German Civil War – Harbinger of the Storm (4)

September 11, 1939 — Frankfurt am Main, Mansion in City Center, 9th Military District

Colonel Henning von Tresckow stood by the window, smoking a cigarette while gazing down at darkening Frankfurt. Many people urged him to reduce his smoking, but in this miserable world he could hardly cut back.

The mansion was filled with Junkers bearing the aristocratic "von" and royalists including Dr. Carl Goerdeler.

"Is it true that the Crown Prince had private dealings with Major Schacht?"

"Indeed. I heard from the escort whom I'd assigned for protection against Nazi assassins—he said the Crown Prince dressed in civilian clothes and went alone, secretly."

At Dr. Goerdeler's report, the royalist Junkers grew quite agitated.

"How can the Crown Prince do this, leaving us—who wish to serve the Imperial Family—behind!"

"The circumstances show he wasn't receptive to our proposals for bringing His Majesty the Emperor back. Even so, I think this goes too far."

They all wanted to revive the class system and noble privileges, but the Crown Prince's behavior deeply offended their sensibilities.

"The situation isn't favorable. Those chaotic people—Free Corps or whatever they call themselves—have already become almost equal to ours in number!"

The new government's army had been small from the beginning and wasn't qualitatively comparable, but as their numbers on paper became similar, royalist impatience was growing.

When Abwehr Director Canaris first backed Captain Dietrich Schacht, they'd seen it merely as support for conspirators.

They'd dismissed him as just a captain—anyway, he was Hjalmar Schacht's son, a business magnate, so they'd regarded it as a necessary evil.

When he'd asked Ludwig Beck for broadcasting permission, they'd left it alone since he genuinely had press contacts. However, the aftermath of the broadcasts which they'd taken lightly exceeded their imagination.

The German people embraced the anti-Nazi freedom banner enthusiastically, and the pouring voluntary enlistments and donations were strengthening the republicans' position.

The royalists wanted to pressure him and the journalists to broadcast things more to their liking, but the audacious Major refused to comply, enjoying Beck's acquiescence and Canaris's protection.

"This fellow, who only talks on radio, has become more famous than us! Those foolish commoners don't even know who's really at the center of the new government!"

This was the royalists' greatest dissatisfaction. The hosts, appearing on programs almost daily, had already secured tremendous public recognition.

Among them, Major Dietrich Schacht—overseeing broadcasting as new government spokesperson and frequently delivering public speeches—had become more famous among the people than higher-ranking officers, even generals.

"What makes him different from Hitler! Isn't he trying to revive mob government by riding on popularity from below!"

Schacht and the republicans had contributed greatly to the new government's growth, so for the patient royalists, the Crown Prince's secret contact with him became a catalyst for dissatisfaction.

"It is now unavoidable. We must act before their power grows further."

The Junkers nodded at Dr. Goerdeler's remarks. Initially thinking him just a captain, they'd taken him too lightly—he was too dangerous now.

All eyes turned to Field Marshal August von Mackensen, wearing a handsome hussar uniform and hat, the most prestigious Junker gathered here despite being retired.

After Ludwig Beck became imperial regent and began distancing himself from hardline royalists, Dr. Goerdeler had recruited retired Mackensen as their focal point.

"You're trying to turn us—who've served the Empire all our lives—into back-room old men, you impudent brat. What do you propose?"

To Mackensen's question, a man who was more 35-years older than even he, a man in his 50s, Dr. Goerdeler answered confidently.

"After all, they're people with different interests and ideas. We will remove Major Schacht, their focal point, and take control of the broadcasting station—the rest will collapse easily. Then, if we conduct more 'proper' broadcasts and bring in the Kaiser, under his strong leadership, we can guide the people and eliminate the Nazis."

Mackensen stroked his magnificent beard and asked again.

"Would Beck agree? To bring the Kaiser, the regent's consent would be required."

"He's already half-swayed by that boy and become indecisive. If we take control of the new government, he'll fall in line."

Just as Mackensen was about to nod at Dr. Goerdeler's confident tone—

"I oppose this."

Dr. Goerdeler frowned.

"General Witzleben!"

Among the generals, General Erwin von Witzleben—close to participants of Operation Widerstand—continued despite Dr. Goerdeler's restraint.

"After all, isn't he the one who made the greatest contributions to forming the new government? He's capable for his age and has demonstrated real power to win public opinion. Has he shown inappropriate ambition or demanded high positions?"

"Not yet, but we don't know what he discussed with the Crown Prince behind closed doors!"

At another general's objection, Witzleben narrowed his brows.

"Anyway, he's part of the military after all. I cannot agree with eliminating a promising young officer. His father is the finance minister we desperately need, and he himself has become famous among the people."

"I also agree with General Witzleben. We have popular support as the new government that stood against the Nazis. If we lose public support due to this recklessness, it will be we—not the Nazis—who will fall."

Dr. Goerdeler also stepped back when Witzleben and General Kurt von Hammerstein-Equord, who oversaw front-line units, objected.

"What about you, Colonel Tresckow?"

Tresckow had been smoking by the window with an attitude of detachment, but when he heard Goerdeler call him, he stubbed out his cigarette and approached.

"What about me, Doctor?"

"You're friends with him. Can you persuade him?"

Tresckow unconsciously reached for another cigarette, frowned, and spoke.

"From what I can see, he doesn't have much desire for power. The approach may differ, but his goal of liberating Germany from Nazis and strengthening the new government is the same as ours."

"Damn it!"

Tresckow fell silent at Dr. Goerdeler's shout. Witzleben shook his head, and Mackensen began chuckling as the mood deteriorated.

"Ha ha ha ha! Damn, I want to see what sort of person he is. You say he attended General Staff courses? Promote him to leutnant colonel and tell him to complete the War College curriculum. If he truly isn't ambitious and doesn't intend hostility toward us, won't he accept?"

"Ah, you are wise, Field Marshal!"

The old Marshal's proposal won the Junkers' admiration.

"If he refuses, it means he has different intentions, so let's nominally make him leutnant colonel in appreciation for his hard work. His father is definitely necessary, and there may be objections, so consider it insurance. How about this?"

Witzleben and Hammerstein had subtle expressions, but it was difficult for them to object since they had to return to the front lines anyway.

"Well, how about it? Colonel Tresckow. Could you persuade him with such a generous offer, being close to him?"

Tresckow desperately wanted a cigarette immediately.

"Very well, excellent! Then let's make concrete plans right away."

Whatever he was thinking, Dr. Goerdeler and the Junkers grew excited and began planning among themselves.

September 13, 1939 — Wewelsburg Castle, SS Training Center, Westphalia, 11th Military District

Gunfire and artillery had ceased, but the hideous bombardment traces remaining at Wewelsburg Castle proved the fierce battle's intensity.

The offensive had stopped when Captain Lutz's Berlin-bound attack was halted, but the new government army commander, General Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb, maintained the siege.

"Oh! Oh!"

As planes flew overhead and they saw parachuted boxes descending, SS men hurriedly ran to open them.

However, contrary to expectations, the boxes contained only Iron Cross medals.

"What fucking bullshit! Why the hell are they sending this!"

The Iron Cross medals—sent from superiors to praise the brave SS members' heroic struggle for country and Führer—were thrown to the ground by soldiers as nothing more than scrap metal.

A box fell near the enemy camp in front of the SS positions, and the enemies deliberately extracted food from there and waved it mockingly.

"Damn dogs!"

The SS members were on the verge of rage. Food at Wewelsburg SS Training Center—just a training facility and castle, not a proper city—had long since run out.

SS-Gruppenführer Paul Hausser called Himmler with urgent desperation.

"When are reinforcements coming? Of the supplies the Reichsmarschall boasted about, we haven't received even half of what we need! Half of it is useless!"

"The Wehrmacht won't move, using public opinion as excuse, so we have no choice! The Reichsmarschall says supply is proceeding excellently—hold on a little longer, we'll find another way soon!"

"What's proceeding excellently? If you don't believe me, tell the Reichsmarschall to fly here and stay one day! And stop sending those damned Iron Cross medals!"

"General Hausser, what kind of insubordinat—"

Regardless of what Himmler wanted to say, Hausser hung up.

"General, it's mealtime."

Hausser smiled sadly when the leutnant—who'd waited for the call to end—offered canned soup with a dejected expression.

The food reaching him was so meager the other crew barely saw any.

"You eat it. I don't even remember when you last had dinner."

"No, General. How could I?"

"Eat—I have no appetite."

Hearing Hausser's words, the leutnant tried to protest once more, but when his own stomach rumbled, he departed with an apologetic expression.

Now, in enemy eyes, he and his men appeared more like Nazi evil minions trying to ruin Germany.

"It's acceptable for an old man like me, but those youngsters are suffering for what we have done."

Hausser rose helplessly and went outside.

"Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler, General!"

Once, he'd also proudly shouted 'Heil Hitler', believing this path was truly for Germany. How now? What were they thinking, shouting that?

As Hausser walked the defensive line, accepting subordinate salutes, the radio began broadcasting.

"Proud German citizens, don't be swayed by instigation and fabrication from self-proclaimed 'new government' traitors! Jews and base German traitors instigated by Bolsheviks are no longer Germans!"

When Dr. Goebbels spoke in his characteristic shrill voice, there were times when crews here had waited excitedly.

"Rise up, true Aryans, true Germany! Remember the great Führer's achievements! Remember the Great Germany He created! Austria! Sudetenland! Bohemia! What German could have achieved such feats!"

As if confronting Goebbels's speech, a young man's voice emerged on the resistance radio.

"Greetings, fellow citizens. I hope you are at peace, but that's not the case. The Nazis still claim their regime controls Germany."

Compared to the Nazi agitation that was loud and ear-piercing, the new government's words were calm.

"The Great Führer! The great leader, sent from God to make Germany great again, has been attacked by that vile and evil horde! As true Aryans, the one and only absolute majesty of the Führer and all loyal to country—proud Germans, pick up your weapons now!"

Sounds echoing from radios on both fronts created the illusion that Nazi Paul Joseph Goebbels and the new government's Dietrich Schacht were waging verbal war.

"What kind of regime can deny its own people! There's only one reason they claim our new government—and the people supporting it—aren't Germans! Because we don't obey them! We don't obey them in murdering innocents! We don't obey them in putting our beloved nation on the warpath!"

Under the same sky, the same ethnic group facing each other, everyone listened to both broadcasts.

"Fight valiantly against that corrupt and degenerate horde who refused to be German! Great Aryan Germany—true Germans don't lose to mere bands of traitors! Now rise up, let's create a storm! Sieg Heil!"

"We have already tasted freedom and are no longer subject to them! They've always called out enemies to hate, but who now incites them to kill their compatriots! How long will you give your lives for the glory they speak of! The German people are not mere weapons for glory!"

Paul Hausser watched the starving crew, unable to arouse enthusiasm at Goebbels's captivating speech, as he smoked.

"Let's wash that German stain away! Great Germany will rule the world!"

"You are Germany! Fight for your freedom, not the glory they shout!"

After the broadcast ended, seeing signs from the enemy camp reading "We are compatriots," "Don't die for the dictator," and "We have plenty of food to share," Hausser sighed deeply, stubbed out his cigarette, and turned away.