In the grim dark recent past of publishing, Baen released the Aldenataverse by John Ringo, featuring Mobile Infantry wannabees vs carnivorous locust aliens with a schizo tech cargo cult (the Posleen). In 2005, a collaboration (which was essentially entirely written by Tom Kratman as far as I know) entitled Watch on the Rhine was released. Per the book's blurb:
Watch On the Rhine is perhaps the most unbiased, and brutal, look at the inner workings of the Waffen SS in history. Meticulously researched, it explores all that was good, and evil, about the most infamous military force in history using the backdrop of the Posleen invasion as a canvas.
Why am I doing this? Perhaps it's sheer boredom, perhaps it's a masochistic cry for help, perhaps I want to do the mental equivalent of dragging a rusty knife down my wrists, or perhaps I just have too much Christmas stocking stuffer booze. In any event, I'm going to go for a chapter every day or so.
We've got plenty of Wehraboo bingo cards available for everyone, so take a shot every time something applies. Make sure you eat a lot of bread beforehand though, because I suspect that this will be part of the War on Livers. Those who want to read along can find free (and legal!) copies on the Baen CDs here.
Prologue
We begin the book with a pointless scene of SS Nazi propaganda tool Michael Wittman attacking and single handedly stopping the British 7th Armored Division at Villars Bocage in an account taken straight from Nazi propaganda and written so overly the top that the Black Library would think twice about using it for Space Marines. "[T]he black-uniformed soldier knew no fear. If he had ever known true fear there were no witnesses to tell of it...Though Wohl trembled slightly, the commander did not...The Seventh British Armored Division had been stopped cold by a single tank, more importantly, by a single man's will and daring."
Could you get any more literal Nazi propaganda than this? As we'll find out later, yes, yes you can.
But first: On 12 June 1944, Wittmann was not a Hauptsturmführer, but rather a Obersturmführer, not being promoted until after this attack on 25 June. His gunner's name as Woll, not Wohl. Wittmann did not attack by himself, but in concert with other members of his tank company and another Tiger tank company which joined the fight. He did not withdraw to rearm and refuel, but rather got knocked out by a 6-pounder anti-tank gun in the middle of the town and had to escape on foot.
Meticulously. Researched.
Right.
The prologue now moves on to "the recent past" where the shadowy bankers who secretly control everything gripe about monetary costs and plot the enslavement of humanity. Yeah, it's not exactly subtle and I'm not in any way exaggerating it. Described as "elfin, with pointed ears and needlelike teeth", I can't think of a better visual than this:
We finish off the prologue with a Posleen recommending and sketching out the invasion of Europe, somehow having acquired a political history of the world (one that oddly proclaims the Germans as the most fearsome threat in Europe despite their soundly getting thrashed twice in a century and claiming that the French have had scant success in war, something I'm sure the veterans of Verdun would love to know about). In a fit of lazy writing, they decide to land in France and Poland and from there invade Germany, the only country they honor with calling by its own name. Somehow Germany is Deutschland, but Poland is Poland, a "Barbarous name," and not Polska. Personally I'm doubtful of the sanity of a plan that splits their forces in two and drops half of them into a flat plain completely surrounded by hostile forces, but you do you Kratman.
And with that, we pop a beer and finish the prologue. Short, but with a growing sense of horror at the nonsense that awaits us.
Current shot count: 1, for recycling Nazi propaganda.
n a fit of lazy writing, they decide to land in France and Poland and from there invade Germany, the only country they honor with calling by its own name
Oh god, I remember this thing from the RPG.net threads where The Kratman himself got his ass kicked arguing about the, uh, "meticulous research" by a tanker-turned-history-professor.
I read this when I was a kid, and didn't have any idea how much of a shitshow it, or baen in general was. It'll be fun to dredge it back up now that I have a clue.
Chapter One: So This Is How Livers Die...With Thunderous Applause
Chapter One: So This Is How Livers Die...With Thunderous Applause
We begin in the ruins of Fredericksburg, Virginia, destroyed previously in the first book by a Posleen attack. The German chancellor, who is undeserving of a name (unlike his aide Günter), is present at a field of gnawed bones, including those of little children, and is not enjoying the spectacle one bit. When his aide goes "Shit's fucked up," and suggests that it exceeds even their own horrible deeds, we get this "wonderful" exchange:
"Do not fool yourself," corrected the Kanzler. "We have been worse, Günter, far worse. We were worse because what we did, we did to our own. Cities burned away. Lampshades. Soap. Dental gold. Einsatzgruppen. Gas chambers and ovens. A whole gamut of horror visited upon the innocent by our ancestors . . . and ourselves."
"And Dresden?" answered Günter, with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic air. "Hamburg? Darmstadt?"
"I didn't say, my young friend, that we were alone in our guilt."
Oblique suggestions are made to utilization of a resource previously untouched despite Germany supposedly moving to a complete war footing, ominously referred to merely as them.
Psst, it's super Nazis.
Bonus shot for gratuitous German that serves no actual purpose.
Alright, so we've just now established the scene as being three years since first contact, the enemy is publicly known to be literal baby eating evil aliens who'd make Genghis Khan go "Dude, too far," a month after an American city was pretty much wiped out with heavy losses to the defending US forces, and all the media display that entails. We transition now to a march in Paris, France, half a million men and women strong, marching in solidarity for their fellow man. What is it that they're chanting? Perhaps it is the response of the French submarine Iris who, when questioned as to her destination while escaping Toulon, pursued by Ju 88s and negotiating minefields and German shell fire, replied "To the gates of Hell!" Perhaps it is the infamous cry of Verdun, where a German offensive was ground into dust, "On ne passe pas! They shall not pass!" Or perhaps…
Isabelle's voice joined that of the thronging masses. "Peace, now . . . peace, now . . . PEACE, NOW!"
You know what? Screw you Tom. This is worse than those comic artists who confuse a woman's spine with an escher drawing. At least those deformed abominations are still recognizably human. This? There is nothing human about this and there is no way anyone could actually defend this atrocity upon the written language. What's worse, it's the obvious set up for another "stab in the back" myth which is, yet again, Nazi propaganda.
Two shots to get the taste of bile out of my throat. One for dolchstoss.
On a side note:
Isabelle De Gaullejac felt as she had not since her happy and carefree days as a Socialist Youth.
Though past forty, Isabelle was yet a fine looking specimen of womanhood. Typically French, she had retained her slender shape. Her shoulder-length brown hair was untouched by gray. And if her face had a few more wrinkles than it had had as a young college student, the sidelong glances of men old and young told her she had not lost her appeal.
While we're early on now, this side character is the most fleshed out human we've met so far, having both a name and some sort of description. Unfortunately, her description is entirely of her physical charms and attraction. Now, perhaps Tom has gotten better at this in his later works (probably not), but I'd like to note that there is in fact more to the other half of the human race than their physical appearance. Just think, if you can describe the chancellor as "Bent over with the care of ages and the weight of his people resting on his old, worn back," perhaps you could describe her similarly.
The next day we move to Germany:
As the chancellor entered the Bundestag, Germany's upper legislative body, he saw a sea of mostly neutral faces, sprinkled with those more hostile or, in a very few cases, even eager. He wasn't sure which group he feared more—the left that was going to raise a cry for his ouster, or the new right that might raise a cry for him to assume a title he loathed, "Führer."
Now, I may be wrong in my reading of Wikipedia, so if some of our German members could correct me I'd appreciate it, but this meticulously researched novel has described the Bundestag as the upper legislative body, when in fact that is the Bundesrat.
So we have a potential vote of no confidence by the left, because they're the sort of dastardly folks who aren't on board with rejuvenating a bunch of utter bastards in the hope that they remember enough of their shit from 60 years ago to form a worthwhile training cadre, and we have the rise of a group who wants to drag everyone kicking and screaming back to the Third Reich. And he's not sure which of the two scares him more.
Hint: It had better be the damned neo-Nazis.
In order to get this through Parliament, he treats them to a graphic video of the horrors of the Posleen, somehow incredibly reliant on America for it with other countries (or their own off-world troops) not being as willing to cooperate with the documentary creation. Yeah, I'm not entirely sure how that works either. His chief opponent?
ANNMARIE MAI, BANE OF CROWS, PROTECTOR OF PUMPKINS, GODDESS-EMPRESS OF STRAW
As the film began to roll she was by no means displeased to see Washington, DC, in ruins. American policies, from their cowboyish adventures in imperialism to their wasteful and destructive energy and environmental policies to—most damning—their insistence on an outdated economic system that had the infuriating habit of making her own preferred statist system seem inefficient; all these made Washington a loathsome symbol of all she despised about America.
Abbadon the Despoiler is described with more humanity and less mustache top-knot twirling evil and he's spent ten millennia murdering the cosmos alongside literal freaking demons because he thinks that, having conquered for the Emperor, he should be Emperor and not have baseline humans in charge.
Speaking of Abbadon…
"They were not always old men," answered one of the legislators. "When young, as you propose to make them again, and when armed and organized, as you propose to make them again, they were a menace, fiends, thugs, criminals . . . murderers."
"Not all of them," the chancellor insisted. "Perhaps not even most. Some were drafted into the war. Others found no place in the Reichswehr and went, as soldiers will, to whichever military organization they could find that would accept them. And I intend that no one, not even one, who has been convicted, or even reliably accused, of a war crime or a crime against humanity shall be permitted to join."
"They were all guilty of crimes against humanity," the legislator returned. "Every one of them who fought in the unjust war this country waged against an innocent world was guilty."
"Were this true," said the chancellor, mildly, "then equally guilty would be Heinz Guderian, Erich Manstein, Erwin Rommel, or Gerd von Rundstedt. They actually did the higher level planning for that war. The people I propose to bring back were low-level players indeed compared to those famous and admired German soldiers."
"They murdered prisoners!" shrieked another legislator.
Just down the whole bottle and give your liver as a sacrifice to the Dark Gods because we're entering a blackout round of Wehraboo bingo here. Not only do we have "both sides" nonsense, but somehow he's gotten it into his head that the Waffen-SS was mostly clean.
For the record, yes, those generals were in fact guilty; in fact, Manstein was convicted of crimes against humanity and Rundstedt was charged but released due to ill health. While there were isolated instances of members of the Allied powers murdering prisoners, it was never widespread practice nor was it official policy as it was to do so in Nazi Germany (Russian POWs, Severity Order, and Commando Order). As for being low-level players: This would be the people actually doing the dirty work that are being brought back.
The vote comes down to a single person, our Goddess-Empress of Straw. To my understanding, this is essentially next to impossible in the German parliamentary system, but let's cut him some slack for dramatic tension. Despite the fact that she can single-handedly stop the SS from being reborn, she votes in favor of the proposal on the condition that they basically be allowed to form a separate organization rather than serve as a larger cadre and that they're supposed to be burned through quickly. Brilliant! Clearly her brain is straw as well.
So we start resurrecting the SS and our first person is this old fart:
The croucher, he in the trenchcoat, spoke softly. "Herr Gruppenführer? Gruppenführer Mühlenkampf? I do not know if you can understand me. But if you can, you are coming with us."
Some faint trace of recognition seemed to dawn in the old man's watery, faded blue eyes.
"Aha," said trench coat. "You can understand me, can't you? Understand your name and your old rank anyway. Very good. Can you understand this, old man? Your country is calling for you again. We have need of you, urgent need."
So, low-level players apparently means an SS Major General.
Hans Brache is also brought in for rejuvenation. We get a sob story about his father being abusive after losing his arm in WWI and another round of Space Marineitis:
"I am old. I have seen much. I have never seen where being afraid, or showing I was if I was, ever did me or anyone else any good. Would it now?"
Uniformed HitlerJugend patrolled, keeping order mainly by disciplined example. Not that much example was needed for Germans of the year of our Lord, 1933; they remained the people who had fought half a world to a standstill from 1914 to 1918. Discipline they had, in plenty.
Mühlenkampf gets a personal briefing from the Chancellor and is shown to be a dude who loves fighting. There's a bitch fight between him and Günter, evil aide man, over whether the Green party was as bad as the Russian communists. One would think that not being able to tell the difference between the two, or at least not having the sense to say that in front of a head of government who is reliant upon them, would make for instant dismissal as untrustworthy and not a good idea to lead an organization. Happily for him, Kratman's antagonists exist simply to further the goals of his protagonists. The chancellor rolls over and presents his belly like a good puppy for the SS and gives them everything that they want, also allowing them to do additional networking and recruiting beyond what the government had already identified. But let's look at some of the chief bits of insanity in the exchange:
I think few of the other ranks had very strong National Socialist political convictions, though some did. But one thing we all shared was a pride in the symbols for what they said about us as battle soldiers.
The idea that the paramilitary branch of the Nazi Party, whose recruitment was based on Nazi racial policy, had a personal oath of loyalty to Hitler alone, was not possessing of very strong National Socialist political convictions is absurdity incarnate. As for pride in the symbols? While that is undoubtedly true, there is no need for SS symbols and the SS was in no way an elite fighting force in actual performance.
We fought the Russian hordes to a standstill across half a continent.
Take a shot for Russian hordes. As for fighting them to a standstill…
Standstill my ass.
"And division names," bargained Mühlenkampf. "Give us any numbers you want. But let us go by our old division names."
"What?" snorted Günter. "LSSAH? Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler?"
"We had other divisions," answered the general, coolly. "Wiking? No crimes to speak of to their name. Götz von Berlichingen? A clean record there, too. You said five divisions, Herr Kanzler? Okay . . . Wiking, G von B . . . Not Hitler Jugend but just Jugend? Hohenstauffen? Frundsberg? Yes, those five. No crimes there except one attributed to Jugend but as likely to have been committed by 21st, be it noted, Wehrmacht, Panzer Division. And maybe use some of the others as independent brigades within the Korps.
I have no doubt but that, had we won the war and some of the Reichsheini's wilder schemes for a Jewish Homeland come to pass that there would eventually have been a brigade of the Waffen SS that would have sported armbands reading, 'Judas Maccabeus.' Yes, I am serious,
How one is supposed to believe this given that they did their best impression of a Dalek whenever they even thought of Jews is a wonder.
Following this exchange, Günter meets up with the Darhel, who apparently don't believe in OPSEC and allow a number of their human collaborators to meet up for no apparent reason other than for Kratman to show that one of them is a Communist. Having already been approached before and turned down the Darhel's offer to sell out his country, but not bothering to inform the Chancellor or counterintelligence of this, he decides that, compared to a resurrected Third Reich, they're the lesser of the two evils. He's not necessarily wrong.
Also, he's been trying to sabotage the conscription laws essentially for shits and giggles.
Finally, to the rejoicing of my liver, we come to the end of the chapter with this hilarious conversation.
"Well, my lord . . . the thresh records indicate great, perhaps unparalleled ability in war . . . but almost always followed by ultimate defeat."
"Bah. Great ability. Great defeats. Make up your mind, puppy."
Carefully keeping his crest in a flaccid and submissive posture, Ro'moloristen hesitated before answering. "My lord . . . in this case I think the two may just go together. A defeat seems not to stop or deter these gray thresh. They always come back, always, from however stinging a loss, and they are always willing to try again."
This is remarkably not in accordance with reality. Unless you want to do some weird shit with the Napoleonic wars and the umpteen wars of the coalition (which I'm not motivated enough to check out at this point, even on Wikipedia), the Germans have, in semi-recent times, one come back from defeat followed by getting stomped on even harder, the country being split up, and reorganized as the next battlefield, with minimal German input into exactly how fucked up they would be in the process.
Shot count so far: 7 plus a bottle for clean SS.
Next chapter will likely be Wednesday due to work and other time constraints.
I'm doubtful. Rumour has it he actually got kicked out of his own damn forum over at Baen's Bar, and he was a coward long before them. Remember his brief stay at SB? He ran away with his tail between his legs. Now, if he does prove to have the guts to show up and defend his garbage, you can have some fun disassembling his arguments and the rest of us can have some fun watching and laughing at him, but I don't think he's going to.
You know a books bad when one chapter in and "clean SS" is a thing.
There's not much room to escalate the crazy from there. Clean Dirlewanger division? Clean Einsatzgruppen? Clean Khmer Rouge?(oh wait they're commies nevermind)
I'm doubtful. Rumour has it he actually got kicked out of his own damn forum over at Baen's Bar, and he was a coward long before them. Remember his brief stay at SB? He ran away with his tail between his legs. Now, if he does prove to have the guts to show up and defend his garbage, you can have some fun disassembling his arguments and the rest of us can have some fun watching and laughing at him, but I don't think he's going to.
He's still posting in the KratSkeller. I do think he has no intention of defending his writings elsewhere, and honestly, I wouldn't expect it of him or any other author (and I'd appreciate not attempting to summon him). SB had a habit of being dickish even to good natured authors and I've seen the nonsense that Aaron Dembski-Bowden has had to deal with on r/40Klore
He's still posting in the KratSkeller. I do think he has no intention of defending his writings elsewhere, and honestly, I wouldn't expect it of him or any other author (and I'd appreciate not attempting to summon him). SB had a habit of being dickish even to good natured authors and I've seen the nonsense that Aaron Dembski-Bowden has had to deal with on r/40Klore
Including as a transgender not!Bolo who was the only one who survived the battle that killed off the rest of her unit. He never was very good at writing.
For the most part it's been pretty good (it's a good subreddit), but the sheer amount of misconceptions or misquotations he's had to correct is amazing, while it's mostly good, there's a few people who have been dicks about their distaste for his works.
The second chapter introduces us to Kratman's obsession with throwing out numbers and ideas that he doesn't comprehend. It's also a bit oddly broken up, so I'll start by focusing on the tank factory stuff first.
Karl Prael, a goateed, heavyset man of indeterminate years, closed the massive vault door against the ear-splitting and mind-numbing sounds of a tank factory on a frenzy of production. A country that had turned from producing a few hundred tanks a year to over one thousand per month could no longer worry about the niceties of noise-pollution-control measures. The workers in the plant, the much-expanded plant, put on protective ear muffs and soldiered on.
Outside of the plant, of course—this being Germany, Germany being Green, and many—though not all—of the Green leadership having sold out to the Darhel, there was a continuous noisy protest against the plant, the projects it housed, the war effort, the draft . . . the name-your-left-leaning cause.
In just three years, Germany has managed to switch onto a war footing and has scaled up to producing even more tanks on a monthly basis than it managed during the Second World War: It's a miracle what one can do when not being constantly bombed and with modern production techniques (German tanks were essentially handmade by individual work crews during WWII rather than on what we would recognize as an assembly line).
Of course, Kratman sees this as requiring not the retooling of automobile and locomotive works (of which Germany has quite a few), but rather of getting rid of "noise-pollution controls." Quite frankly, this is similar to Elon Musk bitching about how he doesn't like yellow in his factory and actively sabotaging worker safety for it. The marginal cost of noise muffling, both in euros and production rates, is essentially zero while there are benefits such as increased worker safety and probably happier workers since I'm willing to bet that the people living in the houses right next to the factory are largely employees thereof (seriously, look it up on a map, there are houses right next to it).
This also being Kratman, years into an obvious existential threat and just months after America suffered major devastation, there are thousands of protestors outside on a daily basis, raising a larger racket than the tank factory itself. Quite frankly, I've seen zombies described with more independence, thought, and realism than Kratman does of any of his political opponents. You can justly criticize Greens all day long, and here in America the Sierra Club is worthless with its self-defeating enshrinement of upper-class NIMBYism and actual opposition to various environmentally friendly initiatives like bike lanes and electric Caltrain, but this is not any sort of well done criticism. It's just "Hurr hurr, look at them! Aren't they stupid?"
Speaking of which:
"I have some news; several pieces actually. The first is this," and with that Prael began handing around copies of a small, stapled sheaf of paper. "The decision on specs has been made. This is it, and we are going to design it."
An elderly gentlemen, bearded and face lined and seamed with years spent in the outdoors looked over the sheaf. "They've rejected the idea of powering every idler, have they?"
"Yes, Franz, they have. They have also . . ." and Prael gave a brief and irritated moment's thought to the thousands of Greens protesting outside the plant, " . . . they have also rejected powering the thing with a nuclear reactor."
"What? That's preposterous," interjected Reinhard Schlüssel, the team's drive train and power plant designer. "We can't power this thing with anything less than nuclear. That or antimatter."
"We can, we must, we will," answered Mueller. "Natural gas. We can do this."
Yes, it is the fault of the evil Greens that the as yet undesigned monstrosity of a heavy tank (the purpose of which is never actually made clear), will not have a nuclear or anti-matter powerplant. It's most certainly not because a natural gas turbine might not have the advantages of being more compact, lighter, faster to manufacture, and more survivable than a nuclear reactor. No, it's all an evil conspiracy of the Greens, people who think that crippling battle damage shouldn't result in the tank and crew becoming a radioactive mess.
As for anti-matter: Who in their right mind would put a volatile fuck off huge atomic bomb in the middle of their formation, right where it can blow the hell out of your entire division and breach a giant hole in your defenses for the enemy? Tom Kratman, that's who!
There is a reason that he was not allowed any significant leadership role.
Mueller shrugged. "In time. A year or so, maybe. Okay, maybe two," he admitted, looking at Henschel's scorning face. "In any case, Henschel here is right. It will not be ready quite in time. What you see, General Mühlenkampf, is a three hundred five millimeter gun, much lengthened over its one hundred twenty millimeter predecessor, and using an American-designed propellant system. Since I can't have my railgun, I am reduced to designing the recoil system for this one. Also, since the specialties are somewhat similar, I oversee the design of the suspension with Herr Schlüssel here."
"Reinhard Schlüssel," introduced the bent-over, gnomelike veteran of the German Navy. "It is also my job to design the turret for the tank. Though Benjamin here has been of inestimable value."
Mühlenkampf cocked his head. "Benjamin?"
"David Benjamin," answered the only truly swarthy man in the room. "Of Tel Aviv," he continued coldly, so as to keep a hostile note out of his voice. "I am here on loan from Israeli Military Industries. We intend to build a few of these ourselves, and to purchase several more."
The time for apologies passed before they ever became fully due, thought Mühlenkampf. None I could make would make up for anything.
Instead he answered, merely, "Very good. I have been most impressed with the design for all four versions of your Merkava panzer. Sensible. Wise. I am pleased you are here, Herr Benjamin."
The Israeli shrugged as if to say, It would please me more were you displeased to see me, SS man.
Filling the stony silence that followed, Prael said, "Indeed, you can see the ancestry of the tank in the Merkava."
"Yes," agreed Mühlenkampf, glad for any bridge over the impasse. "That pushed-back turret especially. How big is this thing?"
"The Tiger Drei," answered Henschel, finally naming the project, "Is twelve meters wide, thirty-one meters long and weighs approximately seventeen hundred and fifty tons, fully combat loaded. It is very heavily armored."
"Mein Gott!" exclaimed the general, the implications of the size of the scaled-down gun on the model finally sinking in. "What could possibly drive the need for such a monstrosity?"
"Come here, Herr General, and I shall show you the answer," answered Henschel, unveiling several models of Posleen landing and attack craft.
Yes, I'm sure that the SS man, who is magically an expert on all modern tanks since being rejuvenated just a month ago, would think "Merkava" from a pushed back turret and not, say, Elefant, which is not only German, but also has a far more pronounced pushed back turret. And of course it's given the name Tiger III and not say Leopard III, because all good German things must come from or relate to Nazis.
Incidentally, this is the sort of tank design that would drive one to drink just from the sheer madness of it. A 12-inch high velocity gun; not high velocity in the naval sense, but instead in the tank sense as we'll later find out. Why this and not something sensible like a large HESH/HEP gun-mortar, a 155 or 203mm gun with a nuclear shell (oh yeah, "Greens"), the world's largest gatling gun, or simply strapping a gagillion Gepard SPAAGs to the side of it like some sort of weird tribal tank fetish? Absolutely no reason is given nor does it really become apparent in the text. In fact, the book later on goes to ensure that the gun is completely pointless in terms of size and capability.
The gun isn't the only eyebrow raising oversized aspect of the tank. It's wider than most German roads, in both directions, making its strategic mobility about nil. It's too large for any bridges, tunnels, railroads, or anything really. You would think that the SS tank expert consultant visiting them would point out such issues, but he doesn't do any actual consultant work: He is merely a means by which Kratman can stroke his dick in the general direction of the audience.
Alright, enough with the bitching about the tank and how it's an immobile death trap that makes 40K designs look sane and could only be thought of as a good idea by someone with no military sense and a micropenis: Let's talk about the Indowy.
In the previous chapter, Günter's meeting of betrayal was tapped, by an actual legit means of espionage, by an Indowy (slave race of pacifist workers) named Rinteel. He has two appearances in this chapter, the first of which is a pointless multiple paragraph ramble that, despite being in the custody of the Federal Intelligence Services while trying to arrange a meeting, the Chancellor hasn't shown up yet. The second is finally meeting up with him and going "hey dude, you totes have infiltrators sabotaging you," and giving him the information about it. Will this actually be used in some sort of useful way? Let's not be ridiculous, of course not.
Back to the Waffen-SS
Hans Brache bitches about his recruits despite acknowledging them to be bigger and healthier than were his fellows before reminiscing about his joining the SS
"Und so, you wish to become officers of the Waffen SS, do you?" demanded the harsh looking Oberscharfsführer of the stiffly standing ranks of Junkerschule14 hopefuls.
I want nothing, thought Hans Brasche, carefully silent. Nothing except that my father not beat my mother for my failings that he attributes to her. He would have me here, not I. But for her sake, here I must be.
"To become worthy to lead the men of the SS," continued the noncom, "you must become harder than Krupp's steel, more pitiless than an iceberg, immovable like the mountains that surround us." The NCO gestured grandly at the Bavarian Alps clutching at every side.
"There is no room in the SS for divided loyalties. So all among you who have not yet left the church stand forward."
Hans, along with rather more than half his class, obediently stepped forward. From behind the Senior NCO marched forward a number of juniors—beefy men, every one of them.
First off, what in the name of all that is literary is with the random freaking German? Either translate it or don't, "und so, you" is useful only as a signifier that someone has a strong German accent while speaking English. Secondly, despite how Kratman is trying to present it, are we really expected to believe that someone who has spent years in the Hitler Youth, almost assuredly in leadership positions given his early SS officer selection, and spent the time to be molded as an early SS officer, when political ideology was a must, before spending a career as an active SS officer, and somehow was not ever an ardent Nazi? Come on, give me a break.
Coming back to the present, he despairs because of course the godless youth of modern Germany have no faith, innocence, naïve, or symbols. Now, the lack of pride in symbols is kinda his fault, but honestly, I'm not sure why he despairs over their lack of faith when it was literally beaten out of him. I'm also rather confused as to why he despairs over motivating them and creating a sense of comraderie: You could literally just replace every instance of "Jew" in Nazi speeches with "Posleen" and it would flow pretty much the same. How hard is it to go "Hey, you are about to get legit zerg rushed by aliens and if you don't step up, not just you, but all your family, friends, and loved ones are going to end up as literal horse shit"?
Face still a mask, he asked of Brasche, "Do you know why, my Hansi, the skinheads never really got anywhere, politically, in Germany?"… "The skinheads never got anywhere, Hansi," continued the general, "because this is Germany and the assholes never learned to march in step . . ."
Day one of training recruits, and the SS immediately start off by singing the Horst Wessel. Happily for them, there is zero supervision, moles, or simply recruits willing to pass the word along that the SS are still full fledged Nazis. Seriously, it is a disgustingly obnoxious and obviously Nazi song and I cannot think of a single reason why Kratman would include it if it were not for sympathizing with them.
We'll end this chapter read with the following lines:
"Regimental commanders, take charge of your regiments."
On cue, the band struck up Beethoven's "Yorkische Marsch." The icy field rang with crisp commands. Units faced and wheeled. Even the new recruits, smarting under a brief and contemptuous tongue lashing, could not help but be forced into step by the march's heavy, ponderous refrain. As a long and twisting snake, the column marched out from under the tent of light to enter the world of darkness.
It's the Yorckscher Marsch you damned fool. Meticulously researched my ass
Edit: I forgot to mention, we also get introduced to Krueger in this chapter. He is our designated "bad SS" person. His purpose is to be trash and be the only one who engages in war crimes, having a sick sadism in his rape and murder in the process, so Kratman can white wash the rest of them.
Edit: I forgot to mention, we also get introduced to Krueger in this chapter. He is our designated "bad SS" person. His purpose is to be trash and be the only one who engages in war crimes, having a sick sadism in his rape and murder in the process, so Kratman can white wash the rest of them.
I'm still struggling to take in the actual crux of the story, like what kind of a brainworm infested nutjob actually thinks that bringing the Waffen SS back from the grave is a good idea. Even if you're a Wherboo, there is the whole Wehrmacht to look into with Rommel and stuff.
This honestly seems a bit much even for Kratman. What an utterly revolting human being.
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There is something truly special about these types of 'woke' Nazis works. I'm reminded of that Mass Effect fanfic where the Quarians help the Nazis to win so that they get allies to fight the robots, it has that extreme tension where a genuine SS man should be just around the corner to say that 'yes the Jews should die', but it never happens.
Edit: I forgot to mention, we also get introduced to Krueger in this chapter. He is our designated "bad SS" person. His purpose is to be trash and be the only one who engages in war crimes, having a sick sadism in his rape and murder in the process, so Kratman can white wash the rest of them.
I mean that's what Kratman means to happen but the head Nazi guy ends up still being a piece of shit anyway if you apply sane person rather than Kratman standards.
Because whenever I see "Ah but they're fighting evil aliens and/or supermen so no the Nazis are the lesser evil!" I'm just like, no, the aliens are evil because goofy sci Fi villain shit. The Nazis are still real ass Nazis.
Because they're devout pacifists who manipulate people into fighting their wars and are trying to make humanity a mamluke equivalent for them, so we wiped them out and rendered them a galactic underclass.
