Chapter 22: National Defense Force
The next day, at Berlin's Königsplatz, a brand new Mercedes sedan rolled to a stop before the great building off to the side. Jörg lowered the window slightly and looked up.
Above, the black, red, and gold tricolor of the Weimar Republic fluttered in the wind. In the central lawn stood Bismarck's statue, stern and immovable, while the light red brick of the building itself carried a weight of age and state authority.
That was why people simply called it the Red Brick Building.
Its exterior was not especially striking.
Its importance was another matter entirely.
For behind those walls lay the headquarters of the German General Staff, a place whose weight far exceeded its appearance. Less than two kilometers away stood the headquarters of the Commander in Chief of the Reichswehr. In practical terms, this was one of the last true instruments of military continuity Germany still possessed under the shackles of the Treaty of Versailles.
"Sir, your permit, please."
A soldier on duty stepped forward with a rifle in hand and saluted crisply.
Jörg handed over both his identification and the letter of introduction.
The soldier had clearly already received prior notice. He read the letter carefully, checked the steel seal, and after confirming it was genuine, snapped his heels together and saluted again.
"Welcome, Mr. Roman."
Then he gave the signal.
The barrier at the gate was moved aside, and the Mercedes rolled forward once more. It curved around the central lawn before finally coming to a stop beneath the Red Brick Building itself.
A receptionist who had clearly been waiting in advance immediately opened the rear door, saluted, and introduced himself.
"Mr. Roman, Corporal Shelto of the Berlin Military District Capital Guard, Reichswehr, reporting. Welcome."
Jörg stepped out of the car.
His blond hair, paired with a tailored gray black suit, made him look oddly out of place among the brown green military uniforms around him. He drew in a slow breath of the cold air, smiled, and returned the salute.
"Good day, Corporal Shelto. Would you mind taking me to report in? This place is large enough that I'm afraid I might get lost."
"Of course, sir. Of course."
Shelto answered quickly, though while speaking, he could not help secretly studying Jörg from the corners of his eyes.
The suit alone spoke of money.
The posture spoke of breeding.
And that face, too handsome, too polished, too flawless, only made the rumor sound more believable.
Was it possible that the whisper going around, that Jörg was some illegitimate son of Hindenburg, was actually true?
While his thoughts wandered in dangerous directions, a soft exclamation behind him broke the spell.
He turned.
A stern old man holding a cane stood there, looking straight at Jörg.
"I'll take him from here. Corporal Shelto, return to your duties."
The moment Shelto recognized who it was, all the ridiculous fantasies in his head exploded into panic. He snapped to attention and saluted so hard his whole body nearly locked up.
"Yes, sir!"
Once the others had withdrawn, Hindenburg looked at Jörg in a far more familiar way.
"Well, boy, did you like the horse I sent you?"
After dismissing the guards, even his tone had changed back to the one he used privately.
Jörg smiled.
"Very much, Marshal. Thank you."
With a field marshal leading the way in person, Jörg was briefly treated to what it felt like to be a real object of interest.
Everywhere they passed, officers and clerks turned to look.
Some saluted.
Some merely stared.
Many wore expressions of open curiosity, and quite a few looked openly envious. For a brief moment, Jörg almost felt like some rare exhibit being paraded through a gallery.
They walked side by side along the carpeted corridor.
Then Hindenburg asked, "Do you know what post I arranged for you in the army?"
Jörg shook his head.
Seeing that this young man was not, in fact, all knowing, a trace of amusement surfaced in Hindenburg's aging eyes.
"You'll begin as a captain assigned to military reform."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"To jump from police minister directly into the army as a captain is something Germany has never seen before."
Jörg said nothing, so Hindenburg continued.
"You're lucky. Very lucky. But you are also unlucky."
He tapped the cane once against the floor.
"Many officers spend their entire lives without ever reaching the rank of captain. You obtained it through a single deed."
His gaze turned more pointed.
"Do you really think the officers under this roof will obey you?"
Jörg answered at once.
"No."
"Exactly."
Hindenburg nodded with visible approval.
"So do your best not to be thrown out. You should understand this clearly, I do not truly command the army anymore. Being able to secure this promotion for you is already the limit of what I can do."
He placed a hand on Jörg's shoulder.
"Whether you remain here, whether you climb higher, that depends entirely on you."
On the surface, this was an opportunity.
A ladder.
A test of whether Jörg truly possessed the ability to rise.
But beneath that surface lay another purpose.
Seeckt's reforms were becoming too extensive, too effective, too independent. The Reichswehr was slowly turning into a domain shaped more and more by his will alone. That did not please Hindenburg, and it certainly did not please many figures inside the government.
This private escort today was, in its own way, a message.
Placing Jörg near the core of military reform was not merely a favor. It was also a reminder to the Commander in Chief that Hindenburg could still place his own people on the board.
If Jörg failed to survive in the army, if he proved incapable as a military man and was cast out, then that would end one line of possibility.
He would become little more than a thorn, useful perhaps for irritation but not for war.
At that point, a second test would await him, diplomacy with Soviet Russia.
If he performed well there, the Foreign Ministry might yet open its doors wider.
If he failed at that too, then he would become what Hindenburg most despised: a man who spoke well but accomplished nothing.
Such men were expendable.
They reached the innermost office.
Hindenburg tapped lightly on the door.
Inside came Seeckt's cold, habitual voice.
"Come in."
Hindenburg looked at Jörg one last time.
In truth, he hoped the young man would prove to be the genuine thing, a real talent, someone who could be of use to Germany and perhaps even shine for it.
But if he failed both tests, then Hindenburg would not hesitate to treat him as what failed pieces always became.
Discarded.
"Go on, Captain," he said. "I hope you manage to shine in the Reichswehr."
Then, leaning on his cane, he turned and walked away without looking back.
Jörg watched that retreating figure for a brief moment, and something shifted in his expression. The outward respect remained, but beneath it there was now something quieter, deeper, more knowing.
Then he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
A faint smell of tobacco hung in the room.
The curtains opposite the door had been drawn open, allowing natural light to spill across the office and illuminate the profile of an old man wearing glasses. He looked unassuming at first glance, almost scholarly. But only at first glance.
This was Seeckt.
He wiped his lenses, lifted his gaze from a stack of officer reorganization documents, and studied the young man before him with narrowed eyes.
This was Hindenburg's "connected man."
After a long silence, he finally spoke in a low, dry voice.
"Hindenburg has sent me a film star."
His gaze ran across Jörg once more.
"Being handsome is not enough to secure a place in the Reichswehr."
Then he leaned back slightly.
"I hear you have a remarkable eye for national affairs. You even predicted that Britain and the United States would step in with assistance."
He pointed toward the chair opposite him.
"How much do you actually understand about military reform… and the future direction of military development?"
Jörg sat down without ceremony.
Seeckt did not suppress him simply because he came through Hindenburg's channels. On the contrary, the very fact that Hindenburg had spent political capital to force this "movie star" into the army convinced him that the young man must have something worth examining.
Jörg met his eyes directly.
"Military reform?"
He spoke calmly, but every word was precise.
"My personal view is that the Treaty of Versailles limits the size of the army. But it does not say that all the men within that limit must remain merely soldiers."
Seeckt's eyes sharpened slightly.
Jörg continued.
"If non commissioned officers are trained with the capacity of future generals, if every available place is turned into an officer or leader capable of commanding expansion later, then the restrictions of Versailles can be circumvented in practice. You preserve a compact army on paper, while in reality creating the skeleton of rapid wartime mobilization."
He paused.
"And that, if I'm not mistaken, is exactly what you are already doing."
For the first time, Seeckt's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Jörg leaned back, unhurried, confident.
"However," he said, "I believe that still isn't enough."
.....
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