Chapter 145: Chaos
Meanwhile, on a distant road, two agents of the Internal and External Intelligence Department lowered their binoculars and exchanged a glance.
A moment later, one of them opened his notebook and wrote a brief warning.
The German Communist Party would soon take action.
Two days later, in Berlin, a car stopped outside the central villa district.
Inside the vehicle, a new member of the Youth League named Al Reppen stared curiously at the luxurious villa in the distance. His eyes carried both excitement and longing.
According to Leader Hill's speeches, the reason he was unemployed was simple. Women and foreign immigrants had stolen the jobs that should have belonged to German men.
So, if they drove away this female Minister of Foreign Affairs, would work return to him?
Would he be able to sit in a clean office, live in a grand house like this, and marry an obedient, virtuous wife?
For Reppen, who had received little education and even fewer chances in life, that fantasy became brighter and more intoxicating the longer he stared at the villa.
When Hermann opened the car door, Reppen quickly raised his hand along with the others.
"Mr. Hermann!"
Hermann looked over the young faces gathered before him. Many of them were flushed with excitement. Some trembled not from fear, but from the illusion that history was about to remember them.
He did not say much.
"Begin the operation."
At his command, Workers Party members who had been hiding around the street emerged at once. In the blink of an eye, scattered figures became a crowd.
Banners were raised.
Chants rose in unison.
"Drive the harlot out!"
"Drag Jörg's mistress out of politics!"
"Work belongs to men!"
"Politics belongs to men!"
Camera shutters clicked from both sides of the road. To these Workers Party youths, most of whom had never stood at the center of public attention, the sound was intoxicating.
For the first time, they felt like famous men.
For the first time, they believed they were not merely shouting slogans, but changing history.
Their voices grew louder.
Then they began advancing toward the villa.
"That whore is inside!"
"Drag her out!"
"Make her admit how she climbed into office from Jörg's bed!"
Most of the public only watched from a distance, eager for a spectacle. But a small portion, those who held similar views, gradually joined the procession.
Somehow, cans of paint appeared in their hands.
The security guards stationed outside the villa had already received their orders. They offered only token resistance before stepping aside.
That small, deliberate retreat gave the Workers Party members the thrill of victory. They truly believed they were only one step away from success.
Some extremists had already begun fantasizing about stripping the female Minister of Foreign Affairs naked and parading her through the streets, using her humiliation to shame Jörg and the Progress Party.
The door was forced open.
Workers Party members wielding crowbars surged inside. Unable to control their excitement, they smashed every piece of furniture they could see, paying no attention to the strangely plain decoration of the hall.
Paint splashed across the walls.
Insults were scrawled over the floor.
Savage impulses, carefully fed by speeches and resentment, erupted without restraint.
Hermann stood silently to one side, smoking a cigarette.
"Grab her!"
"Find her!"
After destroying the hall, the crowd rushed up the stairs.
But the sight awaiting them on the second-floor corridor made them recoil.
Fully armed soldiers in black uniforms stood there in formation. Bayonets were fixed. Rifle butts were clenched in gloved hands.
The soldiers took one step forward together and roared, "Back!"
Their voices shook the glass.
The overwhelming pressure forced the Workers Party members to huddle together. A few bolder youths tried to step forward and provoke them, but before they could even reach the soldiers, several large hands pulled them into the formation.
Rifle butts came crashing down.
Faces split open.
Blood sprayed.
The men collapsed unconscious before they could scream.
"Don't be afraid!" Reppen shouted, trying to prop up the collapsing morale with slogans. "They are using brutality! We are righteous!"
But fear did not listen to slogans.
The procession retreated all the way back to the first floor. Their eyes turned toward Hermann, who stood at the front, as if he were their last source of courage.
They hoped he would lead them.
They hoped he would tell them what to do.
Hermann slowly walked forward.
Then, bang.
A gunshot tore through the villa.
Hermann fell.
The crowd froze.
The next instant, panic devoured them.
No one even checked whether their leader was dead. They rushed toward the door like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
But the entrance was already packed with men.
Riot police armed with batons and shields had surrounded the villa completely.
The door slammed shut.
Their pleas for mercy were cut off behind it.
On the other side of Berlin, Hill stood on a podium, delivering a speech to the citizens gathered in the street.
"The Poles have taken our land! Now they are joining hands with other races to steal our jobs, leaving Germans homeless and starving!"
His voice rose and fell with practiced rhythm, every pause carefully placed, every gesture designed to stir the crowd.
"This is our country! A country that belongs to Germans! Those parasites who live here should all be driven out, just like the Jews! We need a country that belongs entirely to our own nation!"
"A country where no foreigner can steal our bread. A country where no alien bloodline can trample over German workers!"
Hill's oratorical talent was undeniable. His words were poisonous, but they were wrapped in passion, grievance, and false promise.
More and more people gathered.
Cheers and applause answered him.
"The Progress Party are cowards! Jörg von Roman is the leader of cowards! They protect outsiders, while Germans starve!"
He raised his arm and pointed toward the distance.
"But I will lead you to embrace a true Germany!"
"Not tomorrow. Not someday. Now!"
"Now, we march to the nest of those insects and drive every last one of them out of Germany! Their shops will belong to you! Their jobs will return to German hands!"
As his speech ended, Rom, who had already received his instructions, made a signal he had learned during his time as a military adviser in Bolivia.
A few minutes later, Brownshirts hidden in the crowd retrieved rifles and clubs from nearby cars.
Then the mob began marching toward Kant Avenue.
At a restaurant on the street, the owner saw the crowd gathering at the corner and immediately hurried to close the main door.
"Quickly! Move the stools over and block the entrance!"
He spoke anxiously as he pushed the bolt into place.
"Times are becoming more chaotic by the day. I don't even know how long this business can survive. If everyone were as reasonable as that foreign officer, things would be much easier."
His daughter, who was quite tall, asked, "Father, should we call the number on that business card? If we do not use it now, it really will gather dust forever."
Before the owner could nod, his eldest son had already picked up the telephone and begun dialing the numbers on the card one by one.
Outside, chaos had begun.
The Brownshirts waved rifles and clubs, ordering the immigrants living there to leave the district. Clothes, bedsheets, broken furniture, and children's toys were thrown into the street.
Poles, in particular, became primary targets.
Screams rose higher and higher.
Under the threat of gun barrels, stolen jewelry and banknotes were piled in the center of the street.
Hill continued his speech, pouring legitimacy over robbery.
"Look! They have gathered vast wealth from German soil! Take it back! It all belongs to you!"
Seeing that everything was progressing even more smoothly than expected, the Brownshirts became bolder.
Many small buildings and shops with closed doors and shuttered windows became their next targets.
Among them was Kenlin, a slightly taller Brownshirt. She looked at the small building before her, which resembled a bunker more than a residence, and stepped forward.
Before she could approach, two guards from the Internal and External Intelligence Department, who had been monitoring the area the entire time, emerged from the side.
One of them stared coldly at her.
"Do you know what kind of place this is?"
Kenlin raised her rifle without hesitation and sneered.
"I don't give a damn what kind of place this is. Get out of my country, you parasites!"
The guards were about to draw their pistols and force her away.
But before they could move, the other side fired first.
.....
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