Judgement Day

Description of the Social Republican Ideology

Harkening back to the Revolutions of 1848, Social Republicanism rejects Marxist universalism in favor of a “socialist traditionalism”, often appealing to revolutionary movements of the past, whether the Springtime of Nations, Pugachev’s Revolt, or the American Revolution. The Social Republicans seek to find their nation’s unique flame of liberty and reignite it in the modern world.

Social Republican governments are generally more democratic than other forms of vanguardism, maintaining that the socialist vanguard must be by, for, and of the people. They also tend to be more friendly to religion than most strains of Marxism, holding religion to be an essential part of a nation’s soul.

 

During the Second Great War, Joseph Goebbels’ Heckerist movement, the originators of Social Republicanism, were junior coalition partners with Radek’s Leninist government and as such, were hunted down by the victorious counterrevolutionary powers upon its end. However, parties inspired by the Heckerists can be found the world over, for the fire lit in 1848 can be driven underground for a time, but never can it be truly extinguished.

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Roar of the Gryphon

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Bully for the Bull Moose!

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Walter Dunbar put the freshly cleaned and oiled Winchester .405 in its carrying case as President Roosevelt packed the last of his clothes into his travel case, with an energy akin to that of a young boy about to go on holiday to the beach.

 

“Only two months ‘till the Convention. Two months away from Washington and its perpetual mire of corruption. Two months of living as God intended men to live, testing ourselves against the wild!”

 

“What do you look forward to hunting most?” Walter replied, the President’s eagerness rubbing off on him. “Whitetails? Moose? Buffalo?”

 

“Each of those animals provides their thrills.” Roosevelt said, “But I would greatly relish the chance to hunt a bear. They’ll be coming out of hibernation right around now.”

 

As the pair walked outside to join the other members of the hunting party awaiting transport to the train station, Walter’s excitement was tinged with worry. A bear is never hungrier and, thus, never more dangerous than when coming out of hibernation. The concern quickly faded, however. Despite getting on in years, the Bull Moose seemed to have at least a couple more decades’ worth of vigor. Challenges always seemed to bring out the best in Theodore Roosevelt, whether that challenge came from a wild animal or a political rival.

Option: “Happy trails, Mr. President!”

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Resolve The Prohibition Question

 

The issue of alcohol prohibition has been simmering within the American body politic for many years. Now it has reached a boiling point, with the proposed Eighteenth Amendment making its rounds through state legislatures. If passed, this amendment would ban the manufacture, sale, importation, and exportation of alcoholic beverages throughout the United States. President Roosevelt has been a supporter of the Temperance Movement since his time in the New York State Assembly. However, Prohibition has never been a part of the Republican Party platform, for fear of alienating the party’s “wet” contingent. If the President were to publicly support the Eighteenth Amendment, it would doubtless greatly aid its path to ratification, but would the increase in “dry” support outweigh the loss of the wets?

 

Option A: “The President publicly supports Prohibition.”

Option B: “The President stays silent on the issue.”

 

Inauguration of John W. Davis

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The election of 1920 is over, and, for the first time since 1896, a Democrat sits in the Oval Office. For over 20 years, the almighty Bull Moose had led the party of Lincoln to victory after victory. After President Roosevelt’s tragic death, however, the GOP fell to infighting, with progressive interim President Hiram Johnson and the conservative challenger Calvin Coolidge each spending more effort fighting each other than the Democrats. Amidst this turbulent backdrop, the Democrats, under the leadership of President John W. Davis, have taken charge.

 

In his inauguration address, the new President congratulated the American people for “throwing off the leeches of tariff-fed trusts and illegal combinations.” Davis outlined his party’s pledge. “Equal rights to all men and special privilege to none, the suppression of private monopoly as a thing indefensible and intolerable; the largest liberty for every individual; local self-government as against a centralized bureaucracy; public office as a public trust; and a Government administered without fear abroad or favoritism at home.”

 

America’s rural populations turned out in droves for the Democrats, and President Davis played to that crowd:

 

“To the farmers of the United States also we promise not patronage but such laws and such administration of the laws as will enable them to prosper in their own right. They feel today, more severely perhaps than any others, the depressing effect of discriminatory taxation. Recent experience has proved, if proof were needed, that an effort to help the farmer by a tariff on his products is the baldest political false pretense.”

 

Moods across the country vary wildly. The South is ecstatic, having one of their own in the White House for the first time since the Civil War. Lower-class whites nationwide feel their interests will finally be front and center under the new administration. Racial minorities, on the other hand, are bracing for an upsurge of violence, recalling the KKK’s close partisan ties. The business class is unsure of the future. While small-scale entrepreneurs look forward to lower taxes, prominent industrial magnates are bracing for a future of slashed protections and a closer watch on their merging proposals.

 

Option: “Hail to the Chief!”

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Inauguration of Calvin Coolidge

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The 1920 election is over, and the GOP sits in the Oval Office, just as they had every election for over 20 years. Regardless, this election indeed marked the end of an era, for while the new President may share the Bull Moose’s party, his platform is seen by many as a throwback to the Gilded Age, for better or worse.

 

President Coolidge made it clear in his inauguration speech that he would not break from his predecessor completely, praising the late Roosevelt’s foreign policy as one committed to “an honorable peace under which the rights of American citizens are to be everywhere protected.” He praised how, under President Roosevelt, “We made freedom a birthright. We extended our domain over distant islands in order to safeguard our own interests and accepted the consequent obligation to bestow justice and liberty upon less favored peoples.”

 

However, the new President’s platform represents a nearly complete about-face on economic issues. On tax reform, the generally stoic “Silent Cal” waxed poetic, stating:

 

 “The men and women of this country who toil are the ones who bear the cost of the Government. Every dollar that we carelessly waste means that their life will be so much the more meager. Every dollar that we prudently save means that their life will be so much the more abundant. Economy is idealism in its most practical form.”

 

Moods across the country vary widely. Those who remember the later decades of the 19th century as a time of unprecedented prosperity, with record-high employment and wage growth, are excited to see the good times return. Recalling the corruption and abuses that the Bull Moose rallied the nation against, others dread the return of those exact times.

 

Option: “Hail to the Chief!”

 

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Inauguration of Hiram Johnson

 

In a tumultuous election, Hiram Johnson, the ideological successor to the man who defined an era in American politics, has won an uphill battle to secure a presidential mandate. In his inauguration speech, President Johnson reflected on the legacy of his late predecessor.

 

“In no other period since national sovereignty was won under Washington, or preserved under Lincoln, has there been such mighty progress in those ideals of government which make for justice, equality and fair dealing among men.”

 

However, President Johnson lamented persistent corruption within the Republican Party.

 

“Political parties exist to secure responsible government and execute the people's will. Many within even my own party have turned aside from these great tasks. They have become the tools of corrupt interests which use them to serve their selfish purposes." The president vowed to drive the “invisible government of corrupt business and corrupt politics” from the halls of power. 

Across the nation, the mood varied tremendously. Many have taken the election of a solid progressive following the death of the man who had defined it for so long as a hopeful sign that the Progressive Movement is here to stay. On the other hand, the movement's critics are dourer than ever, lamenting the loss of America’s traditional liberties and fearful that Roosevelt’s perceived dictatorship would continue. Still others, though sympathetic to the Progressive Movement’s goals, are unsure about the new president’s ability to achieve them. After all, if the mighty Bull Moose couldn’t rid America of corruption, then who could?

 

Option: “Hail to the Chief!”

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Exit, Pursued by a Bear

 

The two hunters’ spirits were high as they walked along the well-worn trail.

“I think that may have been the biggest bull moose you ever brought down!” said Walter Dunbar, salivating at the thought of grilled moose steak. “Too bad we couldn’t take all of it, but this old boy,” he patted the well-laden pack mule between them, “can only haul so much.”

 

“Nothing on the elephant I shot in ‘09, but this old boy” Teddy poked a thumb into his own chest, “still has the vigor to hunt with the best of them!”.

This led to spirited discussion between the two old friends, reliving the glories of their many adventures together.

 

This jovial chatter was interrupted by the sight of two small, brown bear cubs stumbling onto the trail, bleating out a cry that every seasoned outdoorsman knew and dreaded.

 

“We’d best turn around.” Teddy said, mirroring Walter’s thoughts. 

 

The duo had hardly gotten the pack mule turned around when over three hundred pounds of angry grizzly muscle and claws came bearing down on the President. All thought of moose steaks left Walter’s mind as he sprinted away from the horrible scene, leaving the pack mule far behind.
 

The other men at the lodge were startled when Walter burst through the door like Sitting Bull’s own war-band was after him. When they heard that the man who named the Teddy Bear was dead from a bear mauling, their mood became shocked, sorrowful astonishment. To many Americans, including most of the men in that very lodge, Theodore Roosevelt, the man who had been their President for about as long as the lodge’s youngest hunters had been alive, was the invincible Bull Moose, a man who had survived war, four presidential terms, and an assassination attempt. To think that he had been killed by something as mundane as a bear was almost beyond belief, and yet, Teddy and Walter were inseparable on the hunt. The black hunting servant regarded the President as among his closest friends, so if he said the Bull Moose had finally met his match…

 

A severe snowstorm prevented the hunters from searching for Teddy’s body until sunrise, and when they went to where Walter said he saw the bear, there was no sign of a mauling. In fact, there was nothing at all, no bloodstains, no bones, no Bull Moose. This set off thoughts in the minds of some of the men. Perhaps the true cause of President Roosevelt’s death wasn’t something as mundane as a bear mauling. Walter’s kind was known to be shifty, after all, and he was the only man with the President that day. The whispers started on the long walk back to the lodge. By the time Walter had made it back to his hometown, the rumors were loud enough to be heard in the papers. When Walter stepped off the train, he was greeted by two scowling US Marshals, who arrested him on suspicion of the murder of Theodore Roosevelt.

Option: “Oh bother”

 

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Friendly Fire is On

 

“Alright men, that moose couldn’t have gotten far, and this forest seems navigable enough, let’s split up. Let’s meet back here in an hour.” Teddy stabbed his hunting knife into a nearby tree to mark the spot, and the hunters fanned out deeper into the forest.

 

Walter Dunbar was a seasoned huntsman, having faithfully served America’s most famous outdoorsman for many years. As he walked into the deep woods, he kept his steps quiet, his ears open, and his eyes sweeping the forest. A wood mouse couldn’t have sneezed without Walter noticing. Unfortunately, as the time to meet up drew closer, Walter failed to notice a mouse, much less a moose. Walter was just about to hang his head and start the trudge back to the knife-tree, when the sound of a broken branch caught his attention.

 

The source of the noise, a figure in the distance, seemingly moving towards him, was broad enough at the shoulder to be a moose, and had the antlers sticking out from his head. This had to be the moose they were looking for! Walter, thrilling not only at the prospect of moose steak, but at the glory of the kill, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and fired.

 

When the “moose” fell down backwards, arms flailing, Walter realized his dreadful mistake. Praying that he didn’t see what he knew he did, Walter sprinted to the body on the ground only to find, to his horror, that he had shot the man who was not only the President of his homeland, but his dearest friend, one of the only white men in his life to see Walter as more than just a black servant, or even just a black man, but as a man much like himself.  After allowing a few moments to mourn in solitude, Walter steeled himself, and began the long trek to the meeting spot to break the terrible news…

 

Several dour faces walked through the woods in silence, when the men saw the Bull Moose’s dead body, the dam burst. Tears began streaming down the face of the assembled hunters, all of whom had known Teddy Roosevelt for many years. In some, this sadness was mingled with anger. One man tackled Walter to the ground and began pummeling him in rage. One more began kicking him hard in the stomach and ribs, leaving the black man covered in bruises and with blood trickling down his nose by the time cooler heads prevailed and pulled Walter roughly to his feet.

 

“We ain’t savages, murderers need to stand in court before they die.”

Option: “What his enemies couldn’t do, his friend did.”

 

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This Sickness is Unto Death

Theodore let out another series of loud, rasping coughs as Walter entered the room with another cup of fresh water.

“Damn this flu! Couldn’t it have waited at least a week to take me? I would have loved to bring down at least one more bear before meeting my maker.”

“Thank you, Walter.” Theodore said as Walter placed the cup on his nightstand. “At least I get to spend my last moments drinking clean mountain spring water, surrounded by beautiful wilderness.” Teddy took as deep a draught as he could before setting the cup down and looking out the window. “The sunset sure is beautiful today.” Theodore Roosevelt took one last breath, and was no more.

Back in his hometown, Walter didn’t do too much. The funeral would be in a few weeks, he would get his closure. Until then, Walter only left his house to get the supplies he would need that day. Still, he picked up on certain rumors. To many, Teddy Roosevelt had been President for as long as they could remember, and he had gained an image of invincibility. not even an assassin’s bullet could fell the Bull Moose. Surely he couldn’t die from something as mundane as a flu! And so, the whispers began. Walter Dunbar was known as one of Teddy’s closest companions, and he rarely left his side for the entirety of that fateful hunting trip. Could it be that the black hunting servant had poisoned the President for his own gain? His kind were known to be untrustworthy, after all. Walter paid no heed to these wild speculations, but someone well-connected must have, for on the day he meant to board the train for his friend’s state funeral, a pair of US Marshals knocked on his door to arrest him on suspicion of murder.

Option: “The rumor mill seems set to grind his bones.”

Teddy is Ready

It's the final year of Theodore Roosevelt's fourth full term. The country has come a long way since Teddy took over from President McKinley in 1902, but there's still so much to do. With only six months left before campaigning season begins, the days ahead will be as strenuous as ever, but the Bull Moose has never been a stranger to the strenuous life.

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Form the Country Life Association

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America’s cities have grown immensely in the wake of the Industrial Revolution. Regardless, half of America’s population lives far away from the country’s industrial metropolises, tilling the Kansas fields, herding cattle across the plains of Texas, and scratching out a living from the Kentucky hills. In many ways rural Americans live as if the Industrial Revolution had never happened. Their roads are unpaved and rut-filled, their schools are one-room shacks staffed by untrained young girls, and their medicine is still herbal potions produced by the town’s eldest crone. President Roosevelt’s Country Life Association intends to change all that, bringing the blessings of modernity from sea to shining sea.
 

 

Remind the Party of its Values

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The Republican Party was founded to oppose chattel slavery, its first elected president led a crusade to end the abominable institution. With the end of the Civil War and the industrialization of America, a new form of slavery arose, where the slave-driving planter has been replaced with the plutocratic robber-baron. Tragically, the Republican Party of the Gilded Age, rendered indolent by its electoral success and extravagant campaign funding by the monopolists, forgot its duty to uplift the lowliest Americans. Despite the enormous progress we’ve made since the start of the Roosevelt administration, there remain some within the President’s party who cling to the false ideals of the Gilded Age. In a speech before Congress, the Bull Moose intends to remind these foot-draggers of the Grand Old Party’s true, foundational principles.

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Walter Dunbar Interrogation

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Outcome 1

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“Alright Mr. Dunbar, I’m sure you know why you’re here, a president’s been shot, and you were the only one to see it, so tell me how it happened.”

“I know what you’re implying, and the answer is no.”

Marshal Buzalsky noted that, try as he might to appear proud and defiant, Walter Dunbar had difficulty maintaining eye contact.

“That’s all you have to say? Mr. Dunbar, I’m not sure you fully understand the situation you’re in. The President of these United States, a man popular enough to have been elected six times, has been found dead of a gunshot. Every elected Republican from sea to shining sea has been breathing hellfire swearing to string up whoever shot their beloved Bull Moose, to say nothing of the people that elected said Bull Moose six times.”

“So that’s it. Y’all are determined to hang me, one way or another. It doesn’t matter to y’all that I was Teddy’s faithful hunting companion for decades. It doesn’t matter that ‘innocent until proven guilty’ is the stated principle of our justice system. All that matters is that the black man hangs, and the mob’s bloodlust is satiated! I guess elephants and donkeys are very similar beasts after all.” Were the beads of sweat collecting on Walter’s forehead a result of righteous fury as being falsely accused, or anxiety from having been caught?

Either way, the marshals were sure that they wouldn’t be getting any useful information out of their sole witness, as well as their only viable suspect..

 

Option: “Should be a short trial.”

Outcome 2

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“Alright Mr. Dunbar, I’m sure you know why you’re here, a president’s been shot, and you were the only one to see it, so tell me how it happened.”

“I’m not quite sure I believe my own memories sir”, Theodore Roosevelt’s hunting servant sat across from Marshal Buzalsky, looking like a wilted black dandelion.

“Just state what you remember, as clearly as you can manage.” Marshal Buzalsky replied, as compassionately as the hardened interrogator could manage.

“Alright sir…” Dunbar let out a forlorn sigh. “Mr. Roosevelt and I were walking through our old hunting ground. We were trailing a deer…. I guess he was too focused on what was in front of him to see that bear until it was almost on him…” Dunbar was visibly shaking “I… I… I tried to shoot the bear… I could fire the one shot…. Hid in the bushes afterwards….” Tears rolled down Dunbar’s face.

Marshal Buzalsky closed the interrogation room door and lit a cigarette. He couldn’t but feel sorry for the man he left sobbing into his hands behind that door. He very much doubted that Dunbar’s obvious remorse would do much to temper the politicians and newspapermen who had spent the last week calling for the head of the one who shot their beloved Bull Moose.

 

Option: “God have mercy, because the Republicans will have none.”

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Vanity and Chaos

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A Day at the Office

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As the bells of St Petersburg struck four, General-Admiral Alexi Alexandrovich Romanov leaned back in his chair and took a long drag from his cigar. It was nearly expended, meaning that if he was to kill an hour of time without falling into a boredom so deep he might actually start reading the official complaints that filled his wastebasket, Alexi would have to choose between lighting another cigar, or taking a nip or two of the imported brandy he kept hidden under his desk. After a moment of pondering, he decided to do both.

Alexi was leaning back, enjoying the warmth flooding his cheeks inside and out, when the door to his office flew open, bringing a much less pleasant warmth to Alexi’s face as a slender, bearded, brown-haired man strode towards his desk, bearing a smug grin that Alexi would recognize anywhere.

“Sandro, sharing a bed with my niece does not give you the right to come into my office without knocking, now leave, and consider yourself lucky you’re not to be flogged!”

“No. I was actually here to tell YOU to leave.'' Alexander Mikhailovich crowed, slapping a piece of paper bearing the familiar signature of Alexander's brother-in-law, and Alexi’s nephew, Emperor Nicholas II. Picking up the document and scanning it, Alexi’s eyes quickly picked out the important line: “Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich is to be installed as Admiral-General of the Imperial Russian Fleet, effective immediately.”

“How did you weasel your way into getting this?!” Alexi’s face was red and his hands were shaking with emotion.

“Unlike you, His Imperial Majesty and I read the Navy’s expense reports, and we couldn’t help but notice that half the year’s budget is gone and you have yet to launch a single ship. We also couldn’t help but notice that new wing of your palace that was just completed, for one of your pet strumpets, no doubt. Well, now you’ll have plenty of time to indulge your vice. Good luck impressing women without that officer’s commission to bandy about though.” Alexander snatched up the paper, turned on his heels, and left the now-former General-Admiral to clear his belongings out of the office. Alexi proceeded to do just that, his eyes staring blankly ahead in disbelief while his hands moved mostly on instinct.

Alexi tucked the brandy into his coat before heading out. He would be needing it tonight.

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One Wild Night

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Alexi Alexandrovich Romanov was strolling home after an evening of debauchery with his favored female acquaintance. He had walked this same route many times before. This time, however, there was an added weight in his mind, caused by the added weight of the jewelry box in his coat. It was quite possibly the most beautiful jewelry box Alexi had ever laid eyes on, an exemplar of the Style Russe, covered with blue and red enamel, in patterns evocative of flowers, all interwoven with silver, with a portrait of one of Alexi’s own younger cousins in the center of its front side. Its former owner, however, was the Chief of the Moscow Constabulary, a man of considerable influence, and if he found out that the Grand Duke was stealing both his treasured jewelry box and his treasured wife, that could lead to problems down the line. To try and lessen the weight of that worry, Alexi stepped into his favorite bar and ordered a shashlik and some vodka.

Alexi had just about finished his shashlik and was on his third shot of vodka when a scrawny man with hair like he had just gotten out of bed sat on the stool next to him. “Is that you, Alexi?”, said the man, whom Alexi now recognized as his old friend, Aleksandr Ilyich Ulyanov

“Sasha! I haven’t seen you since University! Barkeep, a round to celebrate the reunion of two old drinking buddies!”

After much chit-chat, and plenty of vodka, the two men stumbled into Sasha’s apartment, Alexi having just finished laughing at one of Sasha’s old jokes. Had he been sober, the Grand Duke may have been alerted by the waft of fresh cigar smoke that greeted his nostrils as soon as stepped in the door, but alas, it was only when the blade had drawn itself across his throat and scent became mingled with that of his own blood that he became aware of the thugs surrounding him. Too shocked for words, Alexi released the jewelry box, the weight it brought to his mind at last forgotten…

 

The New Order: Last Days of Europe

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Trial of the Traitors

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The Leopoldville courthouse was an exemplar of Spartanist design principles. The chosen guests filed into a large, square room and took their seats in folding chairs. The hot Kongo sun overcame the court's feeble air conditioning, and the guests' sweat soon soaked the collars of their dark woolen uniforms, despite the breeze coming through the open windows and doors. At the front of the courtroom stood the sole extravagance the design (or the budget) would allow, an enormous judge's bench, built of oak imported directly from the Fatherland. Above the judge's chair was a huge photo of the Reichskommissar Hans Hüttig, Master of Africa, flanked on either side by the striking black banners of the Grossafrikaner Reichsstaat and crowned by a bronze Reichsadler whose wings spanned most of the bench. The display combined to impress upon both the accused and the observers the invincibility of Aryan justice. Doubtless the television cameras being set up around the room would get plenty of footage of that bench. As the cameras went live, the accused traitors, ex-Zentralafrikan Generals Hugh van Oppen and Gerd von Blottnitz, were brought before the bench, looking appropriately disheveled. During the trial, everyone played their assigned roles to perfection. The prosecutor ruthlessly questioned the accused, who provided one confession after another. Yes, they supplied guns to native rebels. Yes, they allowed untermenschen to defile the hallowed ranks of the SS. Yes they allowed the decadent wealth of foreign Judeo-Capitalist businesses to sway them from their sacred task of civilizing the savage heart of Africa. All the while, the defense attorney gave stammering, blubbering, half-hearted excuses. After about an hour of this performance, the judge swung his gavel down:

"I pronounce the accused, Hugh van Oppen and Gerd von Blottnitz, guilty of high treason. Their sentence shall be..."

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Option a: “Lifetime imprisonment.”

Option b: “Death by firing squad.”

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Maintaining Discipline

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Vasily whistled as he walked back to camp. It had been a short, victorious battle against some warlord who thought that ruling one village gave him the right to call himself a Tsar. One afternoon’s work from Vasily and his comrades in the 34th People’s Infantry forcefully dissuaded that would-be aristocrat from his quest for a crown.

”Hey Vasily! You only whistle when you’ve found something good. What is it this time?”

”Drinks are on me when we get back to civilization, Yuri.” Vasily said as he reached into his pocket to display his latest trophy, a small gold necklace picked up from a house he was holed up in during the battle.

”Nice! That should fetch, what, 50 rubles, at least?”

”Maybe a little more, maybe a little less, all I care about is that this is our ticket to a proper celebration tonight!”

”Halt! What have you got there comrade?” The stern-faced commissar appeared from in front of the pair from seemingly nowhere. Striding up to Vasily, he snatched the golden vodka-ticket from the dismayed soldier’s hand. “Did you take this to sell, or because it brings out your eyes? Come with me, Ivanovich.”

Vasily ended up in a brig that night instead of a bar. The necklace was put into a bag with several other looted baubles to be returned to the village the next morning. For, as the commissar chided before ushering Vasily to his cell, “The Red Army is meant to liberate the oppressed from their chains, not their valuables.”

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Georg Leibbrandt Bio (Minister)

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Born in Ukraine to a family of German immigrants, Georg Leibbrandt came to the attention of the Nazi Party thanks to his ethnographic research on German emigrant movement to the East. When the Reich conquered large parts of Eastern Europe, he was a natural choice for the Eastern Ministry’s Native Liaison.

Leibbrandt’s academic knowledge proved to be a significant factor in smoothing over the Riechskommissariat’s relationship with local communities of Russians, Caucasians, Ukrianians and others. What raises many conservative ministers’ eyebrows however, is that said smoothing over often involves promises of reform.

Like Speer back in the Fatherland, Georg Leibbrant has amassed a following of like-minded reformists who hope for Leibbrandt to replace his former protege Otto Brautigam as Reichskommissar Koch’s right-hand man. This has made Georg many powerful enemies. Can he overcome the odds and bring hope to Ukraine’s native population?
 

Georg Leibbrandt Bio (Leader)

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Georg Leibbrandt in charge of Reichskommissariat Ukraine was something hoped for by many, expected by few. Born in Ukraine to a family of German immigrants, Georg Leibbrandt came to the attention of the Nazi Party thanks to his ethnographic research on German emigrant movement to the East. Leibbrant’s lifetime of experience living with both Germans and Slavs made him the Eastern Ministry’s natural choice for Native Liaison, however, it also gave him certain sympathies that many within the administration considered dangerous.
Now that he’s in a position to finally implement real reforms however, Reichskommisar Leibbrandt is finding out that many powerful enemies still stand in his way. From within the Administration, there are conservative bureaucrats, bloodthirsty militarists, and the deranged remnants of the SS. From without, there are the potentially hostile governments of “brother Reichskommissariats” or even the Fatherland itself, as well as Slavs for whom no amount of reform will be enough.

Reichskommisar Leibbrandt has a long, hard fight ahead of him. He knows he won’t be able to get everything he wants, but if he perseveres, he can bring the natives and the colonists towards a state at least a little closer to harmony.
 

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Tempo dell Aquilla

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Our Southern Neighbor

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Spain has been a deeply troubled country all throughout the 19th Century and into the 20th. Those troubles have finally boiled over into all-out Civil War. It is undeniably in the best interest of France to intervene in this conflict to secure its southern flank. As usual, the PSF, while united in recognition of the need to bring peace and order to it’s brother in the Church, are divided on exactly who in Spain is best suited to that task.

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Back Mola (if the player decides to back the conservative junta)

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De la Roque sees a kindred spirit in Emilio Mola. Mola, like Le Colonel, Mola is a military man, appalled by the rising tide of extremism in his country. Like Le Colonel, he is determined to fight the enemies of his nation at home as well as abroad. He has convinced Parliament to declare it’s support for Mola’s military government.

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Back the Monarchists (if the player supports the Spanish Crown)

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Pierre Taittinger made an impassioned speech on the floor of Parliament. He spoke of the depravity of the godless Republicans, of the Holy Catholic Church which has historically united both the French and Spanish nations in faith. Tattinger’s oratory convinced the Parliament to declare support for the Catholic Monarchist forces in Spain.

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Back the Falange (if the player supports the Falangists)

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Marcel Bucard made a speech on the Parliament floor in support of the Falangists in Spain. “The cancerous rot of Communism in Spain is near terminal. Only the Falange has the strength and ruthlessness to cut it out, for the Falange adopts revolutionary fervor and binds it to the strength of the state. That is the only way Spain’s slide into the abyss can be halted!”

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