Chapter 32: Money and Life
General Staff Headquarters.
The Mauser rifle sent over from Britain lay on the table like a public accusation.
An adjutant stood beside it, reporting the findings of the inspection office word for word.
"After verification of the serial number, there is a high probability that this batch of weapons originated from the First Logistics Armored Division."
Seeckt said nothing at first.
Then, with a violent snap, the silver spoon in his hand bent out of shape. A teacup engraved with maple leaves shattered against the floor.
"What do they take the army for?"
His voice was low, but it carried the weight of a cannon.
"A treasure island for making money? These damned parasites have disgraced the Reichswehr before foreign governments."
His expression darkened further.
"Where is Captain Naz? Bring him here. Now."
When he roared, it was not like the anger of a bureaucrat. It was the rage of an old lion whose authority had been challenged inside his own territory.
Fragments of porcelain skidded across the floor and struck the adjutant's trouser leg. He lowered his head immediately, not daring to risk even the smallest misstep.
"We have called twice, sir, but there has been no answer."
"No answer?"
Seeckt's eyes grew cold.
"Fine. Prepare the car. I will go myself."
He took a step forward.
"I want to see exactly how much importance this chief inspector thinks he carries."
Ordinarily, he was willing to close one eye to petty schemes and internal frictions. Naz had seniority, connections, and a place among the old conservative blocs within the army. For the sake of preserving a fragile unity inside the Reichswehr, Seeckt had tolerated more than he should have.
But this matter had already spilled beyond the army.
It had reached the international stage.
And that changed everything.
This was no longer about Naz alone.
This was about turning the Reichswehr into a laughingstock before Europe.
…
At headquarters of the First Logistics Armored Division, Naz had no idea what had already erupted in Berlin.
He sat with his legs crossed on the sofa, humming to himself and savoring what he considered a victory.
In his mind, Jörg's sudden illness and leave from the division amounted to one thing only.
Submission.
And the satisfaction of breaking that arrogant young horse pleased him far more than the dollars he had earned from selling weapons.
So what if Jörg had a talent for speeches and reform?
The division was still his.
It always would be.
"Sir, that shipment of firearms sold for two hundred thousand dollars."
Heca lounged across from him in a wicker chair. Between the lit cigarettes and the easy posture of both men, the office looked less like a military headquarters and more like a private den for men conducting business they preferred not to name.
Naz nodded lazily.
"You and Captain Yadolan may each take fifty thousand. Think of it as a year end bonus."
Both men laughed.
Taking the opportunity, Heca placed a briefcase on the table. Inside were bundles of American dollars, thick enough to give off that unmistakable oily scent peculiar to large quantities of money.
Naz's gaze settled on it with satisfaction.
Instead of touching the cash, Heca slipped a check beneath the briefcase and said in a tone that was almost humble,
"Herr Inspector, you still have four years left before retirement. I was wondering if… in those four years… you might offer me some guidance."
He let the sentence breathe for a moment.
"Just a small token of my appreciation."
Naz's eyes moved to the number of zeroes on the check, and his satisfaction deepened.
"No…"
Before he could finish, the office door was kicked open.
Seeckt entered like a winter storm.
The sight of him made Naz spring to his feet at once.
"Commander in Chief…"
His voice shook despite himself.
Seeckt's gaze went straight to the money on the table. Naz instantly shoved both hands behind his back and forced himself to speak in what he hoped was a calm tone.
"That is… this is merely the remainder of our unused budget for the year. Yes. Unused budget funds. We were just about to transfer it to the finance office when you arrived."
Seeckt laughed.
Not with humor.
With contempt.
He grabbed a handful of U.S. dollars from the table and slapped them straight across Heca's face. The dark green notes burst into the air, fluttering everywhere and turning the office into a grotesque rainstorm of money.
"Do you think I'm a fool?"
Then he pointed.
"Take that parasite away first."
Heca's strength left him immediately.
He dropped to the ground like a man whose bones had vanished. All the posture and dignity of a division commander disappeared in an instant. He had spent half a lifetime climbing from common birth to this rank, and now he could already see everything collapsing.
"Commander in Chief, please!"
He crawled to Seeckt's leg like a dog begging for scraps.
"Give me one more chance. I'll return all of it. Every Papiermarks, every dollar from the arms dealing. I'll spit it all back out."
Seeckt looked down at him with the cold gaze one might reserve for an insect found inside a meal.
"A division commander without the slightest backbone."
His voice dropped lower.
"Originally I intended only to dismiss you. Now it seems that will not suffice."
He turned to the guards.
"Take him away. He is to be shot."
The screams and pleas faded gradually as Heca was dragged out.
Because the slap had not landed on his own face, Naz managed to swallow and steady himself.
He was not some common officer.
He was Junker.
A noble.
A man with years of service and political ties.
And behind him stood a substantial conservative faction inside the army.
As long as Seeckt still needed unity in the Reichswehr, Naz believed the Commander in Chief could not truly destroy him.
That thought gave him enough courage to speak.
"I admit fault," he said stiffly. "I failed to supervise my subordinate properly and allowed him to violate army discipline. As punishment, I am prepared to forgo my salary for this year."
Seeckt stared at him without taking the offered exit.
Then his voice hardened.
"Captain Naz, because you are an old soldier of the army, I will not strike you myself. That is the last piece of dignity I am extending to you."
His eyes narrowed.
"Do not throw it away."
Then the question came.
"Selling firearms to the British, and even to leftists. Were the weapons used in the Berlin riots sold by you as well?"
The blood drained from Naz's face.
He did not dare touch that accusation.
Selling arms, with his seniority and backing, might cost him influence, perhaps position. But if he were linked to the Berlin riots, then the matter ceased to be corruption.
It became treason.
And treason meant death.
After a few tense seconds, he spoke through gritted teeth.
"I understand."
He lowered his head slightly.
"After Christmas, I will apply for a transfer from the First Logistics Armored Division to the Staff Secretariat. Is that satisfactory?"
The reluctance in his voice was plain.
The Logistics Armored Division was a lucrative and powerful post. The Staff Secretariat sounded respectable, but in reality it was little more than a holding area for old officers drifting into quiet retirement.
By asking for that transfer, Naz was buying his life with his power.
Seeckt saw it clearly.
And once he had extracted that concession, he did not continue pressing.
From the public perspective, the Fate Plan had just been submitted, and this was a decisive moment for military reform. Driving the conservative faction into open resistance was not the result he wanted.
Privately, there was another layer to it.
Men like Naz had served Germany in war. After the war, they had also supported Seeckt's rise to the command of the Reichswehr. Because of that history, he could not bring himself to be as ruthless as perhaps he should have been.
Even knowing full well that these old men, clinging to their positions and refusing to retire, were the greatest obstacle to reform.
"No," Seeckt said at last. "Not after Christmas."
His tone became final.
"You will report to the General Staff Secretariat immediately. A chief inspector who cannot even supervise the resale of weapons has no reason to continue occupying this post."
He looked to the guards again.
"Take Captain Naz away. This is no longer his office."
The armed guards saluted, seized Naz by the arms, and escorted him out.
When the room finally fell silent, Seeckt looked at the money scattered across the floor and let out a long, weary breath.
Then he turned to his adjutant.
"Record my order."
The adjutant stood straighter at once.
"The position of Chief Inspector of the Logistics Armored Division is to be abolished temporarily. The post of Division Commander will remain for the moment. All division affairs during this period will be handled by the Deputy Division Commander."
The adjutant wrote quickly.
"Noted, sir."
Seeckt exhaled again, then, as if only just remembering something, asked,
"Oh, right. The deputy division commander there is that young fellow Jörg, isn't he?"
He looked toward the door.
"Where… where is he?"
...
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[TITLE: Starting in One Piece with Vector Manipulation]