Oskar remained beside the nearest Panzer while Gustav Schwarzenegger explained the machine to the most powerful soldiers in Germany.
The boy spoke quickly but clearly, pointing out vision slits, armour joints, access hatches and the track mechanism with the confidence of someone who had repeated every detail until it had become instinct. Generals old enough to be his grandfathers listened while aides filled entire pages with notes.
It was a remarkable sight.
Gustav had begun life as an orphan with no name anyone considered important. Then he had won Oskar's lottery, become a millionaire almost by accident and entered the palace household as a stable boy who understood horses better than people.
Now he stood upon the first German Panzer, explaining armoured warfare to the Kaiser.
Oskar had expected the older vehicle commanders to resent him. Gustav was fourteen, younger than some of their sons, yet he had been placed near the head of an entirely new military branch.
But Oskar saw little open jealousy.
There was uncertainty, certainly. Some men watched Gustav as though waiting for his knowledge to fail him. Yet each question was answered correctly. He remembered specifications, maintenance requirements and tactical procedures with an ease that gradually silenced the doubters.
Perhaps they understood what Oskar already knew.
Gustav had more to lose than any of them.
The older commanders possessed homes, families and established military careers. If the Panzer programme failed, they could return to cavalry, engineering or ordinary Army service.
Gustav possessed wealth, but little else that felt permanent. The machines had given him purpose. If he succeeded, he might rise far enough to become worthy of the future he secretly desired. Of Princess Louise.
Wilhelm knew nothing of that particular ambition.
As far as the Kaiser understood, his daughter spent her time attending lessons, concerts, charitable events and the occasional military demonstration. In truth, she had been using those visits to see Gustav for years. The Eternal Guards assigned to her had kept their silence where ordinary royal guards would have reported every meeting.
Their attachment remained innocent but unmistakable—letters, stolen conversations and promises carried forward from childhood with increasing seriousness.
Oskar could only imagine what his father would do upon discovering that the young cadet standing proudly upon the Panzer was also the secret object of his only daughter's affection.
There would be shouting, possibly chasing. Almost certainly a prolonged imperial lecture concerning dynastic dignity.
The thought brought a grin to Oskar's face.
Fortunately, Wilhelm was too fascinated by the machine to notice.
Up close, the Panzer I appeared smaller than it had upon the field. That was partly because Oskar stood beside it.
At slightly more than five metres long, roughly two and a half metres wide and a little above two metres tall, the machine remained imposing beside an ordinary soldier. Beside Oskar, its turret seemed almost low enough for him to look directly across the gun.
The vehicle weighed just under twenty tons.
Its frontal armour reached thirty millimetres and had been angled wherever possible to deflect rifle rounds, machine-gun fire and fragments. The sides and rear were protected by fifteen millimetres of steel—sufficient against ordinary infantry weapons, though vulnerable to field artillery and specialised guns.
A compact three-hundred-horsepower diesel engine occupied the rear.
Upon a proper road, the Panzer could reach approximately forty kilometres per hour. Across mud, snow and broken ground it moved more slowly, but its tracks allowed it to cross terrain that would trap wheeled armoured cars.
Its turret carried a quick-firing thirty-seven-millimetre cannon intended to destroy machine-gun positions, fieldworks and lightly protected targets. A machine gun sat beside the cannon, while another fired from the hull.
The ammunition allowance included approximately one hundred cannon shells and two thousand machine-gun rounds.
Most importantly, every vehicle possessed a wireless set.
A Panzer commander did not have to stop, climb out and wave flags toward the rest of his formation. Orders could be transmitted while the vehicles continued moving, allowing platoons and companies to alter direction, concentrate upon resistance or exploit a breakthrough almost immediately.
None of the individual features was magical.
Together, they formed something the existing Army did not know how to stop.
The vehicle's price was also lower than its complexity suggested.
Oskar's industries controlled much of the chain behind it. His companies extracted bauxite for lightweight aluminium components, held interests in mines producing iron, copper and other necessary materials, and possessed the factories and advanced machine tools required to turn those materials into engines, weapons and armour.
Krupp supplied the steel and heavy industrial expertise. Imperial Weapons Works handled assembly and armament.
Conveyor production and standardised components reduced labour. There were few independent contractors adding profit at every stage, because much of the process remained inside the Oskar Industrial Group.
The Panzer was expensive. It was simply less expensive than it had any right to be.
Wilhelm moved slowly around the vehicle, tapping the armour with one gloved hand.
"How much?" he asked.
Oskar knew precisely what he meant.
"Thirty-five thousand marks for one operational Panzer."
Moltke's expression tightened immediately.
Wilhelm merely looked toward the line of forty machines.
"And an armoured division?"
"One hundred and fifty Panzers would cost approximately five million two hundred and fifty thousand marks."
Oskar gestured toward the vehicles and workshops beyond the demonstration field.
"But that purchases only the machines. An armoured division also requires infantry transports, fuel tankers, ammunition trucks, maintenance vehicles, motorcycles, recovery equipment, engineers, radios and medical support."
He paused.
"A properly equipped division would cost closer to twenty million marks."
The enthusiasm upon several faces dimmed.
Twenty million marks could raise infantry formations, purchase artillery or maintain thousands of horses. It was not an impossible sum for Germany, but neither was it something even a Kaiser could ignore.
Moltke stepped closer.
"Your Majesty, we must proceed carefully. These vehicles are impressive, but they remain experimental. Engines fail. Tracks break. Their fuel and maintenance demands will place further strain upon the Army."
Wilhelm continued looking at the Panzer.
"How many can be produced?"
Oskar answered without hesitation.
"One thousand within two years."
That drew the General's attention away from the machine.
Moltke frowned.
"A thousand?"
"Yes."
"Can your factories truly sustain such an order?"
"Not comfortably."
Oskar smiled slightly.
"But they will."
Production would have to expand. New assembly halls would be required. More workers would need training, while Krupp and Imperial Weapons Works would have to coordinate armour, engines, guns and transmissions on a scale neither company had previously attempted.
It would be difficult.
Difficulty had never been the same thing as impossibility.
"The Black Legion's armoured division will be financed separately by me," Oskar continued. "The government order would supply the remainder of the Army."
Moltke looked toward the ruined trench line. He still disliked the price. He disliked the speed of the decision more. But even he could no longer argue that the machines were useless.
"How would they be distributed?" he asked.
"However the General Staff considers them best distributed," Oskar replied simply.
That was the compromise Moltke wanted to hear.
Oskar did not add that he considered such distribution wasteful.
One thousand tanks scattered across seven western armies would become local supports—useful, certainly, but incapable of achieving the shock produced by a concentrated armoured formation.
The Black Legion would follow a different doctrine. Its Panzers would remain together.
They would find a weak point, strike through it and continue moving before the enemy recovered. Infantry, engineers, artillery and motor columns would follow the breach rather than forcing the armour to crawl beside every rifle battalion.
Moltke might use his machines as moving shields, or find some other cautious role for them. Oskar intended to concentrate his and strike with them like a fist.
Either approach would teach Germany something about armoured warfare. But only one would reveal what the Panzer could truly become.
Wilhelm finally turned from the vehicle.
"I want them."
Moltke drew breath.
The Kaiser raised one hand before he could speak.
"One thousand Panzer I vehicles," Wilhelm said. "Delivered over two years. The Eighth Army will receive its armoured division separately, as Oskar proposed."
His eyes moved across the gathered officers.
"Prepare the authorisation."
Moltke hesitated, then bowed.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The agreement was drafted before the party left the training grounds.
Oskar Industrial Group representatives already possessed the necessary contracts, cost estimates and production schedules. Moltke reviewed the figures with visible reluctance. Krupp's representatives confirmed the armour capacity, while Oskar personally guaranteed delivery.
Then Wilhelm signed.
One thousand Panzer I vehicles. Thirty-five million marks for the machines themselves, with additional appropriations to follow for transport, maintenance, crews and training.
The order was enormous. It was also only the beginning. The future of the Imperial German Army changed beneath a single movement of the Kaiser's pen.
Oskar insisted upon one final condition.
"The vehicles must remain secret."
Wilhelm looked up from the contract.
"Obviously."
"Not merely restricted," Oskar said. "Hidden."
He glanced toward the Panzers.
"The moment Britain, France or Russia learns what these machines can do, they will begin developing their own. They will design stronger guns, wider trenches and specialised obstacles. Every month of secrecy gives us another month of advantage."
The generals understood that logic immediately.
Oskar continued.
"Within the Army, they may be called Panzerkampfwagen. Outside it—and in procurement documents—they will be listed as water tanks."
Wilhelm's moustache twitched.
"Water tanks?"
"Wassertanks," Oskar confirmed. "Large tracked water carriers intended for difficult terrain. Harmless, dull and unworthy of foreign attention."
A few officers smiled. Moltke did not, though he appeared to approve of the deception.
Wilhelm looked again toward the lines of armoured vehicles.
"Very well. The Panzer programme will be classified at the highest level. All external documentation will refer to the machines as Wassertanks."
His expression hardened.
"Any man who reveals their true purpose without authorisation will face court-martial, regardless of rank."
The officers answered together.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The matter was settled.
Wilhelm's earlier doubts about the Black Legion had not vanished completely, but pride now outweighed them. His son had not squandered the authority placed in his hands. He had created an army stronger than anything the Kaiser had imagined.
More importantly, Germany now possessed a weapon his cousin George and every other ruler in Europe would envy—once they were finally permitted to learn it existed.
The thought pleased Wilhelm immensely.
He returned to the nearest Panzer and looked upon it almost affectionately.
"My boy," he said, "your army is magnificent."
Oskar inclined his head.
"And these machines…"
Wilhelm rested one hand upon the cold armour.
"These are even better."
He turned toward his son with sudden eagerness.
"Surely there is something more."
Oskar lifted an eyebrow.
"More?"
"You have hidden marksmen, portable wireless sets and an entire regiment of moving fortresses. Knowing you, that cannot possibly be everything."
The Kaiser's smile widened.
"What else have you prepared?"
Oskar looked beyond the field.
The winter sun had already fallen low, colouring the snow and clouds in muted gold. Shadows stretched from the tree line, while the cold deepened around the idling machines.
He did have something more. Something even Wilhelm had not yet imagined.
Oskar smiled.
"There is one final demonstration."
Wilhelm's eyes brightened.
"But," Oskar continued, "the hour is late."
He gestured toward the descending sun.
"What remains will have to wait until tomorrow."
The Kaiser stared at him with the disappointment of a child told that a wrapped gift could not be opened before morning.
Then he laughed.
"Very well."
He turned once more toward the Panzers, clearly reluctant to leave them behind.
"Tomorrow, then."
Oskar watched the fading light settle across the first armoured regiment of the Black Legion.
"Tomorrow," he agreed.