Chapter 29: Falling Out
Early in the morning, Guderian was already on the training ground, directing three armored battalions through a simulated engagement.
Calling them armored battalions, however, was almost an act of faith.
The three battalions together could not have produced a single real armored vehicle. Each soldier held a paper radio set and shouted reports into it like an actor in a stage play.
"Company so and so is in position!"
In reality, there was no company behind him.
Each individual man represented an entire company, and the armored vehicles existed only in spoken orders, chalk lines, and imagination.
If an outsider had witnessed it, he would likely have concluded that Guderian had gone mad and that the German army had degenerated into farce.
Only men on the inside could understand the truth.
Comical as it looked, this exercise was being conducted with absolute seriousness. In terms of structure, timing, and tactical value, it was entirely practical.
It was only the lack of equipment that made it absurd.
"First and Second Companies secure the street. Infantry, begin penetration. Faster. Faster! Faster!"
Stopwatch in hand, Guderian signaled for the exercise to halt, then drove his jeep straight to the center of the field and addressed the officers and men with visible irritation.
"Still too slow. Still too slow. Armor and infantry must act as one body. They are not separate arms. They are two fists. When the left fist strikes, the right fist must follow immediately."
He touched one of the cardboard vehicle models beside him and was just about to continue his lecture when movement near the barracks gate drew his attention.
At once, his instincts told him something was wrong.
There should not have been visitors at this hour.
He raised his field glasses.
Through the lenses, he saw two unfamiliar men entering with cameras slung at their sides.
Guderian's heart lurched.
He lowered the binoculars instantly and issued orders in rapid succession.
"Send a telegram to Deputy Division Commander Jörg. Tell him to come here immediately. And inform all units to switch to the prearranged exercise protocol at once."
The battalion commander in charge of the drill looked startled.
"Captain, should the exercise continue?"
"Continue," Guderian said sharply, "but from this moment on, all armored signs become enemy targets. You are no longer conducting an armored maneuver. You are conducting an infantry exercise in defense against enemy armor. Do you understand?"
"Understood!"
…
At the command post, Naz slowly put down the telephone receiver.
"Understood," he said. "I'll handle the special commissioners from the Allied Control Commission personally."
Then he turned to his adjutant.
"Take me there."
As the black car rolled toward the training ground, the smile on Naz's lips became more difficult to suppress.
So Jörg liked innovation, did he?
He wanted to see who would protect him now.
A few minutes later, at the division gate, Naz stepped out, saluted the arriving inspection party, and introduced himself in a tone of proper military restraint.
"I am Captain Naz Meier, supervising inspector of the First Logistics Armored Division. Your Excellencies, I received special notice and came personally to receive you."
The two commissioners exchanged a brief glance before responding in a cool, official tone.
"Captain Meier, the Allied Control Commission has received a report alleging that your division is conducting unauthorized armored training in violation of the treaty restrictions. We would like to inspect the division at once."
"Certainly," Naz replied at once. "Please come with me."
Then, as if speaking only from duty, he added with careful innocence,
"Strictly speaking, our logistics armored branch has already complied with every directive issued by the Allied Control Commission. As far as I am aware, there is not a single armored vehicle in our warehouse beyond trucks and support transport. So such a report should not be possible."
He paused.
"Unless…"
The casual tone vanished.
The word hooked both commissioners immediately.
"Unless what, Captain Meier?" one of them asked.
Naz lowered his voice just enough to sound reluctant.
"It's nothing certain. Merely a concern."
Then he glanced downward as though troubled by the thought.
"The last few months of reorganization were entrusted almost entirely to our Deputy Division Commander, Captain Jörg von Roman. He is young, and young men sometimes do irrational things."
That was enough.
At once the tension in the air changed.
The two commissioners, who had arrived more from obligation than genuine alarm, began to take the matter more seriously. Even the French newspaper reporter who had come all the way from France licked his lips, already sensing the possibility of a sensational article.
That was exactly the reaction Naz had wanted.
In his mind, he had already begun to picture Jörg dragged out under accusation, stripped of rank and begging uselessly for mercy.
What he did not realize was that, in the eyes of several German guards nearby, his performance already resembled something dangerously close to betrayal.
The cars reached the exercise ground.
Suppressing his pleasure, Naz adopted a severe expression, one of grim official duty. He did not even spare Guderian a glance as the latter came up to greet the inspection party.
In Naz's mind, Guderian was already finished as well.
But when he raised his field glasses and finally examined the training area, he froze.
There were armored vehicles on the field.
Or rather, there were shapes meant to represent armored vehicles.
They were made of paper and cardboard, with Polish markings painted across the sides. Several squads of soldiers were firing rifles at them, clearly engaged in a defensive exercise against an imagined armored advance.
For a second, silence held.
Then the commissioners laughed.
Not politely.
Mockingly.
Paper tanks.
Were the Germans playing children's games now?
At the same time, however, they also relaxed. Anyone with eyes could see that the Polish markings turned this from offensive armored training into a defensive exercise against a hypothetical Polish threat.
And besides, could Germany in its current state realistically afford actual armored instruction?
The French reporter, meanwhile, was delighted. He began snapping photographs at once, his mind already forming a string of sarcastic lines with which to ridicule the state of German military preparedness.
"Gentlemen, I apologize for arriving late."
The voice from behind brought the laughter to a stop.
The commissioners turned and saw Jörg approaching.
"You must be Captain Jörg von Roman," one of them said, still half smiling. "Young man, you are certainly… inventive."
His glance swept across the field again.
"It appears the accusation of real armored training was entirely false. We will not disturb your little theatrical performance any further."
Jörg nodded with complete composure.
"Very well. I'll see you out."
Then, in a tone light enough to sound almost conversational, he added,
"The man who submitted such false information must be exceptionally foolish. He did not even trouble to think with whatever dog's brain he possesses before causing you to waste your time and needlessly deepen diplomatic mistrust."
He let the words land.
"Quite malicious, really."
Now it was Naz who could no longer remain still.
The contempt in Jörg's eyes, and the mockery inside that mild smile, were like acid thrown across his face.
All at once, Naz remembered the warehouse.
The one where Jörg's men were always coming and going.
The real vehicles had to be hidden there.
How else could he possibly be training tank drivers?
Laugh while you can, he thought. Once the commissioners find what's in the warehouse, you'll be laughing in prison.
He raised his hand sharply and interrupted the movement of the departing party.
"If an inspection is to be conducted," he said, "then it should be conducted thoroughly. Otherwise false rumors will continue to spread."
Then he turned toward the commissioners with righteous gravity.
"Please inspect the training center warehouse as well."
He allowed himself just enough emphasis to make the next sentence sting.
"It will also clear Deputy Division Commander Jörg's name."
Naz's eyes snapped back to Jörg's face, searching for panic, for even the slightest fracture in his composure.
He found none.
Jörg stood there as steady as before, his expression still carrying that same infuriating hint of amusement.
"Since General Naz has suggested it," Jörg said evenly, "then by all means."
He extended one hand with perfect calm.
"Gentlemen, this way."
.....
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