Peace Treaty

"No, no," the young man stammered, clearly overwhelmed by Akado's imposing presence. Akado stepped forward, his left finger pointing at the Iron Cross pinned to his chest. The back of his left hand bore thick, condensed scars that appeared rather menacing. He noticed the trio take a small step back as he spoke again, his voice firm and challenging: "The people here are all heroes willing to bleed for this country. Yet, you want to persuade them to accept humiliation for the sake of hypocrisy and peace?"

"Get out!" Hitler, standing beside him, bellowed with fervor. "Get out!" His voice echoed through the hall, stirring the wounded soldiers into a frenzy of agreement, their spirits buoyed by the recognition of their heroism—a sentiment that now took deep root in their hearts.

The young man who had been standing on a chair took a step back, his foot finding only air, and he tumbled to the ground amidst peals of laughter. The three young men, embarrassed and overwhelmed, hurried out of the hall, their departure accompanied by the raucous laughter of the injured soldiers.

"Akado!" Hitler called out, lifting his right hand in a gesture of solidarity. The wounded soldiers responded in kind, their voices united in a chant, "Akado! Akado!" Amidst the commotion, a steel lunch box clattered to the floor. Hitler, now seated next to Akado, exclaimed angrily, "These damn Bolsheviks! One day, I'll have them all captured and hanged!"

"It's pointless to be angry," Akado replied with a calm smile. "Every ideology holds some truth. At this point in the war, there are truly few who support it."

"No! I would rather die on the front line than accept defeat! The British! The French! And those damn Americans!" Hitler retorted, his fists waving animatedly. He was a small man, and his indignation alone would not alter the course of the war.

Three days later, on November 9, 1918, an old priest hurried into Basvalk, a small town in the province of Pomerania, where Hitler and others were preparing to return to the front line. He brought with him startling news.

"Gentlemen, I am Pastor Bogel. It grieves me to inform you that the Hohenzollern City Council no longer displays the German crown, and Germany has become a republic," the old pastor announced with difficulty.

"God, what are you saying? His Majesty the Emperor, he..." Hitler stammered, looking at the old priest in disbelief. Akado observed his trembling lips and the slight twist in his voice. It was difficult for outsiders to understand such devout reverence and obedience, but it was undeniably a potent and sometimes indelible sentiment.

Around them, many were kneeling and weeping, others shouting in anger and despair as the empire to which they had pledged allegiance crumbled—leaving them not just sad, but steeped in a profound despair. Hitler was among the despondent. The war he had hoped for had failed; his spiritual anchor had been shattered. He couldn't fathom why he still lived, why he continued to breathe.

Akado, too, was shaken. He wanted to rebuke the old priest with a fiery speech like he had done days earlier, but he realized that such words were futile in the face of the stark reality that history was about to unfold—the German Emperor had indeed abdicated. The era that belonged to the zenith of German power had not yet begun.

As he looked around at the distressed crowd, Akado murmured softly, "God, if survival means kneeling, then grant me a long sword instead. I would rather hold it and die on the battlefield for freedom."

"Mr. Akado, you are a true German, a real patriot," Hitler said, overhearing him. Tears streaked his face as he wept silently, resembling a child who had lost a parent.

Patting Hitler's shoulder, Akado gazed at the weeping corporal with a resolute look. The intensity of their shared moment was almost palpable, pressing against the medals that adorned their uniforms. "We must do something, otherwise Germany will be ruined by these fools!"

"What can we do?" Hitler asked, his voice tinged with confusion. He had considered politics but felt dwarfed by the powerful nobles and seasoned politicians. How could he, a mere corporal and a commoner, hope to challenge such formidable adversaries?

"We enter politics," Akado declared with conviction. "By breaking away from the traditional currents, we can garner substantial support. We are not like the old nobles and politicians. We have progressive ideas and, more importantly, a stronger faith."

"What faith?" Hitler inquired, looking puzzled.

"Germany will conquer the world," Akado stated solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper yet heavy with resolve.

History would remember this day. That night, a corporal named Adolf Hitler penned a note: "To enter politics or to continue as an architect? I once hesitated, but no longer. Tonight, I have resolved to step into the political arena."

Akado, too, made a declaration, though less remembered: "Germany will conquer the world."

Let us leave these youthful whispers behind for a moment. In another corner of the world, Allied politicians were crafting a surprise for Germany. On November 11, Germany capitulated in the forest of Compiègne. The following year, on May 7, 1919, the Allies presented the Treaty of Versailles in Berlin without consulting Germany—a treaty that would shock a nation still lost in its wartime illusions.

The "Treaty of Versailles" demanded that Germany return Alsace and Lorraine, acquired during the Franco-Prussian War, to France. It mandated the cession of significant eastern territories to Poland, granting Poland access to the sea while turning East Prussia into an enclave isolated from the rest of Germany. The treaty stipulated that parts of Schleswig be handed over to Denmark and that areas previously under German control be occupied by Allied forces or placed under the administration of the newly formed League of Nations. Following the withdrawal of Allied troops from the Rhine, this region would become a demilitarized zone where Germany could neither station troops nor construct military fortifications.

Moreover, the treaty stripped Germany of all its overseas colonies and imposed severe reparations on the German government to compensate the Allies. But perhaps the most crushing aspect of the 75,000-word treaty, which contained 440 articles, was the disarmament clauses. The architects of the treaty aimed to permanently cripple Germany's formidable military capabilities. They ordered the destruction or dismantling of most of Germany's weapons and weapon production facilities, specifically prohibiting Germany from possessing the four major innovations of World War I: airplanes, tanks, submarines, and poison gas.

The treaty also outlined measures to weaken the German armed forces. All existing 14,000 German aircraft were to be either handed over to the Allies or destroyed. The navy was to retain only a token force of 15,000 personnel, along with pre-World War II era battleships, light cruisers, destroyers, and torpedo boats. Additionally, most of the merchant fleet was confiscated as part of the war reparations.

The most severe restrictions were imposed on the German Army, which had previously embodied Prussian military traditions. From a pre-war strength of 2 million, the army was to be reduced to just 100,000 troops by early 1920. Recruitment was to be voluntary, abolishing the system of universal conscription. The General Staff, which had produced numerous German generals, was completely disbanded. Military schools were closed, and the use of tanks, heavy artillery, and poison gas was banned. The treaty even specified limits on the number of light weapons and ammunition, such as machine guns and rifles, that Germany could possess.

This treaty was nothing short of a humiliation. A prescient U.S. congressman remarked, "This is not a peace treaty. It is the seed of at least 11 future wars." Consequently, the "Treaty of Versailles" was not ratified by the U.S. Senate.

When the contents of the "Treaty of Versailles" were made public on May 7, 1919, the German populace was stunned by the harsh terms. There was widespread indignation and a sense of betrayal. Many had hoped that the political upheavals toward the end of the war—the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II and the shift toward a parliamentary democracy—might soften the punitive measures of the treaty. But such hopes were dashed.

German citizens took to the streets to protest the treaty. After all, Germany had been defeated under ambiguous circumstances when it still had the potential to continue the war. To be humiliated as vanquished foes was more than anyone could bear.

On June 16, the Allied Powers issued an ultimatum to Germany, demanding acceptance of the peace treaty by June 24. Otherwise, the armistice would lapse, and the Allies would "take the steps they deemed necessary to enforce their terms." Faced with the possibility of renewed hostilities from the West, the German President consulted with the Supreme Command.

"If the Supreme Command believes that military resistance has any chance of success, I will persuade the Reichstag to reject the treaty," President Ebert declared.

Marshal Hindenburg replied, "At the outbreak of hostilities, we might be able to recapture Poznan province and hold our eastern front. But in the west, it is unrealistic to expect us to withstand the formidable offensive of the enemy. The Allies have numerical superiority and could easily outflank us on both sides. Thus, the likelihood of successful military operations is highly doubtful. Yet, as a soldier, I must admit that the disgrace of this peace treaty makes battle seem a more honorable option."

The military leadership concluded that armed resistance would be futile and could lead to the decimation of Germany's remaining forces, possibly even the nation's collapse. With the military accepting responsibility, the National Assembly ultimately ratified the peace treaty by a majority vote. This decision was conveyed to the Allied representatives in Berlin just 19 minutes before the ultimatum expired.

Four days later, on June 28, the victorious Allies signed the Treaty of Versailles, and the German government, with little delay, approved the terms of the treaty. The conditions were severe: Germany was forced to accept responsibility for the war and to compensate for all damages caused by the conflict.

Nineteen minutes before the deadline set by the Allied Powers, the German government capitulated, despite German Socialist President Friedrich Ebert considering the treaty "unrealizable and unaffordable."

The beginning and end of the war seemed disconnected from the lives of ordinary people. The First World War had started with the assassination of an archduke and ended in confusion, signed off by a group of senior officials. Just as history recorded, the war's conclusion was marked by political compromise rather than military victory.

The German soldiers, who had been eager for a counterattack that morning, received orders to retreat instead. Hitler was devastated; the Austrian infantry regiment to which he belonged was disbanded. While he had been prepared to sacrifice his last drop of blood for Germany, the nation had capitulated ignominiously.

Amidst Hitler's cries and Akado's consolations, the First World War came to an end. The German war machine was dismantled, and a mix of humiliation and rage engulfed the entire nation.