"Roml and Manstein are hereby appointed temporary commanders of the Second and Third Armored Divisions. Their ranks will remain unchanged, and the effective date will be announced later. Until then, the interim command of the First and Second Infantry Divisions will be handed to Sika Domo and Modri Jeff."
The mont those words fell, the two old generals exchanged glances.
Neither had expected Jörg to place Roml and Manstein in temporary command of the Second and Third Armored Divisions, especially when the two n were already commanding the First and Second Infantry Divisions. If this decision were fully implented, it would an that both officers would, in practice, gain authority over two additional divisions.
Of course, this had not been done on impulse.
Jörg had thought it through carefully.
He needed Roml and Manstein to go to Soviet Russia and continue refining armored warfare theory there, laying the intellectual and organizational foundation for the Reichswehr full transformation in the years ahead. That was also why he had given them command appointnts without promotions in rank, and why he had deliberately kept the arrangent temporary rather than formal.
As for why he had chosen those two old generals as interim replacents, there were two reasons.
First, the Army needed ti to stabilize after such a sweeping reform. These two were seasoned soldiers with long service records. Entrusting the infantry divisions to them would allow the transition to proceed quickly while preventing disorder from spreading through the officer corps.
Second, Hindenburg had a hand in the matter.
Both n had once served under Hindenburg, and the list had been personally passed to Jörg by the old Field Marshal. It was, in its own way, part of an exchange.
Of course, the word temporary already explained much.
Manstein slowly raised his head.
The surprise in his eyes lasted only a mont before it was overtaken by unease. He had no personal relationship with Jörg. If this promotion had truly co to him, then the most likely explanation was his uncle's influence.
Roml, seated quietly beside Guderian, revealed nothing on his face. Guderian had already inford him of the decision beforehand. At the mont, his chief concern was not the appointnt itself, but how he was going to explain to Lucie that he would likely be leaving for Soviet Russia for nearly a year.
At the front, Jörg continued reading the list.
One by one, nas followed.
Paulus. Bock. Model. Rundstedt. Reichenau.
They were all promoted or reassigned upward, filling the vacuum left by the recent purge. As each na was announced, the older division commanders in the rear rows cast increasingly complex looks toward the younger officers who had just been elevated. Compared to the senior n in the room, these officers seed almost too young to hold such weighty positions.
Most of the division commanders could already guess the larger pattern.
These n would likely beco Jörg's core circle in the future. His faction. His officers.
But only they saw it so clearly.
For Paulus and the others themselves, the feeling was very different. They could not understand why they had suddenly been entrusted with such important roles. The promotion felt unreal, almost dreamlike. Their eyes turned toward Jörg, confused, restrained, and yet bright with unmistakable excitent.
Still, joy was joy.
No one disliked higher rank. No one disliked greater authority.
After reading the long list, Jörg noticed the weight of the glances from the back rows, but he only returned them with a brief look before taking the second docunt Ethan handed him.
The most important matters had already been settled. What followed were mostly formal announcents, uniform regulations, and administrative adjustnts. These were matters not worth spending further ntal effort on, so he simply read from the prepared text.
He had screened these officers with equal care.
Including Guderian and Roml, the total number of newly elevated younger officers was eight, split precisely down the middle: four commoners and four nobles.
He could not promote only commoners. If he did, Hindenburg and the Junker aristocracy behind him would grow displeased.
But neither could he allow the nobility to dominate once again and close the narrow gate that had only recently opened for commoners to beco officers within the Army.
Balance was necessary.
When the final formal statent had been read, exactly two hours had passed.
Continuous speaking had left Jörg's lips dry and tight. He drank the untouched red tea in a single swallow and continued,
"This concludes the general session. The seven newly promoted officers will remain. Everyone else may leave."
The large conference room began to empty at once.
Chairs scraped against the floor. Gloves were put back on. Boots sounded in asured rhythm. The mood was strange. Part confusion, part relief, part suppressed calculation.
Jörg rotated his stiff neck and was just about to address the seven officers who, though not yet fully ford into anything, would undoubtedly beco prominent figures in the future.
Before he could begin, Bock spoke first.
"Deputy Commander in Chief, if I am not mistaken, this is our first eting."
Jörg nodded calmly.
"It is. But I am already very familiar with your files. Fedor von Bock, correct? Are you dissatisfied with my arrangents?"
Bock hesitated for a mont before answering honestly.
"Not entirely satisfied, sir. I believe that with our current qualifications, we are not yet worthy of what has been placed in our hands."
Before he could continue, Jörg raised a hand and cut him off.
"Qualifications?"
His tone was not loud, but it carried an edge sharp enough to stop the room cold.
"My qualifications are shallower than any of yours, yet that did not prevent from becoming Deputy Commander in Chief. The old rules are finished. The Reichswehr of the future will value individual ability above inherited seniority."
He looked at them one by one.
"Bloodline and titles must yield to ability. That is why you were promoted."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"If any of you believes he lacks the ability for what he has been given, step forward now."
Silence.
No one moved.
The initial excitent of promotion was already cooling, and with that cooling ca clarity. Once they accepted these appointnts, they would inevitably be counted as part of Jörg's camp. Their future fortunes would rise and fall with his.
Even so, none of them was willing to deny his own ability in front of the others. To do so here would not be humility. It would be self destruction. Worse, it would mark the end of his career.
And beneath calculation, there was also pride.
They were soldiers. None of them would step forward and declare himself unworthy.
Seeing that no one moved, Jörg gave a faint nod.
"Good."
Then he continued,
"Of course, promotion always cos at a price. So of you may already know about the Soviet Russia Military Academy. I need you to go to Soviet Russia and take part in discussions concerning armored coordination, air and ground cooperation, and operations across varied terrain."
Rundstedt frowned at once.
"We can study all of that inside Germany. Why must it be done in Soviet Russia?"
Jörg answered without hesitation.
"Yes, we can study it in Germany. But being studied in Germany and being studied in Soviet Russia are two very different things. Furthermore, the supporting weapons research facilities there will allow your theoretical work to be tested against more practical conditions."
After a brief silence, Paulus, still not fully recovered from the shock of his promotion, asked carefully,
"Then what is the concrete objective, sir? Are we preparing against Poland? How should we proceed?"
At that, a slight smile touched Jörg's lips.
"Who told you your opponent is Poland?"
He let the question hang in the air before answering it himself.
"Our opponent is Europe."
The room went still.
"As for how you are to proceed, the task is simple. Study how to win future wars, and then help reshape the Army accordingly."
He looked at them steadily.
"Rember this. The theories you produce may one day beco the doctrinal foundation for the expansion of the German Army once war returns. They may beco the manual by which future officers are trained and future recruits are ford."
"Do you understand?"
This ti their answer ca in one voice, firm and instinctive.
"Yes, sir!"
Jörg smiled, satisfied.
He stepped forward, patted Roml on the shoulder, then reached into his pouch and withdrew two banknotes.
"All right. Most of you are older than I am, so I will spare you further lecturing. Go to a pub. Have a drink. Celebrate your promotions and your upcoming trip to Soviet Russia, gentlen."
Then, with the faintest trace of dry humor, he added,
"I, unfortunately, still have work."
Watching him turn away, Roml looked down at the banknotes in his hand and said, with a rare trace of uncertainty,
"So... shall we go for a drink?"
After a beat of silence, Model replied with a completely straight face,
"Is that an order?"
For a mont, the tension in the room broke.
Several of them laughed. They were all n of roughly the sa generation, soldiers rather than courtiers. Once the first stiffness cracked, familiarity ca quickly.
Yes, they had ti for a drink.
Jörg did not.
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 10–50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
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