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Welcome to my second attempt at the Hermann Aichinger story, apologies for time wasting with the previous one but I jumped into it so quickly i felt I left no room for the necessary storyline. Having two goes to get something right seems to be a trademark for most of my work. I would like to point out that the storyline is 100% fictional and that Hermann Aichinger are not run by the last remnants of the SS. It makes for a much more interesting plot, so apologies to Germans and Brazilians alike.
Technical Info: FM 2006 6.0.2, Running all available leagues from: Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Chile, Peru and Uruguay
1945 Somewhere in the heart of Bavaria.......
The mist came flooding down from the mountains in the distance, reducing visibility to almost nothing. In the midst of a valley not too far from the line of towering black mountains, lay a small compound. Around the perimeter were tall 12 foot fences complete with wide ditches and barbed wire. There were only two entrances to the compound, at the front and back. Both were heavily fortified with sandbags that were home to MG-42 emplacements. At all four corners there were also machine gun towers that were constantly manned, complete with huge searchlights. Throughout the war, the compound had been a lightly guarded checkpoint. But now, as the Nazi retreat was in full swing it was now heavily manned, as what was left of the Third Reich's army prepared to mount guerrilla warfare upon the advancing Americans. On this clear and crisp night a single soldier approached the entrance. The sentries knew that the Americans could not have possibly advanced this far but still they treated the lone figure with suspicion. As the mysterious figure drew closer, the sentries trained the huge searchlight on to the figure. The figure instinctively raised his hand to protect his eyes from the intense light and it was then that the sentries recognised the uniform of a Captain of the SS. The Captain approached the gate and prepared his papers for inspection. As the Lieutenant at the gate pored over the Captain's papers, he lit a cigarette and stood listening to the faint rumbles of artillery in the distance. "Any day now" he thought to himself a the Lieutenant gave him the all clear to enter. As he entered he bared left and made for a small building in the far corner that he new to be the commanding officer's quarters. He knocked and then entered, he was greeted by the C.O. warmly:
"Matthias, come and sit down, a drink perhaps?"
Captain Matthias Stader, nodded in appreciation, "A large brandy if you have it"
"What’s happened?"
After a long pause Stader sighed and said "the Fuhrer is dead, Captain"
"Where did you hear this?"
"It appears he shot himself before the Americans or Russians could capture him, he’s ordered the SS to mount a last stand"
The C.O poured Stader his brandy and leant across the table, "What do you suggest we do?"
"We cannot stay here, to do that would be the death of us. We have to flee."
The C.O was becoming agitated, "Hang on a second, you’ve been here two seconds and are talking about fleeing the fatherland, I suggest you slow down and think of the implications."
"Yesterday I got a letter from my cousin, Hermann" Stader retrieved a crumpled letter from his inner pocket and flung it across to the C.O who began to read.
Dear Matthias,
Every day I hear more stories about how far the Americans and Russians have advanced, even the goddamn British and French are setting foot in our country. This is why I must urge you to come to Brazil by any means possible. Of course the weather is good and I am becoming involved in one or two things that will ensure the Fuhrer’s ideology lives on. I fear that to stay and fight would be futile for you. I know that Brazil is technically an enemy of the Reich but it would be in your best interests to join me here. Apologies for this brief letter but I look forward to speaking to you should you come here. The details of where to find me in Brazil are on the reverse of this letter.
Your Cousin,
Hermann Aichinger
The C.O lent back in his chair utterly bewildered, "Brazil?, Well when you said flee, I was rather hoping somewhere that wasn’t half way across the world in what is technically enemy territory!"
"For the love of God, Heinrich we have to do something! Its going to be hard work getting there, hopefully if we can get to Switzerland we can find a plane to get us there."
All of a sudden Heinrich had a wry smile on his face, "That is where I can help, I have a plane sat on a runway 15 minutes drive from here".
"So you’re coming?"
"Well if it’s a choice between going to Brazil or getting a Russian bullet lodged in my cranium, I guess I better get my coat"
"Ah yes, that might be a slight problem. Two people touching down in Brazil, stepping off the plane in SS uniform might send alarm bells ringing."
"We could always say we were at a fancy dress party"
"I have no time for your stupidity, grab as many civvies clothes as you can and lets get to this airport"
***
The airport was pretty much a long strip of tarmac, the huge bomber sat on the tarmac didn’t fill Stader with complete confidence,
"It’s a bit big isn’t it? Are you sure you can fly this thing?"
"Of course I can, anything smaller wouldn’t get us there anyway"
Six hours later the Atlantic was glistening in a icy blue hue underneath their wings. Stader turned to Heinrich,
"Seeing as we’re over half way there, there is something I should tell you"
"What?"
"Well I sort of edited the letter from my cousin, Nothing major really just what we’re going to do for work out there"
Thank you superwalli- luck will be needed once I get down to the football side of things.
1951
"It is with great pleasure to announce that Sociedade Desportiva Industrial has now become Clube Atletico Hermann Aichinger "
The small crowd gave a lethargic cheer as the ribbon was cut at the 3,000 capacity Baixada stadium. It was nothing major, they weren't even a professional side but it was the beginning of something. In a small Cafe across the street from where proceedings where occuring, two men sat drinking coffee. They didn't look like locals, rather more Nordic or Germanic in their appearance yet despite this they blended into their surroundings with apparant ease. In the street young children were kicking footballs backwards and forwards. The two men sat in silence until the taller of the two said,
"It's a shame Hermann could not have seen this".
The other finished his coffee, folded his newspaper and took off his sunglasses before replying,
"He would have been glad to see us take his place. This is where the spirit of the Fuhrer can live on, football will become huge business very soon. We can use it as a platform to fund a new party, a better party to erase the disgrace brought upon our people".
The other looked almost ashamed to hear those words,
"Don't you think the disgrace is deserved?, there were things going on that even I did not know about".
"A captain of the SS is not someone privileged to know of all the information in the Reich".
"I just think we have to move on with our lives, we have the football club now. We should bring it success for the people that live here, not to fund your sinister desires Heinrich".
Heinrich had clearly had enough of the conversation and got up and made to leave. He walked out of the Cafe and down the street to were his car was parked. On the way back to house he kept thinking about the conversation that had just occured. Six years ago Matthias had been just as fervent in his beliefs as he had been and still was. Yet what had changed? He had become weak, something that was despised in Heinrich's eyes. To him weakness was a sickness that had to be rooted out, but what to do about Matthias? When he reached his house he poured himself a large whiskey, went to his bedroom and retrieved a small box from the top of his wardrobe. He took it back into the living room and opened it. Inside was bundles of cloth, when he removed these there left a Luger pistol his sidearm from the war. There was only one clip. He removed both from the box and slid the clip into the gun, he then cocked it, placed it on the table and drained the whiskey before pouring himself another. He then picked up the phone and proceeded to dial Matthias' number.
Matthias opened the door, dropped the keys on the table and slumped into a chair. He needed a drink after this bust up with Heinrich, he went to the kitchen and poured himself something that was liable to take the paint off walls. He returned to his seat and sat contemplating through his troubled thoughts. He knew Heinrich all to well to know that he was going to try something. It seems as though he would live to curse the decision to invite Heinrich along on this journey that had led them to this moment. He regarded him as a best friend but he knew that Heinrich's love for his former life overuled anything else, it was what they had all been taught. The ringing of the phone was an unwelcome distraction, Matthias leaned over and picked up the receiver.
"Ja, Hallo"
"Its me, we need to talk..........meet me in the park in 20 minutes"
"Heinri...."
The line went dead. Slowly Matthias put the receiver down. He knew that something was about to happen, he went into his study and opened a drawer that was padlocked. The drawer contained two pistols, one a Luger, the other a Colt 45. and a knife from his SS days, full of Nazi engravings. He knew he would need protection so he took the knife but left the two firearms locked in the drawer. He didn't want to harm Heinrich but if things got nasty he wanted a more subtle weapon such as his knife, purely for self-defence. He might be over-reacting, anybody that was normal in this situation would not have been thinking about self defence and weapons. But Matthias and Heinrich were not normal people and it sickened Matthias because he knew it. He grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door, as he got there he stopped and stared at the phone and began to think.
***
Sat on the park bench, the Luger in Heinrich jacket had never felt so heavy in all the years he had had it. Just what was he going to do? Murder his best friend for the Reich? A party that had been dead for six years? But therein led the reason for Heinrich, he had to re-surrect the party, pioneer the Sieg Heil (Sacred Victory). It was then that Matthias pulled up in his car, he got out and walked towards Heinrich, who stood up to greet him,
"Well Heinrich? what is this all about?"
"I need to know whether you are with me or against me"
"What you stand for is dead and buried, so yes, I am against you"
"Then I don't think it is wise that a traitor like you should be allowed to work on this grand undertaking!"
Heinrich shouted the last words as he pulled the Luger out and took aim at Matthias. It was at that moment that a police officer leapt out of nowhere and slammed into Heinrich who was knocked off balance. As he and the police officer fell he managed to fire off a shot. Matthias felt a white hot heat sear through his shoulder and through his neck, he instantly went to ground, the warm, crimson blood flowing from the gunshot wound. As he went in and out of consciousness, he realised that his tip off to the police had worked. Heinrich would be spending a long time in jail and if he could survve the gunshot he would oust him from the football. Then would come the time for revenge.
Time passed and as he lay in the hospital bed he was vaguely aware of the doctors,
"He's lost so much blood, I think the main thing is to try and make him comfortable".
Maybe he deserved to die, he thought. The echoes of his past refused to go away, the wrongdoings of his comrades made him a war criminal. He prayed to God for forgiveness. The doctors noticed tears were still wet in his eyes as they recorded the time of death.
It was an uncharacteristically cold start to the new year, and at a prison in Ibirama a prisoner is being released. The prison gates open and out walks a small hunchbacked figure. He carries a walking stick which he leans heavily on. On closer inspection it is apparent that he is a very old man, possibly in his nineties. However he doesn’t look Brazilian, he has a European look about him. As he hobbles out of the gates, a sleek black Mercedes pulls up. A man in his thirties gets out of the car and jogs towards the old man. He puts a hand out to support him as he leads him to the car. Once they are both in the back of the car he begins to talk to the old man.
“Heinrich, I am Wolfgang, your grandson”
Heinrich looked short of breath and tired but managed a response,
“Where is your father”
“I’m afraid he passed away last summer, car accident. He passed sole ownership of the football club to me. He also schooled me in your beliefs and I support you fully, but you must know this is a very different world from that of ‘51.”
Losing a son and acquiring a grandson in the space of a few minutes didn’t appear to phase Heinrich, at least it wasn’t apparent in his expression.
“Where are we going?”
“To meet the man that is taking our football club forward”
***
That man was me. I’d been in Brazil for a year now, an Englishman plying his trade abroad. The lure of sun, sea , sand and the best footballers in the world had been enough to send me on the next flight out to Brazil. Clube Atletico Hermann Aichinger was my big break but it was a hard assignment, the Third Division consisted of over a 100 clubs and at the end of a gruelling season of group stages and knockout phases only two lucky clubs would get into the Second Division. In addition to this my first season kicked off with the Santa Catarina state championship. After initial brightness we failed to qualify after finishing third in the group stages behind Avai and Figueirense. In the Third Division, we scraped into the knockout phases, finishing second behind CENE. Win after win saw us end up in the final group stage of four teams. We performed badly at first but sealed qualification on the last day, finishing second behind Treze. Now we were in the Second Division and a mammoth relegation battle awaited.
But even worse, I now had to meet the convicted murderer/former SS officer that was our chairman. After being incarcerated for 56 years for shooting to death his former comrade and business partner, Heinrich Wolfenstein was now at the jolly old age of 89. It was he that insisted the club’s shirt should be a particular shade of Nazi crimson and that through the halls pictures of Hitler, Himmler and others should be displayed. That was in 1951 and nothing had changed.
Now, I had to meet the octogenarian psychopath……………
I was to meet him in the executive office at the stadium, I made my way there through the maze of corridors that contained photo’s of SS leaders and cabinets full of antique weapons and Nazi flags. It was utterly disturbing, and what made it more so was the fact it hadn’t been there last season. As I approached the office I could have sworn I heard what sounded like traditional 40’s German music playing over the intercom. I took a deep breath and walked inside.
Heinrich was sat behind a desk in a wheelchair, he didn’t look old or frail as I had expected, in fact he looked full of life and alert. He was flanked by his grandson who sat on his left. He motioned for me to sit down.
His English was thickly accented and I tried to hold back a laugh as he spoke, how was I to know that I might not be next on his hit list.
“Wolfgang tells me zat you are ze man responsible for ze promotion of our club”
“Well I’ll like to think the players were just as responsible for getting us there”
“Ja Naturlich, I didn’t expect so much from ein Englander”
It was the kind of statement that one has no reply for, I didn’t know whether to thank him or have a go at him.
“Yes, well I’m glad I have been of use to the club.”
“You must be avare of ze…how you say? Difficulties zat avait you, Wolfgang tells me zat ze Zweite Division is very hard for us to stay in, ja?”
“It’s a challenge but I assure you that we will stay up and establish ourselves there.”
“Das ist sehr gut, but you must know zat we expect to be in ze Erste Division within five years”
It was a big ask, but I could be getting up close and personal with the wrong end of the Reich if I failed. Would this old git even be around in five years. On second thought his grandson looked every bit the stereotypical efficient facist that Heinrich was.
“Well, I’ll do my best for you sir.”
I was already calling him sir which was a worrying sign, I tried to put it out of my mind as I went down to the pitch to hold the start of season training meeting.
Sacred Victory 
Linear Mode
