One day later, aboard a private train bound for Berlin, Hindenburg sat by the window with a face ashen from exhaustion.
He had not slept for an entire night.
One telegram after another lay scattered across the table before him, and he flipped through them with increasing gravity. The upheaval in Berlin the day before had unfolded with more twists than a Shakespearean tragedy.
First, the Reichswehr Headquarters had issued a declaration of martial law for Berlin to the entire Army. Then, not long afterward, that very declaration had been overturned by another ssage from headquarters, which instead denounced Seckt and a group of traitors for attempting to seize power.
The contradictory orders had thrown the whole Army into confusion.
Most units no longer knew what the true situation in Berlin was.
They wanted to send telegrams and demand clarification, yet they also feared that Berlin itself had already fallen into rebel hands. In the end, distrust and uncertainty forced the various commanders into the only choice they considered safe: they selected one man with enough prestige to judge the situation personally.
Unfortunately for Hindenburg, that man was him.
"What did Jörg say?" he asked at last, setting aside the final telegram.
Throughout the previous day, he had sent repeated inquiries to the First Armored Division. It was only this morning that Jörg's private radio station had finally transmitted a brief explanation.
His secretary stood at once and answered respectfully, "Herr Roman said he has taken control of the Reichswehr Headquarters and arrested all suspected participants. He will explain everything to you in person."
As the train drew steadily closer to the city, Hindenburg's vigilance did not lessen in the slightest.
"Send a reply to the infantry division nearest Berlin," he ordered. "Tell them this: if I do not answer by tonight, they are to march on Berlin imdiately, and they are to ignore any telegrams or orders that tell them otherwise."
"Understood, sir."
It was a precaution, and a necessary one.
On one hand, Hindenburg was guarding against the possibility that Jörg's ssage itself was false, so fabrication sent by Seckt or his allies. On the other hand, even if the ssage were genuine, Berlin was now entirely under Jörg's control.
Because everything had happened so suddenly, he had only been able to bring a platoon of guards with him. If Jörg truly had gone mad, those n would not even be enough to clog the teeth of the First Armored Division.
Even though Jörg had secretly warned him in advance, even though that warning was in itself a sign of loyalty, Hindenburg still could not afford to lower his guard.
He understood one thing very clearly now.
After this incident, he could no longer regard Jörg as a gifted young officer under his patronage.
The young man had already grown into sothing else.
He was now a player capable of setting the board himself, using other people's sches, lives, and ambitions to achieve his own ends. He was maturing far faster, and far more dangerously, than Hindenburg had anticipated.
The train changed tracks and rolled onto a private platform.
With a long hiss, steam billowed upward, and the carriage slowed to a halt.
Hindenburg looked out through the window.
Only two n stood on the platform waiting for him, both smoking in the winter air, both familiar.
He extinguished his cigarette and narrowed his eyes.
Jörg stood there in a black military coat, straight-backed and composed. Beside him stood Guderian.
Jörg had deliberately avoided arranging any grand reception. He knew Hindenburg would be wary. By coming with only one companion, he reduced the visible pressure.
Of course, that was only the appearance.
In truth, a full company had already been dispersed quietly throughout the station.
Caution was, after all, the safest habit in politics.
The carriage door opened.
Hindenburg stepped down with the aid of his cane. He looked travel-worn in a way almost no one had ever seen him. His yellow sweater clashed absurdly with the black trench coat over it, his boots were dusty and unpolished, and the man who was usually ticulous to the point of severity now looked as though he had been dragged through a sleepless campaign.
The sight alone proved how hurriedly he had co.
"Jörg," he said without preamble, "how is Berlin?"
Jörg stepped forward imdiately. After signaling Guderian to bring the car closer, he fell into step beside the old marshal and lowered his voice.
"There were so flaws," he said. "But the overall situation is under control."
Hindenburg accepted the cigarette Jörg offered him, though he did not light it at once.
"The fighting," he asked. "How severe was it?"
"There were casualties on both sides. Police and soldiers," Jörg replied calmly. "Because the Royal Cavalry used artillery, two blocks and five buildings suffered varying levels of damage. As for officers above battalion level and the politicians involved, no one died except Drew. He committed suicide."
At that, the lines on Hindenburg's forehead loosened slightly.
That answer, at least, was better than he had feared.
He entered the back seat of the car and sat down. Jörg followed him in. Outside, an armored car moved ahead to clear the road.
"Good," Hindenburg said after a pause. "The aftermath must be handled properly. The public explanation must be…"
He stopped halfway through the sentence, because Jörg had already nodded.
"Rest assured, Mr. Hindenburg," he said. "I arranged for the major newspapers to be notified imdiately. Until this matter is completely settled, no report about the incident will be allowed into print."
For the first ti since stepping off the train, Hindenburg gave him a direct look of appraisal.
Only then did he move to what really mattered.
"Tell everything."
Jörg had prepared for this question long before the train arrived.
He gathered his thoughts and began without hesitation.
"Drew, elents inside the military, Seckt, Hans Bogg of the Berlin city governnt, and several right-wing parliantarians and politicians colluded together. Their intention was to seize power while the President was incapacitated and, in the process, remove every force connected to you."
"They forged a special order in the President's na and attempted to seize control of the ard police. They failed. After that, they moved troops to suppress the police directly and opened fire, intending to secure Wilhelmstrasse by force. The Rapid Response Force realized sothing was wrong and turned against them."
He paused briefly.
"I then ordered the First Armored Division to seize the Reichswehr Headquarters, enter Berlin, and arrest all involved parties."
His explanation was concise, almost too concise, yet it was enough.
Hindenburg was experienced enough to fill in the missing space himself.
After a long silence, he asked, "Where are they being held now? And Ebert, was he taken hostage?"
"They are being held at the Berlin Police Departnt," Jörg said. "As for the President, no. He was not taken hostage. But a week ago, he collapsed into a coma from a high fever. These n got that information through their contacts in the hospital and moved first to secure the area around him."
He looked out the window for a mont before continuing.
"The doctors say his condition is very serious. At any ti, there may be… an unfavorable outco."
That answer made Hindenburg go quiet.
He had expected more questions to follow, questions about how Jörg had acquired his list of suspects, how he had known to prepare in advance, how so much intelligence had been gathered so quickly. But Hindenburg did not ask any of them.
Jörg noticed that at once.
It was not that Hindenburg had failed to think of those questions. It was that he had chosen not to voice them.
That silence, more than any praise, told Jörg that the old marshal had already made a decision.
After a long while, Hindenburg finally exhaled smoke through his nose and said, "The Army has already been shaken to its foundations, and Ebert is dying. I cannot untangle this ss alone."
He turned his eyes toward Jörg.
"I want to hear your opinion."
Jörg lowered his gaze for a fraction of a second, hiding the smile that nearly surfaced in his heart.
This was the sentence he had been waiting for.
"From my personal point of view, Mr. Hindenburg," he said steadily, "you should end your retirent and return to serve Germany."
Hindenburg said nothing.
Jörg continued.
"Once President Ebert dies, the various parties will be incapable of agreeing on a single leader whom the public trusts and who can actually govern. You are the only man with enough authority to hold the country together."
Hindenburg flicked the cigarette butt out through the open window.
"You want to beco President," he said. "Then what of the Commander in Chief's position? Who takes it?"
Jörg did not recomnd himself.
He knew the position was still too dangerous, too exposed. Anyone who leapt for it too openly now would beco the focus of every suspicion and every grievance left behind by the crisis.
Instead, he gave the answer Hindenburg least expected.
"You should keep it as well," Jörg said. "Germany can endure that exception. The President may also serve as Commander in Chief."
That actually made Hindenburg pause.
He had prepared himself for ambition. He had not expected restraint.
After a long silence, he finally said, "I can serve as President. But if I also keep the office of Commander in Chief, I will be spread too thin."
He turned toward Jörg fully now.
"So let us do this instead. We create a new position, Acting Deputy Commander in Chief. You will manage the Army in my na."
The car rolled on through the winter streets of Berlin.
Outside, the city was still scarred.
Inside, the future of Germany had just shifted again.
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 10–50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
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