// This story thread is open to reactions/replies/contribution from any Bundschuh audience members, or anyone who might reasonably be assumed to be present at a Bundschuh speech on their main base, Bruchsal.
The Von Rohe/Popular Revolution or (First) Volksrevolution was the five-years-long conflict that embroiled the old (First) Empire of Rheinland after it had against all odds lost the Eighty Years War against the GMG. What became the Bundschuh movement was likely started by university student liberals on New Berlin - Students turned Politicians turned Guerillas who kept the movement afloat and extant even after their dream of a People’s Rheinland was betrayed and corrupted.
One man’s recent return to the Bundschuh - Erich Klugmann - Had been received with some genuine excitement and positive trepidation by a small bloc of supporters within the still-underground movement. “Klugmannism” had been a political ideology within the progressive and leftwards constituents within the Bundschuh, especially during what was arguably its recent “high water mark” when his Partisan Sect the Verinigte Widerstandsarmee had risen and fallen from prominence - And after Freya Eistochter, his political nemesis, had “exiled” him from the Party.
He had espoused a sort of humanistic approach to an increasingly sullen and cynical Bundschuh movement, attracting small groups of Military defectees and those within Rheinland dreaming of a “progressive”-if-not-”leftist” Rheinland State. For the most part, his followers interpreted his ideology along these lines over the seven or eight years since his exile and forced disappearance, aiming to look “respectable” and to the rest of the Sirian audience by holding themselves and the Bundschuh to “kinder, gentler” ethical standards that most political “terrorist” organizations generally tended to lack.
These followers might have been, perhaps, the most confused that an icon among them was currently shouting at them from a podium and stage on Bruchsal. He was scarcely recognizable to them as the man he was - By tone and language alone.
“ - And when you elected to for some unfathomable reason ally alongside the Buro der Marineintelligenz - To fight on behalf of the very same state you’ve fought for one-and-a-half centuries! -” He exclaimed, addressing the entire Bundschuh; “ - that was the deathknell of what credibility the Bundschuh still had!” The hostile and accusatory tone of his speech - an aforementioned complete departure from the persona and reputation he’d cultivated in years past - was received worse by some than by others. A few in the audience attempted to boo or shout back at him while he continued unabated, but they lacked the amplified volume he currently enjoyed at the stand.
“My compatriots and I watched the entire War from the Crow Nebula and it shattered us to know that we couldn’t meaningfully intercede - because no matter who won that war, Rheinland lost!” Klugmann yelled, a tone that his supporters would have far more prominently associated with his political nemesis Freya Eistochter. “But it wasn’t simply enough to commit very finite and nigh-irreplacable people and materiel to this war; you had to lose it as well, didn’t you?! And now look at you!”
“I warned you all about tying yourself too closely to the Red Hessians besides the Buro, and the movement still remains inexorably married and subservient to a quasi-empire in the Omegas itself subservient to the Coalition!” Klugmann continued - his voice dripping with, presumably, a long-repressed venom. “Even if they did someday topple the regime and annex Rheinland into their “Revolutionary State”, don’t delude yourself into thinking that they’d be any less brutal or authoritarian!”
Sweeping his arm out to indicate the audience he chastised, he shouted: “You’ve made the Bundschuh next to wholly reliant upon groups that will use and abuse it for their own goals and nothing else besides - Whether the Federal-turned-Imperial Buro, the Hessians, and even the fucking Order - And perhaps most pathetic of all; you claim to be “representatives of the People” of Rheinland still, after the war should have cemented the fact that it’s demonstrably untrue!" Drawing in a great breath, Klugmann’s anger hit a crescendo.
“How can you not see that Liberators don’t FUCKING EXIST?!”
Those syllables echoed towards a now-silent audience - Whether cowed merely by the volume or the passion behind his opinions was unclear. Klugmann actually slumped a little over the podium, and for a moment a couple of the security troopers stationed around the stage looked as if they were going to approach to see if he’d been shot. But he straightened up again. Slowly.
Klugmann’s face scrunched tight - Eyes, lips, chin. When he opened his eyes again and gently grasped the podium, they were struck with visible moisture that glinted off the lights and the occasional camera flash.
When he spoke again, it was in a tone almost plaintive - Something that would be difficult to rehearse - And in a quieter, almost more familiar tone. One bleeding with a compassion nostalgic to some in the audience, perhaps.
Klugmann wet his lips. “...If the people of Rheinland desired “saving” in the manner the Bundschuh have espoused for all these years - For the return of the dream of the Bundesrepublik ‘of the People’ - They would not have so explicitly and expressly rejected it during this conflict. They would have rejected the manufactured nostalgia of the First Empire, of Pre-Synth Stuttgart. They would have remembered the disproportionate aid you and I desperately tried to render at Nuremberg.”
Klugmann continued, his tone still somber. “You both cling to this reactionary, nostalgic idyll of a time that never truly existed anywhere but in a dream, and that is the sole relation nowadays that the Bundschuh can still claim to 'represent' Rheinland’s People for. They’ve outlived their worst creation, now - Because something more monstrous has replaced it.”
He reached up to pinch at his brow and rub at his eyes - The look in his eyes a faraway one that the “average person” might identify with an existential depression or dread. “...Has it all been worth it? Has it all been worth the lives of good - perhaps better people themselves used and abused by an organization claiming to 'represent' them? People better than anyone who’s been on this stage in the past decade?”
“Has the Mud on our Bound Shoes been able to conceal the Bloodstains?”
He reverted to another silence after this, closing his eyes and gently inclining his chin downwards towards the podium. After half a minute of almost pure noiselessness in the chamber, Klugmann continued.
“...Not only have the traditional authorities, the Hierarchical Capitalists and Aristocrats, gotten everything they could have wanted from the Holstein Accords… They’ve gotten the sort of incomplete victory that will be more than enough to justify their continued crackdowns and further slides towards Empire and Authoritarianism - which aren’t exclusive to Rheinland alone. The Buro… has accepted its prior role in the government without complaint. And enough of a legal limbo on the actual Bundschuh exists in the lawbooks that the movement was divided further by those tired of illegalism, and willing to put on a facsimile of representative politics in the Tribunate.”
“I… Am tired, too.” He added, again plaintive. "Tired of the Imperial, Federal, and Bundschuh's status quo."
“The Bundschuh, as it stands, is moribund. And in my personal opinion, the current means by which it functions must radically change - At least, if it wishes to have any sort of vague bearing regarding its ‘populist’ mission statement resembling reality.”
“My compatriots and I have returned to it for precisely this reason - Because we believe the Bundschuh must change to better combat the reactionary slide Sirius at large has undergone in the past several years. I hope that you will agree, or reconsider the present course.” He inhaled through his nostrils, before adding again in that almost pleading tone to the audience, in a quiet apparent-finale to the monologue.
“It’s… My understanding, that the Bundschuh have recently celebrated its one-hundred-fiftieth-year anniversary of foundation. Should you disagree with my assessments and not want anything to do with the work my compatriots and I will be setting to task on…” He trailed off, a moment.
“...Then I sincerely hope that you live to be able to see the Bundschuh’s Bicentennial, because to merely subsist in this form - to claim victories from anniversaries - appears to be the organization’s wider goal.” At that, Klugmann switched off the microphone, and began to walk off the stage.
"Thank you, Herr Botzler, we barely got out of that mess but the cargo is still intact." The freighter pilot's voice was distorted by the damage inflicted on the ship, one engine was damaged and several emergency systems were running at full speed.
"I'm sorry I didn't respond sooner, the distress call came as a surprise, I wasn't even at the ship yet." I replied, nodding in the direction of the transporter pilot. The convoy was approaching Bautzen. What was originally a freighter and two escort ships had become a single freighter.
"Can you manage the rest of the way on your own?"
"Yes, we shouldn't encounter any more surprises from here, thanks again for the help, Paustian out." We left formation and parted ways. Just as I was entering new coordinates into the on-board computer, I received a transmission.
"Mr. Botzler, are you receiving me? Over." I was still calibrating the signal; it didn't seem to travel well through the fog. Maybe it was the mine that hit me in the fight. After a few seconds, the signal became clearer.
"Ms. Seidel, I'm receiving you, how can I help?" I replied, fully hoping not to get myself into the next fight.
"You need to get to Bruchsal immediately, you won't believe what I just picked up." The activist's voice was excited but also tense, as if she didn't know whether your communication would cause joy and concern.
"What's wrong?" I asked worriedly, it must have been due to the course of the day so far, but I was already imagining various horror scenarios.
"It's about Klugmann, I don't know how, but he's back, he's back and he's supposed to show up here soon, some former VWA members have been talking about it." I gazed into the void of space for a few seconds, stunned, unsure of how I would react to this message. Various thoughts popped into my head, but none seemed to offer an appropriate response. I swallowed hard and broke the silence.
Bruchsal Base, Frankfurt System, 830 A.S.
Few minutes before the speech
There was a tense atmosphere at Bruchsal, the kind I normally only knew from anniversaries and other events where controversial figures were giving their speeches. I myself was not quite there either. I was walking, no, almost jogging through the narrow and metallic hallways of the station. I was too focused to notice the activists greeting me, at that moment feeling again like a young student who snagged the chance to see a famous lecturer.
When I finally reached the great hall, I sensed the uncertainty in the expressions of those present. A buzz of nervousness wafted through the hall, as if half of the activists who were here didn't even imagine that Klugmann was actually going to appear. I was lucky to find a seat, I hadn't sat in the audience for so long, next to the others, I was missing it a bit. I found myself sitting next to an older gentleman who was looking stoically ahead. We exchanged a quick glance, I smiled at him, he did not. I took a seat and waited a few moments. Then he actually came, Erich Klugmann, the man who, as I would have it, wanted to change the Bundschuh in the long run, instead of just pushing it forward. The man I thought was dead and whose influence I wanted to preserve was now standing there as if it were a day like any other.
When Klugmann entered the hall, it immediately trembled. For many here it must have been a relief not to be disappointed, the man they had been promised actually made his appearance. Contrary to everyone's thoughts, Erich Klugmann was not dead. I could hardly believe it myself, I stared as he stepped onto the podium, in no world could I expect what he would have to say, whether he would justify himself, apologize. But my companions felt the same way, as quickly as the hall awoke, it also retreated into deepest silence and a sense of wonder, allowing Klugmann to speak again for the first time.
...
By the end of his speech, I was immersed in thought. By now I was practically lying in my seat, my glance was directed toward the floor, I had been rubbing my forehead and pondering for the last ten minutes. I felt as if I had been shaken for hours. It took a long time for the hall to empty. Klugmann's words were like bullets fired into the rows. I understood what he meant, felt his frustration but was sure that there was a strong fighting spirit behind it. For sure he had not arisen to give the Bundschuh a verbal beating, something had to happen, he must have said that not without reason.
"I wonder if he heard about us..." I thought to myself. What he would make of our movement. His tone may be more belligerent than it was mine when we announced our move, but in essence we were saying the same thing. I couldn't just let the words sit, I had to address Klugmann on them. But I was well aware that I was probably not alone in this.
I struggled to pull myself up from my seat, which was by now part of my back. I dragged my coat through the empty rows and headed toward the exit, still in thought.
I did not want to persuade myself that I could win him over to our cause, but I would have been lying to myself if that had not been desirable.
CS was watching the show somewhere high above the service catwalks in the chamber hall. The moment he heard that this speech finally about to erupt, he had to give into his indulgence to see the outcome of what was once the great and esteemed Erich Klugmann; Someone that he has only known under times of unfortunate circumstances. His take, not as heroic or demeaning as some listening in shock below but on an equal level of desperation made the helmet bound individual. Underneath the visor was CS' glare of understanding as he leaned in with his elbows resting a top of the catwalk railings.
If only people could see the grin on his face throughout the majority of the speech, although some remarks did entice an uncomfortable shifting of foot position... CS was quite aware of why it made his so called conscious feel at least some guilt in the actions he participated in; Although he knew in judgement the likes of the humanitarian Bundschuh sects and even Klugmann's swing in condemning the submission of the Bundschuh that it would be expected.
Before the near end within Klugmanns damning address to the crowd, another Helmet donned individual sends beside CS also looking down. His flight suit similar in its shape and bases colour of grey shades yet to the trained eye the differences became clear, featuring an embroidered pattern all over of a shadowed black variant of the Stuttgart Jillies. The helmet etched roughly with what seems to be a knife blade aggressively to read the letters 'Exiled Enigma'. "He speaks at us as if we haven't heard this before, this feels like the same thing for the past decade." Their voice, gravely and exhausted as it sounded past the helmet speaker, both refrained from looking at each other as they scanned their surroundings both on their level, above and below... They both paused for a moment, continuing to see an even more exhausted Klugmann that had tied the tattered bow on his vocal dismay before hunching away from the stand. "...and yet we persist in our purpose.""Blindly... are you sure he's the right one to lead the people's goals?" He didn't sound angry towards CS, but the calm concerning frustration in his voice was entirely present.
CS stood up away from the rail, before leaning back on the one behind him to make visor-contact with the other enigmatic figure. "Do you?""... The familiar future will continue for us in this, I don't think we can savour the fruit of life like the others here." The two stood in silence with each other, CS began to swing his boots to caress against back and fourth the catwalk while the other took a moment to think with his arms folded. "... But I think this cause is worthwhile for our--""Servitude. I know Enigma, I know..." An amount of depressing acceptance came from CS, his head hung low as it nodded in a shallow manner. "I wouldn't wish our lives to repeat to anyone down there... I think you told me that once." CS looked up, his nodding was still continuing but a small chuckle also followed through from his helmet. He gave Enigma a pat on the back before joining him in looking around level with themselves and below. "How many others have you see here?""A few, Cipher and Hope are down below trying to fit in.""Oh yeah...? How they doing?" CS had some surprise in his voice as he eagerly brought himself to look down at the crowd below. Enigma pointed with a nod of their chin to down below to another pair of helmeted figures lingering in the audience as they were also conversing amongst themselves.
"We should return... Others want to see the recording for themselves." Engima's concern was valid as much as their desire to stay, he brought himself to stand up with CS soon copying. "I'll be staying for longer, I might have a few words with the man myself at some point..." Engima with a single nod and a fist held out low towards CS was met with an instinctive exchange, a sequence of bumps before parting ways, calmly returning from the catwalks into the shadows. CS looked down towards the empty podium, twiddling his gloved fingers... "Forgive us just enough... Please."
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Jepsen leaned with his back against the riveted metal wall just next to the main entrance of Bruchsal's assembly hall. His heavy brown leather coat—real Stuttgart leather, not the corporate Synth stuff—was somewhat stifling in the crowded room, yet in recent years the few comrades he had worked with regularly never saw him without it unless it was immediately before or after a flight operation. Jepsen kept his focus on the speaker, doing his best not to miss a single word or recoil at the vitriol in Klugmann's tone, instead taking in the famed activist's body language and posture as a critical part of the message delivered on par with his infuriated verbiage.
The former mercenary couldn't help but frown. He chewed on his lower lip for want of a cigarette, one hand in his coat pocket fiddling with an old platinum coin. Jepsen couldn't deny that most of Klugmann's words were right, but some of them incited more curiosity than shame. A desire to do better and be better, even if it meant shedding such an impulse.
"Liberators don't fucking exist!"
A strange sentiment. It seemed almost counterintuitive to the Party's very goal. To embody the will of the Rheinlandic people and to liberate themselves from the shackles of corporate and authoritarian oppression, was that not to be liberators? Yet through nigh on two centuries of armed political struggle, it was hard to argue that the Party had much to show for their efforts beyond simple name recognition throughout the galaxy as having their hearts in the right place.
"Is that really what it all comes down to?" He wondered to himself as the hall slowly cleared, eventually to the point he felt comfortable lighting up a cheap Cambridge smoke. "Being known as the perennial underdogs, puffing up our pride by looking like good-hearted moral crusaders... we've got little to claim beyond that and the help we provided during Nuremberg. I didn't sign up just to feel good."
Jepsen took a short puff from his cig as he pulled the coin out of his pocket. It had a square hole in the center, and a simply-serifed letter V on both sides. A damning reminder of earlier times, much like Klugmann's speech. "Maybe I can catch up with him in the halls somewhere," he thought. He put his cigarette out on the heel of his boot, tucked it behind one ear, and set out to look for Klugmann somewhere within Bruchsal's corridors.
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