Capítulo 12: The March
On the streets of Crentia, the daily hustle and bustle paused as the city's attention was captured by an unexpected spectacle. Down the main thoroughfare, the disciplined ranks of the Crentian Workers' Party's newly formed militia marched in perfect unison. Each member was clad in a sharp, earthy brown uniform.
The lead of the procession carried a towering flag, its fabric snapping crisply in the morning breeze. Emblazoned upon it was the party's new symbol, a swastika set against a black and white background. The sight of it stirred curiosity and awe among the onlookers.
As the militia bands played a stirring march, the sound of their brass and drums filled the air, echoing off the buildings and drawing more spectators to the windows and sidewalks. Shopkeepers, office workers, and passersby stopped in their tracks, their eyes fixed on the parade.
The spectacle of the Crentian Workers' Party's parade captivated the crowd further as several individuals, standing atop open-top cars that rolled slowly beside the marching militia, began distributing pamphlets to the onlookers. These leaflets fluttered like a cascade of autumn leaves, each one emblazoned with bold lettering that encouraged citizens to join the ranks of the Crentian Workers' Party.
Children scampered to collect the pamphlets, their excitement infectious as they handed the papers to their parents. Adults read them with varying expressions of intrigue and contemplation, discussing amongst themselves the potential and implications of aligning with such a rapidly rising political entity.
Above the hum of the crowd, the repetitive chants from party members on the cars added to the fervor of the moment.
"Unity! Strength! Prosperity!" they called out, their voices amplified by portable speakers.
Ernest on the other hand was inside one of the cars, looking out of the window with a smile.
"This is one of the effective ways how to market your political party," Ernest said, prompting Kleist who sat next to him to speak.
"Brand?"
"The Kingdom of Crentis is saturated with emerging political parties that are either extreme left or right. The only way we can get ourselves noticed and taken seriously is by differentiating ourselves through a strong, recognizable brand," Ernest explained. His eyes followed the line of marchers, noting the effect their presence had on the crowd.
Kleist nodded, absorbing Ernest's reasoning. "The uniforms, the flag, our message—all of it seems to attract attention and curiosity."
As the parade continued, amidst the crowd stood a notable figure—a stout man with a gruff demeanor, puffing on a tobacco pipe. This was General Friedrich Steiner, a high-ranking officer in the Crentian Army. Flanking him were two of his lieutenants, both keenly observing the parade with interest.
General Steiner's gaze was fixed on the disciplined march of the militia. The firmness of their steps and the uniformity of their attire didn't fail to impress him, but his expression remained unreadable. He took a long drag from his pipe and the smoke swirled around him.
"So, they've managed to organize themselves quite well," Steiner remarked dryly to one of his lieutenants. "It's not every day you see a political party with a militia that could pass for a military parade."
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant responded, watching as the party members distributed pamphlets. "They're gaining popularity swiftly."
"It would have been the best if they had a real weapon, not a baton," the other lieutenant laughed lightly, attempting to lighten the mood.
Steiner merely grunted, his eyes not leaving the marching ranks. The sight of the militia's discipline and the echoes of their boots hitting the pavement resonated deeply with him—a fervent nationalist who had watched his beloved Crentia suffer under the terms of a humiliating treaty following the Great War. To Steiner, the defeat and subsequent restrictions had not only crippled the nation's military prowess but had also shattered its honor.
As the parade progressed, a realization dawned on him. The rigor and unity displayed by the Crentian Workers' Party's militia mirrored the militaristic strength that Steiner longed to restore to his country. The potential for a new revolution, perhaps even a takeover of the government to reclaim national pride, flickered in his mind.
Violence, he had always believed, was not merely a tool but a necessary agent of change—an ethos that had governed his military career. Here, in the disciplined march of the militia, Steiner saw an instrument through which his ideals of power and revival could be actualized.
His contemplation was broken by his lieutenant's voice, "Sir, should we be concerned about their influence growing this rapidly?"
Steiner shook his head slightly, his mind made up. "Concerned? No, intrigued, perhaps even... supportive. This party, with its military discipline, could be the catalyst Crentia needs to awaken from its enforced slumber."
Turning to his lieutenants, he ordered. "Arrange a meeting with their leader."
"But why sir?"
"I'm interested in joining their ranks," Steiner replied simply.
His lieutenants nodded, sensing the seriousness in Steiner's tone. They knew their general was not a man driven by whims but by a deep-seated passion for his country's resurgence.
Steiner continued, "I believe this party has the structure and the discipline to effect real change. And if they're as committed to rejuvenating Crentia as they appear, then they could use someone with my experience."
Steiner's lieutenant quickly made a note to contact the Crentian Workers' Party headquarters to schedule a meeting. The idea of such a high-ranking military official considering an alliance with a burgeoning political party was unprecedented, but these were unprecedented times.
***
Five hours later.
"Herr Teucher," Kleist said as he entered Ernest's office.
"What is it, Herr Kleist?" Ernest asked.
"There is a lieutenant from the army who wants to see you," Kleist announced. "They haven't revealed what their purpose is but I believe it's important."
Ernest nodded. "I see, in that case, let them in."
Kleist nodded and quickly exited the room to fetch the lieutenant. Moments later, he returned, leading a stern-looking man in a Crentian military uniform.
"Herr Teucher, may I present Lieutenant Engel, representing General Friedrich Steiner of the Crentian Army," Kleist introduced the guest.
Ernest stood and extended his hand in greeting. "Lieutenant Engel, a pleasure. How can we assist you today?"
Lieutenant Engel's expression remained serious as he looked at Ernest's hand.
"Are you the leader of this party?" Engel asked skeptically.
"I am," Ernest confirmed.
"You looked very young to me," Engel noted.
Ernest smiled, he expected this to happen, he had a body that appeared in its 18 years old.
"I may look young but I am the mastermind behind all the strategies and vision you've observed today," Ernest replied with a confident tone, gesturing for Engel to sit. "Now, how can the Crentian Workers' Party assist General Steiner?"
Engel took the offered seat. "It's simple really, the General is interested in joining the party."
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