Germany: The Thousand Year Empire Chapter 78 78: The Cruelty of Politics

"No problem, Mr. Hindenburg."

Jörg nodded at once.

Hindenburg gave no imdiate reply. He only turned his head and looked out the window, his expression unreadable.

In his eyes, Jörg still had a long road ahead before he could truly stand at the summit. But circumstances no longer allowed the luxury of a slower pace. Plans had already been overtaken by events, and compared with all the others now circling power like wolves around a carcass, Jörg remained the one man most worthy of his trust.

Still, there was one matter that needed to be brought forward as quickly as possible.

Silence settled inside the car.

At length, Jörg exhaled a thin stream of smoke and broke it himself.

"Mr. Hindenburg, I have an idea. I would like your approval in advance."

Hindenburg shifted his gaze back toward him. "What idea?"

Jörg's tone remained calm, but his eyes sharpened.

"Based on the earlier Trotskyist infiltration, and on what happened this ti, I believe Germany needs a far more comprehensive organ for internal and external oversight."

Hindenburg's brow twitched slightly. "Internal and external oversight?"

Even though Jörg had phrased it carefully, he still grasped the substance imdiately.

"You an to expand the current intelligence apparatus?"

Jörg shook his head.

"No. I an to dismantle the current intelligence departnt entirely and rebuild it into an independent institution, one capable of dealing with the complex realities of the Weimar Republic. Sothing like Soviet Russia's Cheka."

He paused, then added in a colder voice:

"But unlike the Cheka, ours must be stronger. More efficient. More difficult to detect. It must beco an invisible sword, one that can strike at any ti, anywhere."

"Internally, it must guarantee complete intelligence coverage, crisis managent, and risk monitoring. It must prevent chaos like the Berlin riots, or what happened these past days."

"Externally, it must seize the initiative in intelligence warfare against other countries, and when necessary, it must be capable of paralyzing and influencing their political decisions."

Hindenburg's expression changed subtly.

Interest had taken root.

Jörg saw it at once and pressed forward without delay.

"For example, Soviet Russia's weapons research institutes and military academy will soon be operational. Although we have three formal agreents in place, the Russians will never pass up such a chance. They will use it to improve their own combat doctrine, their own officer corps, and their own technical capabilities."

He looked directly at Hindenburg.

"Once everything is in place, they will certainly send officers to observe, perhaps even to study, the tactics we are building. They will also send engineers to inspect our weapons research results. Partly for cooperation, partly for imitation, and partly for protection."

At that, Hindenburg leaned forward slightly.

"Go on."

He had never fully resolved his unease over establishing weapons research and military education on foreign soil. He had rely set the concern aside amid more urgent matters. Now that Jörg had raised it again, the issue returned to the forefront of his mind.

"If such a departnt exists," Jörg continued, "we can send a carefully selected group of agents into the weapons research institute. Engineers, defectors, technical advisors. n who appear to have gone over willingly."

He smiled faintly.

"They will make contact with Soviet infiltrators on their own initiative. Whatever they want, we will hand it to them."

"False information. False blueprints. False conclusions."

Hindenburg's eyes narrowed.

"For weapons research, perhaps. Technical deception can survive for a ti before being exposed. But the military academy is different. Discussion of tactics cannot simply be fabricated. War cannot be taught with paper alone."

Jörg did not answer imdiately. Instead, he guided the conversation where he wanted it to go.

"Of course I understand that, Mr. Hindenburg. Let ask you this instead. Whom do you think Soviet Russia will send to study there?"

There was no hesitation in Hindenburg's reply.

"Obviously, officers of substance. Battalion commanders. Divisional officers. n worth training."

"Exactly," Jörg said. "And when their studies end, where will those n go?"

"To their own military districts. Moscow. Ukraine. Everywhere that matters."

Jörg's lips curved very slightly.

"Precisely. If we can place trained agents around such n, influence their thinking little by little, and guide their dissatisfaction when the ti cos, then when they begin to turn against Soviet Russia, which direction do you think they will look?"

Hindenburg answered almost instinctively. "Toward us."

Then he stopped himself and shook his head.

"No. No, Jörg. You are still being too optimistic. Soviet officers will not be corrupted by a few well spoken n simply because they admire German doctrine."

He frowned more deeply.

"And on what basis do you assu they will beco dissatisfied with their own regi? Without that opportunity, all this would amount to nothing but wasted effort."

Jörg had expected precisely that objection.

He did not argue. He simply continued.

"No country is ever truly monolithic, Mr. Hindenburg. And Soviet Russia is even less so."

"Stalin has secured his position for now by driving Trotsky back and consolidating power. That much is obvious. But beneath the surface, there are still countless people who resent him, fear him, or quietly oppose him."

He held Hindenburg's gaze.

"I believe that in a few years, those contradictions will erupt completely."

For a brief mont, Hindenburg rembered another conversation, another prediction spoken by Jörg with the sa eerie confidence, one that had later proven disturbingly accurate.

He did not answer.

Then Jörg gave the final push.

"If we prepare in advance, if we bury a blade behind that giant bear before it ever turns on us, then the cost is minimal. A few agents. A little money. Ti."

He leaned back.

"And if it succeeds, the return may be an entire bear's paw."

That image was crude, almost rustic, but it was effective.

Hindenburg's fingers tapped once against the door.

It was true. The cost was not high. Even if the attempt failed, the loss would not cripple Germany. But if it succeeded, the benefit would be imnse.

At last he said, "This is still too far off to settle today, Jörg. I am not President yet."

Then, after a pause:

"But if these matters are resolved, and if the people truly send to Bellevue Palace, I will be very pleased to find such a proposal waiting on my desk."

Jörg inclined his head slightly.

Hindenburg then added, with deliberate casualness, "But if that day cos, you must agree to a small condition of mine in return. Do not worry, it will not be anything excessive. You will simply accompany to et soone."

His tone suggested it was a matter for later.

For now, another duty weighed more heavily than all the rest.

"Now," Hindenburg said, "we are going to see the President."

"No problem, Mr. Hindenburg," Jörg replied.

The car rolled to a stop outside the hospital.

As the door opened, a black umbrella spread against the white world outside, like a dark flower blooming in winter snow.

Jörg stepped out and lifted his eyes toward the building ahead.

Until that mont, the conversation in the car had kept his mind clear, almost cold. But now, standing before the hospital doors, a heaviness settled over him.

Albert had not been in his life for long. Not in the asure of years.

Yet the help the President had given him could not be denied.

From diplomacy to the Dawes negotiations, from the financial maneuvers to the political shielding that had made all of it possible, almost none of it could have been accomplished without Ebert's trust, decisiveness, and willingness to approve what others would never have dared approve.

And now, there was a certain black irony to it.

One could almost say that President Ebert, with his own fading life, had paid the final price that allowed Jörg to complete the most difficult and decisive leap of his political ascent.

And he, seated in a car beside Hindenburg only monts before, had already been calmly discussing how the power left behind by Ebert's death would be divided.

It was not rely ironic.

It was ugly.

He looked up at the falling snow and let out a quiet, humorless breath.

Then he followed Hindenburg toward the entrance.

Whatever sorrow, gratitude, or unease remained in him, he buried it deep, where no one could see it. In its place he put on the colder face that politics demanded, and that soldiers understood all too well.

.....

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