovers, and met in private frequently throughout his military campaign.
It was Fredda’s American heritage which kept her from openly courting the love of her life all those years, but it was that same heritage which saved her in France.  Because she had an American citizenship, she was able to get passageway out of France.  The journey was not one she wanted to relive.  France was just starting to rebuild.  The people were unstable, and many were homeless or living in shelters.  They had been dislodged from their homes, and forced to live in rubble.  Fredda wondered if her own people would be reduced to such circumstances with the destruction of Berlin and the German army.  She knew her people were strong.  She knew Germans were the chosen race, but she worried for them during this struggle to regroup and regain control of power.  The world fell apart when the Fuhrer died.
From France the secret SS officers arranged a boat trip to England and from England to the U.S.  At least Fredda would be among people she knew.  It had been years since she’d seen her father, and she had so much to tell him.
“When we get to America,” one of the SS officers said, “You shall be my wife.”
Fredda was appalled by the idea.  “I’ll do no such…”
“Just on paper,” the man interrupted.  “Karl will be Karl Adolf Schuhmacher, that’s my last name.”  When he saw the discontented look on her face he said, “It was the Fuhrer’s wish.  He cannot be called Hitler.  He must be Schuhmacher to the public.  We will teach him, and guide him.  He will always have help from the National Socialists.”
Fredda nodded her head, and gave a small smile.  She didn’t like the idea of being someone else’s wife.  Especially a man whom she’d barely met, but if it was the Fuhrer’s wish, she would comply.  When she looked back at the SS officer, he smiled at her.
“Do not worry, Frau Hitler.  When we get to America, we will be divorced.  The paperwork has already been done.  Karl was born in Wichita, Kansas.  You are my wife, so he shall be Karl Adolf Schuhmacher, but when we return, you will become discontent with our marriage, and we will be divorced.”  He smiled at her again.  “We have many friends waiting for us in America.  We will build a new Aryan Nation, and we will take down the Capitalists from the inside.”
Fredda felt herself smiling, sincerely this time.  “Thank you, Herr Schuhmacher.  You have saved me and my baby.”
The SS officer’s smile melted away.  “We have saved the Fuhrer’s baby.  We will groom him as the Fuhrer would have groomed him.  You will not get in the way.”
Fredda felt a shock run through her body.  She realized the words had pushed her back, leaning away from the man, as she sat there in shock.  She knew the officer was deadly serious.  She no longer had say as to how the child would be raise.  It didn’t matter, though.  She wanted him to learn the Nationalists dictates.  She knew that the Americans would push their Capitalism on the boy.  He would need guidance from the great leaders of the Nazi party.
Fredda willed herself to sit back upright, and smile.  “I will not get in the way, Herr Schuhmacher.  I want Karl to grow to be a strong leader like his father.”
The SS officer seemed pleased, and turned his attention back to the open sea.

--------------------
Good to his word, the SS officer got Fredda and Karl back to Wichita, and, shortly thereafter, divorced her.  Karl had a fake birth certificate proving he was an American.  Fredda told her father all about her years in Germany, Karl’s heritage, and the Nazis’ plan for him.   Fredda’s father seemed pleased, and took to the boy immediately.  As Karl grew, he became very close to his grandparents.  Fredda went to College, and got her degree in Anthropology. 
In 1949, Fredda married a Brazilian man from Rio Grande do Sul, named Carlos Guindaste.   He was of German descent, so Fredda felt confident that the marriage was acceptable.  Carlos had to move back to Brazil shortly after their marriage, while Fredda continued her education.
In 1951, Fredda moved with her six-year-old son Karl to Brazil to reunite with his estranged step-father.  They lived in a subsidiary city of Sao Paulo called Guarulhos.  At first, Fredda worked in a low paying job as a topographical surveyor for the Brazilian government.  She wanted to address the problem of poverty in the rural areas outlining the city, so she created a microcredit system working with the U.S. government. 
The United States had developed a foreign aid policy in 1915, under the direction of Herbert Hoover, to prevent starvation in Belgium.  After 1945, many countries needed relief from the chronic deprivation of their low income populations.  Fredda capitalized on the U.S.’s generosity to provide aid to her German friends who had immigrated to the southern parts of Brazil. 
In 1954, Fredda had a daughter with Carlos. She lived happily with her family for another year before the SS officers showed up.
In 1955, four SS officers showed up at Fredda’s house in Guarulhos, Brazil.  Fredda invited them in, and offered them some juice, but the men didn’t seem interested in any pleasantries, at all.
“The boy is ten years old, now,” the tallest man stated.  “He has not been receiving the proper education in this country you have chosen to hide in.”
Fredda felt her cheeks flush.  “We’re not hiding.  I’m helping the German immigrants who fled to Brazil after the war.  Karl gets to see my work.  He sees me working for the people.  He is learning what it means to be a Social Nationalist”
The officer spit on the floor.  “These Germans don’t remember their Aryan birthright.  They mix with these lesser races.  The German blood has been sullied here by who knows how many other races.  Your own husband is only half German.”
“But I…”
“Enough,” the officer interrupted Fredda before she could voice her argument.  “We have enrolled Karl into an academy in Virginia.  There is a man, George Lincoln Rockwell, who has already begun to move against the American Capitalist government.  The Social Nationalist Party has backed an academy in Arlington, Virginia, which will give Karl the education he will need to become the next world leader.”
The officers all stood.  “Heil, Hitler,” they shouted, enthusiastically, as they held their hands out in salute.
“Heil, Hitler,” Fredda repeated with less zeal than the four men.  The SS officers turned and left the room.  It was decided.  She had no say.  Karl would return to America to start fifth grade in an academy which would give him a proper Socialist education.


Chapter 3

Karl attended the academy, but his regular studies were only secondary to his real education.  He remembered struggling in school.  The subjects that seemed to come natural to the other students didn’t seem to click with him.  He had special tutors after school, though.  Anything he couldn’t understand from class was quickly explained to him in a way which made it seem simple, and then his real lessons began.
There were three tutors who took turns helping him after school; Klaus, Rupert, and Angelika. 
Karl hated Klaus.  The man was monstrously big.  He had blond hair, which he always kept cut close except on the top where it was flat.  He looked like his head was boxed shaped because his jaw was square, too.  He had a big scar across his right temple which went dangerously close to his eye.  When Karl asked him about it he said it was because his tutor beat him with a steel rod for not doing his studies.  Karl didn’t know if he was serious, or not, but he never dared ask about it again.  Aside from his physically intimidating attributes, Klaus was brutally strict.  Karl was afraid to tell him when he had trouble with school problems because Klaus would always tell him that he was better than that, that he should know these things simply because of his birth superiority.  Not telling him was worse, though.  Klaus would not accept failure.  If Karl got anything but 100% on an assignment, or especially a test, Klaus would whip him on the rear-end with a switch.  Klaus taught Karl horrible things about tactics, and the best ways to kill a man.  He taught about who to kill, and why.  When he taught about the racial superiority of the Aryan bloodline, though, the man seemed to get all foggy-eyed and sentimental.
Rupert was okay.  He wasn’t cruel like Klaus, but he also wasn’t nice.  Rupert always looked at his watch when they were studying.  He never left more than a minute late from their session.  Rupert was very intelligent.  He had dark hair, and always wore half-inch thick glasses with horned rims.  He taught Karl all about racial biology.  Even though Karl was not allowed to share what he learned with his other students, he always felt frustrated when his teachers from school got things wrong.  Rupert taught him how to answer the questions from class, and then he would teach him the truth.  Rupert was an expert on everything.  He talked about the origin of man.  He taught how the different races came from different sources.  He taught about science in a way that made Karl feel important.
Karl’s favorite, by far, was Angelicka, or as she liked to be called, Angel.  Angel was tall.  She was almost as tall as Klaus.  Karl had never seen a woman as tall as Angel before.  She had long blonde hair, but she always wore it up in a tight bun.  Karl had only seen it out of the bun once when she had ridden her bike to his house, and she had to undo it and put it up again.  He had a childhood crush on her, but would never act on his feelings.  Angel taught Karl about politics.  She taught him how to speak to audiences, and how to get people excited about what you said.  She would have him practice debating.  She’d make him research a topic, and give a heated speech about it.  No matter how many times he spoke, she always had ideas to make his speeches better.  She always told him that charisma was the key to winning.  She said that he could even be wrong about something, but if he said it with enough conviction, and could state relatively reasonable evidence, that most people would believe him.  She taught him that most of the people around him were sheep looking for a shepherd to show them the way.  She would always end their lessons by telling him to be a good shepherd. 
Between his three tutors, Karl never got a bad grade in school.
A year after Karl started at his private academy, his mother and sister moved back to the States.  Karl was happy to see them, but his studies kept him busy most of the time.  His mother went back to school, too.  She spent two years getting her Master’s Degree, and then moved back to Brazil.  Karl’s grandparents had moved to Virginia, so he stayed with them.  He didn’t want to leave his school, and he wasn’t sure that Albrecht (the man who seemed to be in charge of his tutors, and who his mother always seemed to fear) would let him move, even if he wanted to.  Albrecht always had one of three men with him, and sometimes all three.  His mother had told him that they were SS officers, and that he should always do what they said.  His tutors had ingrained in him how important it was to never speak about the SS officers, or the Nazis in public.  They told him never to even say the words “National Socialist” out loud.  Of course, Karl had heard people talk about the Nazis, and it was usually all bad things.  His tutors assured him that it was because of their Capitalistic pride that they hated the Nazi Party.  Karl believed them.
In July 1958, a man named George Lincoln Rockwell demonstrated in front of the White House in an anti-war protest against the president Dwight D. Eisenhower.  President Eisenhower wanted to send peace keeping troops to the Middle East.  The protest caught Albrecht’s attention and he sent an 18-foot-long swastika flag to Rockwell.  Rockwell placed the flag on the wall of his home with a picture of the Fuhrer in the center, and marched around his home with some fellow supporters, armed with rifles and pistols.  Karl was taught by his tutors that Rockwell had an impressive war record.  They explained that a man with such a wide knowledge of the world, and who still had the sense to join the Nazi party, would be something great in the world.
In March 1959, Rockwell founded the World Union of Free Enterprise National Socialists.  In December of that same year, the party was renamed the American Nazi Party.  The headquarters was set up not far away from where Karl went to school.  Even at the young age of fourteen, Karl couldn’t help but think that there was more going on behind the scenes than everyone was letting on.  The Nazis were making a move.  After four years of private lessons from his three tutors, Karl had learned the subtle acts of moving events around to set oneself up politically.  He wondered if Mr. Rockwell had been groomed as he was being groomed.  He wondered if Mr. Rockwell was another SS officer who had infiltrated the Capitalists ranks.  He wondered what kind of man Mr. Rockwell was.  He knew, somehow, that he would be meeting this Mr. Rockwell.
As it turned out, Karl was right.  George Rockwell was an old friend of his grandfather.  Mr. Rockwell came to Karls house often over the next year.  He and Karl’s grandfather would speak late into the night about politics, and the old ways of the National Socialist party.  His grandfather was a little more reserved in what he said, but Mr. Rockwell was outspoken.  He would shout, “Heil, Hiter,” often in their late-night conversations.  Karl would sometimes stay up late, and site against the wall next to the door to listen to his grandfather teaching Mr. Rockwell.
April 3, 1960, George Rockwell held a rally at the National Mall in Washington D.C.  Karl was allowed to attend the rally from a distance, and in disguise.  In his two-hour long speech, Rockwell repeated many of the things that Karl had heard his grandfather teach in those late night conversations.
Rockwell had a second rally planned in New York City, but the mayor refused to grant him a permit to speak.  Karl knew that George Rockwell was not a man to be refused.  Sure enough, Rockwell appealed to the New York Supreme Court.  Karl’s grandfather bought a T.V. in anticipation for the event.  Upon leaving the court during a recess, Mr. Rockwell was confronted by a crowd of T.V. reporters, Jewish war veterans, and Holocaust survivors.  Karl watched as one of the reporters asked what Rockwell would do with the Jews if he came into power in the U.S.  Rockwell calmly stated that he would treat them like any other American citizen.  If they were loyal Americans, everything would be fine.  If they were traitors, they would be executed.  The reporter pressed further by asking how many Jews Rockwell believed to be traitors.  When Rockwell responded, “Ninty percent,” the gathered Jews rioted.  The beat the reporter and Rockwell with umbrellas and anything else they could find.  It took a police escort to get Rockwell out of the predicament.  Karl watched the television in awe at what was happening.  He could scarcely believe that the Jews would have the audacity to strike a superior.  His view of how things should be was rattled.  For the first time in his young life, he began to wonder how hard it would actually be to effect real change in this Capitalistic society.
Karl’s lessons began to change.  His tutors began teaching him about subtlety.  He asked Angel why they had changed, and she said, “Mr. Rockwell has lit the fire for others to see, but it is the smoke that most often kills.  You must become the smoke, Karl.  You must infiltrate their government and suffocate the Capitalists from the inside.  Your father, the Fuhrer, fought an outward war.  Sadly, the National Socialist Party was not big enough.  Today, George Rockwell will get the Nazi name in the papers again.  He will draw the attention of the world so that others looking for the light can find us.  You, mine young pupil, will be the new Fuhrer.  You will lead those looking for the light, and those who are confused.  You will be a good shepherd for those lost sheep.”
Karl felt himself nodding.  He was only fifteen, but he was old enough to understand the responsibility that was being laid upon his shoulders.  It was Mr. Rockwell’s job to draw attention while Karl slipped behind the ranks of the American government, and instill the National Socialists’ ideologies.  His subtlety would be his strength.  Like his father, his charisma would be his power, and the lost sheep would follow him anywhere.


Chapter 4

In 1963, Karl graduated from the academy, and moved on to a two year college.  He was starting to come into his own.  His tutors had given him the basics, and his own mind had filled in the blanks.  Karl was starting to forge his own destiny.  His grandfather, Albrecht, and Mr. Rockwell were still always there to help direct and teach him, but Karl was learning things on his own, now.  He kept in contact with Angel, too.  She was taking more part in Mr. Rockwell’s protests and rallies.  Mr. Rockwell had a wife (his second, actually).  She was an Icelandic woman named Margrét Þóra Hallgrímsson.  Margret suddenly moved back to Iceland with their four children in 1963, and Karl thought he knew why.  Angel was a beautiful woman, after all.  What man could resist such a perfect Aryan specimen? 
1963-1965 – Karl went to Shimer College.  It was a school with a subset of intellectual professors and sophisticated students.  The exclusive, small classes operated under the “Hutchins Plan”.  It was a pedagogical program which follows a Socratic style of educating.  This was significant for Karl’s development because the classes were not lectures from textbooks of set and accepted knowledge, but allowed students to discuss original source material.  It gave Karl the freedom to pursue his ideology, learn politics and writing, and not be over-encumbered with the doctrines of a capitalistic society.  Karl instantly found that he loved politics.  Democratic politics were so easy to manipulate because there was so much left to the interpretation of the laws.  On Feb. 18, 1965, Karl made his first political speech.  A group of students were moving to persuade the board of trustees to divest the college of its investments in the U.S.S.R. 
Karl’s speech was planned as a carefully rehearsed piece of street theater.  Two students dressed as Russian soldiers dragged him off before he could finish, dramatizing the plight of the German soldiers who were merely following orders.  The Russians wanted to execute 50,000-100,000 soldiers.  Karl almost didn’t have to act as the two students pulled him off stage.  He was thinking about the hate these people had for the soldiers from the war.  He wanted to stay up there and talk some sense into them.  From that day on, Karl was determined to change the perception the American people had of the Nazi Party.
At the end of 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.  Karl wasn’t sad that the democratic president had been killed, but the motives behind the killing were frightening.  Angel came to visit him, and told him that the Communists were behind the assassination.   While the socialists moved to take control over America, the Communists were making a move of their own.  They had infiltrated the mafia, white house, and CIA.  Kennedy knew about this infiltration, but couldn’t do anything about it because of the depth in which the infiltrators reached.  Instead, he made it policy to attack the mob.  He wouldn’t give in to pressures to attack Cuba.  He wouldn’t give in to the demands of the banks, run by the Communist Party.  There was even talk that his own CIA had been used to carry out the assassination.  Angel felt that Kennedy could be a National Socialist if he only had the chance to sit down with one of their leaders.  The Communists had to be stopped.  The struggle for power, which Hitler won in Germany, was starting again in America.  After the conversation with Angel, Karl mourned the loss of the President.
Karl transferred to Columbia University in 1965, as a 20-year-old junior.  He majored in science, focusing on politics.  There wasn’t a degree for political science at Columbia University at the time, but the degree name didn’t matter to Karl.  He spent most of his time in the library, and didn’t make many friends.  Karl was trying to keep a low profile because America was on the verge of a war with Vietnam.  The general populace didn’t know much about the war at the time other than that there were some troops over there, but Karl’s informants warned him of the impending war.  They said that things were getting bad, and over the next few years, the situation would become worse.  He was the perfect age to be drafted, but they were going to do all they could to prevent that from happening.  He was instructed to simply keep his head down, get a degree, and move on.  Karl made few friends while at Columbia University.
In 1966, the Nazi party began to make a move.  A man named James Meredith was shot by a shotgun while doing a “March Against Fear”.  A group of black activist rose up to finish Meredith’s march.  Stokely Carmichael, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Floyd Mckissick, Cleveland Sellers, and several other black activists marched and rallied for black rights.  Stokely Carmichael was arrest, and upon release, gave a speech about “black power”.  The group of activist chose a black panther as their mascot, and called itself the Black Panthers.
Mr. Rockwell heard this debate, and altered the phrase to “white power”.  Because of Karl’s grandfather’s teachings, Mr. Rockwell didn’t fight these groups.  Instead he heralded them for doing the best job at promoting integrity and pride among their people.  Instead of preaching intolerance, Mr. Rockwell was promoting racial separation.  He even met with several leaders of different races.  He met with Elijah Muhammad (an African-American religious leader who lead the Nation of Islam), and commended him for promoting pride in his own race.  Rockwell even went so far as to call him the “black people’s Hitler”.  Karl thought that might be going a little too far, but he understood the motives behind it.  All of his education had helped him to understand that if you wanted to lead a people, you had to connect with them on a fundamental level, and then build on that relationship of trust.  Mr. Rockwell had labeled a man named Malcolm X as the next true leader of the black people.  Despite this, Malcolm X threatened Rockwell when Rockwell was on tour with the Nazi message in the south.  Karl would use that later, when he campaigned for National Socialism.  There was too much hate between races.  They needed to be separated, and controlled.  Only a strong leader could control the masses, and give each race what they deserved. 
Of course, there were radicals who were still doing things the wrong way.  The Ku Klux Klan (KKK) was the first and foremost, but Karl’s tutors had taught him that radicals were good for publicity; any publicity was good publicity.  Just as Hitler’s multiple losses in attempts to be made chancellor had brought him the attention of the nation, the KKK’s blatant hatred of race, color, and creed would draw attention to the message.  Later, when Karl had power behind him, he could refine the message into something everyone would be able to accept.
Mr. Rockwell was doing his job, in paving the way for Karl.  He was clearing the stigma America had on the Nazis.  He explained that the Holocaust never happened.  Karl had to laugh at the very idea.  To think that Adolf Hitler, the greatest ruler ever, could kill 6,000,000 Jews was just ridiculous.  The Nazis simply separated the Jews from the Aryan race.  Those people resisted, and needed to be imprisoned while Germany expanded its borders.  Hitler couldn’t have civil war while he was trying to better his nation.  The Capitalist had invented horror stories so that they could justify their actions in World War II.  Karl would soon rectify those injustices.  First, though, he had to create sympathy for the Nazis.  He was starting to understand that Capitalists, and especially Americans, wanted nothing more than for every person to be free and equal.  The idea was not too different from the Nazi message.  However, people needed strong leadership.  The Aryan’s were to be those leaders.  Once the people had strong leaders, they could live free, separated into their proper races, and equal amongst themselves.  The Americans thought they could be equal while mixing races and religions.  Karl could not understand how they could be blind to the fact that that ideal would never work.  Even nature had marked the races with different colors so that they could stay together in groups of their own kind.  That was why they needed strong leaders, like Karl; to help them overcome their own ignorance.  Karl would fulfill Hitler’s dream.  He would give everyone what they wanted.
Rockwell had been busy traveling the world to set up the Nazi order.  By 1966, the Nazi party had presence in almost all of the nations of the world.  Mr. Rockwell published the first edition of the National Socialist World (an ideological journal of the World Union of National Socialists).  Thousands of copies were sent out to the elite well-educated, newspapers, libraries, and prominent right-winged politicians.  One in every twenty-five free copies generated a subscription.  Karl was impressed that so many people were already ready to accept the ideals of the National Socialist Party.
That same year, a brilliant man named William Luther Pierce became associates with Rockwell.  Karl wasn’t too impressed because the two started focusing too much on the hate of other races, and not the supremacy of the Aryan people.  If you spoke only about hate, you would only receive hate in return.  From all of Karl’s tutelage he learned to be more discrete.  He needed to make the people love him.  He needed to be a man of the people, not a hate-spewing racist.  It was, after all, for the betterment of all mankind to be separated into their respective races so that they could be equal among peers.  The cause of the Nazis was to make all people equal.  That could never happen when there was rioting in the streets.  The Nazi dream could never be a reality as long as people, so obviously different, continued to mix and associate with one another.  Blacks would only be happy with other blacks, Muslims with Muslims, Jews with Jews, Chinese with Chinese, and Whites with Whites.  The people needed a strong people to maintain that order.  They needed the Aryan nation to lead and direct them.


Chapter 5

In 1967, George Lincoln Rockwell was assassinated in the street while leaving a Laundromat.  The gunman, John Patler, was a former member of Rockwell’s group.  Karl knew it was time to separate himself from the American Nazi Party.  Politically, they were hurting the cause.  Karl gathered together some of the brightest minds from the National Socialist Party, and started training them.  There would be a new movement.  Karl’s one time mentor, George Lincoln Rockwell, had sullied the Nazi name.  They could no longer call themselves Nazis.  Now they would become simply American Nationalists. 
The year of 1967, was a violent year. Karl, now 21, received notice that his fake father, Karl Schuhmacher Sr. (If that was even his real name), had been in a car accident and died at the age of 46.  Karl’s mentor, Mr. Rockwell, had been assassinated.  The Vietnam War was starting to heat up.  There were more military campaigns, and more outcries from the American citizens to end the war.  There were more than 500,000 troops in Vietnam.  More than 15,000 Americans had died, and more than 100,000 had been injured, with no end in sight.  40,000 young men were called to service every month, and Karl’s mentors were working around the clock to keep his name off the list.  In October of 1967, one of the most prominent anti-war demonstration took place at the Lincoln Memorial.  100,000 protesters gathered to speak out against the war.  Later that night 30,000 continued to march on the pentagon and a confrontation between soldiers and the protesters took place.  Hundreds were arrested.  Martin Luther King jr. backed the protesters, and the heat of the conflict flared.
Karl decided that in this time of violence and anger, he would make a name for the American Nationalists Party.  He, and his followers, showed up to the rally after the violence, and offered free medical attention to those who needed it.  He began a support clinic for the injured Vietnam troops when they were sent home from the war.  These men received hate and ridicule from the very people they’d gone to protect.  Karl and his men earned their love and support by taking them in and sheltering them from the ridicule of the world.  Many of the men joined his party and began to spread the good works of the American Nationalists to others. 
Karl pursued a career as a community organizer to confront the issue of race and poverty.  He wanted to gain the support of the lesser races, so that when he began to separate the races, they would feel that it was for their own good.  He started black only colleges, black only churches, black only schools, and did the same for other races.  The minority races flocked to the idea of being separate.  Karl knew that it was because they didn’t want to intermingle with other races as much as those races didn’t want to intermingle with them.  They wanted their own culture that they could be proud of.
Karl successfully carried out several projects, including school reform, hazardous waste cleanup, and establishing a job training center.  He developed jobs and work places that were black only.  He developed workplaces that were Jew only.  He developed workplaces that were White only.  Even though the fight for civil liberties was raging, the people took to Karl’s ideas.  They wanted liberties.  They wanted a chance at life.  They wanted to be equal.  But when it came down to it, they were more comfortable staying in their racial, social, or religious groups.  As long as they were given the same opportunities, they were happy.  Karl made sure that every workplace was the same.  There was no special treatment given to any race or religion.
In 1968, war seemed to be the language of the world.  Conflict erupted around the globe.  North Korea seized a U.S. ship, claiming it was spying.  In Vietnam, the Battle of Khe Sanh, one of the most controversial battles, took place.  Over 100,000 tons of bombs were dropped by the U.S. Military.  The Khe Sanh Combat Base was finally overrun, and the U.S. destroyed it to avoid another such conflict.  The Nazis began covert operations to weaken the militaries of its enemies.  Four submarines were sunk; Israel’s INS Dakar, France’s Minerve (s647), The Soviet’s K-129, and the USS Scorpion (SSn-589).  Israel and Jordan had border disputes.  Countless disputes over civil rights erupted into violent actions.  One of the most notable was the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. 
April 4th, 1968, King was shot and killed.  He was in Tennessee in support of the black sanitary public works employees.  The assassination led to a nationwide wave of race riots.  Karl made sure that the American Nationalist Party was at as many riots as possible to help with the injured in the aftermath, making sure that none of his party ever participated in the violence.  The American Nationalist Party began to make a name for its self.  People on both sides of the conflict respected what they stood for.



Wednesday, October 29, 2014

NaNoWriMo

http://nanowrimo.org/


     This year I'm participating in the NaNoWriMo (Nation Novel Writing Month).  It's basically a marathon for writers.  It starts November 1st and goes until November 30th.  Writers from around the country (and world) with different backgrounds, writing skills, and genres all attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days!  That equates to about 1,667 words a day, or roughly 4 1/2 pages a day!  Now, to any of you writers out there, that might not seem like a lot, but you have to remember that that is every day for 30 days.  When you're in the zone, and have a great idea to write about, you can pump that out easily.  During NaNoWriMo, there is no room for writer's block, nor plot disharmony, nor any other delays.  Granted, a lot of writers plan their novels out for months in advance, but I didn't have that luxury.  I actually just learned about NaNoWriMo about halfway through October, so I haven't had a ton of prep time.  And I've decided to write something outside of my normal genre because it's an idea I've been playing around with, and I don't think that I'll ever write it if I don't do it fast and furious like in NaNoWriMo.
   
     The genre I decided to do was Historical Fiction.  It's not usually my style because I read and write to escape reality.  In this case, however, I think it's appropriate because it is a work of satire.  It's called Karl Adolf Schuhmacher.  It's about the son of Adolf Hitler and his secret american mistress.  Karl is spirited away from Germany as the allied troops roll in.  He grows up in South America, under the pretense of being an American citizen who's mother was trying to flee the German Internment camps of the U.S.

     When Karl returns to the U.S. he is mentored by Nazis who survived the war.  They fabricate a Jewish heritage for the boy, and groom him to become president of the United States.  He gets in to all of the right schools, even though he doesn't stand out academically.  Most of his college class mates don't recognize him when he runs for president.  There is a debate about whether or not he is a natural born citizen.  His constituents shame the American people for questioning his birth by calling them racist against the Jewish race, but Karl stays above it all and lets his constituents do the dirty work.  Being the first Jewish president causes a sensation around Karl, and earns him a lot of votes...

     If all of this doesn't sound familiar to you, you won't get the satire.  The bottom line is that I wanted to use modern political issues, and apply them to history to see the different outcome for today's world.

     When setting up my NaNoWriMo account, I had to write an excerpt, and I thought I'd share that with you.  This is just the opening scene of the story.

     Fredda trembled in the dark corner of the bomb shelter as the earth shook all around her.  She desperately tried to hush her crying baby.  Dirt and sand rained down from the ceiling each time a bomb made contact with the ground.  Berlin was falling to ruin. 
     Her precious baby wailed in terror. 
     “Shh, mine darling.  Shush, mine little Karl,” she begged. 
     The baby cried, just the same.  Fredda was certain the allied forces would hear her young son, and raid her bunker at any moment.  She couldn’t lose her son.  She couldn’t lose the Fuhrer’s son.  The Fuhrer’s family was known.  They must die in this battle, but his bloodline must live. 
     Karl must live.
     "Shush, mine precious child.  Shhh.”
     A deafening explosion tore through the shelter wall at the far side of the bunker.  The flash from the explosion blinded young Fredda.  Suddenly, the world was ringing.  Fredda couldn’t stand.  She couldn’t sit up.  She couldn’t stop the world from spinning.  She clutched her baby tightly as the world spun into blackness.

     You can track my progress on my NaNoWriMo page under the name Apocalyptist 

     I'd like to hear any feedback you have to offer.