What if Claus became a hecking wholesome liberal?

[Mongoloigul]

Prologue

"Do cowards ask themselves,
Did I choose something,
I could regret?"

- Die Krupps, "Fatherland"

On November 11th, 1918, across all of Europe, the guns fell silent. The so-called "War to End All Wars" had finally come to an end. Four years of war had left the continent devastated, once-green fields turned to brown and gray, and littered with unexploded ordnance and the bodies of the slain. Ten million soldiers had given their lives in service to the Great Powers, and ten million innocents joined them in death, from hunger, from disease, and from the brutality of their fellow Man. And in the end, the Entente stood victorious. A bitter, pyrrhic victory, but a victory nonetheless.

But as peace descended, many knew, feared, or hoped that it would not last. Across Germany in particular, men, women, and children woke up to the reality that they had lost. Those millions of fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands that had marched away, never to return...they had all died in vain. A deep sense of shock settled in to the collective psyche of the German people. German boots tread on French soil. Russia had torn itself apart in a bout of fratricidal madness. The Hochseeflotte could still muster sixteen capital ships under its banner, along with dozens of escorts. The newspapers reported nothing but success, story after story of French, British, and American troops fleeing from the Heer's relentless advance. It seemed inconceivable that they could have lost.

It was, of course, an illusion. German forces across France were scattered, under-strength divisions left without reinforcement, and without ammunition. Russia's revolutionary troubles were already beginning to spill over into other nearby countries, Germany included. The remaining ships sworn to the Kaiser's navy were, though numerous, hopelessly outmatched and outnumbered by the colossal Royal Navy. And the propaganda offices of the Reich began to sweat, as their efforts to hide the truth bore their final, unintended fruit. A disbelieving populace was left unable to understand their defeat, leading them to search for answers. Or rather, culprits.

Someone had to be blamed. And all across Germany, people from all walks of life had their own suggestions. The Social Democrats. The socialists. The banks. The Jews. The Kaiser. The military. Almost immediately upon the war's end, German society began to fracture. From the moment the armistice was signed, lines began to be drawn. Germany was a powder keg just waiting for men of violent conviction to light it.

In a hospital in the small town of Pasewalk, in the far northeast of Germany, one such man lay in bed, recovering from the sting of the gas at Ypres. He was nothing more than a simple Gefreiter, yet had history proceeded as it was meant to, he should have gone on to become one of history's most reviled figures. He should have been the architect of a senseless genocide, and driven his nation back to ruins once again.

Instead, the moment the news of Germany's defeat reached Santa Claus, he was struck by a severe seizure, and fell into a several day long coma.

-

Initially, there was only pain, confusion, and panic. Two minds were not meant to share the same body. Instinctively, they began to fight, grappling for control of the limited space. Steadily, though, more and more of their thoughts and memories began to leak out to the other, and they drew back in disbelief. Memories of recoiling from a father's fist were opposed by visions of quiet suburbia. Two funerals played out before them, one laden with grief, the other cold and grim. Birds and deer scattering at the boom of a shotgun faded to painted Vienna skylines. The phantom pain of a bullet mixed with that of artillery shrapnel.

The two minds stared off at one another. A century of history separated them, history that the "older" mind was slowly absorbing as it came to the forefront of the "younger"'s mind. Confusion only intensified, followed by disbelief, amazement, pride, and then ultimately horror. The whole time, the other mind, the mind from the future, offered no comment. It was stunned, almost catatonic. The mind from the past-or rather, the present-soon joined it in that state.

For some time, they stayed like that, contemplating the how and why of their predicament. Eventually, it became apparent that no answer would be forthcoming. They were alone, in a container too small for the two of them. Worse, it was becoming apparent that they were beginning to fray apart. They were losing cohesion. Melding. Becoming one individual.

Both minds were afraid of what that individual might look like, and what they might do with the knowledge they possessed. Tentatively, the mind from the future proposed a deal of sorts. Reluctantly, it was accepted.

So, the two minds set to work, going through their memories, discussing, planning. A topic would be raised, and would be debated until a consensus could be reached. In many cases, compromises had to be made. Democracy, they grudgingly decided, was a noble ideal, but was neither a requirement for nor a guarantee of a just society. Other topics took less argument.

 

[Mongoloigul]

The Holocaust. The persecution of the Jews, of homosexuals, and of ethnic minorities. Convincing the Gefreiter of its foolishness was not as difficult as the other mind expected. Perhaps the process was aided by the constant mingling of their emotions and thoughts, or perhaps it was the fact that he had yet to truly be radicalized, and bore only an impersonal disdain for those "others" that was hardly out of place in the present time. Pointlessly slaughtering millions while trying to also wage a World War, he understood, was an act of absurdity.

The mind from the future did not stop there, however. Pressing on, it drove home the true insanity of that sort of thinking. Was the fat, greedy oligarch of pure German blood better than the Jew in feldgrau who charged bravely into French fire, dying for his fatherland? Was a man who spent his days drinking and lusting after women better than the homosexual who extracted bullets and stitched wounds to save the lives of his or her countrymen? And what of Lettow-Vorbeck's Askaris? How could anyone say that those men that outfought three-hundred times their own number were anything less than heroes of the Reich?

Blood and genetics did not define a person's worth. Even culture and language were of little importance. What mattered was one's ideals, and what they swore their loyalty to. A German, the mind from the future argued, was an individual who had given their loyalty to the idea of Germany. After all, Germany was the Fatherland, and children could be adopted, or indeed, disowned.

But a father provided for his family. The German state was bound by duty and honor to protect the rights and freedoms of the German people, to ensure their happiness, and to protect them from harm. No matter their color, no matter their blood, any true son or daughter of Germany deserved loyalty in return from their leaders.

It was easy logic for a soldier to grasp, especially when that soldier was reminded that it was a Jew who recommended him for his Iron Cross.

On and on, they continued their odd, introspective debate. Capitalism and communism were both deeply flawed, they came to agree. A mixed system was best, but it needed to be designed in such a way as to provide the people protection from international and domestic corporate interests. Neither mind wanted to see the return of the crony-capitalist dystopia that other future had begun to flirt with.

With the mental equivalent of a groan, the minds realized they were advocating for a form of nationalist socialism. The irony was not lost on them.

Still, they managed to come to an agreement of sorts on their beliefs, ideals, and what course they felt Germany should take. A society based on justice and equality, but one that valued patriotism and loyalty, not just to the nation, but to its people. Call it nationalism, call it socialism, even call it that, but they felt it was a noble goal. To provide everyone willing to call themselves "German" with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, no matter where they came from.

Content that whatever individual they merged into would probably not be a raving schizophrenic plagued by conflicting ideologies, and aware that they were beginning to come apart at a much faster rate, they moved on to more concrete planning. They knew the future-or at least, a possible future. But things were about to happen very quickly, likely faster than a single Gefreiter could hope to derail. Uprisings, putsches, and attacks from all sides of the political spectrum would assail the lame Weimar Republic. The French would invade to enforce their impossible dictate. Eventually, someone would take advantage of the people's growing anger to assume control of Germany, and a new war would start.

They couldn't just sit by and watch. Maybe they wouldn't be able to achieve absolute dictatorial power, but they at least had to try to maneuver into a position that gave them enough power to put their future knowledge to use. It would be difficult, though. Their beliefs, the rough ideology they had hammered out, would likely be decried as radical by the right and reactionary by the left. Most likely, they would have to rely on personal charisma and careful choice of words to sway key individuals to adopt their true beliefs. Paradoxically, they felt the right would likely be better targets to sway, despite the extremely liberal social views they now held. The left-wing movements of the time were either too international, too tied to Marx and Lenin's disastrous experiment, or they were simply crying out for bread and fair treatment, and would come around on their own. Many on the right, though, already possessed a borderline-irrational devotion to the nebulous concept of Germany, and of "Germanness".

If they could just move the goal post, and redefine what it meant to be German...perhaps they could steer those dangerous elements onto a more productive path. Direct their ire away from innocent scapegoats like the Jews, and towards the real threats. The Soviets. The French and the British, with their self-righteous and nonsensical foreign policy, highlighted again and again by the likes of the Treaty of Versailles, and the Sykes–Picot Agreement. For a chance at revenge, surely at least some of those hardliners could stomach some compromises, especially if those compromises led to an up-swell in patriotism among Germany's minority population.

The amusing image of a multiracial Wehrmacht parading down the streets of Paris came to mind. A more realistic image of Germans shaking hands with Poles and Ukrainians followed it. Maybe they could pull it off. A rearmed Germany as hegemon of Europe, ensuring liberty and personal freedom for its people, and for any allies they could pull together. Then they just had to acquire a nuclear deterrent, and the Fatherland could sit back and enjoy peace and prosperity.

Or maybe they would fuck up horrendously and the country would crash and burn. But a little optimism couldn't hurt, right?

As their final merging drew closer, the two minds adopted a feverish pace. Half-remembered scraps of trivia were dredged up and committed to memory as best as possible. Dates were put to events, names were put to faces, and a list of persons of interest was formed. Heroes of the first war, true ones and not simply power-hungry men like Ludendorff and Hindenburg, men such as von Mackensen and the aforementioned Lettow-Vorbeck. Key men of the other future's second war, like Manstein, Guderian, and Rommel. Scientists as well, with German citizens like Einstein at the top of the list, as well as foreigners who could perhaps be swayed to come to a Germany that promised them better treatment. Alan Turing came to mind. Finally, they considered the titans of the NSDAP. Goering, Goebbels, Himmler, Heydrich...many of them were still just young men, and had yet to adopt the beliefs they held in the other time. Heydrich in particular was still just a child. Maybe some of them could be saved as well.

The two minds frayed further, their discussions becoming more incoherent. Then, halfway through a rambling argument over how best to combine a Panther and a Sherman into one ultimate medium tank design, the end came. Each mind felt a last tug at the fabric making them up, and made a final prayer that whoever they became, they would be able to do something of worth, and change history for the better.

-

On November 15th, 1918, in a hospital in the small town of Pasewalk, Santa Claus woke up.

 

[Virality]

Hitlore???

 

[Mongoloigul]

It cannot be overstated just how chaotic events were in Germany at the time of the armistice. Just a week before, as Gefreiter Santa Claus recovered from his wounds, unknowing of the supernatural remaking that awaited him, navy mutineers had successfully seized control of Kiel. This event may seem sudden, but had been in the making for some time.

In 1916, the worsening war situation had led to the dismissal of Erich von Falkenhayn from his position as Chief of the General Staff. His replacement, Paul von Hindenburg, soon spearheaded an effective military takeover of the German government. From that point on, the Heer ruled by decree, with even the Kaiser powerless to stop them. Work became compulsory, hours were increased, and wages and rations were cut. Not long after, the 1917 February Revolution in Russia inspired anti-war strikes in German factories. In response, the Social Democratic Party fractured, splitting into the anti-war Unabhängige Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (USPD), and the pro-war Mehrheitssozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (MSPD). The MSPD was made up of the leadership of the old SPD, including its leader, Friedrich Ebert. Indeed, the split was the fault of Ebert, who forced the anti-war voices from his party.

This, as well as Lenin's October Revolution, set the stage for the events of 1918. International Marxists like the "Spartacists" within the USPD were emboldened by the success of the Bolsheviks, while the MSPD were alarmed by the outbreak of the Russian Civil War, and attempted to distance themselves from the idea of "Socialism erected on bayonets and machine guns." In October of that year, as the Entente's "Hundred Days Offensive" pushed the Heer to the brink of collapse, General Ludendorff declared that the war was lost. He demanded that the Kaiser request a ceasefire. Immediately the German people's expectation of victory, iron-clad after the collapse of the Russian Empire, was shattered by the announcement.

A month of chaos followed as blame was spread around. With the military and the monarchy unwilling to take the fall, the old guard of the MSPD stepped up to take the reigns, and negotiate with the Entente. While those negotiations were ongoing, the Imperial Naval Command acted without orders, attempting to launch the Hochseeflotte on one last "death or glory" action against the enemy. The battle fleet was struck by mutiny, however, and was forced to return to port in Kiel. An effort to intern the mutineers was made, but by November, USPD members within the navy had managed to spark demonstrations which quickly flared into a general revolt. Within days, socialist Councils had been formed all across the German coast, with some even rising to power in the interior of Germany, most notably Munich.

The MSPD, and especially Ebert, were not pleased. Germany, it seemed, was following in the Russians' footsteps. Wanting to hold on to their newfound role as the de-facto government of Germany, and to protect the interests of the middle and upper class, the MSPD moved to avoid a total Bolshevik-style revolution. Secret talks were held, and it was ultimately announced that Kaiser Wilhelm II would abdicate the throne, and Ebert would become Chancellor. This was not enough to halt the growing unrest, however. The USPD demanded, and soon received, the total abolition of the monarchy. Ebert and the MSPD began scrambling to find a counter to the rising power of the Councils and the Spartacists, even forming plans to use the troops returning from the front against them.

Ultimately, though, the "workers' revolution" turned out to be an illusion. A single "battle" was fought in Berlin between government forces and, of all things, a unit of navy men demanding their withheld pay. Shortly after, as the new year came around, representatives from the various Councils met in Berlin and voted against the formation of a Council Republic, instead tacitly offering their support to the Ebert government, and to the formation of a national assembly. This infuriated the Spartacists and other hard-line socialists and communists, driving them to take more drastic measures even as monarchist, conservative, nationalist, and generally right-wing Freikorps began to form out of returning veterans.

For better or worse, Ebert's MSPD had solidified its control over Germany. Not all of the newborn German Republic accepted this state of affairs, however. In Munich, the socialist idealist Kurt Eisner declared the "People's State of Bavaria."

That is where, in this new history, Santa Claus's story would truly begin.

 

[Mongoloigul]

January 5th, 1919
Munich
Outside the Fürstenfelder Hof hotel

He had done a very foolish thing, he knew. Germany, in its current state, was not a kind place for a man without work, without a home, and without support. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, the two medals pinned to his chest...and the snub-nosed revolver that he had acquired with the last of his funds, currently hidden away inside his jacket. And yet, he had left the relative security of military life.

Worse, he had dragged others into his foolishness. Max and Georg, two Munich natives who like him had volunteered to serve in the Royal Bavarian Army, had been convinced to follow him on this fool endeavor. Neither were with him at the moment, however. He had informed them of his intent to enter politics, and sparked enough of an interest in his vision of a reinvigorated Greater Germany in them to get them to tag along, but he couldn't just tell them everything. Even telling them half would be enough for them to call him a madman.

They might even be right, given what he was about to attempt.

But he felt that this had to be done. Partially as atonement for his other self's actions, and partially to prove that his plan could even work. Germany, as much as it pained him to admit it, was a conservative country. Not universally, but in many ways. Bavaria even more so. Anti-semitism had hardly been a new invention in that other time, after all. No matter what he did, there would likely always be a well of individuals willing to accept a convenient scapegoat such as "the Jew." Trying to fight that kind of thinking across society, in the hearts and minds of the people...it would be a long, difficult process.

No, it was better to tear it out at the root. That was why he was here, awaiting the arrival of a man who he had never met, but knew enough about to despise. His eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for a face that matched the colorless photograph his impossible memories provided. Unfortunately, those memories had only been able to provide a date, not a time, so he had been left waiting outside the hotel for quite a while now, enduring the chill of winter.

Finally, his eyes fell on a bespectacled man in a winter coat, moving with clear intent towards the hotel. Blood rushed through him as he sprung into action, striding towards the man's path, sticking to his blind spots. His eyes flicked left and right, seeing only empty street, and for a moment he debated simply drawing his pistol and ending the man's life. He could ensure that at least one threat to Germany's future was, if not removed, at least set back, and then be free to leave this doomed city behind and pursue one of his other plans.

But no. For some damned reason, he felt responsible for these people. That because he led them in that other history, it was somehow his duty to deal with them now. And more pragmatically, trying to prevent self-destructive views like anti-semitism from taking root in nationalist circles any more than they already had was a good idea. Thanks to the impossible future knowledge he possessed he had a chance, here and now, to find several influential thinkers and psuedo-intellectuals who would continue to spread their hate through the German people like a virus. He had to take it.

Steeling himself, he stepped in front of his target, startling the man. "Herr Drexler?"

Anton Drexler blinked behind his round glasses, eyeing the stranger in his way with confusion. His gaze lingered on the medals on display-an Iron Cross First Class and Wound Badge in Black, no small display to a civilian-before he looked back up to the man's face. "I...yes? Who are you?"

"Santa Claus, formerly of the 6th Bavarian Reserve Division," the Austrian smiled, somewhat coldly. "I overheard from a somewhat inebriated railway worker that a political party was being formed here today."

Drexler blinked, mulling that over. Finally, he seemed to relax, and nodded. "You are correct, Herr...Claus. Would you..." his eyes moved back towards the medals, no doubt considering the value of having a decorated veteran in his fledgling party, "...happen to be interested in joining?"

"I would have to hear more about your platform, first, but perhaps," Claus replied.

"Understandable," Drexler said, amicably. He gestured towards the hotel doors. "Please, come with me, then."

Claus nodded, and fell into step behind him. The two men entered the hotel, shaking off the chill, and the former Gefreiter took the time to think over his plan. He had thought about how best to deal with people like this, the sort of people who used the spectre of "International Jewry" as a scapegoat. His alien memories told him of an American man by the name of Daryl Davis, an African who befriended members of their "Klu Klux Klan," and convinced them to abandon the organization. He himself wasn't Jewish, so the tactics weren't entirely replicable by him, and even if he was, they would take far too long, but there was an important lesson to take away from the man's story. Racism and bigotry was fought best on the emotional level, rather than the intellectual.

Radicalization was, after all, a simple enough process. It was just a matter of tearing down someone's world view, making them feel lost and vulnerable, and then extending them a lifeline. Giving them an answer as to why their life was the way it was, and who was to blame for their hardships. And conveniently, these men had already proven themselves vulnerable to being radicalized.

And even more conveniently, he had a real culprit to provide them, not some imaginary scapegoat.

With that thought in mind, Claus allowed Drexler to lead him into a room containing two dozen or so men, workers, by their manner of dress. They looked up at the two newcomers' entrance, their attention settling first on the man in front, and then on the obvious veteran trailing behind him.

"Anton! Good of you to finally show up," one man called, a taller fellow with rough skin and a vague, poorly-hidden scent of coal about him. "Who's your friend?"

"Michael, meet Herr Santa Claus," Drexler said, introducing the former soldier to the room as much as to the man who spoke. "Herr Claus, this is Michael Lotter. He served in the Kaiserliche Marine during the war."

Claus inclined his head. "Good to meet you, Herr Lotter."

"Call me Michael," the man replied. "I and most of the men here work on the railways, now. You fresh back from the front?"

"I was wounded back in October, so I missed the last month of the war, I'm afraid."

"Why'd you leave the Heer?" Lotter asked.

"I serve the Fatherland, in whatever way I best can," Claus remarked, mind turning over as he considered how best to ingratiate himself with these people. "Being a thug for the SPD and their new English and French masters is not that."

That got a few laughs and appreciative calls from the gathered men. Beside him, Drexler gave a small smile. "Well said. Please, sit, and we will begin the first meeting of the Deutsche Arbeiterpartei!"

The men around the room found places to sit, Claus included, and the so-called "meeting" began.

It was, to put it bluntly, an utter shit-show.

Drexler launched into a rambling, incoherent speech about Germany's defeat, and what it meant. Germany had, according to him, been simultaneously betrayed by everyone from the politicians, to the Marxists, to the capitalists, to the bankers, to the Jews, and especially the international Jewish Marxist-Capitalist bankers who may or may not have also been politicians. To right this wrong, Drexler posited, the German people had to rise up and cast off the shackles of his highly specific strawman amalgamation of all the groups he didn't like. The fact that this nonsense had become mainstream in that other Germany, due to his own actions no less, was incredibly depressing.

 

[Mongoloigul]

Perhaps I should just skip right to the end and blow my brains out, Claus thought to himself darkly.

His speech concluded, Drexler turned to the Austrian, adjusting his spectacles with a proud smile. "Well, Herr Claus, what do you think?"

Claus considered his words carefully. "It was interesting. You are certainly correct in that the German people must wake up to the truth. However, I would like you to clarify a few of the terms you used, such as "International Jewry". What role do the Jews play in this?"

"Ah, yes," Drexler straightened. "A good question. The Jew, you see, is an alien in all lands. They crave the return of their Zion, and work to manipulate events to that end. They naturally covet wealth and power, and seek to accrue it everywhere they go, to the detriment of all but themselves."

"Oh?" Claus said, raising an eyebrow. "I was not aware London had been renamed to Jerusalem. I suppose we will have to update all our maps."

Drexler's face twisted in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"You've just described an Englishman," Claus remarked, drily. There was a surprised bark of laughter from someone in the crowd, and Drexler shifted, looking unsure of how to respond. Taking that as his cue, Claus continued. "You are right, Herr Drexler, that there is a force manipulating this world we live in, through capital, through internationalism, and through might. But it is no shadowy conspiracy. It is the British Empire."

"W-Well, of course, the British are the premier power in the world," Drexler agreed. "Because of this, they are an ideal tool of the Jew-"

"Have you ever met a Jew, Herr Drexler?" Claus interrupted.

"What?"

"Because it was not a Jew who fired the artillery shell that tore through my leg, Herr Drexler," Claus said, voice steadily increasing in volume. He had to keep the momentum up now, any show of weakness could give Drexler an opening to rally the crowd against him. "It was not Jewish gas that nearly permanently blinded me at Ypres! The only Jews that I met in Flanders were rotting corpses and dead men walking, identical to the Bavarians, Bohemians, and Prussians littering the fields and manning the trenches. Germany has enemies aplenty, Herr Drexler, there is no need for you to invent another!"

Drexler appeared speechless, having clearly never experienced such a vehement, direct rejection of his ideology before. His mouth opened and closed, but before he could even begin to formulate a response, one of the railway men elected to speak up. "What are you, some kind of Jew-lover?" the man sneered.

Instantly, Claus leapt to his feet, having saved the action for the right moment, to add flair and impact to his words. "A Jew-lover?!" he roared. "I love only my Fatherland and my Volk! I consider every man, woman, and child within Germany's borders to be my family! Every man in this room I view as my brother! Even the damned Marxists to me are like stray children, and my heart bleeds at how they have been lied to and misled! I came here today hoping to find men who feel the same as I do, and instead I find men who would string up the Jew baker down the street before they would take up arms against those who killed millions of us, starved our families, and now seek to wring every last drop of wealth out of the German like they did to the Chinese, before they enslave us like the Indian and the African! I suppose I must look elsewhere then. Should you come to your senses, Herr Drexler, please come find me, but until then, I shall take my struggle elsewhere."

Without waiting for a reply, Claus turned and strode out of the room, slamming the door firmly behind him. The die is cast, he thought, making his way halfway down the hall before purposefully slowing his gait. He waited anxiously, already making plans in his head to leave the city. There were other ways forward, more sensible ones, frankly-

The door opened behind him. "Herr Claus, wait!"

It seemed his act of theater had succeeded. He almost felt disappointed. Drexler truly was a fool.

"Yes, Herr Drexler?"

Drexler approached him from behind, warily. "...I can see you are a true patriot. And your words are not without merit, it is perhaps true that not every Jew is directly a pawn of their international interests. But they are insidious, and possess a manipulative low cunning. Please, there are men I know who can explain better than I the threat posed by the Jew. I can introduce you to them."

Slowly, Claus turned to gaze coldly at Drexler. He paused, pretending to think it over. Finally, he spoke. "Fine. I will meet these men."

Drexler gave a weak smile, looking relieved. "Good, good."

But Claus was hardly paying attention to the man anymore. His mind was already at work planning his next step. Drexler and the DAP were nothing, ultimately. Nobodies, just like him. But the people behind them, they were the real threats. Munich's upper class was already riddled with anti-semitic volkisch psuedo-intellectuals. Eisner's shoddy "Volkstaat", the Bolshevik state that would rise soon in opposition to it, and the ensuing Freikorps crackdown...it would turn Bavaria into fertile ground for the exact kind of anti-semitic racial nationalism he needed to prevent.

But thanks to the one little date provided by his foreign future memories, and Anton Drexler's lack of political acumen, he now had an opportunity to track down and-hopefully, somehow-deal with his real targets here in Munich.

The Germanenorden Walvater of the Holy Grail.

The Thule Society.

 

[StudioExcréments]

Ive only read the first 2 messages and while i am under the impression it could AI generated it is still an absolute gem. If you wrote it than it's an even gemmier gem truely the splinter forum of the splinter blog of the splinter altchan of QA has peaked.

 

[Literal Who Number #271]

Bump

 

[Steve]

I wopuld kill him, fakle nazi