Chapter 83: Burgers and Hamburgers
A few days later, in Hamburg, the Elbe cut through the heart of the city like a broad steel-gray ribbon.
Upon its glittering waters, cargo ships coughed black smoke into the winter air, while a few seagulls, whether blown in from the North Sea or the Baltic, perched upon deck railings and cranes, tilting their heads as though studying this old imperial free city for themselves. Since the days of the Holy Roman Empire, Hamburg had stood as a gateway of commerce. It had passed through the hands of France and Denmark more than once, yet in the end it remained what it had always been at its core, Germany's great free port, stubborn, practical, and alive.
Inside a black car moving along the coastal road, Manstein watched the bustling scene in silence.
The large scale capital brought in by the Dawes Plan had restarted Germany's industrial heart. Cheap labor, available at only a fraction of American wages, combined with a formidable industrial base, had pulled a flood of new orders into the Reich. That flood was now visible everywhere in Hamburg. The docks were thick with cargo workers. Goods manufactured across the major industrial cities were being hauled aboard ships, then sent outward through Hamburg to Europe and, increasingly, the wider world.
In Manstein's dark eyes, expectation and doubt existed side by side.
What he anticipated was simple. More than once, he had heard his uncle speak of Jörg's astonishing ability. Whether from private curiosity or professional instinct, Manstein wanted to see with his own eyes this young man who had risen in both politics and military affairs with almost impossible speed, a man who, in his twenties, had already reached the office of Deputy Commander-in-Chief.
What he doubted was the purpose of the summons.
Since the Weimar Republic had been founded, the Reichswehr Headquarters in Berlin had never organized such a large gathering of officers. Nearly every division level figure had been summoned. If Headquarters had not emphasized again and again that this was merely a meeting, Manstein might have mistaken it for a prewar concentration of command.
That, however, was only one source of doubt.
The other was more personal.
He was only an infantry battalion commander. By rank and post, he should not have been qualified to appear here at all.
Then why, exactly, had his name been placed on the invitation list?
Manstein was not the only man troubled by such questions.
In another car following not far behind, Reinhard Rich sat stiffly in the rear seat.
As a naval ensign, merely being in the same automobile as Erich Raeder, commander of the Baltic Sea Naval District, was already beyond anything he would have dared imagine. His back was rigid. His hands were too carefully placed upon his knees. The more he tried to appear natural, the more painfully unnatural he became.
In truth, Raeder was paying him little attention.
The presence of an ensign on the list puzzled him, certainly, but not enough to trouble his mind. What occupied him far more was the intention of Jörg, this newly elevated young Deputy Commander-in-Chief.
Had Jörg learned of his quiet command and staff training circle? Was this meeting meant to hold him accountable for the mismanagement surrounding the Ship Construction Bureau and, through that, to challenge the Navy as a whole?
The convoy crossed the bridge and eventually entered the meeting site, a modest, almost inconspicuous building.
To many present it was just another government property.
To Raeder, however, it carried memory.
During the war, it had served as a temporary command post of the Baltic Sea Fleet. After the war, he had watched from here as the giant steel hulls that had once crossed the oceans vanished into the deep. When he stepped from the car, those memories rose again at once.
Seeing Rich still frozen in place, Raeder gave the younger man a light tap on the shoulder.
"Soldier, we have arrived."
At the same time, Manstein paused near the entrance, briefly noted the two naval officers, and went inside with his own unease still unresolved. Why were naval personnel involved in this gathering at all?
Inside an office on the upper floor, Jörg signed his name onto several appointment papers in succession.
Theoretically, he had no unilateral authority to finalize the appointments of high ranking officers. Hindenburg's signature would still be required before anything formally took effect. But theory and practice had already begun drifting apart.
As for why he had chosen Hamburg rather than Berlin, the answer was simple enough.
At first he had intended to hold the meeting in the capital, but after reconsideration, he concluded that Berlin would invite too many unnecessary interpretations. Hamburg was quieter. It was also, conveniently, closer to the naval side of things.
The purpose of the gathering itself was even clearer.
Many officers had already been removed from the chain of real influence and transferred into meaningless administrative corners. Those vacancies had to be filled quickly. Meeting everyone one military district at a time would waste far too much time. A single concentrated conference, one in which policy could be announced, personnel moved, and faces remembered, was far more efficient.
And his time was painfully limited.
After the military conference, he would have less than a month before he needed to leave for Soviet Russia and finally set in motion the military cooperation that should have begun the previous year. Returning from that would not bring him rest. There were economic and diplomatic activities waiting for him in America. After America, a British political delegation had already requested that he personally receive them in Germany.
Worst of all, every one of these matters was essential.
Each one was tied not merely to whether Germany's Army could become stronger than in his previous life, but to the broader foundations of the future itself.
The consequence of handling both the military and the political spheres at once was obvious. Jörg had almost no time that belonged purely to himself anymore.
If he had not forced himself to stop smoking after his final visit with Ebert in the hospital, he suspected Camel might have needed to open a dedicated production line solely for him.
And those were only the major matters.
The Progress Party still demanded direction. Cardolan Investment Company still produced a steady stream of minor issues that nevertheless required his attention. Power was certainly seductive. But to wield power fully, one had to transform oneself into a machine.
A flawless machine.
A machine that could not afford the luxury of fatigue.
After signing the last document, Jörg handed the stack to Ethan.
"Has everyone arrived?"
Ethan placed the appointment papers into his briefcase and nodded.
"Yes, sir. All the businessmen are already waiting for you on the top floor of the hotel in the city center. I informed them you would only be free in the evening, and they all expressed understanding."
"All Army personnel have also arrived. They are waiting in Conference Room One. The Navy men and the flight club personnel have been arranged in the side waiting room."
Then, with almost comical timing, Ethan added:
"And this is your lunch."
Jörg looked at the clock.
The hands stood exactly at noon.
By his reckoning, there was just enough time.
He took the hamburger, a dish not yet world-famous, though already locally familiar, and after removing the sour herring sauce, he finished it in two bites and washed it down with cold black tea.
To be honest, the hamburgers of this era were nowhere near as satisfying as those from his previous life. Nor did German food, for all its solidity, truly comfort the soul. He had adapted to it well enough. He had even learned to appreciate parts of it.
…..
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