Chapter 89: Each with His Own Agenda
A month later, in Lipetsk on the outskirts of Moscow, a vast stretch of wasteland had been ringed with barbed wire. Bright red warning signs stood at regular intervals, each one clearly forbidding entry.
Soldiers in thick black coats, rifles slung over their shoulders, patrolled the perimeter in teams of three. On the tall wooden watchtowers, guards stood as straight as iron rods, their cold eyes sweeping every corner for spies or intruders.
Jörg looked at everything before him and felt a quiet satisfaction.
This was the place he had helped shape with his own hands.
After nearly a year of construction, the basic infrastructure was finally close to completion. Only the transfer of personnel and the arrival of some industrial equipment remained before the site could begin operating in earnest.
Walking beside him was a middle-aged man with a walrus mustache. He wore a Soviet military coat over a light blue Caucasian sweater, and aside from the dazzling insignia at his collar, he might have passed for an ordinary officer in poor health. Yet that slightly plump face was famous throughout the Soviet military.
He was Mikhail Frunze, the legend of Soviet military reform.
Originally, the man meant to receive Jörg had been Trotsky, the founder of the Soviet army. Unfortunately for Trotsky, he had been driven out of the military in January. In his place came Frunze, who held views almost completely opposed to his.
The two men had never gotten along.
Frunze advocated a more professional, specialized standing army. In plain terms, he wanted to cut the bloated force of 5.5 million men down to roughly 560,000. Trotsky, by contrast, still clung to the army he had personally built and had no intention of allowing it to be remade.
For a long time, Lenin's support had allowed Trotsky to suppress Frunze's reforms. But now that Trotsky had been expelled from the party and stripped of military authority, Frunze was naturally eager to move.
That was why he had personally come to accompany Jörg on this tour.
Calling it a gesture of condescension would have been inaccurate. In terms of position, Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Wehrmacht and Commander of the Soviet Army were, in truth, not so far apart. "Exchange" was a better word.
Of course, Jörg had not come alone. President Hindenburg had also launched a state visit to Soviet Russia, publicly under the banner of strengthening diplomatic ties.
Although Soviet Russia had already established relations with several European states the previous year, including Italy, and even with one country in Asia, only Germany had sent its head of state on such a formal visit. That had naturally stirred curiosity and suspicion across the European press.
Which was exactly what Jörg wanted.
Once this Soviet visit was over, he intended to use the rumor of a German Soviet alignment, neither too large nor too small, to open an entirely new chapter for the German Navy in the United States.
Perhaps because he had drifted into thought, Frunze took out a cigarette case, extended one, and asked, "Jörg? Jörg? Are you all right?"
Jörg came back to himself and shook his head.
"Thank you for the kindness, Herr Frunze, but I have given up smoking."
He offered a faint smile.
"My apologies. I was thinking about something."
Frunze was not offended. He lit the cigarette for himself, drew deeply, and said, "I understand. I heard from several comrades that when you came last time, you were still a diplomat. This time, you have given them quite a surprise."
He exhaled smoke into the icy air.
"To become Deputy Commander-in-Chief at such an age is probably without precedent in world history. I imagine you must have far more on your shoulders than men like us."
Then, with deliberate casualness, he asked, "What does Herr Jörg think the future of warfare looks like?"
Jörg knew at once that this was a probe.
He bit down lightly on a piece of sugar-free chocolate, a poor substitute for nicotine, then answered in a calm tone, "Much the same as you do, Herr Frunze."
Frunze's smile stalled.
He clearly did not believe that a young German officer could so casually claim insight into his thinking.
He was about to laugh it off when Jörg continued.
"The future battlefield will largely be a battlefield of machines. But even the most advanced machine remains useless without men. The deadliest cannon still needs a gunner to fire it, and that gunner still needs an officer to direct him."
Now Frunze stopped walking.
For a moment, he simply stared.
"You have read my work?"
Jörg shook his head.
"There was no need. The fact that you personally chose to accompany me says more than a book could. If I am not mistaken, you want to discuss the matter of Soviet officers entering the military academy, don't you?"
Frunze hid his surprise well, but not perfectly.
He had come with a purpose, and Jörg had guessed both the purpose and the method from a single gesture.
At last, Frunze gave a slow nod.
"I am beginning to understand why you sit where you do."
Since concealment had become pointless, he stopped bothering with it.
"Yes. The Soviet Army wants deeper cooperation with the Reichswehr in the training of officers."
Frunze did not bother to disguise his ambition. He had seen the German army during the war. Its discipline, its training, its command standard, all of it had left a deep impression on him.
The memory that lingered strongest, however, was from Brest-Litovsk. When Trotsky rejected Lenin's advice and refused to sign, the German army had swept forward with ruthless efficiency, smashing one Soviet division after another.
Frunze wanted that level of professionalism.
He wanted the reformed Soviet officer corps to possess the same tactical vision and operational literacy as German officers. He wanted them to learn the German system of training soldiers, forming staffs, and conducting modern war.
Once, Germany had been an enemy. That did not change the fact that it was an enemy worth learning from.
And now the opportunity was ideal.
Germany remained shackled by military restrictions and needed Soviet cooperation. The Soviet Union, meanwhile, possessed the base that made that cooperation possible. Frunze had no intention of letting that leverage go unused. Once Germany's restrictions were loosened, the price of such learning would only rise.
He had come here to seize the moment.
Jörg let the bitterness of the chocolate spread across his tongue, then asked quietly, "May I ask, Herr Frunze, is this your own wish, or Comrade Stalin's?"
After Ethan brought the car smoothly to a halt before the military academy building, he remained silent in the driver's seat, knowing better than to intrude.
Frunze answered without hesitation.
"It is Comrade Stalin's wish. It is also mine, and the wish of most comrades in the army."
Jörg gave a thoughtful nod, then let a trace of difficulty enter his expression.
"But, Herr Frunze, Comrade Stalin and I already reached an agreement. This site, our military research, and our training operations were to remain under full German autonomy. You were not to interfere."
He turned to look directly at him.
"If that changes now, would that not be somewhat unreasonable?"
Frunze sensed resistance and thought, for a brief moment, that he had finally located Jörg's weakness.
He smiled thinly.
"It is not interference, Jörg. It is cooperation. Deeper cooperation."
Then his tone cooled.
"True autonomy can only rest on mutual benefit. Otherwise, I cannot promise that certain journalists will not one day somehow discover this place."
.....
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