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Transcript of WW1-2
The Conference left his mind soon after, as there was no interesting development in the story. The doctor went about his business as usual, and for months nothing happened. He fell back into his daze of comfort in his town. The usual routine of checkups, and broken bones of boys who are lost on the concept of gravity lulled Doctor Watson into a sense of false peace. This illusion was shattered when the doctor picked up his daily newspaper on March 16th, 1939. The day before, The dictator Adolf Hitler broke the contract with the other European countries and invaded the rest of Czechoslovakia.
“Doctor!” A girl yelled, and sounded annoyed. “Doctor Watson!” The young blond doctor looked up from his newspaper, dated September 30th, 1938. The main title was the Munich Conference1, a convening of European officials to allow Germany to occupy the Sudetenland. Doctor Johnathan Watson was sceptical about this, believing that the Germans wouldn't just stop with the small strip of land. Once they had leeway, he thought, they wouldn’t stop.
“Yes, yes? What do you need?” he asked as he faced the girl, no older than 12. He was beginning to regret moving here. Everyone was so pitiful, and the Doctor was a very empathetic person, he couldn’t just stand by and not help, even if the family couldn’t pay for the service.
“A boy, Sir! He got himself up in a tree and fell right on out of it. He hit the ground hard and now his arm’s all bent up. Say, can you help ‘im? Could ya, Sir?” The girl rambled on about the boy with a broken arm as the Doctor gathered his supplies and wondered about the Conference. Would the Germans push their luck? Would they push for war? He idled on this thought. He was too young to have been in the previous war, yet now he was of age to be drafted, and a doctor also. He would be in war if the Germans targeted America. He dismissed the thought immediately, no one needs to be thinking of war when there is work to be done.
Johnathan was walking home one day, late at night, after helping a woman with her baby. His mother sat alongside his sister on his porch. Jonathan began to walk faster, since his father must be near. Johnathan's father was a major in the first world war. Major Watson was a kind man, and inspired Johnathan to help people. Johnathan looked up to to no one but his father.
“Oh, John. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. We got hit. It’s all a blur, really. We were driving down the road, and just.. The other car was there, Father told me it wasn’t a good idea, but I said it’d be fine. Oh Johnny, I’m so sorry.” She rambled on and on and on. Doctor Watson stood, a shell of himself. He was blank. His father was gone. Never to return.
“Mother? Where..?” He stopped short when his eyes hit his sister. “Mary? What’s happened to you?” Her arm was bruised and in a cast, a badly wrapped one, and her face was a hollowed version of herself. She looked down in embarrassment. Doctor Watson walked over to her, shell shocked.
“Johnathan! Oh, Johnny!” His mother yelped. She hadn’t used that nickname since Johnathan was a boy. As he walked closer, he began to feel the unrest. Something had happened in his absence. Something terrible. Johnathan began thinking. Thinking and worrying, then it hit him. Where was Major Watson? What had happened?
Sven plopped down at his long oak desk, facing the window, a necessary position for his self-appointed watchdog calling. There had to be someone behind all this. Certainly all this senseless ruckus had a purpose. He had been to one of that strange man’s speeches-watched him step on his podium, surrounded by his flags and banners. All his well dressed lapdogs sitting obediently behind him. Then there was his shadow-not his actual shadow, but that peculiar fellow that always seemed to be at Hitler’s ear, providing some sort of unseen guidance....
Holmes sighed and began rummaging through the drawers of his desk, pulling out an enormous leather bound volume, thickened by dog-eared pages and various bookmarks, papers, bits of fabric other oddities sticking out here and there. Holmes breathed deeply, the familiar, safe smell of the book filling him. The smell of hours of toiling over seemingly unsolvable cases, the smell of evidence, the smell of red herrings, the smell of the thrill of the chase, the smell of failure and the satisfying smell of success.
The years of 1931 to 1932 were perhaps the most walk filled years in Holmes’s life. The process was rehearsed many times to a clockwork-like precision. Holmes would clip a leash on his walking partner, Baskerville the bloodhound, drag the the dog out the door, down the stairs, through the lobby area and into the brisk, open air. He would walk down his street, glancing up at the window of his flat, almost as if to make sure it was still there before he strolled around the building once, in a patrol like fashion.
Watching the trees and the people circulate in their normal fashion as Holmes made his way down town began the process required for Holmes to relax. He would eventually come across his favorite newspaper stand and purchase a copy of the local news and national news. This he found to be the worst part of his walks in the sense that the thought of new headlines was almost uncomfortable.
Holmes’s favorite headlines were the particularly vague ones-the ones that would keep a person guessing their true meaning for weeks after seeing them. Almost like cliffhangers in a good story. Things like “Treaty Of Versailles-Calming the Fire or Feeding It?” and “Challenges in Asia-Is Manchuria Only the Beginning?”
It was November 3rd, 1939, Doctor Johnathan Watson sat in a line of other able bodied men at the registrar's office. Each man held his papers, and some stood tall and proud, others sat, trying to hide themselves. The boy in front of him sat and filled out his papers, he was quite small and feeble. John peeked over his shoulder and saw his name, Steve Rogers. The scrawny boy would never make it into the armed forces. John needed to make his way up to his father’s level. There needed to be another Major Watson. Johnathan needed to prove that he could be as great as his father. John needed to be there for his sister, especially now, since their father was gone. John stood and waited for the line to go down, and once he was up, he was called ahead and sat down with an officer in uniform.
“Hello, my name is Lieutenant George H. Martin. I’ll be your commanding officer, if you pass the physical, of course. This says you want to be an officer?” The man said, curt, yet friendly.
“Yes sir. You see, sir, I’m a medical doctor. I don’t want to fight and get hurt, I want to help the hurt.” Johnathan said. Too many people in his life were hurt beyond help. That fact hurt Johnathan more than any wound.
“Oh, I see. I can see what I can do for you, Doctor. Follow me to the exam room, I think you’ll find yourself in a familiar place, eh?” Lt. Martin chuckled.
It was now August 1, 1941. Johnathan Watson was now living on a base in Hawaii, as an Army doctor. John had adjusted well to his new life.
Each day, he got up very early and set off for a morning run. It was always too warm in the middle of the day, so John had to run early, before the sun came up. John had to be in top shape, since the Axis powers had recruited Japan nearly a year before, on September 27, 1940. The U.S. Army could take no chances on an attack from the Japanese, who were so close. John also was a bit paranoid that he wouldn’t be in good enough shape to help people if the time came and they did attack.
Months went by and nothing really happened at the Hawaiian base. That was, until the morning of Dec. 7th, 1941. Johnathan was on one of the ships, doing a routine check up. At around 7:50, Johnathan wasn’t sure the exact time, the planes were heard. Suddenly, explosions and giant splashes threw water and debris onto the ship. John didn’t know what to do. In his mind, he knew something was happening, that this wasn’t a safety drill. John looked around, with everything seeming to go in slow motion. People were screaming and yelling orders. John’s commanding officer was gone. As John stood paralyzed with fear, the ship quickly emptied and soon he was the last. He stared around. John heard something over the whistling of planes dropping their deadly cargo. A voice.
“Someone! Help! My, my leg!” He heard the voice, a man’s. No, a boy’s. “Oh, somebody! Help!” John snapped out of his trace and ran towards the voice. Rounding a corner John saw a the owner of the voice, barely 18. The boy was trapped under bits of the ship with a bloodied leg. John began pulling debris of the boy, he quickly freed him and the boy clung to John.
John ran for the ship’s exit, which was thankfully free of debris. Hitting the solid ground never felt better for John, and the boy seemed to relax the father they got inland. John ran for the barracks where he knew the hospital wing was. The doctor sat at the boy’s side for days, slowly nursing his legs back to normal. Of course, Johnathan was now the head doctor since the other was lost in the bombing.
Of course all of the people in Europe could feel this tension. It was obvious by the absurd amount of non-aggression pacts made in the years after the war had ended. Europe could feel a monster coming-creeping up from behind, ready to pounce and star another bloody war.
Holmes made it up the stairs in record time, taking a moment to note that his heart was indeed physically capable of beating as fast as it was before slamming the newspaper on his desk and panting for a good three minutes. All he could look at was the photograph on the crumpled paper-there was that wretched Hitler and behind him......
There he was.
This was it-the answer-the pattern Holmes had kept such a vigilant eye on for the past three years. It had to be him.
....You know of my endeavors. My accomplishments. My role in this little mess we call the Nazi movement. I’m actually quite proud of my work, to be honest. And Hitler has been such a good little boy throughout the whole scheme. While I can understand how all of that could garner a bit of attention, you can understand why a man would want his privacy ” Moriarty grasped the handle of his mug of coffee tightly, turning his knuckles white, “Privacy that you’ve been violating recently.”
So then...what do you plan to do about your non believers? The same thing you are doing to the Jews in those horrid camps?”
Moriarty drew back his mug, making a faux wincing face, "Ooh ... Getting a bit harsh now, I see. You don't have to sound so offended. That's simply the nature of a new world order. The strong get stronger and anyone opposing them are just asking to be crushed. Don't be so offended darling. Hitler just has a thing for blondes. Now Holmes, while I find you to be quite a charming conversationalist, I'm here by Hitler's direct orders ... And I’m supposed to make my own little personal statement as well. I was ordered to erase all the evidence you had garnered on us. All of our plans, our possible motives, our secret operations- destroyed ... Your own life to possibly go along with it. Now don't take it to heart. It's just business."
Moriarty tilted his head, "Shame. Neither do I." the advisor nodded curtly and walked up to Holmes, stopping to lean into his ear and whisper "If it's a challenge you want Holmes, it's a challenge you'll get. You've got me intrigued." Moriarty smiled before walking up to the door. He stopped again, turning back to Holmes "Now here's a little trivia for you; what substance in the world has a pungent enough to smell to cover up the stench of gasoline?”
Holmes got a chill down his spine as his world renowned gut feeling began to tug, “Enlighten me.”
"It's quite elementary Holmes. The one substance in the world strong enough to cover up the smell of gasoline-" He lit up a match and held it in front of his face, "... Is coffee." Moriarty dropped the match, letting it fall to the floor. The second it hits, a trail of fire is set ablaze, lighting the apartments perimeter. He had doused the apartment in gasoline while Holmes was sleeping earlier, mixing it with coffee to cover up the smell. Moriarty chuckled a bit before giving Holmes one more devilishly smug look "I look forward to seeing you again Holmes!”
Holmes did not panic. He remained still, his gaze trained on Moriarty until he disappeared into the flame-he then muttered, under his breath, frustrated, “Quite elementary indeed....and I suppose I look forward to seeing you, as well.....” He made a beeline for his desk, and as though rehearsed, took out his leather satchel and shoved his casebook in, along with a picture from his desk and his wallet. Noting the door was blocked by smoldering wood and barred by a gate of fire, Holmes searched for other options around the room, finding no escape until his eyes fell upon his grand glass wall-the only thing that kept him sane. Deciding that jumping through his very sanity itself was more reasonable than being roasted alive at the moment, he pulled his frantic dog with him by the ear and stood for a few moments in front of the panes, contemplating his strange encounter and worrying himself with what was to happen next. When the heat finally became unbearable, Sven Holmes made history.
Event: Hitler’s speech, April 12, 1921. Hitler takes control of “National Socialist Worker’s Party”.
“Then someone has said: ‘Since the Revolution, the has gained “Rights.” The people govern. Strange! The people have now been ruling for three years and no one has once asked for their opinion. Treaties were signed which will hold us down for centuries: and who has signed the treaties? The people? No!”1
Adolf executed his part effortlessly.
Adolf was passionate, Kristof had admit. Sparks flew when Adolf got onto the podium. Fist were banging, crowds were cheering, and patriotism was set ablaze. Adolf was coarse though. A bit more angry than what Adolf would’ve preferred, but perhaps this was what the German people needed; an icon.
Kristof smiled to himself. Yes. Adolf was perfect.
Kristof Moriarty; consultant adviser of the National Socialist Worker’s Party. It was a nice title. A pretty little thing that looked fancy on bureaucratic forms. In private, Kristof fancied the thought of himself taking upon the title of fuhrer. For now, though, “advisor” will do. The right hand man of man attempting to play god; it was the best that he could do for now. They at least made it this far, Hitler’s first opening speech as the leader of the NSWP. Perhaps with time, perhaps with a few more explosions, perhaps an attempted genocide here and there, things will change. But now, this was good. And his “friend” on the podium was just playing the part so well.
Kristof stood near the podium, at attention, with a stern face, as he nodded along with Hitler’s speech, like the perfect lap-dog he was. He and several others stood next to the man, offering support and protection. Not that he thought the protection was actually necessary. The crowd absolutely loved him. They devoured his words without a single ounce of doubt, cheering and corralling, like a wild mass of mindless sheep. They took every single statement, every single assertion, every single inane blurb of fascism and racism, and turned it into their own spiritual gospel. He had the masses wrapped all snuggly around his finger. It would only be a matter of time until they could take this little “National Socialist Party” to the next level. All it would take was few more dead men.Kristof will admit, the people had a right to be angry. What with the rise of communist power within Russia, the hyperinflation within Germany, and the general misery of all of Europe, the people had the right to stand up. Adolf was simply there to light the fuse. And he was there to watch the show. Watch everything burn to the ground. Every bit of proper logic, every single bit of sensibility and humanity, burnt to cinders. It was a beautiful thing, a mob cheering for its newfound king.
A god to a non-believer?
A king to a god?
Yet, what was a mob to a king?
Yes, Kristof could see the predicament here. For a single German to not be held beneath their thumbs would be a liability. They needed to push harder. They needed to pull the strings tighter.
Moriarty leaned into Hitler’s podium, placing a hand a small note onto it when he wasn’t looking.
“Slow down there. The people already love you. And love can only get you so far. Throw in a pinch of hatred. Make them angry. Make them
The leader looked at the note in short consideration, before quickly turning back to face the crowd. “The Jew has not grown poorer: he gradually gets bloated, and, if you don’t believe me, I would ask you to go to one of our health resorts; there you will find two visitors: the German who goes there, perhaps for the first time in a long while, to breath a little fresh air and to recover his health, and the Jew who goes there to loose his fat!”1
The people’s shouts and screams grew louder, becoming more and more impassioned by the second. The Jewish people were the perfect scapegoat for the people’s loathing. Moriarty honestly didn’t care though; Jewish people, German people they were all puppets in the end. He was the puppet master, playing the strings to cater to the people’s beliefs.
Moriarty smiled. By the end of this little puppet show, everyone will bow to him.
Event: November, 1924. After Hitler's Beer Hall arrest, Moriarty attempts to negotiate with the police.
"This matter simply
negotiable, Mr. Moriarty."
Oh, how the red tape of the legal system frustrated him so. Kristof Moriarty sighed, his hands folded neatly onto his lap, resting the urge to strangle the senile old coot sitting in front of him. He cocked his eyebrows, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth."I understand why you'd be a bit ... Apprehensive on letting him go. But for the benefit of National Socialist party- not to mention all of Germany- it'd be best if you released him as soon as possible."
"He stormed the beer hall of our nation's capital expecting everyone to bow before him as if he were our supreme ruler! To hell with letting him go!" The police chief's hands were clenched against the edges of his desk, practically close to breaking a chunk of it off.
Moriarty sighed. Invading the Beer Hall Putsch2 was a sure way to garner attention, but much more attention than any of them had bargained for. Being his right hand man, he naturally had to tag along with the fool's errand. Nevertheless, it was no surprise when the police came and interfered. A few gunshots and broken revolutionaries later, Adolf had gone under arrest. Five years prison sentence. And so, naturally, here he was, negotiating the man's length of prison sentence like the good little nanny he was.
The advisor crossed his legs, attempting to make himself more comfortable in his chair. "It was a harmless rally cry, nothing more. Are you saying that the German people lack the right to freedom of speech?"
"I'm saying that the German people shouldn't have to listen to some revolutionary lunatic drivel on about his crazy ideas!" The police chief said, lighting the end of his cigar. "Besides, who are you to bring up this matter in the first place?"
"A... concerned friend."
"Well then sir," the old chief stuck his cigar in his mouth, smoke already drifting off from the burning end. Disgusting old habit. "Tell your 'friend' that he should give up on his useless little endeavor. Germany is already neck deep in problems, from the plummeting economy to neighboring countries breathing down its neck. We don't need anymore raving revolutionary radicals going on about trying to change the world." The police chief scoffed.”Have you even heard his trial for treason speech?3 He literally just on and on about Marxism and “eternal judgement”. The man’s a lunatic!”
"At least consider shortening the prison sentence. For a man of his importance, five years is simply too much to be considered reasonable."
The police chief leaned forward, the man's beady old eyes squinting into his own. He began to speak in a slow, mocking manner. "Bad man does bad thing. Bad thing gets bad man in prison. Bad man stay in prison for a very long time. End of discussion."
Moriarty's hands clenched against the arms of the chair. "The condescending tone is a bit ... Unnecessary, don’t you think? We're all mature adults here, are we not?"
The police chief tsked and flicked the ash from his cigar, letting another trail of smoke slither from out of his mouth. "Of course. And so is your Hitler friend. I'm sure he's mature enough to handle a few years in the slammer."
Moriarty shook his head before standing up from the uncomfortable little chair. "Well, I see that my time here has been wasted then. I can understand why you'd be unwilling to change your disposition and I can respect that. I suppose I'll just be on my way," Moriarty's eyes darted back to the cigar, watching the brown little nub bob up and down within the coot's fuzzy old mouth. "And if you don't mind me warning you, sir, smoking is quite a nasty habit. Some say it could get you killed someday."
"Ha! That's the same garbage my wife tells me all the time."
"A smart woman, your wife. The same can't be said for you, sadly."
"Are you just going to stand there and sass me all day? Like I said, the matter is non-negotiable. If you got nothing else better to say, the door is right there."
"Ah, no need to be so hasty. I'm simply making a bit of small talk." Moriarty said, smiling, as he folded his arms behind his back. He began to take small steps towards the police chief's desk. "Now, I take it that you bought your most recent box of cigars from that nice little shop down Diechreigh street. I actually do a bit of cigar making myself, in my free time. You could say that I'm an expert at it at this point. Couldn't even tell the the difference from a factory made cigar from my own."
The police chief took the cigar from out of mouth again, before coughing a bit. "What are you getting at you little-"
Moriarty cut him off, watching as the old man further struggled to breath. "Ah yes, how am I still alive. To be quite frank, it isn't that hard to build up an arsenic immunity. My body is use to it by now. You on the other hand, not so much. It'll be quite sad really. The police force will find your corpse strewn across floor, believing that you finally kicked the bucket due to old age. They'll probably take a moment to pay their condolences, but you'll be promptly replaced by a new police chief. A good friend of mine actually. Part of the national socialist party as well. And believe me, he won't think twice about shortening the prison sentence. I think about 9 months prison sounds good, don't you think?"
At this point, the police chief was coughing violently, unable to stop as he used his other hand to pound at his chest. It was futile as he continued to hack up his lungs, poisonous smoke further filling up his body. He looked back at Moriarty with whatever anger he could still muster up as the life slowly drained from his eyes. "H-How ... How are you still ..."
"The store owner of that nice little shop- Garfield was his name , was it? Quite a generous man. Generous enough to even let me sell my cigars as regular merchandise, with a enough bribing of course." The advisor chuckled to himself, before stopping next to the desk. "It's funny actually. I believe you were actually one of the first buyers to purchase my custom made batch this morning. Naturally, I'd want to stand out in the market, so I added a few unconventional ingredients here and there. A bit of sulfur. Perhaps a trace of arsenic to top it off."
Moriarty grinned as the old man continued to choke on his own breath, struggling to stay alive. He attempted make a noise, any noise, to alert someone to come to the rescue. Nevertheless, the whole act was futile as he slowly succumbed to the poison welling up in his lungs. With a few more choking gasp and twitching body movements, the late police chief slumped against the desk, his body only slightly flinching before going completely still. The still lit cigar hung from the edge of his mouth.
Moriarty sighed, before leaning next to the police chief's dead body. "Like I said sir; smoking is quite a nasty habit." In one swift motion, he plucked the cigar from his mouth, dulling out the lit end by rubbing it against the desk. Yet another job well done. He was sure that Hitler would be pleased with the sudden trimming of his prison sentence.
whistling a jaunty tune all the while.
Without another second to waste, Moriarty inconspicuously made his way out the door,
Event 1928: Moriarty discusses past events with Hitler
“So, how’s the coffee in this economy?”
Adolf sighed, struggling to not spit out his beverage. “Like choking down liquified dirt,” he placed the cup back down onto the table. “Yet again, with the state of the country, to expect any better is a fool’s ideal.”
Moriarty tilted his head, stirring his little teaspoon methodically through his mug. “You could just add cream.”
Adolf hand tightened around the handle of the mug, a stern look donning his face. “I will drink what my country is forced to drink. I will eat what my country is able to scrape up. And as my country suffers, I shall too.”
Moriarty rolled his eyes, tapping the spoon against the rim of the mug. “You don’t have to be so melodramatic. It’s just coffee.”
“Tell me Moriarty, why did you bring me here in the first place?"
Moriarty sipped his cup slowly, taking his sweet time. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a coffee break. All this political garble and continental chaos tends to get on a man’s nerves.” Moriarty shook his head, making a face at the bitter taste of the coffee. “But to be honest here, we need to discuss the events that have occurred within the last decade.”
Adolf nodded, understanding the importance of the discussion. “Such as?”
“The Bolsheviks caused quite a bit of trouble around 1921, trying to uproot the Russian government.”
“-Only to to be further uprooted by Stalin within 1924,” Adolf said, extending his statement. “These damn communist are going to take over everything if we don’t stop them.”
“Now, now, slow down there. With Stalin in control of Russia, we’d be making a dangerous enemy that we might not be able to take on yet. Ever since his speech on the death of Lenin4, Russia has been underneath his thumb. We need to keep the Soviet Union at arm’s distance. They no threat yet.”
Adolf grumbled under his breath, but he couldn’t deny the argument. “Who else should be concerned about.”
There’s the matter of Mussolini. He’s proving to be less of a concern and more of a powerful ally. Ever since coming into power around 1922, he’s been nothing but support. So I wouldn’t be too wary. But you can never be too sure.”
Adolf nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, yes, that’s all good, but we still lack good news in the economic field. Since the hyperinflation issue that hit Germany around 1923, we’ve only been going downhill from there. Just a year later, and practically all of Europe is facing a complete economic collapse.”
Moriarty shrugged, “Look on the brightside; after Germany entered league of nations, we’ve been doing slightly better financially.”
The Nazi leader scoffed. “Like throwing stray meat into a pack of wolves. The “League” wouldn’t think twice about stabbing us in the back once they get the chance.”
“I highly doubt that. All these countries have busy barricading themselves with treaties and pacts. Take the Pact of Paris. 1928, over 60 countries went to say that they wouldn’t lay a finger on the other.”
Adolf’s hand came crashing down on the table, emitting a loud thump. The advisor leaned back a bit, surprised by the sudden action. “All lies! They say that they want peace and camaraderie, but the second someone does something out of place, they’ll only ignite even more chaos! I am sick and tired of all these pacts and treaties and signs of false hope. Now is the time to take action.”
Moriarty nodded, his finger tracing the edge of the mug. “I couldn’t agree more. But be patient my friend. You’re not fuhrer yet. When the opportunity for expansion comes, we will jump for it. But for now, we wait.”
Adolf looked back his advisor, his eyes having aged heavily in the past decade. “I . understand. I’ve always trusted your word.”
Moriarty flicked his finger off of the edge of the mug, emitting a small sound. “Of course you have. And years from now, when they’re screaming your name in admiration, you know that you can still trust me.” He’s gotten so good at faking honestly that he’s not even sure when he’s lying to himself.
Moriarty smiled. “It’s a promise.
We now join the infamous Watchdog of Reichstag: Sven Holmes, (30 years old) self employed (consulting) German detective who has made it his purpose to investigate the issues of his society that the rather inactive police neglect. Along with the smaller problems he bases his detective work on, Sven finds great interest in investigating the big players in the Holocaust. As he continues to look deeper into the inner workings of the National Socialist Party, he is intrigued by a certain consultant advisor, suspecting him to be playing a larger role in Hitler’s operations than he may seem to be.
“Why is this happening?”
Sven Holmes muttered to himself, pacing angrily around his office and occasionally stopping to stare out the window. The view from his second floor flat he found to be relatively calming, the ornate buildings of Reichstag rising in the distance, safe and stable. His entire outward facing wall was composed of panes of glass, giving him a sense of vigilance over his home town. Nothing escaped the consulting detective’s view. He was always in control. Always aware. Always stable, like the unchanging view he had come to love.
So why did he suddenly feel this way?
Ever since the stock market crashed in 1929, there was an odd feeling of unrest in Germany. Higher powers were stirring. Powerful people were beginning to become bored, readying themselves for the next chapter of the story. They weren’t satisfied with World War 1-they needed more. Or at least, Germany did. Holmes could feel something big coming, and his instinct was rarely wrong. As a consulting detective, his instinct was basically not allowed to be wrong.
He opened to a fresh page about halfway through the massive tome, dating the top of the page “November 20th, 1930”, and started to sketch the beginnings of his process of deduction. First came a classic beginning of any good detective case, his matrix of events, all connecting to one another-as his pencil moved almost subconsciously around the page, connecting country to country and alliance to alliance, he spoke names of events and countries under his breath
“Non aggression pacts......Soviets.....Lithuanians....Greeks....but then depression....here...and then here.........but the stock market was so strong in Germany....”
He continued to draw lines between events, connecting every pact he could remember. Non-aggression pacts were popular at the time, almost like putting up safety walls around countries. But the war was over...so why put up such walls now? Obviously the countries were afraid of something....but perhaps this something could be spotted before things got bloody....the only question was...
We join the consulting detective on breezy morning in fall, 1930
We next find Holmes in the years of 1931 and 1932, his suspicions and worries of coming conflict deepening after the World Disarmament Conference failed to make an impact on the dire situation
Things were moving too fast for Holmes. He needed to slow down desperately, or he was going to crash. Listening to the conversations of the common folk of Reichstag added to his need to decrease the speed of time. One day everyone discussed the Disarmament Conference and the next their minds were on the rising unemployment rates coming from the worsening worldwide depression. The graveness of the whole situation made the detective nervous.
When Holmes got nervous, he took walks. He would don his signature trench coat and wool scarf and push his hands through his dark mop of unruly hair, not bothering to check himself in the mirror. He would try to complete this task as quickly as possible, the fresh air beckoning him outside.
These were the articles that would make Holmes’s casebook-the little pieces of a much larger puzzle. Germany was feeling the after bite of World War One, having all responsibility for the conflict pinned on them, and would want to get rid of the messy situation they had managed to get themselves stuck in, most likely by raising their fists once again at the rest of Europe. Coupled with Asian powers beginning to take motion on each other, there was no doubt that another world conflict was on it’s way. The red dots along a route on a map, eventually leading to the final, most important destination...The twisting, winding strings...
The strings that would eventually lead him to the puppet master himself.
He was certain now-the puppet master he had searched for was most definitely Kristof Moriarty, the perfect Nazi lapdog
“Archduke Franz Ferdinand heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and wife Sophie killed on June 28, 1914”.
June 29, 1914. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon when three quick knocks on the front door woke James from a deep sleep. “James! James! Wake up hurry!” James’s friend Masons’ frantic voice shouted from the other side of the door. James grudgingly got up out of bed. “What is the meaning of this? It’s nearly 6 am!” he shouted sounding very annoyed. “I got a letter from Marcus.” James froze. “Well what does it say?” “If you let me in I’ll tell you. James opened the door, “There, are you happy?” “Yes, actually I’m very pleased.” Mason said sarcastically. “Well then go ahead, read it.”
“Dear James and Mason,
a terrible misfortune has happened. The Archduke of the Austro-Hungarian Empire Francis Ferdinand and his wife Sophie have been assassinated. I witnessed his death just as the second bullet struck him. The car quickly reversed, a thin stream of blood spurted from His Highness’s mouth onto my right cheek. As I was pulling out my handkerchief to wipe the blood away from his mouth, the Duchess cried out to him, ‘In heavens, what has happened to you?’ At that she slid off the seat and lay on the floor of the car with her face between his knees. I had no idea that she too was hit and thought she had simply fainted with fright. Then I heard His Imperial Highness say, ‘Sophie, Sophie, don’t die. Stay alive for the children!’ At that, I seized the Archduke by the collar of his uniform, to stop his head dropping forward and asked him if he was in great pain. He answered me quite distinctly, ‘It’s nothing!’ Then after a short pause, there was a violent choking sound caused by the bleeding. It was stopped as we reached the Konak. I am done being a bodyguard. I can no longer fulfill my duties. I am a disgrace to the Austro- Hungarian Empire. I don’t deserve to live.
A strange silence filled the room and none of them could speak. James had never felt so much regret in his life. Here was his friend who had committed suicide after witnessing a terrible death and he never got the chance to forgive him for leaving to Austria-Hungary. “Poor Marcus.” That’s all he could say, poor, poor Marcus.
After the death of the Archduke nothing was the same. About a month later war broke out. Germany and Austria- Hungary became the Central Powers and Britain, France, Russia and Italy became the Triple Entente. Austria –Hungary initially declared war on Serbia, but instead of just a small war between two countries became a war between all of Europe. On August 10th, James got drafted into the war.
December 25th, 1914- Christmas in the Trenches (1)
1933-Our detective takes a routine trip downtown to his favorite newspaper stand
As Sven hurried downtown on February 2nd, 1933, he noted an unusual fuss about the place, people whispering and clamoring among themselves. What was it this time? What else could possibly go wrong?
Holmes was having more issues keeping his head these days as he watched Germany slowly descend into chaos. What were the people of Germany doing?! Following this Hitler person like sheep without a shepherd. Holmes watched them slowly succumb to Hitler’s clever words, turning friends into enemies and good hearted folk into corrupted monsters. Today was the day that his theory was proven correct-the gut feeling that something was going to go down and all hell was going to break loose.
The exchange with the newsboy known as Noah Wright was relatively routine
“G’morning, Holmes! How ya been? Anything the watchdog has to report today?” Noah said casually, a slight English accent present in the words.
Holmes shook his head a little and pushed a hand through his hair
“No nothing particularly..business as usual, you might say...”
Noah nodded and smiled a little, “Business as usual, eh? Well looks like the watchdog is slacking on his homework! Get a load of the front page!”
This response surprised Holmes, to say the least. His expression went dark as he snatched a newspaper from the stand. Butterflies erupted in the detective’s stomach as his eyes scanned the front page. Today was the day he finally snapped. The front page blared:
Proud Day for National Socialists-Adolf Hitler Establishes First “Concentration Camp”-Jews and Gypsies Specifically Targeted
“He’s mad.....that Hitler...is utterly mad...” Sven muttered under his breath
“What’s that, Holmes?” Noah said, staring at the detective inquisitively, “Impressive, huh? The batty man has finally done it! Gone over the top, he has....”
All Holmes could do was offer a curt nod to the Englishman before taking off up the street back to his flat-he paid no mind to the angry shouts from behind him from an unpaid newspaper boy and several unfortunate citizens caught in Sven’s wake.
The things rushing through Sven’s mind where somewhat overwhelming. There was first his initial thoughts of “this is it” and “he has finally started it” and “what am I supposed to do now?!”. Then there were the thoughts connecting the events, drawing in the lines of the matrix he had memorized from his casebook to the point where everything clicked together, forming a familiar flower-like pattern in the detective’s mind as all of the details fell into place, coming full circle.
This was what Hitler was doing all along. Why hadn’t Holmes seen it sooner?! All the speeches...the mobs of people chanting and screaming...They didn’t want peace-they wanted a way to vent-a way to take out the slowly building tension starting immediately after World War One coming from the blame placed on Germany. They were seen as the naughty child who had hit one of the other children first, starting the ball rolling for the first conflict. And now they were at it again, their short temper coming to an end for a second time, mostly from the burdens of the Treaty of Versailles, but also thanks to the little pushes by a certain someone....
February 27th, 1933, about 8:00 p.m.-The consulting detective is preparing for another average all-night study session, still trying to anticipate the Nazi Party's next move before it is too late. Little does he know that he is about to witness the next move firsthand
Sven Holmes contemplated taking another walk, despite the late hour. He had been up late the night before, reading back through his nearly full casebook and playing his connect-the-dots game in his mind. He was feeling the serious need to get some fresh air, paired with the serious need for his coffee to finish brewing, because with lack of sleep comes need for caffeine.
When Holmes completed his third circuit of pacing, he came across Moriarty, leaning casually against the wall of his pace-space, with a cup of coffee in hand. He smiled, “Ah, good evening, Mr. Holmes. Nice weather we’re having tonight, hm?”
Sven nearly fell over at the sight of the man from the papers standing in his pace-space. As if by instinct, Holmes pinched his own arm to check reality and tilted his head at Moriarty, raising an eyebrow
“Good evening to you as well. And yes, the weather has been reasonable of late...I hope you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Moriarty, but what are you doing here?”
Moriarty shrugged, while taking another sip of coffee, “I picked the lock, of course. How else? What, are you not happy to see me?” he chuckled a bit, swishing around his coffee, “Because I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time now, Mr. Holmes....
The detective smirked just the tiniest bit, “Aha...so you are one of those people...the ones who get the tingly feeling on the back of their necks when they feel like they are being watched...” he took a sip of his coffee, not breaking eye contact with Moriarty, “the cautious ones.....so tell me, Mr. Moriarty...why are my eyes the ones that seem to bother you the most?”
“Hitler is becoming quite the powerful man, Holmes. From the Nazi regime, to the establishment of concentration camps, to the whole quarrel over Sunderland, Hitler is making his steady rise to becoming Fuhrer. A man fit to play god. And yet what is a god to a non-believer?” Moriarty picked up his mug, bringing it to his lips, “You’re a smart man, Holmes. But I can tell that you don’t exactly agree with my party’s views. You’re harmless now, but who knows what you’d do with that information in the future? I simply cannot let that go by.” Sven’s suspicions were correct. The detective began the tired game of connect-the-dots, trying to foresee the advisor’s next move,
“A man to play God.....what a foolish idea....but you make a valid point....what is a God to a non believer?” Holmes paused for a thoughtful moment, “Pointless. That’s what."
“Destroy the evidence, you say? The truth behind your new “god”’s completely obscure views and your own plans to send this country right back into death and war? I can see your point of view quite clearly...in fact, I would do the same thing in your position...but something tells me that you aren’t finished with me just yet...” Holmes noted the fellow before him’s somewhat relaxed, confident vibe and the smile plastered to his face and immediately confirmed his theory “yes..you aren’t going to kill me, are you? You enjoy watching me squirm....but be warned, Moriarty-I have been watching for long enough to have developed a good sense on exactly where by information could be used the most effectively. Keep me alive, and you may regret it. After all, I am on the side of the angels.”
"You know me so well Holmes ... One of the reasons why Hitler wants you dead in the first place." he shrugged and took out a pack of matches, toying with it a little before holding it up and raising his eyebrows questioningly, "Say, is there a chance you have a cigar laying around here somewhere?"
“I don’t smoke.”
The days after the fire were the worst in the consulting detective’s life. After finding out from the wretched newspapers that the fire was not solely for him and several important government buildings were struck as well, including the Reichstag building itself. Holmes began to feel an emotion he had not felt in awhile. Rage. His precious Reichstag, his purpose for living, the thing he had sworn to protect, was nearly destroyed. And there was one man to blame. It was time for the Watchdog of Reichstag to move from his neutral stance. It was time to take action.
1934-Holmes is enraged at Hitler's new title of "Furhur" on New Year's day, inspiring him to take action against the Nazi Party
Holmes needed to move fast if he wanted to make an impact, and that is exactly what he intended to do. Hitler had been given complete control over his Germany and the Nazi party was now at large, spreading the idea of repudiating the Treaty of Versailles. This Furhur character was beginning to get under Holmes’s skin, sending the country into a fight that they surely could not win in the end by convincing the people of Germany that his insane way of thinking was the correct way to act. All of the awful concentration camps and manslaughter were considered acceptable by the hoard of mislead German people, following the almost iconic leader blindly. And to think he was doing this all with just a few clever words.
The detective was not feeling particularly festive on New Year’s Day, 1934-in fact, he was feeling quite the opposite. Hitler, the man who was supposed to become a god, had just achieved the status of “Furhur”. Thinking back to the flames in his Reichstag, Holmes could finally see the whole affair was simply a set up to Hitler gaining power in Germany through chaos and people’s desperate need for a leader with strong words to put the public’s mind at ease. Holmes was a bit angry with himself at this juncture for coming under the impression that the attack on the Reichstag building was actually the doing of the Communists, when in truth it was the Nazis all along. But it all didn’t matter now-Hitler had done it-taken complete control over Germany.
Did this discourage Sven Holmes, the renowned guardian of Reichstag? Yes, it did a little, but in the same sense it fueled the fire of his own rage and desire to combat the Nazis and all the madness they brought with them.
Johnathan bustled about the clinic, always busy with the steady flow of injured soldiers past the point of bandaids. Days passed. Soon the men stationed at Pearl Harbour were receiving news of the war. The U.S.A. had officially joined the war (45). The news came on December 7th, 1941. The boys at the base all knew then that they wouldn’t make it home to families for Christmas. Everyone knew there would never be another Christmas Treaty.
1935-Sven begins to take steps against the Nazi party and his new nemesis using the information he salvaged from the fire, his primary target being the USA
Holmes began his mobile lifestyle in 1935, deciding if he was going to make an impact he would need to begin by bringing his information to just the right people. His first mission was to reach the USA somehow and warn them of the danger of the conflict in Europe, and most importantly deter them from assisting the Nazis in any way. With a well placed letter to a senator, a legislative assistant for a representative and an old friend and fellow detective known as Lestrade, Holmes managed to communicate the real horrors of the German dictator and the secrets kept behind the nation’s back that could potentially be game changing if put in the right hands. These secrets included the truth of the Reichstag Fire’s true purpose, Kristof Moriarty’s real position in the mess and the matrix of connections straight from his casebook.
The detective was somewhat disheartened when he heard from a client on September 1st, 1935 that the U.S. government had passed a Neutrality act embargoing supplies for war from being delivered to Europe to aid the forces. This was a major step back for Holmes, who had done anything and everything in his power to get across that the Nazis needed to be defeated as quickly as possible and any aid that could be provided by America would be greatly beneficial to the cause. Unfortunately, the growing sense of isolationism in the US after their costly involvement in World War One deterred them from the war in Europe.
Sven did not give up on his cause, however, continuing to send just the right gruesome story of an concentration camp to just the right human rights activist and just the right passage from his casebook concerning conspiracy to just the right government official here and there. His main goal was to raise the sense of fear in the U.S.-the sense of fear and hatred for the Nazis-even if the country was still neutral. Holmes knew that even the tiniest push against the Nazi’s or the slightest tension between Germany and the USA would affect future endeavors greatly.
Holmes’s heart fluttered a little when he got a phone call from his mother, who lived in England at the time-she was calling just to chat about day to day things at first, but eventually the conversation drifted to world happenings, like it always seemed to with Sven’s mother.
“Have you heard of the incident in the US recently, Sven?” the voice over the phone asked Sven
Tell of a new event intrigued the detective “No....do give me the details...”
Holmes’s mother went on about the incident quite passionately,
“Oh yes well you see, there was a Japanese gunboat that was reported to have attacked a U.S. ship known as the Panay on the Yangtze River this past Friday. The Japanese claimed to not have seen the US flag! Can you believe that?! I mean, the boat was just docked on the river, and you would think that they would be smart enough to check for a flag and...well the whole affair just seems a bit unnecessary...”
As Sven finished the conversation with his beloved mother, his mind began to race as it did when a new piece of evidence came in for a particularly difficult case. The attack on the boat, no matter how accidental it was, must have been causing some tension between the US and Japan, meaning that this event, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, may finally be what it took to push the US over the edge, at least to the point of the people rising to fight and opposing the Neutrality acts, ready to have an effect on the war. The whole concept was rather exciting to Sven Holmes, who had been working tirelessly to foil his good old fashioned villain’s schemes day in and day out. He hungered for nothing more than revenge on the man who pulled the strings and got his Reichstag burned.
The sudden spark in the fire of US involvement was a sign-almost a signal to Hitler and his lapdog Moriarty that the game was only just beginning.
And they may just be dealing with a few more non-believers than they are comfortable with in the near future.
A couple of weeks went by and Johnathan was relieved of his post at Pearl Harbor, to be put in an Army regulated doctor’s training course. His course was about 6 months long, and he was finished in July. John was not deployed, considering he was a trained doctor and soldier and was important to keep around. The doctor was placed in various bases around the country, and was enjoying helping the many different kinds of people he found there. As time flew by, the war efforts seemed to be more and more futile. Eventually John was stationed at a base near home and he got to visit his family. Johnathan stayed on the base for the next two years and visited his home and family.
In December of 1942, John had an accident that would change his career forever. Since he was stationed at a base near a densely populated city, there were a lot of new recruits. One day, after a new wave of trainees came in, John was in the wrong place at the wrong time. His leg was shot by a badly aimed rifle. He was honorably discharged from the Army, and was thoroughly disappointed.
On Janurary 7, 1944, John picked up his normal newspaper, the New York Times. The title read, “HITLERS SEA WALL IS BREACHED, INVADERS FIGHTING WAY INLAND; NEW ALLIED LANDINGS ARE MADE” He sat, stunned, this was a major breakthrough for the allies, and now maybe a victory was possible. John looked around, suddenly jolted back to life. His ward was full of the injured and sick. It was up to these men to save our world, and soon. John got back to work mending and healing as best he could.
On the morning of December 25, 1914 Britain and German soldiers came together during a battle and celebrated Christmas. Four AM the fog was just starting to settle. James could hear his breath freeze against the cold as he loudly exhaled the fumes of the battlefield. The trenches were the worst place to be. They were set on the border of Switzerland and the English Channel. Between the two rival troops lied, “No Mans land.” Nobody dared cross unless they were hoping for certain death. “James? James! What are you doing? James took out a pen and wrote on the board lying in front of him. On the board it said, ‘A Merry Christmas’. He lifted the board above the trench wall and shouted, “A Merry Christmas”. The Germans replied with a similar board and hollered back, “And a Merry Christmas to you too”. Then all of a sudden James took off all his gear and jumped out from the trench with his hands above his head. “James are you mad?!” someone shouted from behind him.
“No, just curious”, he replied casually
Then, Mason jumped up and headed towards James with his hands above his head. On the opposite side of the trench the Germans had the same idea. Two German soldiers walked up the riverbank to meet James and Mason. They met and shook hands, and then all of the soldiers jumped up from the trenches unarmed. Later that night, James recorded in his journal about what had happened December 25, 1914, the British and the Germans came together and had a Christmas in the Trenches. They exchanged food and gifts and celebrated and rejoiced together.
The "Christmas Truce" never happened again after that day.
On July 1, 1916 the British were at battle again with the Germans but this time France was allied with Britain. The battle of Somme started at the western front and stretched from the English Channel across the length of France to the Swiss border. The objective of the battle was to push the British line forward by relieving pressure on Verdun. James was apart of the battle that day. July 1, 1916 8 o’clock am: “All right men we will begin the day with role call for today’s orders. The general offensive will begin at 9am.” As the orders were being called out James felt terrified and alone. Weeks ago Mason died from internal bleeding of his appendix, and this would be his first battle without his friend by his side. At 4 o’clock pm the attack began, Britain lost 60,000 men. James was horrified at and appalled by the death of so many of his friends. In the end 420,000 British soldiers died, but Britain’s reward was the six-mile movement of the British front line into German territory. Months passed and James sulked for days, he wasn’t sure how much more he could handle.
He didn’t want to see anyone else die.
The year is 1917, the rain was just a soft drizzle and the sun was starting to make its way through the clouds, the sky was blue and the air smelled of springtime. James was cooking himself breakfast, when he heard a loud thump hit his door. He opened the door, and with a sigh reached down to grab the newspaper that had been wrapped tightly by the paperboy. He unrolled the paper and sat down with a huge groan. He was still a little groggy and desperately wanted to go back to bed, due to the busy schedule he had the other day. He read the headline and his eyes lit up.
“America Declares War on Germany”
James had retired from the war a year ago, but was still interested in what was happening. He read out loud, “President Wilson declares war on Germany April 4, 1917 (Today was April 5th) in order to make the world safe for democracy. Germany renewed its policy of unrestricted submarine warfare, and puts the United States submarines at risk of being sunk. The United States joined the war alongside Britain.” James folded the paper and placed it on the counter. He then stood up and walked back to bed.
On January 18, 1919 21 nations attended the Paris Peace Conference. Germany and the other Central Powers were banned from the conference table. President Wilson of the United States, Prime Minister Lloyd George of Great Britain, Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau of France and Prime Minister Vittorio Orlando of Italy attended the conference.
After hours of arguing, they finally came up with a treaty called the, Treaty of Versailles to purpose on Germany. May 7th they presented the treaty to Germany.
Germany was stripped most of its pre-war territory and all oversea possessions. Germany’s industrial heartland was to be occupied by allied troops and the size of Germany’s military forces was to be reduced. In addition Germany was to pay for all the cost of the war. On June 28th the German representatives signed the treaty.
Everyone celebrated, glad that the war was finally over, but what they didn’t know was that the signing of the Treaty of Versailles was just the beginning…
John worked himself beyond the limits of any man with a severe limp. His leg never really fully recovered and he walked with a cane. The cane sometimes became the play toy of the neighborhood children while John tended to broken bones and sprained ankles. Days blurred into weeks as John lost himself in his work.
After months of mindless tasks, on May 1st, 1945, he picked a newspaper from the stands. John lost interest in brand, any newspaper would have the same information. Each paper stood with a similar headline.
Hitler’s death was followed by the hasty surrender of Germany a week later. John’s family was celebrating and happy for the first time. Mary seemed so full of the life and happiness it was infectious. John began smiling much more, and his sister began to garden again and bake much more.
This smile lasted on their faces until a fateful day in August.
August 6th, 1945, the town of Hiroshima was
The smile slipped from John’s face and he limped to a cafe chair nearby. A whole city lost. John’s heart went out to the families that lost the ones they loved. He felt the loss that was in his heart when he lost his father. John brought the flier he clutched to his heart back home to his sister, tears running down his cheeks for the first time in years. Once finding his sister was not present he began a trip to the graveyard. Walking took longer than expected and the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. As men and women blurred into the darkness, John kept walking, a halting, broken walk. John tripped over a man walking, and the man helped him up. The man’s bloodhound sniffed and stared at John.
“Sorry to bother you, Sir, but could you point me to the graveyard?” The strange, dark man asked.
“Follow me.” John choked out and started walking.
Soon the two men came to a stop at the large iron gates. John started his slow gait again and stopped just before a stone reflecting his father’s name. His tears blurred his vision and he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, John looked to his left and saw his sister and the strange man. To his left, graves dotted the land, names scarred and blurred by time, the name James stood out to John. He across the yard and in the dark, thought he saw a man leave a cigar box on a grave.
The odd entourage stood at the grave for a very long time, escaping the world for a night.
Letting the World Wars disappear finally.