Chapter 116: Wounds
Perhaps Danzig still preserved its German character for now.
But what about a few years from now? Ten years from now?
Would this land, whose identity had been forged through generations of blood, sacrifice, and memory, still remember that it was a severed part of Germany, an orphan cast adrift from the body of the Reich? Or would it, little by little, be remade into something else, until German speech, German customs, and German memory were all pressed into the past?
To reclaim such a place was easy to say and hard to do.
A wolf does not loosen its jaws because one reasons with it. It lets go only when it is hurt.
Military strength was the dignified foundation of national integrity. Diplomacy mattered, of course. It could buy time, create opportunities, and restrain enemies. But Germany's truest allies had never sat in conference halls or signed papers under chandeliers. Germany's real allies were only three: the German Navy, the Army, and the Air Force.
Jörg understood that more clearly than most.
That was why he spared no effort in rebuilding military strength. Some things could only be taken back by steel, by fire, and by the will to use both.
The world had never truly changed.
It had been like this centuries ago, and centuries from now it would still be the same.
Hindenburg, still holding the newspaper, spoke again, his voice heavy with the bitterness of a man who knew the measure of national humiliation all too well.
"Two months ago, I received a letter from a former officer in Danzig," he said quietly. "Poland is relocating Poles there on a massive scale. In 1919, Germans still accounted for more than ninety percent of the population."
He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was a rare sharpness in his tone.
"Now it is less than forty percent. In only six years, the ratio has been cut in half. Because most of Danzig's affairs are now controlled by Poland, those greedy hyenas are doing everything they can to weaken the German element there."
"Anyone who dares to openly declare that Danzig is German land is imprisoned. There were protest marches against Polish infiltration as well, but they were broken up by force."
As he spoke of Danzig, something fierce flashed through the old field marshal's usually restrained gaze.
"He wrote that he wanted to know when Germany would reclaim the lands it possessed before the war. He wrote that he had never once abandoned his German citizenship. He asked me when he would again see the German flag raised above Danzig City Hall."
Hindenburg's hand tightened slightly around the paper.
"And all I could answer him was this. I do not know."
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Outside the window, the Weimar Republic's flag stirred in the wind. It did not wave proudly so much as stubbornly, as though it too refused to surrender to the age.
Jörg drew a quiet breath, suppressing the gloom that came with such thoughts.
War was evil, yes, but in Europe, and especially in the last war, there had been no righteous side. There had only been nations pursuing their own interests with bayonet and blockade. Justice had always come afterward, written by whoever retained the power to write it.
"It will happen, Mr. Hindenburg," Jörg said at last. "Perhaps this exchange with the British delegation will provide a satisfactory answer. And even if it does not, that day is not far off."
He set down the newspaper.
"The Army is growing stronger. Industry is beginning to roar again. What we still lack is time, not direction."
If anyone else had said those words, Hindenburg might have taken them for courtesy, or for the easy optimism of youth. But Jörg was not the sort of man who spoke idly, and he had already created too many results for the old president to dismiss his confidence as mere comfort.
For the briefest moment, Hindenburg seemed to glimpse that future.
Not clearly. Not enough to touch it. But enough to believe it might exist.
He only hoped it would not arrive too late.
His eyes drifted to the teahouse window, yet what he seemed to see was not the street outside, but another world entirely. He saw himself as a boy in East Prussia. He saw Danzig. He saw the Baltic light glittering over the harbor water, the rooftops, the towers, the streets of a German city that should never have been made uncertain.
How beautiful it had been.
And how bitter it was to wonder whether he would still be alive the day he set foot in Danzig again, not as an old exile of memory, but as President of Germany, returning German soil to Germany.
After a while, Hindenburg drew himself back from his thoughts and deliberately shifted the conversation elsewhere.
He took a sip of his milkshake, then looked at Jörg with a peculiar glint in his eye.
"Jörg," he said, in the tone of a man who had suddenly decided to stop speaking as head of state and begin speaking as an elderly patriarch, "do not tell me that after more than a month in America, you, Senna, and Lia are still nothing more than colleagues."
Jörg almost choked on his tea.
"I heard from people in the diplomatic corps," Hindenburg continued with the satisfaction of a man following a promising line of attack, "that the three of you spent most of your time in the same suite."
Feeling the old man's gaze pass over him again and again, Jörg replied with deliberate seriousness, "Working in the same suite greatly improves efficiency and communication."
For a second, Hindenburg simply stared at him.
Then the old field marshal, leaning on his cane, rose from his seat and looked Jörg up and down with a kind of military suspicion he usually reserved for cavalry reports and artillery estimates. His eyes lingered with disturbing seriousness.
"You," he said slowly, "do not happen to like..."
"No, no, no." Jörg straightened at once, feeling a wholly different kind of danger from any cabinet meeting. "You misunderstand, Mr. Hindenburg. I am absolutely normal. I simply do not wish to decide on a marriage partner so early."
That answer made Hindenburg laugh outright.
Jörg was exceptional in nearly every regard, but in this one matter he seemed less like a twenty-five-year-old man and more like a machine built from schedules, memoranda, and political calculations. Hindenburg did not want a grandson in spirit who slept three hours a night and treated the rest of life as logistical clutter. He wanted a living man, with impulses, attachments, and blood that would continue beyond him.
And beneath that concern was also something colder and more practical.
In Hindenburg's monarchist instincts, no alliance was firmer than one sealed by blood. Influence could fade. Political gratitude could vanish. Factions could split. But blood, if properly arranged, left deeper roots.
How long did he still have?
A few years? Perhaps a decade, if fortune remained kind.
If Germany remained stable, his original intention had been simple. First, place an experienced right wing figure from the German Social Party in the presidency. Let Jörg continue to mature as chancellor, gaining time, prestige, and mastery of the machinery of state. Then, when the moment was right, transfer the network, the prestige, and the succession to him.
That, of course, assumed the country remained orderly.
If Germany plunged into upheaval, all calculations would become smoke.
But if blood ties were secured in advance, then even after his own death, the Hindenburg family would not simply sink into irrelevance. If Senna were to bear Jörg's child, would he truly abandon that child? Would he abandon his own blood once it had been tied to the future of the state?
"Who said you must marry either of them?" Hindenburg said at length, still amused by Jörg's stiff expression. "Jörg, I am starting to wonder whether you are truly a nobleman. Your thinking is more restrained than that of university students."
He jabbed his cane lightly against the floor.
"I am telling you to sleep with Senna. Lia, you handle yourself."
Jörg stared at him.
"This is an order," Hindenburg added with utter seriousness. "If you fail to carry it out, I shall strip you of your post and send you back to the police department to stand on street corners and direct traffic."
For the first time in a long while, Jörg felt a genuine headache rising.
He would rather face ten hostile delegations, three angry generals, and a mountain of financial reports than deal with this conversation.
Yet even through the absurdity of it, he still caught the useful implication hidden inside. Hindenburg had not told him to marry either Senna or Lia. That alone meant one thing.
There was another candidate in mind.
The realization only made his head hurt more.
Compared to these domestic minefields, he would have far preferred to spend the morning negotiating with the British.
Still, under Hindenburg's unblinking stare, he could only give the vaguest answer possible.
"Yes, sir."
"Enough pretending," Hindenburg said, waving him off with satisfaction. "Go and deal with those Englishmen."
Then, after a brief pause, he added in a more measured tone, "At the end of the year, come with me to the Netherlands. There is someone who wishes to meet you. And I wish for him to meet you as well."
At once, Jörg understood who that meeting would be with.
His expression straightened.
Before leaving, he inclined his head once more.
"Yes, sir."
.....
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