Pax Germania: A Story of Redemption

[SKILORD]

(Yes, I know how long it is. I'm sorry, but I promise that it's good.)

An Introduction to Pax Germania

I have been silent for a long time. I had lost my inspiration for a while, but I found it a few weeks ago when I started to write this. I wrote 5 pages and left it alone for a while, looking back on it’s unfinished shell for some inspiration for the ending. I found the ending; I found the plot while doing research on French resistance leaders. I found Jean-Pierre Levy, a Jew. From there it all fell into place. So here is my offering, after so long in silence I offer you this, Pax Germania.

First we should ask: Who the hell would make Adolph Hitler the hero of a story? The madman who caused millions of deaths and set the world ablaze with his ‘blitzkrieg’ is no hero, not to be admired by us as some sort of model for our existance.

I would be so bold. When you do this you can make the plot about several things, about lies perhaps, about civil liberty. Perhaps even hypocrisy. Even in this he is no hero, but a tragic figure. Our plot is about forgiveness. Adolph Hitler is the hero.

As for the two groups of thought on Adolph Hitler: I do not wish to speak on that argument. My story makes him genius rather than opportunist, but that is because that is the only way my story could be plausible.

[SKILORD]

Pax Germania: A Story of Redemption

“We are going to loose this war.”
-British Prime Minister Lloyd George


The paintbrush paused in his hand; he could feel no inspiration. He shook his head as he looked at what he had painted, sighing.

It occurred to him that he was a failure. What he had done to deserve such a fate escaped him, but he knew, with startling finality, that he was a failure.

“Is the portrait done?”

He assumed a smile, “Quite nearly, Frauline.”

“Good,” the fat, pompous woman lifted her mask again to the agreed upon pose.

Adolph sighed, lifting the brush again and forcing it to the canvas, painting as best he could, shaking his head at the grotesqueness of his art. A butler approached, on his way to the good Duchess most likely, looking at the painting he scowled at Adolph.

Cursing under his breath Adolph forced his hand to paint. He knew that he had lost his faith, at long last he was spent, he was only faking things now, hoping that no one else noticed. Remembering the butler his frown drooped even further.

“Let me see it.”

Adolph looked up at the duchess, who held a drink now in her fat, swollen hand; she was lying back still but had placed the mask upon the floor.

“I am not sure that is for the best. A true master never reveals his work until it is complete.”

“Don’t be silly, Adolph, I want to see the marvelous job you promised me even in it’s construction.”

“I must insist…” but she didn’t listen to him, pulling herself up and stomping towards him, a look of insistence in her eyes.

The duchess looked upon the painting, drew back, a gasp upon her chest. The butler grinned from a nearby hall, catching Adolph’s malignant eye as he waved a goodbye.

-

The street was rough; asphalt and tar, Adolph was almost certain that his scrapes and cuts from it were minor and would heal easily, though his reputation would not. Adolph Hitler rose to his feet, hurling his brushes carelessly to the wind, landing them on the hood of a nearby car, an obviously new Mercedes. Bemoaning his ill fortune Adolph turned from it, as the driver pulled over from the street.

“Herr!”

Adolph looked at the furious man with feigned incoherence, turning from the sight he began, in the least German manner possible, to run away.

-

Adolph flicked his radio on, slumping back into his chair, his newspaper spread out in front of him. He looked at the Vienna paper, studying the recent events, the recent exploits of Wilhelm the Third, feeling that somehow history had passed him up in favor of the Kaiser. The thought was absurd, he was simply a poor, Austrian failure, he could never have stood in the Kaiser’s shoes. The thought was absurd.

He held the clippings in front of his billboard; full of the accomplishments of the Kaiser. He wondered how long until he got kicked into the streets, he rubbed the stubs of hair which adorned his face before picking a spot on the billboard and posting the clipping.

“Ich wundere mich, wie es fühlt, Glück zu haben,” he spoke to himself as he stared at the clippings.

The solitary remaining light in his flat flickered out, “Scheicce.”

-

Dawn spread its fingertips lazily across the horizon. The promise of the sun’s awakening was ash in the mouth of the ruined painter as it made clear each stain on the mug he grasped in his pudgy, worn fingers. A knock at the door drew his attention away from the sunrise. Opening it he almost shut it back in the man’s face.

“I suppose that the artist will have his rent,” a mocking grin was strewn across the landlord’s face.

“The artist is working on it.”

“The artist has very little time.”

Adolph put his cup down and pulled his pockets, showing them in all their emptiness.

“In that case,” the landlord opened the door even wider, waving Adolph out.

Adolph’s eyes came to rest on his last possession of value, his half full cup of coffee, in which were dissolved his last grounds. He picked up the cup and threw the contents into the landlord’s face. Then, pulling his billboard off the wall he marched out onto the street.

-

When the Great War had ended, twenty some years ago, Austria had won an Empire. They had retaken most of Northern Italy; they had consolidated Serbia and the other rebellious Balkan states. All of this and there were no jobs to be had. Adolph joined the masses upon the streets; those poor, defeated men of the alleys and gutters. He was now everything he had feared; Adolph Hitler had to steal clothing to survive the winter of 1939.

But life paints more than one figure; more than one struggle is etched on the canvas of fate. And so we progress.

-

There are Empires, Empires of blood and iron, Empires of harmony, of religion and of enterprise.

Albert Speer was, in his own way, an Emperor. He was one of the few men that the German victory had rocketed on to success; it had allowed him to create buildings of untold grandeur in Petrograd, in Dijon, in Berlin, in London, in any of the cities that had been tossed from their personal destinies by the rise of the German nation.

“The representative from Burgundy called again, they remain unsure that the French aren’t planning something.”

“My dear man,” Albert turned to his advisor from his intent watch of the road, “the French are always planning something. And most especially against Burgundy, it’s the only part of what was once their Empire that remains free from that madman,” Speer trailed off, searching for the name.

“De Gaulle, sir?”

Albert nodded, “Yes, that’s the bastard.”

Albert returned to his vigil of the streets, watching for a moment he turned back to his advisor, “They certainly have shoddy streets here in Vienna.”

His advisor nodded, “They took the depression harder than we did.”

Albert looked out the window and felt the inexorable tug of some strange and unknown destiny as he looked out upon the men who made their homes in any gutter that would have them. He saw a single man who stood out, a man who looked as though he had been wasted by the artist who painted our fortunes on the canvas of life; an exciting, untapped color; collectively unwanted, and yet somehow promising to Albert.

“Pull over the car.”

And with that Albert Speer’s shining Mercedes pulled to the side of the road and he stepped out to greet the other man, who promptly ran away.

An implausible urge to capture this stranger consumed Speer and he began to run as well finally tackling the malnourished fellow, whose grizzled look was most unbecoming and whose eyes were the windows to some hollow soul. Despite the filth, which covered him, this was the most powerful looking man that Albert Speer had ever met, a defiant look to his stance even as he pled.

The other man began a long, complicated apology for something that had happened last fall. Albert appraised him again with a confused glance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get in the car.”

“I have done nothing!”

“No, you haven’t. Get in the car.”

The vagrant was angry now; looking with a sneer at Albert he opened the door, pushing the chauffer; who had been ready to open it, out of the way, and sat in the leather rear seat.

Albert waited as the chauffer collected himself and opened his door, stepping inside.

-

“You are an intriguing man.”

“You don’t know me,” Adolph continued to wear his angered expression, Albert handed him a drink, a Burgundian wine.

“I see you, that is all that a man needs to think he knows you. Have you ever tried public speaking? I swear you could convince Germany to split apart again.”

“No. I am an artist.”

“An artist?”

Adolph lifted his head a bit; “I’m having a rough time right now.”

“I see.”

Adolph was silent in return, and Albert watched him fascinated.

“How long have you been on the street?”

“Since last September.”

“This Rough time then, has lasted so far?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You,” for the first time Albert could see that this man was not looking at him with the fear or disdain which had clouded his vision before, but with a judging glare, “What do you want with me.”

“You have the seeds of greatness in you. Here you lay in the streets, I bet if you wanted to you could command these men to build you an Empire and they would.”

Adolph smirked, “No Austrian is concerned with building Empire, we only try to keep our fingers clawed into this one.”

“Then command them to help you claw into it.”

“You’re insane.”

“Try it.”

Adolph smirked again, “No.”

Albert Speer opened his door and stood up, going around to the other side, taking the drink out of Adolph’s hand he indicated the crowd.

“You’re getting out of my car, if I let you back in you will have a salary.”

Adolph stared at him for a moment, bemused. He stood and walked into the middle of the street.

“Meine Freunde:”

With that he launched into a speech on the greatness of Austria, her indomitable firmness throughout History, a few men stood, a few wept as he painted a magnificent portrait of the highest Austrian power. He went on to describe Austria as she stood today, humbled and on the brink of collapse. He was waving his arms violently as he spoke of the multitude of minorities, which would see the nation he called his Motherland defeated forever.

Some of the men were almost fanatical with rage, waving their hats and their assorted property in the wind as others listened intently.

One of the men who stood towards the front, asked what his newfound savior wanted of him, what he needed them to do.

Adolph paused as the magic of the moment faded away, he was no more in control than anyone else, he was just as mystified by the force he channeled, with a smile he answered finally, “Ich bitte nur, daß Sie in Stütze von Mutter Österreich stehen.”

A resounding cry of support rang through the streets as Adolph Hitler turned and entered the Mercedes with such ease that one almost believed it was his.

Albert Speer looked at him with a decided awe, after a few moments to let the vagrant settle himself he began to clap, a slow, rhythmic clap of support as the car pulled away from the cheering masses.

“You exceed my hopes. You only need direction.”

“You have direction for me?”

“Of course, I mean, to serve mother Austria is all well and good, but I think you can convince the masses to do more than that.

“There is a man; Levy, perhaps you have heard of him?”

“Prime Minister of Burgundy?” Adolph had grown adept at stealing newspapers from trash bins. It had kept him purposeful through the trying months.

Albert smiled, “Exactly. I have investments in Burgundy, which would be lost if De Gaulle finished uniting France, building his ‘Sword Against the Munich Treaty’ as he says. I want you to go to Burgundy and help Levy keep control.”

“You give this mission to a street vagrant?”

Albert waved behind them, “I give it to the king of Street vagrants.”

Adolph nodded uncommitted, “You trust me?”

Albert smiled, “Perhaps so, or perhaps I simply know I can kill you if you fail.”

A strange, wolfish smile spread across Albert’s lips and Adolph Hitler knew fear.

-

Jean-Pierre Levy was a Jew.

His features were subtle but his adherence to all Jewish rituals and sacraments betrayed him, he was not ashamed, rather he held his Jewish ness with a sort of pride. This disgusted Adolph.

Adolph came to wear a frown whenever the Jew came near him, he wrote speeches, he did his best, but he did this for Albert, not for the Jew.

It felt good to be well dressed and fed again, Adolph had little choice but to deal with the Jew for the prize, room, board and money, could hardly be found in Austria, who had yet to recover from a Depression even the distant Americans were shrugging off.

“Adolph?”

He looked up from his paper, from his studies of the Burgundian voters.

It was the Jew.

“Come for a walk with me, Adolph. We must talk.”

Adolph assumed his ever-prepared grin, “Of course.”

The flowers were ripening in the summer sun of the beautiful country. Dijon was a magnificent city, built mostly by Speer, as Adolph had discovered. If the French were to undo his employer’s deeds in Burgundy, as they had in Brittany and the Aquitaine, it would be nothing short of disaster. Adolph had, in these past months managed to completely do away with the thoughts of plebiscite and had made real advances in alienating France proper from the people under his influence.

The Jew picked a flower and held it his hand, the stem drooping below his knuckles.

“Why do you not like Jews?”

Such unabashed grab for the truth caught Adolph by surprise, leaving him stuttering for the first time in months.

“I have nothing against Jews, sir.”

Jean smiled, laughed, “You know as well as I. You avoid me; you refuse to get within a block of my synagogue. I heard that the Germans had no problem with Jews.”

Adolph frowned, “You should not make generalizations of the sort.”

Jean-Pierre’s grin grew even wider and took on a hint of mockery, “Who is making generalizations?”

Adolph was quiet for a moment.

“You excel at making generalizations. You make the world seem simpler by doing this and, God knows, the people of these times want nothing but simplicity. Do not fool yourself Adolph. Things are not simple.”

“I am no bigot.”

But his hands were beginning to clench into fists, sweat ran down his forehead, though they were firmly in the shade.

“Please Adolph, do not lie. Not to me; lie as you will to the people, but leave me in my realm of truth, unsoiled.”

“You want rid of me then?”

It was now that he laughed, a friendly, not altogether unpleasant laugh, “No, Adolph, you will work even more closely with me.”

“I do not...” a thousand hells played themselves in Adolph’s mind. He was at the mercy of the Jew.

“Racism is a disease, Adolph. We shall cure you.”

“What if I do not wish a cure?”

“Then I shall leave you to waste away in Dijon and we shall leave Burgundy to the mercies of De Gaulle. After that you shouldn’t have to wait too long until Albert finds you. He will kill you, I’ve seen him order other men killed, do not think you’re special.”

Albert groaned inwardly.

“I am at your mercy.”

“Indeed, you are.”

[SKILORD]

It was three days before the Jew came back, standing outside Adolph’s office expectantly. Hitler tried to ignore him, but knew that he couldn’t.

“What do you want?” he didn’t turn around.

“Perhaps you should learn common courtesy as well, no?” The Jew was smiling, he was almost always smiling, “Do you have a car?”

He did, a battered American Ford that he had bought in Dijon from an old man, “No.”

The smile widened. “You do, then.”

Adolph frowned, “Why must we go through with this?”

“It is for the best.”

The Austrian shook his head, studying the floor of his office.

“You have much to learn, Adolph.”

“Perhaps I do, but perhaps I won’t.”

“You will, you will.”

“Don’t count on it.”

They left the office and went down to the parking lot; the Jew knew where Adolph parked, marched up to his car.

“Shouldn’t we bring guards? If you were to die…”

“If I were to die you would loose your job, probably your life as well. That’s all you care about. But at least there is hope; you care about something. We can use that.”

The Jew sat in the passenger seat and; with a disgusted frown, Adolph sat down to drive.

“Where now?”

The Jew rattled off street names, places Adolph had never been and, judging by the nature of the exercise, never wanted to go to. Adolph nodded submissively.

“Don’t look so down,” that damnable smile, “keep your eyes on the road.”

Adolph pulled out of his parking spot and began to drive to the first street that the Jew wanted to see.

-

They had spent the morning in the Jewish district, playing with the children and meeting people. Adolph had been sullen, but Levy was always ready to force him into conversation. It was an unbearable experience, with the Jew grinning the whole time and Adolph working as some sort of chauffer. They ate lunch now, at a fine street side café in the heart of Dijon.

“What makes us different in your eyes?”

“I don’t know.”

“When you played with those children, did you hate them?”

Adolph frowned, stirring his soup in resistance, “No.”

Jean-Pierre Levy grinned.

“Were they different from Austrian children?”

“No.”

“Why, then, do you hate the adults?”

“They are horrible people,” Adolph sneered with insubordination, “like you.”

The Jew laughed, “Such an easy thing to say. So simple to believe. I wonder if you are as stupid as I fear, Adolph. Can your mind bear to see people as individuals?”

Adolph grunted in reply, which only fueled the laughter more.

“I wish that Dijon had a decent Jewish sector. We have only a few; refugees from the Action française. And I think we have met most of them. I’ll let you get back to work. I want you to write me a speech to be delivered to the Synagogue.”

Adolph frowned, but he knew not the worst of what the Jew had planned for him.

-

Adolph slumped back in his chair, turning on his radio. The new radio was nicer than his previous one, smooth and new. He pulled some meat out of the icebox; he hadn’t been able to afford meat, let alone an icebox before. His walls were gray, and the windows revealed the black night outside, the clouds above hid the stars.

Adolph was content; he had food in his belly and the rent was paid for as part of his salary. He twirled the roast on his fork, watching its shadow dance across the walls.

There was a knock at the door and Adolph groaned, standing up.

“Hallo?”

He opened the door, and there, in the hall lighting, smiling in all of his Jewish joy, was Levy.

“Did you miss me?”

Adolph grunted.

“No?”

“What is it?”

“You finished the speech? No?”

Adolph frowned, turning to his desk and extracting the paper on which was written his speech about the tribulations of Jewry and a lamentation of tyranny.

The paper hung out of his hands, drooping towards Levy, who kept his hands in his pockets.

“No, No, Adolph. It is not I who am to deliver this speech.”

Hitler cocked his head at this, “Who is?”

Levy smiled, revealing everything.

“Get dressed.”

The Austrian threw it to the ground, “No! No! You can’t!”

“Pick it up Adolph. You can’t. I can do whatever I please and you know it. You can’t afford insolence.”

Adolph sneered at him; his final available protest. He bent down and picked up the paper.

“Are you alone?”

“I never use guards with you Adolph, you could talk off any muggers.”

Adolph wondered if he should kill the Jew. Kill him and run. Run to France, never to see anyone from Speer again, he had nothing to loose.

But in his dark soul the redemption had already begun.

He turned to his closet and picked out a suit.

-

Adolph was never nervous in front of a crowd. He could always compose himself, and he fought with every tool he had against the hatred and rage, which clawed against his throat. His hair was combed as an afterthought, and the sloppiness was evident. Levy was introducing him.

“First of all I am sorry if I have upset your schedules by calling you here. I feel that it is important that we are here to listen to the speech, which this good man, this noble gentile, has prepared for us. I introduce to you my personal friend, Adolph Hitler.”

There was clapping throughout the synagogue at Hitler’s name, most remembered him as the kind man who had spoken to them in their parlors, as the man who played with their children.

“My,” he choked the words out, “Friends.”

He held the typewritten papers together, tapping them against the podium for neatness.

“Jewry is under assault. In the West the French burn your synagogues with the same fervor they burn the churches of the Huguenots,” the last part wasn’t written down, Adolph was trying to cure himself now, Levy realized, drawing his own similarities.

“In the East things are no better. Tsar Michael and his Ministers, chief among these Stalin, have set forth rabidly against Jewry. The final refuge is Germany and her states.

“We have common enemies, Jews and protestants, we must forge an alliance in these troubled times. Benito will show you as little mercy as de’ Gaulle or Stalin. War looms on the horizon and it will be waged against you, against you and me. We can fight each other, but there is no point.”

From the captivation he seemed to have with the crowd Levy could tell that he wasn’t reading the speech anymore.

“I have been an Anti-Semite. I have been one for a long time; I entered and left the German army as one, despite being promoted by a Jew. I have hated you all of my life. But I don’t anymore. I don’t.

“We are at the brink of war. The Kaiser is afraid. No one can escape the war, so we shouldn’t try. We should stand strong, together. If you are too disgusted by the aura of my former hate then do not stand by me, but I warn you that De’ Gaulle will not be so guilty, he will never ask your forgiveness.

“I ask you to forgive me. That is all I ask for.”

With that he left the stage in such a frenzy of emotion that no one could follow him, all were fixed to their seats.

-

Levy stood again outside the door, he had begun the walk home only to find that his joy at the salvation of his assistant was far too much for him not to share. He knocked on the door, his friendly smile opened to it’s greatest reach.

The man who opened the door had no tear streaks, no contortion of emotion.

“What now?”

“I forgive you.”

Adolph almost laughed, but it came out a short chuckle.

“Thanks,” it was almost sarcastic.

Levy frowned, realizing the truth, “I thought you were an artist?”

“I was.”

“You would have been a better actor. You would not have starved.”

Adolph grinned, “I am a good show, aren’t I?”

“Proud of yourself?”

“Of course. Am I done?”

“No, we are further than I had hoped from the end.”

“Damn.”

Levy’s cold fury seeped out of his eyes, “You are a bastard.”

It was delivered with perfect calmness; Adolph was taken aback, “I did what you wanted.”

“Yes, exactly what I wanted. You knew, somehow, exactly what I hoped and proceeded to give it to me. You will burn in hell forever, Adolph.”

“You Jews are so simple when it is not about finance. You were easy to read; of course I did what you wanted. Let me sleep.”

“To hell with you Adolph.”

Adolph chuckled a bit, it was a biting, spiteful laugh, “Satan isn’t ready.”

-

Levy didn’t come back to his office the next day and Adolph almost wondered if he had gone too far to prove himself right. Maybe there was a man with a gun outside his office, waiting. Adolph positioned a mirror so he could see behind himself.

He typed with fury, studying the typewritten results of surveys and elections, examining the public opinions, learning the weak points; what mattered to the Burundians.

“Adolph?”

It was a meek, timid voice, looking in his mirror Adolph wondered if Speer had sent this wispy young lady to kill him.

“Yes?” He didn’t turn around.

“You are to go to The Prime Minister’s office.”

Adolph pushed his chair back and stood, “Yes, I suppose I should.”

The young lady nodded eagerly as he straightened his tie and marched down the hall, finding his way to Levy’s office.

“The Minister will see you soon, he is busy now.”

Adolph frowned and took a seat.

He waited as the hands of the clock slowly crept along in their preordained paths, frowning even more with the passage of each minute.

“Mr. Hitler?”

Adolph shot up at mention of his name, “Yes?”

“Minister Levy will see you now.”

Adolph stood up, straightening his tie again he set off for the door. Opening it he found Levy, alone, behind his oak desk.

“In diplomatic circles a thirty minute wait would be an insult.”

Levy smiled at him, the smile was still friendly, “And to think, when you first came here you were a beggar, no?”

“You meant to insult me then,” Adolph frowned, “I suppose this is goodbye?”

“You are perceptive. I can tolerate Anti-Semitism, but you have insulted me.”

“Will I be killed?”

With a sudden air of unannounced urgency a messenger boy pushed the door open, slamming it on its hinges.

“The French!”

He panted for air, but his urgency made it clear that it could only be one thing, “The French….”

“You may be. It is not likely you will survive this.”

“They are only a few miles away, they will be here by the end of the day.”

“We should run,” Adolph was looking directly at Levy.

“There is no need, I will be caught and killed sooner or later. I put my faith in God for now.”

“You have to come with us.”

“You will not save yourself either way, the French will kill everyone or enslave them, Speer will kill you if you run to Germany.”

“I have no hope, but you do. Don’t let yourself die.”

Levy looked into the distance with resignation, “Do not trouble yourself over a Jew, Adolph.”

“Levy, don’t do this to yourself!”

“I don’t do it, the French do. I will wait in the synagogue and pray.”

With that Levy left the room and hustled down the streets, against the tide of panicked Jews fleeing for Austria or Germany.

“Crazy fuc*ing Jew.”

The messenger boy nodded in agreement, “Could I hitch a ride, sir?”

Adolph looked at him, finally realizing his presence.

He nodded, “Yeah, why the hell not.”

-

Adolph stood with one foot steadying himself on the ground as he leaned into the car, his door was open to let the new air in and one hand was shoved into his pockets.

He put the key into the ignition and turned it, no response.

“May I see it?” The kid was holding his hand towards it already.

“Sure.”

With that the kid jerked the key, starting the car, he elbowed Adolph in the face, right between the eyes and left him to stammer.

And to fall.

The Pavement again; Adolph realized, his mind spinning towards unconsciousness.

-

When he woke up the first shells had fallen, he pushed himself up from the pavement and looked around for anything he could use to escape; there was nothing.

He stood up and walked a bit, there was no one else left. Not a soul in the city.

Adolph paused as enlightenment flooded his eyes, there was another man left in the city.

He rushed towards the Jewish sector, limping for some reason that he couldn’t remember. He wore a scrape across his temple; most of his possessions had been taken. He was determined to get to the synagogue.

It had already been hit by an artillery shell; there was nothing but rubble where it had once been imposing and beautiful. Adolph clawed at the ruins, pulling marble and steel out; cutting his hands and pulling out his fingernails.

“You’ve gotta be here Levy,” Adolph had begun to cry, not the faked tears of his speech, every tear was an admitted sin, and with every drop of blood came forgiveness. “Levy!”

He dug even harder with each moment; the French were coming nearer.

A cough rewarded him and he focused on it, dragged the Jew’s body out of the wreckage and draped it over his shoulders, turning away from the fading sun of the bloody dusk and into the dark unknown of night.

And in that moment, with the flames of Dijon behind him and almost certaint death before him that Adolph Hitler, a Jew upon his shoulders, found absolution.

-

There is no more, no more needs to be said than that which I have written. If a soul with such dark potential as Adolph Hitler’s can realize forgiveness and find some good to accomplish then what mighty salvation can we wreak upon the world?

-SKILORD

[ChrisiusMaximus]

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this one, well done indeed SKI

[unscratchedfoot]

You obviously put a lot of thought into this story. I'm reading Antony Beevor's "The Fall of Berlin 1945" now and the Nazi's actually did try to become friends with the Jews in the last days with Russian tanks speeding towards a virtually undefended Berlin. Himmler had Norbert Masur, the representative of the World Jewish Congress flown into Berlin to try to "convince the Jews that the Final Solution was something that both sides needed to put behind them."

[SKILORD]

Thnx to scratch and Chrisus!

You would get special awards... but I don't have any .

scratch: ur story deals more with begging forgiveness at the last moment as the sword swings down, purely for Political reasons. In my story Adolph could have left the Jew (If you notice i begin referring to him more and more as 'Levy' and less as 'Jew' as the story progresses I felt so smart when I started doing that ) in the broken synagouge, especially when he found the synagouge ruined by the artillery. The point of the story is that he didn't.

As for the ;lot of thought' statement it's definitively neutral. Even Chrisus' statement was less objective than praise usually is (Or maybe I;m paranoid?)

(yes you are SKILORD)

It's late

[unscratchedfoot]

Yes paranoid. That comment by Chris is his highest form of endorsement as far as I know. For example, in Chrisius language,

good stuff = so so at best, a bit cruddy

great stuff More power to your elbow. = marginally passable

I enjoyed this immensely. = I actually like it.


By the way, what does "Pax" mean? Is it kinduv like "cigarette packs" or something? I don't like cigarettes. Yuck! They're for crusty old men.

[SKILORD]

Pax is latin for peace, the phrase Pax... (Insert nation name here) refers to a period of that nations dominance ie: Pax Romana, Pax Britannia, Pax Americana

[SKILORD]

Did I alienate people by being too harash on the feedback?

[Verto]

Well done, ski

Your story, I mean.

[unscratchedfoot]

The story is well-written and not something scratched together like an old foot, but it has one cardinal weakness: predictability. If you can make the reader feel like "I have no idea what's gonna happen and I wanna find out" then they must read on whether the topic is to their liking or not. There are very few stories which I've liked which were predictable (Pink Panther cartoons, Rambo and Rocky series are some which I remember being both very predictable and very entertaining but their value is all in the action not in the storyline). For this story, it would be exceedingly difficult to cover up the ending but it may be possible.

[SKILORD]

ahhhhhh!

I can see what you mean scratch.... and by golly.... you're rght. I can't really see how I could cover up the ending here, but I see what you mean and I'll bear it in mind.

[KlarJanice]

Great story. Loved reading it.
Just a perplexity... I thought I heard somewhere that Hitler was vegetarian?

Oh well, who cares? ;)

Thanx for writing, anyway - I mean, I might not be the best person to judge but I surely think you're quite skillled. :)

[vovan]

Another SKILORD story I managed to miss?

Must be getting too old for this.

Any ways, thanks SKI for writing this really good story. Always loved those alternate history pieces of yours.

And thanks, KlarJanice for bumpin'! Otherwise, I might have missed this baby completely.

[SKILORD]

Originally posted by KlarJanice
Great story. Loved reading it.
Just a perplexity... I thought I heard somewhere that Hitler was vegetarian?

Oh well, who cares?

Actually I care. I care ad nauseum. I had no idea and hadn't heard it. I wonder what a Google search for 'The Hitler Diet' would bring?

vova: Did you get Reverie of Empire (http://www.apolyton.com/forums/show...&threadid=95566)?

[vovan]

Originally posted by SKILORD
vova: Did you get Reverie of Empire (http://www.apolyton.com/forums/show...&threadid=95566)?

Nope, missed that one, too. Thanks for pointing it out.

[KlarJanice]

Oh dear.
In any case, I started a google search myself and ended up with:

http://www.veg.ca/newsletr/mayjun96/hitler.html
http://michaelbluejay.com/veg/hitler.html

So looks like he wasn't a vegetarian after all, but just a man on a diet. (Next time I'll check before posting about it! )

Cheers!

[vovan]

Originally posted by KlarJanice
So looks like he wasn't a vegetarian after all, but just a man on a diet.

I could just see someone starting a thread in the OT about how all vegetarians are evil, because Hitler was a vegetarian. A curious bit of info, nonetheless, KlarJanice.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

[1889]

Skilord, your writing is excellent. You make terrific use of characters. You display wonderful skill in the most difficult part of story writing, dialog. It is your implementation of moral questions that make your stories truly great. Another fantastic job.

[SKILORD]

I'm glad you liked it.