Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: German Civil War - Harbinger of the Storm (4)
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September 11, 1939
A residence in the city of Frankfurt, Kassel, 9th Military District, Central Germany
Colonel Henning von Tresckow stood by the window, chain-smoking as he gazed down at the Frankfurt cityscape bathed in twilight.
Many told him he should cut back, but in this godforsaken world, he found it impossible to smoke any less.
Gathered in the residence were the so-called Junkers, those with a ‘von’ in their names, and other monarchists, led by Dr. Goerdeler.
“Is it true that His Highness the Crown Prince had a clandestine meeting with that man, Major Schacht?”
“It is. The report came from the guards we assigned to protect him from any potential Nazi attacks. He apparently went alone, dressed cautiously in a suit, to avoid our notice.”
At Dr. Goerdeler’s words, the monarchist Junkers wore expressions of considerable displeasure.
“How could His Highness the Crown Prince cast us aside, who are so devoted to the Imperial Family, and do such a thing!”
“His lack of enthusiasm for our proposal to bring back His Majesty the Kaiser was understandable given the circumstances, but this is too much.”
They all merely wanted to revive the class system and aristocratic privileges, but regardless, the Crown Prince’s actions, which should have been in the Imperial Family's best interest, had greatly offended them.
“The situation is grave. That ragtag bunch of theirs, the Freikorps or whatever they call it, is already nearly equal in number to our own forces!”
This was because the new government’s army had been small to begin with, and the quality was incomparable, but the numbers on paper were becoming similar nonetheless, fueling the monarchists’ growing anxiety.
When Abwehr Director Canaris first sponsored Captain Dietrich Schacht, they had thought of it as mere support for a functionary in the conspiracy.
They dismissed him as a mere captain and acquiesced, considering him a necessary evil since he was the son of the financial titan Hjalmar Schacht.
Even when he asked Ludwig Beck for authority over the broadcasts, they let it slide, assuming it was because he was their liaison with the press. But the impact of the broadcasts, which they had taken lightly, was far greater than they had imagined.
The German people were galvanized by the broadcasts’ anti-Nazi and pro-freedom message, and the flood of volunteers and donations directly strengthened the republicans’ position.
The monarchists wanted to pressure him and the journalists to broadcast content more to their liking, but the insolent major, with Beck's tacit approval and Canaris's protection, paid them no heed.
“The name of a mere major who just chatters on the radio is becoming more famous than ours! Do those foolish people not even know who is at the heart of the new government?”
This was the monarchists’ greatest complaint. The presenters, on the air for most of the day, had already gained significant public recognition.
Among them, Major Dietrich Schacht, who served as the new government’s spokesman, oversaw the broadcasts, and frequently addressed the nation, had become more famous to the public than higher-ranking soldiers, even generals.
“How is he any different from Hitler! He's just riding the popularity of the lower classes to revive a government of commoners!”
Schacht and the republicans’ contributions were undeniably crucial to the new government’s growth, so for the monarchists who had been tolerating it, the Crown Prince’s secret meeting with him was the trigger that made their discontent explode.
“Under these circumstances, we have no choice. We must act before their influence grows any stronger.”
The Junkers nodded at Dr. Goerdeler’s words. While they had initially dismissed him as a mere captain, the threat he posed had grown far too large.
All eyes turned to the most authoritative man among the Junkers gathered there, a reservist but a respected one: Field Marshal August von Mackensen, dressed in a splendid hussar uniform and hat.
After Ludwig Beck became Imperial Regent and began to distance himself from the hardline monarchists, Dr. Goerdeler had recruited the retired Mackensen to serve as their figurehead.
“To think they would try to push us aside like old relics, after we’ve served the Empire our entire lives. What an impudent whelp. What do you propose?”
In response to Mackensen’s question, Dr. Goerdeler answered with a confident expression.
“They are ultimately a group with conflicting interests and ideologies. If we eliminate their focal point, Major Schacht, and seize control of the broadcast station, they will easily fall apart. Then, we can air more… ‘appropriate’ broadcasts and bring back the Kaiser. Under his strong leadership, we can lead the people and wipe out the Nazis.”
Mackensen stroked his magnificent mustache and asked again.
“Will Beck agree? To bring back the Kaiser, we will need the Regent’s consent.”
“He is already half-swayed by that young pup and lacks decisiveness. Once we seize control of the new government, he will have no choice but to follow.”
Just as Mackensen was about to nod at Dr. Goerdeler's confident tone,
“I object.”
Dr. Goerdeler furrowed his brow.
“General von Witzleben!”
Infantry General Erwin von Witzleben, who among the generals had stayed close to the Widerstand plot's architects, continued speaking despite Dr. Goerdeler's attempt to stop him.
“Is he not a man who has contributed greatly to the formation of this new government? He is competent for his age and has demonstrated the power to rally public opinion. And it's not as if he has revealed any untoward ambitions or demanded a high-ranking position, has he?”
“He may act that way in public, but who knows what he discussed with the Crown Prince behind our backs!”
At another general’s rebuttal, Witzleben subtly narrowed his eyes.
“In any case, he is still a member of the military. I cannot agree to the idea of eliminating a promising young officer; persuading him is one thing. His father is the Minister of Finance, a man we desperately need, and he himself has become famous among the people. Wouldn't acting rashly just backfire on us?”
“I agree with General von Witzleben. We are, after all, a new government that has risen against the Nazis and enjoys the people’s support. Suppress a mere major by force? It would look terrible. If we act rashly and lose public support, it is we who will fall, not the Nazis.”
When Colonel General Kurt von Hammerstein-Equord, who commanded the frontline troops alongside Witzleben, also voiced his support, Dr. Goerdeler backed down a step.
“Then, Colonel von Tresckow.”
Tresckow, who had been smoking by the window as if the discussion had nothing to do with him, heard Goerdeler call his name, stubbed out his cigarette with his foot, and returned to the group.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“You are acquainted with him, are you not? Can you persuade him?”
Tresckow instinctively reached for a cigarette, then frowned and opened his mouth.
“From what I've seen, he has little ambition for power. Our approaches may differ, but his goal is the same as ours—to liberate Germany from the Nazis and strengthen the new government. I don't see why we must…”
“Enough!”
Tresckow fell silent at Dr. Goerdeler’s shout. As Witzleben shook his head and the atmosphere soured, Mackensen began to chuckle heartily.
“Haha, hahaha. That fellow, he certainly seems to be something else. Let’s do this: I hear he was in the middle of his General Staff course, wasn't he? We'll promote him to Lieutenant Colonel and order him to complete his training at the War College. If he truly has no excessive ambition and no intention of opposing us, he will accept, will he not?”
“Oh, what insight, Your Excellency!”
The crafty old marshal’s proposal drew admiration from the Junkers.
“If he refuses, it means he has other intentions. In that case, we will nominally discharge him with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in gratitude for his service and place him under arrest. His father is certainly a necessary figure, and there might be backlash, so this can serve as insurance. What do you think of that?”
Witzleben and Hammerstein wore complicated expressions, but as they both had to return to the front, it was difficult for them to intervene further.
“Well, what do you say, Colonel von Tresckow? Since you're acquainted with him, you should be able to persuade him with such a generous offer, yes?”
Tresckow felt an overwhelming urge to smoke a cigarette right then and there.
“Excellent, truly excellent! Then let us draw up a concrete plan at once.”
Of course, regardless of his thoughts, Dr. Goerdeler and the Junkers excitedly began to formulate their plan.
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September 13, 1939
Wewelsburg Castle, SS Training Ground, Hanover, 11th Military District, Western Germany
The sounds of gunfire and cannons had ceased, but the grotesque scars from the bombardment on Wewelsburg Castle testified to the fierce battle that had taken place.
The offensive had halted after Panzer General Lutz’s advance toward Berlin was blocked, but the new government’s commander, Colonel General Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb, had surrounded the training ground airtight and was slowly starving them out.
“Oh, ooooh…!”
As a transport plane flew overhead and boxes attached to parachutes drifted down, the SS troopers scrambled to open them.
But contrary to their expectations, the boxes were filled to the brim with Iron Crosses.
“Son of a bitch! Why the hell are they sending this crap!”
The Iron Crosses, sent from high command to honor the valor of the SS troopers fighting heroically for the Fatherland and the Führer, were tossed aside by the soldiers on the ground as worthless scraps of metal.
Right before the eyes of those SS troopers, a box landed near the enemy lines. The enemy soldiers pulled out combat rations and deliberately waved them in their direction.
“Those sons of bitches!”
The SS troopers were seething with rage. The food supplies at the Wewelsburg SS training ground—nothing more than a training facility and a castle—had run out long ago.
SS-Lieutenant General Paul Hausser was on the phone with Himmler, his voice desperate.
“When the hell are reinforcements coming? We’re not even getting half the supplies the Marshal of the Air Force boasted about! And half of what we do get is useless!”
[Those Wehrmacht bastards are using public opinion as an excuse not to move, so our hands are tied! The Marshal of the Air Force said the supply drops are going very well. We’ll find another way soon, so just hold on a little longer!]
“What do you mean, ‘going well’! If you don't believe me, tell the Marshal of the Air Force to fly here and spend just one day! And please, stop sending those damned Iron Crosses!”
[Now, General Hausser, what kind of insubordi—]
Hausser slammed the receiver down irritably, not caring what Himmler was blabbering about.
"Uh, General. Your meal.”
His adjutant, who had been waiting for the call to end, presented him with a bowl of watery canned soup, his face apologetic. Hausser gave a hollow laugh.
If this was the food he was getting, he could only imagine what the other troopers were eating.
“You have it. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in ages.”
“No, General. I couldn't.”
“Eat. I have no appetite.”
The adjutant was about to say more, but his stomach rumbled, and he left with an embarrassed look on his face.
In the eyes of the enemy, he and his men must look like the wicked pawns of the Nazis, bent on destroying Germany.
“An old man like me can take it, but it's the young lads who are suffering for what the old fools started.”
Hausser rose weakly from his seat and went outside.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler, General!”
There was a time when he, too, had proudly shouted ‘Heil Hitler,’ believing it was truly the path for Germany. What about now? What were these men thinking as they shouted it?
As Hausser returned his men’s salutes half-heartedly and walked along the defensive line, a radio crackled to life, signaling the start of a broadcast.
[Proud people of Germany, do not be swayed by the sedition and fabrications of those traitors who call themselves the ‘new government’! These vile German traitors, incited by Jews and Bolsheviks, are no longer Germans!]
There was a time when the troopers here would wait with pounding hearts for Dr. Goebbels to speak in his distinct, shrill voice.
Not to be outdone, a radio in the opposing enemy camp began to emit static, preparing its own broadcast.
[True Aryans, true Germany, arise! Remember the achievements of our great Führer! Remember the Greater Germany he built! Austria! The Sudetenland! Bohemia! What other German could have accomplished such a great feat!]
As if to counter Goebbels’s speech, a young man’s voice emerged from the resistance radio.
[Good day, citizens. I wish you peace, but that is not our current situation. The Nazi Party still claims their regime is the master of Germany.]
Compared to the shrill, piercing agitation, the new government’s broadcast began calmly.
[Our great Führer! The great leader sent by God to make Germany great again has been attacked by that vile and wicked mob! As true Aryans, all who are loyal to our one and only absolute Führer and his Fatherland, you proud Germans. Take up your arms at once!]
The voices echoing from the radios on both sides of the front line created the illusion of a verbal battle between the Nazis’ Paul Joseph Goebbels and the new government’s Dietrich Schacht.
[But! What nation can deny its own people! The only reason they claim that we, the new government, and the people who support it, are not Germans is this: because we do not submit to them!]
Under the same sky, people of the same nation stood in confrontation, all listening to both broadcasts.
[Fight bravely against that corrupt and fallen mob that has refused to be German! The Germany of great Aryans, the true Germans, will not be defeated by a mere band of traitors! Now, rise and unleash the storm! Sieg Heil!]
[We have already tasted freedom, and we will no longer be subjugated by them! They have always cried out for an enemy to hate, but who is it now that incites you to kill your own countrymen! How long will you sacrifice your lives for the glory they speak of! The German people are not their weapons, not their consumables!]
Paul Hausser smoked his cigarette and watched his starving troopers, who failed to muster any enthusiasm even for Goebbels’s captivating speech.
[Let us wash away these stains on Germany! The great Germany shall reign over the world!]
[You are Germany! Fight not for the greatness they preach, but for your own freedom!]
After the broadcasts ended, Hausser saw pickets rise from the enemy lines reading, ‘We are countrymen,’ ‘Don’t die for a dictator,’ and ‘We have plenty of food to share.’ He let out a deep sigh, crushed his cigarette under his boot, and turned away.