Paul strode through the square confidently. The local branches of the Stahlhelm, Eiserne-Front and Reichsbanner had all agreed to affiliate under the Volksbanner. At least for now. There was more than a little grumbling, but as the banners fluttered in the Stuttgart breeze. Every day he gave these speeches, he saw the crowds grow larger and larger, though this week in particular, they'd exploded. Thousands flocked to the square to hear him speak. It was like his days back in East Africa all over again!
As he strode through the crowd, soldiers saluted, and the people stepped deferentially out of his way. He felt confident of another great speech, to rally more men to aid their beleaguered Bavarian allies in their time of need. Indeed, he himself would be personally leading a detachment of Volksbanner forces to help liberate Munich from NSDAP terror. He'd already planned out an offensive push in his mind, the local patriotic militia commanders had agreed to his offensive strategy. A strong eastward push with all forces available to him, surrounding Munich, strangling the NSDAP in the capital, and then moving north to Nuremberg, repeating the same plan of encirclement and destruction. It was simple, even an idiot couldn't fuck it up!
It also utilised their greatest advantages. Artillery, that they were borrowing from the local Reichswehr detachments, and manpower. The local police force will keep the mollified SA fighters in Stuttgart contained as he led his men to crush the SA in Bavaria en masse.
As he walked up the steps onto the platform, the crowd cheered him on, he felt great. He'd not realised just how much of a thrill this kind of thing was. He turned towards the podium, seeing the huge crowd, he couldn't help but wave at them all.
And then it happened. He saw the man, and the man saw him. They locked eyes for half a moment, as the man reached into his coat. Paul reached for his hip as a woman screamed. Volskbanner fighters leapt into action, to defend him, but he knew they'd be too slow, and as his hand gripped his luger, he knew he'd been a bit too slow on the draw.
"HEIL HITLER!"
The man's arm shot out in Roman salute, and he brought his pistol from his coat, aiming straight at Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck, and then he pulled the trigger, and the crack of a gunshot filled the air. The Lion of Africa staggered backwards, palming at his holster, as the crowd screamed and the soldiers around him moved to protect him. The man screamed as he tried to fire again, only to be interrupted by Vorbeck himself, one hand clutching his bloodied chest, the other gripping his revolver tightly. Cocking the hammer, the SA assassin fired again, and again, before the M1879 Reichsrevolver could give its reply, hammer falling, a massive crack resounding as the heavy 10.6mm round fired, the would-be assassin pitching backwards into the crowd, huge bloody rent in his chest from where the revolver had done it's grim work.
Grimacing from the pain running through his body, the Lion of Africa struggled to stay on his feet. The man's first shot had punched clean through his abdomen. He could feel the blood trickling from the injury. He'd….he'd probably need to visit a doctor after this. The soldiers to his left and right rushed to support him, but he waved them off. He needed the people to see that he was not so easily cowed. One of the men did offer his jacket, which the general quickly tied around his stomach, to staunch the bleeding. The crowd was huge, and terrified. They'd clustered around the dead gunman, several Volksbanner fighters gathering to check him, and make sure he was dead.
Staggering to the podium, Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck gripped it tightly, taking a deep breath. "I apologise, that I must cut this speech much shorter than I intended. As you all just saw, however, I have been shot…."
Hope you enjoyed this little interlude! Don't worry, Paul is fine (more or less). Certainly better off than his assailant.
