Chapter 115: Return to Germany
The news of the agreement's passage reached Jörg almost at once.
He was not surprised. The outcome had been set in motion long before the vote was cast. Now that his mission in the United States had been completed, there was no reason for him to remain any longer.
He had originally intended to spend more time in America. After finishing his inspections of the shipyards in various states, he had planned to continue on to other industrial facilities, observing machine tool factories, steelworks, and related enterprises in greater detail. But the British delegation had arrived earlier than expected, and President Hindenburg had sent repeated telegrams urging his return. In the end, Jörg had no choice but to conclude his work in America and finalize his departure with the delegation.
Before he boarded the ship, Dawes came to the dock to see him off as he always did.
It was the same harbor as before.
Only the President had changed.
"How does it feel to be President?" Jörg asked.
Because their private relationship had grown genuinely close, the exchange between them no longer resembled formal diplomacy. It sounded more like the conversation of two men who understood each other's burdens.
"A mess, honestly," Dawes said, leaning against the car with a cigarette between his fingers. "Being President is nowhere near as glamorous as I once imagined. To tell the truth, I think being a diplomat is easier. Far fewer worries."
There were no reporters nearby. Dawes smoked while Jörg stood opposite him, chewing on a piece of chocolate.
The chocolate was also one of the little absurdities of his American journey. Over the past month, various politicians had somehow concluded that he was fond of it, and so chocolate had become the default gift handed to him at every occasion. Jack Morgan, who now knew very well what the shipbuilding stocks were about to become, had been the most generous of all. He had simply sent over an entire box of gold wrapped chocolates as though he were paying tribute to a prince.
"You are not planning to run for re election?" Jörg asked.
Dawes crushed the cigarette beneath his heel and shook his head firmly.
"Good Lord, no. One four year term is already my limit. If I had to do another four years, I would probably become the first President in White House history to end up in a lunatic asylum."
A long, low horn sounded from the Weimar cruise ship at the pier.
"Once these four years are over," Dawes went on, glancing at the ship, "I may just issue myself an order and become ambassador to Germany. Frankly, I think Germany, with you there, is safer than the United States."
He lowered his voice and added with open irritation, "At least there aren't lunatics trying to assassinate people every few days."
"President Coolidge's health," Jörg said, thinking Dawes was merely grumbling as usual, "is he recovering well?"
He did not realize that Dawes was speaking only half in jest.
"By the grace of God, he woke up two days ago." Dawes gave a short laugh. "Do you know the first thing he said after regaining consciousness?"
Jörg glanced briefly toward Senna and Lia, who were in the distance overseeing the loading of luggage, then looked back at him. "What?"
"Being President of the United States is a genuinely high risk profession."
Dawes shook his head.
"He says he intends to retire and buy land in New Jersey."
Noticing where Jörg's attention had drifted, Dawes realized he had said a little too much. He patted Jörg on the shoulder and let the moment end there.
"Goodbye, Jörg. You are a good politician, and an even better friend."
He stepped back, and the two men parted.
...
Although Jörg had left the United States, the effects of the shipbuilding agreement did not leave with him.
They spread rapidly instead.
As the first shipyard selected to enter Germany during the inspection period, the stock of the Brooklyn Navy Yard surged almost immediately. Capital released from the cooling real estate bubble flowed toward the new opportunity with almost predatory urgency. On Times Square, advertising slogans changed with remarkable speed. The old cry of "Real estate, the only asset that never changes" vanished, replaced by a new refrain:
"Shipbuilding agreement. Cheaper shipping. Lower commodity prices. Higher investment returns."
Under the deliberate manipulation of Morgan and the other major financial groups who had received word in advance, the agreement was woven together with the promise of cheaper goods, higher returns, and renewed industrial vitality. It was as if simply buying shipbuilding shares would lower the price of daily necessities and open the road to wealth.
The shock was not confined to America.
Germany also began to stir.
A wave of speculation rose quickly as many citizens, eager to seize what seemed like an obvious opportunity, tried to move money into overseas brokerages. Yet before the frenzy could expand too far, Mandor, already warned in advance by Jörg, moved decisively to curb it. Using the excuse that excessive foreign speculation would endanger Germany's still fragile recovery, he employed administrative restrictions and financial controls to keep the movement within a tightly manageable range.
This was only the economic dimension.
The political consequences would be even deeper and far longer lasting.
Britain interpreted the agreement as an American attempt to thoroughly appease Germany and bind it into a new relationship of dependence, a kind of European colony in all but name. London disliked the development, but between Soviet Russia's looming presence and France's growing weight on the continent, Britain still saw value in offshore balance. In the end, although displeased, it chose not to press the matter too hard. It did not linger over whether the agreement might one day help restore German sea power.
France, by contrast, reacted exactly as expected.
Paris denounced the arrangement and demanded that the League of Nations intervene, placing the shipbuilding agreement under League supervision. But the United States crushed that proposal almost immediately by hinting at increased loan interest rates. The smaller countries within the League had even less reason to make trouble. Everyone could see that America and Germany were enjoying an unusually warm phase in their relations, and many of their own economies depended on American capital. No one wished to offend Washington for the sake of France's anxieties.
There was, however, one exception.
Poland.
The moment the agreement became public, Polish newspapers launched into furious denunciation. They claimed that the United States was nurturing an uncontrollable future enemy and wrote at length about how the agreement was little more than a disguised step toward the restoration of German naval power.
One of those newspapers eventually found its way into Jörg's hands.
At that moment, he was seated with President Hindenburg in a teahouse, finally enjoying a quiet morning after a week of real rest.
Of course, Hindenburg did not truly understand asian food.
His tastes were still firmly rooted in his own habits. He preferred pastries, meat pastes, and richer European fare. Even now, he sprinkled a layer of fine sugar over a cake, took a satisfied bite, and then looked across the table at Jörg with something between reproach and amusement.
"You really are a troublemaker, Jörg," he said. "What kind of diplomat goes abroad and returns after another country's President has been replaced? If I were the American President, I would have placed you on the diplomatic blacklist long ago."
"Then the Vice President would certainly have treated me as an honored guest," Jörg replied at once.
Hindenburg stroked his beard, his cloudy eyes narrowing.
"It is indeed an accomplishment to secure the shipbuilding agreement," he said, the joking tone fading. "But execution matters more than proposals. Rebuilding the navy is not some simple matter that can be settled with signatures and speeches."
He dabbed at the corner of his mouth, then nodded toward the newspaper in Jörg's hand.
"And what do you think of Poland's attitude?"
Jörg swallowed a shrimp dumpling, set the paper down, and answered calmly.
"They are nothing more than a herd of wild oxen made arrogant by temporary success."
"The reason they resent the agreement is simple. Those same beasts once tore a piece of flesh from Germany. Now they sense danger. They fear that one day they may be forced to spit that piece of flesh back out. Naturally, they will try to stop that day from ever coming."
At those words, a heavy shadow passed through Hindenburg's expression.
Danzig. The Corridor. East Prussia.
For Germany, they were wounds that never truly closed.
Millions of Germans had been cut away from the body of the nation as though by a surgeon's knife, left stranded like abandoned children, severed from the homeland to which they belonged. It was not merely a strategic humiliation. It was a wound of memory, identity, and pride.
So long as East Prussia remained disconnected from Germany, the nation could never truly claim that its humiliation had been washed away. It could never speak honestly of wholeness.
Jörg saw the sorrow in the old man's face.
More accurately, he saw the sorrow of an entire people reflected there.
East Prussia was not simply a territorial question. It was one of those scars that settled so deep in the national consciousness that every German, whether he said so aloud or not, carried it within him.
The tragedy was made worse by helplessness.
Because East Prussia and Danzig stood apart from the main body of Germany, the Reich could not properly protect them. Forced occupations without referendum became common facts. Two years earlier, Lithuania had seized the Memel region by force, and that success had only emboldened Poland further. One border dispute after another followed. The line crept forward inch by inch.
And Germany could do little except watch.
Watch as Danzig, which ought to have remained under League administration, slipped more and more firmly under Polish economic control.
Watch as German citizens there were marginalized and pressured.
Watch as a German city was gradually eaten away by another state while Berlin could do almost nothing but protest and remember.
.....
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