Chapter 34: The Crossroads of Destiny
"So you two are more inclined to relax military controls on Germany and withdraw the military supervision troops from Berlin?"
Poincaré leaned back into the sofa.
He had wanted to make one final effort to keep Germany tightly bound.
But the silence from the two men before him had already answered the question. The billions of francs burned away in the Ruhr adventure had not only drained the French treasury, they had also eroded the vigilance of the French government itself.
Even if he used presidential authority now to force stricter military supervision on Germany, it would not last. The moment he left office, much of it would be washed away.
If that was the case, then so be it.
Compared with openly breaking with the parliamentary factions and sacrificing his own political future, retreat at least preserved the possibility of returning one day.
"Withdraw the troops," Poincaré said softly as he rose.
That was his final order.
…
Compared with the singing and dancing at the Élysée Palace, the conference room of the German General Staff could only be described as bleak.
There were no Christmas carols.
Only explanation, argument, and the dry crackling of firewood in the grate.
Uniforms and civilian suits faced one another across a square conference table, almost as if they represented two entirely different nations rather than two branches of the same state.
At the blackboard, the final circle was completed.
Police.
Army.
Club.
As the third ring closed, all three converged toward the blank center, where one word had been written in German:
Fate.
Ebert frowned and read the proposal line by line. When he finished, he was the first to speak.
"Mr. Seeckt, I respect the army. I respect you as well. But the demand of the Allied Control Commission is clear, Germany's armed forces are to remain below one hundred thousand men."
He placed one hand on the document.
"Your earlier method, training those one hundred thousand as officers and future commanders, was already an aggressive interpretation of the limits imposed on us. I could at least understand its logic."
Then his expression darkened.
"But this new plan…"
He tapped the page.
"This treats the Treaty of Versailles as if it were waste paper. Three hundred thousand trained veterans are to be folded into the police system. The remaining two million are to be retained indirectly through veterans' clubs and reserve networks."
He looked directly at Seeckt.
"With all due respect, this is absurd. It is practically a joke."
His tone had grown heavy.
Germany was only just managing to survive. Ebert did not even want to imagine what Britain and France would do if such a plan were exposed in full. There had already been enough talk, in some foreign circles, of partitioning Germany further. He did not intend to hand them fresh reasons.
And beyond the diplomatic danger lay another issue.
Money.
Vast amounts of it.
Restoring livelihoods cost money. Subsidizing industry cost money. Stabilizing the economy cost money. Compared with building an enormous hidden military structure, Ebert would rather see those marks flow into the civilian economy and into the daily lives of ordinary Germans.
Especially with the American economic mission expected in the first half of next year. German access to loans would not be limitless. Every Papiermarks swallowed by the military would be a money unavailable for bread, coal, wages, and industrial recovery.
Ebert did not consider himself a man of the left.
But he was still president.
That meant he could not ignore the workers.
Seeckt, arms crossed, answered in his usual level tone.
"The army is the foundation of everything, Mr. President."
His voice remained calm, which only made it more forceful.
"No matter how prosperous a country appears, if it lacks the power to defend that prosperity, it will all become ashes. Without force behind it, wealth is merely something waiting to be seized."
He leaned forward slightly.
"If Poland attacks tomorrow, what then? Shall we defend ourselves with budget reports? With factory ledgers? Without military strength we become nothing but prey, another province to be consumed by stronger neighbors."
He tapped the table once.
"Military strength supports every civilian endeavor. As a soldier, I obey only the simplest law that has ever governed nations."
His gaze sharpened.
"The side with the larger fist decides what justice means."
That answer only seemed to irritate the Minister of Economy further.
Also wearing half rim glasses, he pushed the plan aside and impatiently rapped his fingers on the table, interrupting Ebert before the President could reply.
"But this is not a jungle, Mr. Seeckt," he said. "And we are not beasts."
His disdain was plain.
"This is no longer reform. This is rearmament. This is preparation for another world war."
He turned to the others in the room.
"Britain and America are already easing economic restrictions. America is considering loans precisely because it wants to draw Germany back into economic competition, not military confrontation. We can stand again through development."
Then he stressed the point like a slogan.
"Peace is the main theme of the future."
Seeckt did not answer at once.
Jörg, seated beside him, understood why.
Seeckt excelled at structure, discipline, and execution. Political debate, especially the theatrical kind, was not his preferred battlefield.
That left the task to him.
"But the economy cannot remain prosperous forever, Herr Minister."
The interruption came from Jörg.
The Minister of Economy turned sharply, clearly displeased at being challenged by so young a voice.
Jörg continued before he could object.
"What happens when the next global economic crisis arrives? What happens if America stops lending? If Britain and France show their teeth again and force immediate repayment of reparations? What then?"
The minister's lip curled slightly.
Only now did he seem to truly look at Jörg, and what he saw did not impress him, only a captain's insignia, one that could be found everywhere in the army.
"Who are you?"
His tone was openly dismissive.
"This is not some tavern on a street corner. It is not a place for small fry to interrupt serious discussion."
"Let him speak."
It was Hindenburg.
Until then he had remained largely silent at the head of the room, observing both the military and civilian factions. Now he set down his pipe, brushed a little ash from his tunic, and threw his support behind Jörg with a single sentence.
Ebert did not object.
In truth, he was curious himself. He had already begun privately classifying this young man as something close to a genius. He wanted to hear what came next.
The Minister of Economy heard the shift in the room immediately.
With the President silent and Hindenburg openly permitting it, he could only huff and rise to pour himself black tea.
Jörg did not waste the opportunity.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I have already estimated the full cost of implementing Fate."
His voice was steady.
"The total is roughly 3.5 billion U.S. dollars."
That got attention.
"Of that," he continued, "approximately one billion concerns the restructuring and demobilization burden associated with the army. Another billion concerns technological innovation and weapons research and development."
He spread one hand over the blackboard.
"In other words, much of this expenditure is not merely military. It is also industrial, scientific, and entrepreneurial. It is investment."
Then he came to the core.
"The actual direct military cost is only 1.5 billion."
The Minister of Economy gave a dry laugh, but Jörg ignored it.
"Is that a great deal of money? I do not believe so."
He looked from face to face.
"It is a highly reasonable price for securing the military future of Germany. More importantly, I also have a way to ensure that the economic delegation approves a much larger loan package."
That earned him immediate disbelief.
The Minister of Economy set down his tea sharply.
"You expect me to believe that a captain can increase the American loan offer?"
His voice dripped contempt.
"That is ridiculous."
Then he pressed harder.
"And even if I pretended to accept that fantasy, what of diplomacy? Your plan includes establishing flight and armored training schools in Soviet Russia. Have you considered what Britain and America already think of even our current dealings with Moscow?"
He turned slightly toward Ebert.
"We demanded an apology from Soviet Russia over the Berlin outrages, and to this day they have offered nothing."
Then back to Jörg.
"How exactly do you intend to persuade them? How do you guarantee agreement, secrecy, and diplomatic control at the same time? It is impossible."
Jörg met his gaze without blinking.
"That is not a matter for you to worry about, Herr Minister."
His tone had hardened.
"If we presented this plan here, then naturally we did so because we already have a method."
Then he added, with an almost reckless confidence,
"And if the Allied Control Commission discovers it, then let them come and shoot me."
That was enough to make the room tighten.
Hindenburg and Ebert exchanged a glance almost simultaneously.
Both of them understood by now whose mind lay behind the true architecture of Fate. Their earlier assessment of Jörg had not been too high, if anything, it had been too low.
Ebert was the one who interrupted first.
"That's enough, Jörg. You are not a child."
Hindenburg followed immediately.
"Are the promises you are making here genuine?"
Jörg answered without hesitation.
"Yes, gentlemen."
His voice carried an iron certainty that made even the room's skeptics pause.
"I am fully confident that I can secure a larger loan package and personally resolve the military academy issue with Soviet Russia."
.....
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