AN: I'm putting this warning up here: this story intimates at the Stabbed-in-the-back myth, which is Anti-Semitic in origin and use. It was promulgated by the Nazis to rally the average German against those they set as targets, i.e. the Jewish people, the communists, the anti-monarchists. My goal is not to offend, but to explore the mindset of this average German - Klink - who was susceptible to this disgusting propaganda.

He stared into his beer, the foam sticking to the sides of the glass. He poked at the bubbles and thought over his last day. It wasn't his fault, he thought miserably. He was a man of breeding, a man of the Heidelberg aristocracy! He wasn't to know that an iron which was too hot could burn a hole in delicate silk. He should be the one sending his clothes to be laundered, not working at the laundry!

He swallowed the last of his beer and ordered another. He only had a few marks left from the two days wages he'd been given upon his termination. He'd need to pay the landlord. He was already two months behind. If he didn't, well… he could count homelessness as his next achievement in life.

"Guten abend."

Klink looked up and acknowledged the man through the mirror behind the bar. He was a squished sort of man… though perhaps that was the effect of the beer. His smile swam around on his face, but it was very big. Big and toothy. Klink blinked a few times and managed a grunt.

"I see you've already begun to celebrate." The man's words sounded squished, too.

"Celebrate?" Klink scoffed, "I celebrate nothing… unless one should celebrate abject failure?"

The man took the seat beside him, ordering schnapps for two. "I see you served."

The comment was innocent enough. Klink followed his gaze to the signet ring on the little finger of Klink's right hand. One of the few things he'd been unable to let go of when he was scrounging for items to sell. It was a simple, metal ring with the colors of the flag and an iron cross, for which he'd doubtless get no more than a hundred marks. He'd thought about it, but it was just too precious. A symbol of his heritage, of his illustrious military career. Illustrious career, indeed! More like never-ending terror.

The memories from the war played on his mind and he accepted the schnapps gratefully, downing it in one swallow. "Danke," he murmured, as the alcohol burned his throat and settled into his stomach. He hadn't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday and his stomach churned in mild protest.

"My name is Ziegler, Michel Ziegler."

Klink was slowly becoming aware of the fact that this squished man was not intending to leave him alone, but was again attempting to engage him in some form of conversation. He turned in the stool, wavering slightly before returning his hand to the bar for support. "I'm sorry," he began, "I'm not really in the mood for company. Thank you for the drink, but I'd like to be on my own."

Ziegler held his hands up in surrender. "Of course, I understand. I was just going to invite you to the beer hall down the street. It's been set up as a community place for former soldiers, such as yourself."

Former soldiers… he grimaced at the phrase. How could you be a former anything when that world still lived on inside your mind? When it could push you back to the smoke, the sounds, the screams whenever you least expected it? Ziegler was speaking again and Klink tried to put those memories aside to focus on him.

"A free meal is included if you want to stay for the guest speaker. He's from the Nazi party and..."

Klink held up his hand and began to shake his head. He'd heard of them and their radical beliefs. He'd been appalled by their actions in '23; furthermore, he had no interest in participating in whatever revolutionary plans they had now.

"Please, I am not interested in politics," he said.

Ziegler backtracked quickly. "I understand. I feel the same way, but in exchange for sauerbraten, potato dumplings, and some good beer, it seems only fair to listen."

His mouth watered at the mention of the foods. Well, he supposed he could eat and leave, and listening to background noise while he ate didn't mean he had to join them. It was a matter of survival. His better judgment told him not to be so naive, but his stomach grumbled its opinion loudly and he relented.

Ziegler paid for his tab, helped him out of the seat and down the street. Klink felt rather like he was being led like sheep to the slaughterhouse and once again his poor brain attempted to persuade him not to go.

The hall was bright from the electric lights and warm from soaking up the afternoon sun. Klink took in the long rows of tables and benches already filled with men, many of whom appeared worse for wear.

At the back of the hall was a podium and a scrawny looking man with round, wire-rimmed glasses was sorting through a stack of papers. Ziegler led him to an empty spot on one of the benches then excused himself.

Klink suddenly felt very alone. Slowly, he took a closer look around, noticing how many of them were, like him, soldiers from the war. He could spot the haunted look from a mile away. Shells of once lively men; men who had pride in their country, in their Kaiser, in themselves.

Several more people filed in, taking the seats around him. The steady buzz of conversation was silence when the man at the podium tapped on the wood of the podium.

"Welcome," he said loudly, projecting his voice to the back of the room. "My name is Gerhard Fleishmann. I speak to you today on behalf of the National Socialist German Worker's Party."

There was a low rumble of comments as he continued. Klink was listening closely as Fleishmann began with a long list of plights. No food, no work, no shred of self-respect. He almost jolted as the man gave voice to the very thoughts he'd been thinking moments ago. Why was this?

Klink pondered the question, just as he was supposed to when the speaker paused.

"We lost the war," a man from the back shouted.

"Did we lose it?" Fleishmann countered. His brown eyes blazed with the passion of a man certain of his convictions. "I'd say we only lost because of one thing…"

Again he trailed off, leaving them to consider. Klink immediately thought of the poor decisions made. If only the fighting hadn't dragged on. If only…

"I'd say our downfall was a certain people at home... people like the November Criminals, stabbing us in the back."

Klink started.

"I'd say if these people hadn't been dragging down morale - convincing others that we were doomed - we'd still have the Rhineland. We'd still have our army. We'd still have our Kaiser!"

He listened to the murmurs of agreement and shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the sound of this speech, nor the fact that it was making him so angry and playing on the things he worked hard to keep at bay in his own heart. He should get up and go. The exit was right there, not even four feet away. His head screamed at him to make his limbs move, but he sat and listened.

He soothed his conscience by convincing it that he stayed for the food, for the beer and coffee; however, he stayed long after the food-portion had concluded, listening to the debates that sprang up from his fellow veterans. He stayed until they made it clear that he had to leave and as he walked home, he couldn't get what the speaker had said out of his mind.

It was certainly true that the current government was doing little to improve living conditions. The horrendous inflation and loss of work had crippled the lives of many.

But. what the Nazi party had done was treason...

But then again, what good was being loyal if your leaders ate cake while you starved?

The 'buts' that flew back and forth followed him back to the apartment and through his nighttime routine of hot cocoa and a good book. He pushed them away when his full belly outweighed the queasy feeling he had and he resolved to attend the meetings again. No real harm could be done. They were just men - like himself - who were lost, hungry, and struggling. He'd attend the meetings, at least until he secured some form of employment. Some good food and companionship would be just what he needed. He downed the last of the cocoa and switched off the lamp, falling into an uneasy sleep.