Chapter 23: Crazy Idea
"Not enough? Then tell me what you have in mind."
Compared with the proposal itself, Seeckt was actually more curious about something else, how exactly Jörg had managed to uncover the Reichswehr's real reform strategy.
The truth was not supposed to be known.
The one hundred thousand man army reorganization was information restricted to only a very small circle of senior military and political officials. Yet this young man, who had never attended a military academy and had only just entered the army, had somehow grasped its essence almost at once.
Seeckt rested both hands on the mahogany desk and studied him with genuine interest.
As the architect of Germany's postwar military foundation, he was not often surprised.
But now he was.
Jörg remained completely composed.
"Not enough," he repeated. "We can change the entire approach."
He stood, took up a piece of chalk, and moved toward the small blackboard at the side of the room.
"If we can train one hundred thousand elite men as future company and platoon leaders, then why can't we place a large number of demobilized second line soldiers into another structure entirely?"
Seeckt's eyes widened, only slightly, but enough to betray that the point had struck him.
Then, after a short pause, he turned his surprise into a teasing objection.
"You mean to dump them into the police system?"
His voice was dry.
"There are some two and a half million men awaiting demobilization. Two and a half million policemen in one country. Even an idiot would see the problem with that."
He leaned back a little.
"Or do you imagine the Allied Control Commission is staffed entirely by fools? The French garrisons in Bavaria and Hamburg have not gone home yet, young man. Don't assume the world is as simple as your enthusiasm wants it to be."
Jörg showed no sign of irritation.
His black suit, the chalk in his hand, and the composed certainty in his eyes made him look less like an officer and more like a talented young lecturer in a university hall.
"I believe you've misunderstood me, Mr. Seeckt."
He drew one large circle on the board, then two smaller ones beside it.
"With all respect, of those two and a half million men, the elite core has already been screened out. That leaves perhaps three hundred thousand with serious combat experience or usable training value."
He tapped the first circle.
"We can disperse this group into the public security police structure and continue training them according to military standards. If war comes, they become the most reliable foundation of grassroots officers."
Then he turned to the larger circle.
"That does not mean the other two million men should be abandoned."
He faced Seeckt again.
"On the contrary, those two million men are an enormous treasure."
Now his tone sharpened.
"Since the Allied Control Commission does not permit them to exist openly within the army, then let them exist outside it. Quietly. Indirectly. Through veterans' associations."
Seeckt said nothing.
Jörg continued, more animated with every sentence.
"We must keep hold of those former soldiers who still wish to serve. Once war breaks out, they can organize themselves with astonishing speed."
He pointed back at the circles.
"With a framework of roughly four hundred thousand trained leaders and officers beneath the surface, the state could raise an army of one million almost instantly."
The chalk dust on his cuffs, the intensity in his voice, and the daring scale of the idea gave the moment a strange electricity.
This was no longer a discussion.
It had become a sermon.
Even Seeckt, the famously silent pragmatist, the so called Sphinx of the army, found himself nodding almost unconsciously.
He had long thought his own way of circumventing Versailles was already bold.
And now here stood someone even bolder.
Worse, or perhaps better, he had clearly thought the matter through.
"Your proposal is audacious, Jörg" Seeckt said at last. "But let us suppose for a moment it could be done. What if there is no war in the next few years? Or even for decades?"
His tone was probing now, not dismissive.
"Would those organizations still have value?"
The change in his form of address did not escape Jörg's notice.
He was no longer "boy."
He was Jörg.
That alone told him that Seeckt had begun to take him seriously.
"Of course they would," Jörg replied. "The Treaty of Versailles forbids conscription. That means Germany cannot maintain an adequate reserve system."
He turned and underlined one of the circles with the chalk.
"A veterans' association can become an extension of conscription in all but name. It provides a public platform through which ex soldiers remain connected, trained, and loyal."
Then his smile deepened just slightly.
"And not only that. These associations can organize radio hobby groups, rifle clubs, technical classes, outdoor camps, and all manner of patriotic activities. Most importantly, they can increase the public's admiration for military life."
He let the implication settle.
"A manipulated voluntarism, if you like."
Then he spread his hands.
"And every part of it can still be presented as nothing more than spontaneous civic activity organized by retired veterans. Entirely legal. Entirely harmless."
For perhaps the first time in a very long while, Seeckt fell into genuine contemplation.
He knew this was only a conversation.
No proposal existed.
No structure.
No budget.
And yet his mind was already racing ahead, testing the bones of the idea for strength.
If Germany truly used the two million discharged soldiers as a latent base and allowed them to form clubs and networks across the country, then the system could indeed become a hidden pipeline for military continuity, fresh blood, new talent, reserve leadership.
And if managed carefully enough, it might do all of this while remaining almost technically within the limits of Versailles.
There was a flaw, of course.
A large one.
Money.
It would cost far too much.
Without serious financial investment, the whole structure would remain a fantasy. And Seeckt did not believe the government, crippled by inflation and political cowardice, would eagerly fund anything so ambitious.
He was many things.
He was not a painter shut away from the world.
He knew well enough how bad the economy had become.
At length, he looked back up at Jörg.
"I understand now why Hindenburg thinks so highly of you."
There was a faint smile in his voice now.
"You are interesting, Jörg. This is the first time I have heard a covert rearmament plan so bold that it borders on madness."
He tapped the desk once with a finger.
"If the Allied Control Commission heard you speak this way, they would have you shot."
Jörg laughed.
"Would you protect me?"
That drew from Seeckt something even rarer than approval.
Humor.
"If it comes to that," he said, "then I suppose I'll be shot beside you."
Despite himself, and despite all the reasons not to, desire had already begun taking root in him.
Because if this plan could truly be implemented, then Germany would not need fifteen years to recover her military framework.
No.
Ten might be enough.
Ten years to rebuild the skeleton of a first class military power.
Ten years to return Germany to Europe as a force no one could ignore.
He leaned forward again.
"If," he said carefully, "and I do mean if, this could be implemented, which branches would you prioritize?"
"The air force," Jörg answered at once, "and armored warfare."
Seeckt followed immediately.
"What sort of air force? What sort of armor?"
He asked question after question in rapid succession now, all pretense of casual testing gone. Even the cold coffee in his cup seemed to have regained some warmth from the fire of the discussion.
Jörg answered without a hint of hesitation.
"An air force capable of turning open plains into burning wasteland."
His eyes seemed almost to reflect the vision as he spoke.
"And armor that can charge without obstruction."
At the mention of the air force, Seeckt nodded immediately.
He had already understood, from the war itself, just how terrifying those machines of the sky could become. Their future importance was beyond doubt.
On armor, however, his instincts were more cautious.
His own preference still leaned toward armored formations with a stronger focus on defense, transport, and controlled mobility. That matched not only his own thinking, but also much of the current thinking inside the military establishment.
But they knew its value.
And worse, so did the Allies.
That was the problem.
How could Germany train pilots?
How could she research aircraft?
How could she develop modern engines, weapons, doctrine, industry?
All of those remained unresolved.
The thought dimmed Seeckt's expression once more.
He looked out toward the setting sun, already half sunk beyond the horizon, and for a moment seemed to see Germany's fate hanging there with it, red, uncertain, and impossible to grasp.
Then the room changed.
Jörg crossed to the chandelier cord and pulled it.
Cool light flooded the office, cutting through the dusk.
"Mr. Seeckt," he said evenly, "it's getting late. You should get some rest."
Then he added, almost casually:
"As for how the air force and armored arms ought to continue developing, I can report on that to you tomorrow."
Seeckt turned around so sharply it was almost unbecoming.
"Tomorrow?"
For the first time that day, real impatience showed openly on his face.
"No," he said at once. "Not tomorrow."
His eyes fixed on Jörg.
"Now."
.....
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