German Red Prince

Page 28

Adolf put down his pen and closed his notebook. He took a tray from the side of the table and greeted the workers who came in.

"Newly launched, free tasting, gentlemen, give it a try."

"Thank you, Mr. Adolf."

The workers accepted the coffee and greeted Adolf.

A small white deer is printed on the blue paper cup, along with a line of small text.

"Good coffee means coffee that everyone can afford, like Luckin Coffee."

Goebbels was sitting in a chair writing something. He was now an editor at the Rheinische Zeitung, founded by Thorne. It would be a waste to leave such a talented person unused. Thorne wanted him to become the sharpest sword of the Rheinische Zeitung, to cut through the shackles of the old world.

Goebbels glanced at the time, rubbed his head, and temporarily put down his work.

He set up a legal consultation office here, so he spends a few hours every day providing legal assistance to the workers and educating them on the law to protect their rights.

In addition to imparting legal knowledge to them, he would also teach them revolutionary ideas, unite all forces that could be united, and prepare for possible future changes.

Thallman also came here and sat with a group of workers; he now comes to sit here almost every day.

I can hardly imagine what happened in Germany during my time studying in Britain that allowed workers to hold such open and legitimate rallies here.

This is Berlin, the place in Germany with the strictest management of workers' activities. How come no police came to arrest anyone?

The door was pushed open again, and several people in police uniforms walked in from outside. This made Talman tense up immediately, and he clenched his fists, ready for a possible conflict to break out at any moment.

"Sheriff York is here? Come and try our latest coffee."

Adolf was very welcoming to Sheriff York and his men as they entered, handing them several paper bags.

"Haha, then I won't stand on ceremony. I'm getting a little embarrassed to come here every day to freeload." Sheriff York took the paper bag and handed it to the officers who were with him.

He took a deep breath; the freshly fried donuts were still steaming and emitting a rich aroma. He picked up the blue paper cup and poured some coffee into his mouth to ward off the chill.

"really not bad."

Sheriff York enjoyed his meal with his eyes closed, while the officers around him sat in chairs praising it.

"Hey, Adolf. Eating here is much more comfortable than at the police station. If we could eat this in the morning at the police station, those guys wouldn't be complaining all the time."

Sheriff York joked with Adolf, who laughed and replied, "If you can get the information up there, and as long as they agree, I can definitely deliver it. We support group purchases here, and there are discounts. Many businesses in the area have already partnered with us, so you'll be satisfied."

"Really? Then I really need to go and report this," Sheriff York said, half-jokingly.

As it turned out, he actually did report it. In his letter of recommendation to the Berlin Regional Police Department, Chief York wrote, "KFC coffee and donuts are very helpful in improving the morale of officers; these foods can effectively shut them up from their tendency to complain."

Of course, the management department approved it. After all, outsourcing is much better. These people complain about their food all the time. Let KFC deal with these troublemakers. Besides, KFC will pay the management department a fee every year. Who would turn down money?

Seeing Adolf chatting and laughing with several policemen, Thallman couldn't help but wonder, why weren't these policemen arresting anyone? They were even chatting.

Curious, he asked the workers nearby, "Why didn't the police come and drive us away when we gathered here?"

A worker nearby glanced at him, somewhat unfamiliar with him. He seemed to be a newcomer, which made sense.

"You're new here, aren't you? This is Mr. Carl's property, so of course they wouldn't dare to mess around."

"Mr. Carl? Who is he?"

Thallman was puzzled; he had never heard of any Mr. Carl.

“Mr. Carl is a really good man. Our lives have been so much better since he came. I can still remember him beating up Wolf. It was so satisfying,” the worker said, waving his fist.

"Moreover, it is said that Mr. Karl has some connections with the royal family of the Kingdom of Rhine, so the police dare not cause trouble here."

Seeing that Talman remained silent, the worker then showed off the small badge pinned to his clothes. "Look closely, we are members of a legitimate union. It's perfectly legal for us to hold a rally. The police even have to keep watch for us!" He raised his head somewhat smugly.

“How could the union allow a rally? And how could you possibly be allowed to join the union?” Thallman was somewhat surprised.

Although it is somewhat amusing, the German Labor Rights Protection Act clearly states that unions are granted the right to hold assemblies to protect the interests of the majority of workers, but no union will spontaneously hold assemblies. If they do, it is just for show and a formality.

The union has no workers and spontaneously boycotts rallies. It sounds strange, but it's not unusual in a country that actually has a twelve-hour workday but explicitly writes the eight-hour workday rule into law.

“Mr. Carl is not like those union officials. His union application is approved very quickly, unlike other unions, which are like catching spies and even require you to register your height and weight.”

"Moreover, the guild also has a legal advisor, Mr. Goebbels. We go to him when we have problems, and we have a lot more confidence when we ask the factory managers for an explanation, which makes those factory managers very angry."

The worker smiled; he was happy to see those who exploited them every day suffer a setback.

Indeed, this was the case; the German Labor Rights Protection Association, founded by Thorne, was secretly referred to by those factory owners as a "den of thieves."

The bizarre thing is that his union was actually reported by another union for an even more outrageous reason: "Forcing workers to hold assemblies after get off work seriously infringes on their right to rest."

Everyone could only laugh at this, saying, "They really have the nerve to say that."

“Mr. Karl? The Rhine royal family?” Thälmann continued to ponder. “It seems that this Mr. Karl is the prince of the Rhine Kingdom. I really didn’t expect that.”

He never expected that there would be such a person in the royal family. He made up his mind to see this mysterious prince for himself.

Goebbels answered everyone's questions, saying that it would be best if they could resolve the issue themselves through legal and formal means. If someone ignored the issue, dragged things out, or resorted to violence, the union would directly help them file a lawsuit, free of charge.

There was a factory where a machine malfunctioned and broke a worker's hand. The factory was supposed to pay compensation for the accident, but the factory manager kept delaying and even resorted to violence.

The labor union intervened directly. What should have been a simple compensation payment turned into a lawsuit that led to the closure of his factory. This incident also made other factory owners more cautious.

After answering the workers' questions, the gathering ended. Sheriff York also bid farewell to Adolf; in truth, his presence or absence made little difference. His official purpose was to maintain order and check for any "reactionary" activities, but in reality, he wouldn't have interfered.

He felt great sympathy for the workers' plight and turned a blind eye to it. This was Prince Rhine's territory, and no one dared to cause trouble. As long as nothing went wrong, he wouldn't interfere.

Some workers left after the rally ended; they had come to solve problems. Others stayed because there was a study session after the rally; they came to listen to speeches, which were far more "reactionary" than the previous problem-solving sessions.

Thallman also stayed; he wanted to learn something today and see what they would say.

“Mr. Goebbels, although the newspapers say that our economy is doing very well right now, I still feel something is wrong. I can clearly feel some recession. The factory owners say that we can’t strike when the economy is bad. Is that right?” a worker asked Goebbels.

"That's because they're afraid our strike will worsen their crisis and weaken them, but isn't that what we want? They deserve to be constantly hit. Everyone should know that we need to protect our own interests, not the interests of those factory owners and capitalists."

"But many people are already unemployed, and you want us to strike?"

"Yes, those factory owners told us that we could strike whenever we wanted, that Germany had no shortage of people except for everything else, and that if we didn't work, there would be plenty of others to do it. Besides, those factory owners provided us with jobs, and we would all starve to death without them."

"There are only so many of us. Everyone knows what kind of guild it is. There are too few of us. If we want to fight for our rights, will the other workers join us? And if we strike, what will happen to our wives and children? We can hold on, but what about our children? Will our families support us?"

A group of people bombarded Goebbels with questions, and Goebbels looked at them and listened to their various questions until they had all asked them.

"You all know about the strike a few days ago. They went on strike because the factory owners oppressed them and owed them three months' wages, which led to the uprising. Although it was later suppressed by the army, they eventually had to settle their wages under pressure."

"What this tells us is that only through struggle can we win. Only by hurting them and letting them know our power will they obediently return what they have taken from us. If you are worried that the strike will affect your family, you must understand that they are not some benevolent lords. If we do not resist, they will only become more and more unscrupulous and steal what rightfully belongs to us."

"Comrades, we must understand that they should be afraid of us, not the other way around. Some people say that the factory owners provided us with jobs so that we wouldn't starve, and we should be grateful to them."

"No, quite the opposite. We are the ones who feed them. Without us, they would starve to death. Think about it. We create value with our own hands. What about them? They rely on stocks and speculation. They keep squeezing the surplus value out of us. What have they created for themselves? Without us, these bloodsuckers wouldn't survive a week."

"Comrades, don't underestimate yourselves, and don't belittle the power of worker unity. Think about why it's so difficult for us to join the trade union? It's because they're afraid of us, afraid of our power! A single finger is easy to break, but five fingers clenched together are a fist!"

"Yes, let's unite!"

The workers below clapped and shouted in unison.

"Comrades, do not be afraid! They say workers' lives are worthless, let them see what the power of the proletariat is. The workers of France have proven that they can live well without capitalists, but the capitalists have not yet proven that they can live without workers. We do not need capitalists; we will rely on our own strength. Our destiny is in our own hands!"

"Long live the proletariat! Long live the proletariat!"

After listening, Thallman also applauded, feeling deeply moved. It seemed that this study trip was a very correct decision.

Chapter 40 Welcome to the Stasi

"Where's my father?"

Thorne, upon returning to the palace, did not find Prince Otto, but only saw a few guards standing watch at the palace gate.

"Prince Otto went to visit the Crown Prince of Bavaria; he just left not long ago," the palace steward replied.

"Go visit the Crown Prince? What's wrong with Albrecht?" Thorne asked, puzzled. Was he also ill?

The current King of Bavaria is Ferdinand Rupprecht Maria Luitpold. In the original timeline, this guy had a rather tragic fate. After World War I, a revolution broke out in Bavaria, and the monarchy was overthrown before he could even ascend the throne. Later, he was imprisoned in a concentration camp for opposing the Nazis, but was released by the American military and died in 1955.

His eldest son had polio, his eldest daughter had diphtheria, and his third son, Rudolf, had diabetes. None of the children lived to adulthood; they all died young, making them one of the more tragic members of the royal family.

Thorne remembered that his second son, Prince Albrecht, lived a long life. This brother lived until the collapse of the Soviet Union, so what happened that made him need to visit him?

"Prince Albrecht was attacked and seriously injured. His Majesty William was also injured, but he is not seriously hurt."

"Huh? What's going on?" Thorne was somewhat surprised. Good heavens, attacks on three royal families on the same day, isn't that too much of a coincidence?

"Have you found out who the murderer is?" Thorne asked. He guessed it was the Unity Party of Germany, but how dare they be so bold? Who is backing them? How dare they attack the Big Three of Germany at the same time?

"That's still unclear. His Highness Otto and His Majesty Wilhelm both went, and we'll have to wait for the Bavarian side to investigate before we know the specifics."

After listening to the butler's words, Thorne seemed to understand something, and now he was even more determined in his thoughts.

It seems that the establishment of a special forces unit must be put on the agenda immediately, otherwise he can't guarantee that he won't be shot in the back by someone if he is careless one day.

Thorne must establish his own armed force and cultivate his own power. Otherwise, who cares if he's a prince of the Rhine Kingdom? Only with strong power can he have the confidence to do what he wants.

Inside the swordplay hall, two people clad in protective gear were sparring. The greatswords flashed, their blades sharp and cold, carrying a chilling aura and an imposing presence.

The long, heavy sword seemed weightless in Heydrich's hands; the blades clashed, producing a series of metallic clanging sounds.

Heydrich's sword strikes were as swift and fierce as lightning, leaving his opponents no time to dodge and only able to defend with great difficulty. Before they knew it, Heydrich had stabbed them.

"I lost."

The man took off his protective helmet and smiled at Heydrich, "I can't teach you anything anymore. This is the fourth time you've defeated me."

Heydrich also took off his helmet, shook his hand, and said, "Thank you, teacher."

The fencing instructor looked at Heydrich. He greatly admired the young man. The young man was too perfect, with no flaws whatsoever. He was fluent in French, Russian, and English, and his performance in the navy was also outstanding.

He was very demanding of himself, unlike other naval officers who would spend all day in taverns during their leave.

Heydrich devoted almost all of his leisure time to competitive sports, demonstrating an astonishing drive and perfectionist tendency. He could not accept even the slightest deficiency in his physical fitness, strength, or motor coordination. He poured terrifying energy into everything he did, completely disregarding his physical condition and actual abilities.

With his high quality, meticulousness, martial spirit, and near-perfect physique, he seems to be the embodiment of the German spirit, a representative of the German spirit created by God.

Watching Heydrich's departing figure, the swordsmanship instructor couldn't help but sigh. Such an outstanding individual—the Navy's stage was too small for him to fully display his talents. He was an eagle, and he deserved to shine on a larger stage.

"What's your name?"

In a secret room, Thomas sat in a chair and asked in a low voice. The shadows obscured his face, and the two serious-looking soldiers in uniform beside him made him appear very imposing and terrifying.

He looked at the boy in front of him, who was about fifteen years old. He seemed flustered when he heard Thomas's question, shrinking his head and constantly tugging at the hem of his clothes.

"My name is Fremont," the boy said somewhat timidly to Thomas.

He never knew who his parents were from birth and lived in an orphanage. With so many children in the orphanage, there wasn't enough care for everyone, so Fremont developed a somewhat withdrawn personality. However, he was exceptionally gifted; he learned French on his own in the orphanage and spoke it quite well.

Thomas glanced around the room. There was a row of people standing in front of him, boys and girls, all around fifteen or sixteen years old.

These people were adopted from different orphanages throughout Germany, and their records have all been deleted, meaning that no one can find out their identities now.

This was also Thorne's instruction: to find some orphans with clean records and some talent. Thorne also instructed Thomas that the orphans he wanted were not those whose parents had suddenly committed suicide by being shot twice in the back.

Adopting orphans and doing such a despicable thing is bad enough, but if they go on to commit murder against their parents, they'll be struck by lightning.

These people will become Thorne's eyes and ears, a nail planted in the ground. Some of them may end up in France, some in Russia, or anywhere in the world. They will become the most deeply hidden Stasi agents in the future.

“Very good, Fremont. Remember, from now on you will be called F, understand?”

"Ming, I understand."

Thomas stood up, patted his head, and looked at the child in the room.

Most of these children are still very wary, cautiously observing their surroundings. They also appear to be malnourished and in poor health, so it seems they will need to rest for a while.

"From now on, you will live here, and your food and lodging will be taken care of. The treatment will be much better than in the orphanage. I will spend an unforgettable time with you. But remember, there is a price to pay for such generous conditions. You should be mentally prepared, understand?"

"Yes, we understand," the group replied cautiously.

"What? Haven't you eaten? Don't you understand?!"

"understand!"

"Very good, Robert, take them back. You'll have to work hard on these people in the future."

"Yes, I promise I will not let you down." Robert saluted Thomas and turned to look at the group of children.

"Let's go, kids."

Fremont followed Robert, and they were led to a spacious, bright room, where the atmosphere was noticeably less oppressive.

"Let's eat, kids. After you eat, take a bath and get some rest."

Robert smiled kindly, and hearing him say that, everyone's guard was lowered a little.

Hot food was laid out on the table: cheese, sausage, steak, boiled eggs, large bread rolls, milk, and even fruit.