Chapter 117
Chapter 117
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Tractor Project (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
April 22, 1906. The opening ceremony of the 1906 Athens Interim Olympics was held at the Panathenaic Stadium with a speech from King George I of Greece—great-grandfather to the future Philip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh, and the man responsible for spreading the baldness gene through the British royal family.
And then, in the blink of an eye, it was May 2. The closing ceremony took place at the same venue, bringing the Interim Olympics to an end.
Compared to the Summer Olympics of my past life, which lasted at least two weeks, this one felt much shorter—probably because it ran just over a week and featured far fewer events.
In any case, the Interim Olympics concluded successfully, just as in the original history. Our German Empire managed a respectable seventh place out of twenty nations, thanks to fencer Gustav Casmir's stellar performance in both the individual and team sabre events. We took home four gold medals, six silvers, and five bronzes.
'One of those golds was from tug-of-war, of all things.'
I'd heard that tug-of-war was once an official Olympic event in the early days.
But try as I might to take it seriously, I couldn't stop laughing at the sight of grown men straining with all their might to pull on that rope.
All things considered, we'd put on a decent showing in the competitions, saved face, and even gotten some radio promotion out of the Olympic broadcasts. Not a bad outcome. But I still couldn't wipe the sour look off my face.
It was because France had racked up fifteen gold medals to claim first place.
Especially galling were the French diplomats who flaunted their medals right in front of me, snarking away like they were settling some score from the Anglo-German negotiations. I was sorely tempted to give them a piece of my mind.
I didn't bear any real grudge against France, but apparently I'd become a full-fledged German without realizing it.
"Haha, see? I told you our Greek athletes wouldn't be pushovers, Baron."
"Your Highness, be honest—Greece's third place was all about numbers, wasn't it? Credit where it's due."
I stuck out my lower lip at Crown Prince Constantine, who was crowing about his eight golds—behind France's fifteen and America's twelve.
America's performance made sense; they'd be an Olympic powerhouse in the future too. But Greece? That was harder to swallow.
Other nations, including ours, had fielded maybe forty to seventy athletes at most. Greece? Over three hundred.
I knew the Olympics held huge significance for them as the hosts, but still—'Isn't that a bit much?'
Crown Prince Constantine, however, was utterly shameless.
"If it bothered you that much, you should have sent more athletes."
He wasn't wrong. That made it all the more infuriating.
'Maybe I should tell Chancellor von Bülow we need a national sports initiative.'
Anyway, once the Olympics wrapped up, I bid farewell to Crown Prince Constantine and Crown Princess Sophie, promising to meet again if the opportunity arose, and returned to Germany. I threw myself back into my duties as aide to the Foreign Minister.
1906 was a year of frequent natural disasters worldwide, so I was swamped handling the tedious tasks Foreign Minister von Tschirschky kept dumping on me—drafting condolence letters, compiling lists of relief supplies, that sort of thing.
Just days before the Athens Games, on April 7—as I'd mentioned during our Olympic chats—Mount Vesuvius erupted, devastating Naples. Then April 18 brought the infamous San Francisco earthquake that leveled the city.
On August 16, the Valparaíso earthquake struck Chile, killing over 3,800 and injuring 20,000. And on September 18, a typhoon and tsunami hit Hong Kong, claiming around 10,000 lives.
Disasters struck everywhere—Europe, the Americas, Asia. What a tumultuous year.
But not all the news reaching my ears was bad.
October 1906.
At last, the tank development plan I'd spearheaded with Count von Schlieffen and Ludendorff received official approval from the General Staff. The project was officially underway.
"Count von Schlieffen, how have you been?"
"Oh, Baron. It's been a while. Ever since you became an aide, I hardly see you anymore."
"Too much work lately. Speaking of which, any progress on the Schlieffen Plan?"
"Hmm, the basics are mostly sketched out. It's changed a lot from my original idea, though."
Schlieffen launched into a saliva-spraying explanation of the revisions.
This old man seemed to have grown chattier since retiring.
He'd lost his wife early, and his grown children had long since left home. Maybe he was just lonely.
I'll chalk it up to keeping a lonely old noble company.
"Baron, the spirit of Mahatma is strong with you today."
"Chief of the General Staff Moltke, War Minister von Einem, Major Ludendorff."
As Schlieffen and I chatted away, oblivious to the time, the rest of the group arrived.
The five of us—me, Schlieffen, Moltke, von Einem, and Ludendorff—were the core members of the Tractor Project. Along with Kaiser Wilhelm II and Chancellor von Bülow, we were the only ones who knew every detail.
"Tch. Strictly speaking, someone from the Foreign Office has no business here. You really get into everything, don't you?"
"I'm the one who proposed building tanks in the first place. Bear with me just this once. Besides, Minister von Einem, you agreed on the need for tanks yourself."
"...I know. I'm just saying, in principle."
War Minister von Einem, who didn't think much of me, grumbled as he took his seat.
Truth be told, von Einem was one of the better ones.
As I'd noted before, he was keen on military innovation.
Moltke, on the other hand, showed zero interest—not just in tanks, but even in the armored cars and transport trucks that came up tangentially.
He acted like they were pointless.
The Kaiser wasn't much different.
"Hans, honestly, aren't things like automobiles just toys? Heinrich might think otherwise, but I do wonder if we really need to spend national funds on this."
"Your Majesty, have I ever let you down? I swear this will live up to your faith in me. It's essential for the German Empire."
"Hmmm... Well, if you put it that way."
In the end, after my endless persuasion, Kaiser Wilhelm II approved the tank development.
He still looked skeptical.
But once results appeared, even the Kaiser would change his tune.
Oh, and Moltke didn't need separate convincing.
Schlieffen had insisted on it before retiring, and with his immense prestige in the army—far beyond the newly appointed Moltke, who lacked the clout to push back—there was no room for debate.
And so, under the leadership of me (the tank's conceptual originator), Schlieffen (as advisor), Army Chief of Staff Moltke, War Minister von Einem, and Ludendorff (handling operations), the German Empire's tank development project—codenamed the "Tractor Project"—was launched.
For the record, the name drew from the interwar period, when Versailles restrictions forced the German army to develop tanks under the guise of "tractors" to skirt the treaty.
Everyone mocked my naming sense—"A farm machine?!"—but they grudgingly accepted my lame excuse that an unrelated name was best for secrecy.
"Baron, the guests have arrived."
At precisely three o'clock, a General Staff officer announced their arrival.
I nodded for them to enter, and in came men in suits, looking utterly bewildered.
They were representatives from Germany's top automakers: Benz, Daimler, Augsburg-Nürnberg Joint Mechanical Works (soon to become MAN), Horch (predecessor to Audi), Opel (famous among enthusiasts for the Blitz truck), Hanomag, and more.
They had no idea why they'd been summoned, but our plan was to have these companies build tank prototypes, pit them against each other in competition, and award production to the best performer.
Competition breeds enthusiasm and better results.
Not that the communists would agree.
Bonus: I'd nudge them toward conveyor-belt assembly lines, boosting mass production of cheap cars to supercharge the Empire's auto industry.
We couldn't hand-build tanks one by one, and trucks for logistics would be vital for the army going forward. Mass production was non-negotiable.
"Gentlemen. Some of you may know our names, others not, so allow me to introduce us. I am Baron Hans von Choi. To my side: Army Chief of Staff Helmuth von Moltke, War Minister Karl von Einem, former Army Chief of Staff Count Alfred von Schlieffen, and Major Erich Ludendorff of the General Staff's Mobilization Section."
Were they stunned by the sudden appearance of such heavy hitters?
The entrepreneurs and engineers—who'd only been told it was military business—froze, faces stiffening.
Ludendorff was just a major, but the rest of us were nobles and cabinet-level figures.
To them, it must have felt like walking into a job interview packed with the board of directors.
But for security, we couldn't divulge project details lightly. Sorry, but no choice.
"You're all wondering what this is about and why people like you were called here—especially without prior notice. This project is top secret, known in full only to us five, the Chancellor, and His Majesty the Kaiser. We had to prioritize security. I ask for your understanding."
Murmurs rippled at the revelation that just seven people in the Empire knew everything. General Staff officers passed out sheets of paper.
"This is...?"
"As you see, nondisclosure agreements. Sign one, and you're in. Break it, and you'll enjoy a cozy one-on-one with the Prussian secret police. I'd advise against any funny ideas."
My warning made the auto execs stare intently at the forms, faces grave.
But their hesitation was brief.
One by one, they pulled out pens and signed without protest.
They got it: a project this important, backed by the government and army, meant huge profits and prestige.
Once everyone had signed, I collected the forms.
Then, slowly, I began the briefing.
"Some of you may have guessed already, but the goal of this project—the Tractor Project—is to develop a new weapon of war based on the automobile."
"You mean something like an armored car?"
As tension eased, someone broke the silence with a question. I nodded.
"Similar. But what we're after is tougher and more powerful than an armored car. I call it a 'tank'—or Panzer."
"Tank...?"
"Panzer...?"
"Never heard of it."
As heads tilted and murmurs grew, I pressed on.
"Of course it's unfamiliar. It's a cutting-edge weapon never used in any war before. Let me outline the essential features a tank must have."
One: Armor thick enough to shrug off rifle and machine-gun fire.
Two: A cannon to smash pillboxes, plus machine guns to repel enemy infantry.
Three: Continuous tracks for smooth travel over rough terrain.
"These three are the tank's raison d'être. From now on, each of your companies will build a prototype. The best one wins the production contract."
"Oh..."
"Any questions?"
Hands shot up everywhere.
Their eyes burned with ambition for success.