Siegerkranz - Germany's Place in the Sun

trekaddict said:

Well, eventually Heisenberg will have to talk to von Braun then...

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You mean Einstein will have to talk to von Braun, but that's for a later update.

So he will end up with the Paras then?

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Ernst? No. Ernst Volkmann winds up somewhere else entirely. Middle-aged men do not usually become paratroopers after cultivating acquaintances like Alfried Krupp and Paul Hausser.

Peter? Well... what the hell, I can't bother keeping it a secret forever. Yes. Peter leaves the flying business, but not the Luftwaffe, eventually, but we're not there yet. For that matter, there is no "Luftwaffe" yet.

8. The Beginning of an Era


3 September 1934
Berlin, Republic of Germany

The new Reichstag sat for the first time a full month ahead of schedule. Many of the faces were the same; the parties were not. At the rostrum, the handsome, middle-aged man who was now President of Germany tapped his gavel twice. "Gentlemen of the Reichstag, we declare this assembly to be open."

Schleicher, on the rostrum behind the President, smiled in grim satisfaction. It had taken a month of hard work, but the conservatives had fallen perfectly in line behind the Reichspartei. They had secured an absolute majority - fifty-five percent of all of the delegates were Reichspartei; they had already cut a deal with the Center Party to form a coalition government. Tellingly, all of the delegates of the Reich-Center government wore field-gray today, even those whose "uniforms" were merely suits. Schleicher ignored the rest of the day's ceremonies, looking instead to the evening's discussion with the new President, who, he noted happily, behaved more like an English monarch than an elected official. He maintained just the right distance from the people while keeping just enough of the common touch his father had, for all his strengths, lacked utterly.

At day's end, the two of them walked back together, ignoring the photographers for whom they were an obsession. When they reached the Presidential office, however, Schleicher stood stock-still. Already seated in what he had thought would be a private conference were Oskar von Hindenburg, Papen, the DNVP leader Hugenberg, Bruening, and a collection of officers - Fritsch from the Army, Raeder from the Navy, and the coterie which Schleicher had sent to Doorn, including Bock and Hausser. There were other figures; he recognized Schacht from the Reichsbank and Guertner, the Justice Minister. This was, in fact, practically an assembled cabinet. "Highness," Schleicher gasped, "I thought I would have some input into the choice of cabinet?"

Wilhelm von Hohenzollern, President and Crown Prince, sat behind Hindenburg's great, but rarely used, desk with a sigh. "General, I am very sorry to have to do this. Your services to Germany have been beyond measure, and will be rewarded to the utmost. But to put it simply... there is a certain odor about you in Berlin. You consorted with the Socialists... then the Nazis... frankly, no one here has any idea where you truly stand, and if we are to return Germany to her place, we must do it from a firm foundation. Please, please, General. Sit. I don't want to lose your valuable services, I just do not see how they can be retained in their current capacity."

Schleicher, numb at what he felt was the ultimate betrayal, sank into one of Hindenburg's low-backed chairs, which had not been replaced yet. "Gentlemen," Wilhelm began, leaning forward, "welcome to our first meeting. First, I wish to thank General von Schleicher for his long and assiduous service in bringing us to this point. I regret that we cannot retain him as Chancellor... in which capacity I nominate you, Herr Bruening." The room fell totally silent. Papen's face turned the color of ash - this apparent desertion by his friend was, if anything, worse than Schleicher's betrayal of 1932. Schleicher, for his part, slowly reddened, his bald head finally turning an angry beet-like shade, though he restrained himself. "Don't look so cast down, Franz," the Crown Prince soothed Papen. "It's not that I don't want you, or even that I think you'd be a bad Chancellor." If you don't think our friend Franz would be a bad Chancellor, Schleicher thought, forcing his way through the red mist, you're smarter than I thought. "It's just that we'd never get anything done. There are still enough Social Democrats seated in the Reichstag that they'll make life difficult for us. They'll listen to Heinrich here, they'd just shout at you without getting anything through on either side, and that... well, that just puts us back where we were in 1932." Wilhelm apparently had no idea what reference to that unfortunate year meant to the assembled parties; Oskar von Hindenburg cleared his throat, leaning close and whispering to the Crown Prince, who frowned. "Yes, quite. Well, that's all in the past now, isn't it. Schleicher, Papen, Bruening, it's all in the past, isn't it?" He looked at the three of them hopefully. "We must work together as gentlemen." Schleicher, who had long ago learned that it was better to be able to return to the field at a later date than to sacrifice himself needlessly, nodded slowly. Papen, visibly unhappy, followed; Bruening, stunned at his meteoric progress from political prisoner to this office, stammered out, "Yes, yes, of course, Highness. I am certain we can get along."

Satisfied, the Crown Prince leaned back slightly. "Excellent. Now, Papen, you first. I'm very sorry to have denied you the brass ring, but I suppose you'll content yourself for now with heading up a special committee to deal with the last of the National Socialists and the Communists? I understand there are still some unresolved legal issues there, and I want you and Franz over here -" Wilhelm gestured at Guertner, whose Nazi sympathies were well-known and who nodded nervously - "to wrap that matter up. I want something firm but fair, you understand? A lot of those men were good men, just mixed up and out of their depth." Papen nodded once, sharply, before shifting himself closer to Guertner. "Ask Hugenberg along to help. The Stahlhelm, after all, are supposed to work for him." Hugenberg blinked, surprised to be remembered in the DNVP's total replacement as the face of German conservatism. "Majesty, I place my party at your disposal," the walrus-mustached man rumbled. Not that you have much choice in the matter, Schleicher thought, looking over at Paul Hausser, whose rank tabs were once more those of a lieutenant-general. As the Berlin Stahlhelm went, so went the national organization.

"Good, thank you, Alfred. Now on to other matters. General," he said, again addressing Schleicher. "I want you with me, not against me. You've been sitting as war minister in your cabinet, letting von Hammerstein-Equordt run the army while you hold the reins. You've done quite well there. Would you be satisfied to remain as my sword and shield?" Schleicher smiled - it was more than he had expected when he had sat down. "Highness, I would be honored to serve you in whatever capacity you choose."

"Excellent. So that deals with new appointments. There's the matter of our foreign exchange. Schacht here has some ideas to deal with that..."

---

Ernst Volkmann looked up from his drafting table to see Alfried standing there, looking at him with an amused expression. "Not often we see officers drawing up rail cars here," the younger Krupp smirked. "Walk with me?" Ernst nodded, straightening and massaging his back. "I like the drawing, it makes it easier to see the final product. Usually," Ernst admitted as they left the factory wing, "it's easier to see the drawings than to see the end of the project actually happening."

"I understand," Alfried replied. "Believe me, I understand. Smoke? No?" Alfried lit another, leading Ernst away from the factory towards the Krupp administrative area. "The Old Man has kept me in school since '25." Alfried gave a wintry smile. "I'm sure you remember the party." Indeed Ernst did - Alfried's final graduation, with top honors, from Technische Hochschule Aachen in the spring had been the occasion for a vast, semi-formal celebration that had rocked the Villa Huegel for three days of unusual debauchery. Ernst and Lise had attended, but had not been part of the madness surrounding Alfried's student friends. Alfried's flirtation with the Nazis in the early '30s made Ernst more than a little uncomfortable, and many of the guests had been from the same student Nazi circles. "So what can I do for you, Herr Bohlen?" Ernst asked, attempting to remain conversational. He was, to be honest, more than a little irritated at being pulled from his work.

"Alfried, please." Alfried looked up from his cigarette, grinning. "All things are being made new, there's going to be a new Kaiser, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera." Why Alfried had used the foreign "et cetera" rather than "und so weite," Ernst had no way to fathom, but then, Alfried was occasionally eccentric. Young, brilliant, heir to the Krupp name - who could really blame him? "Anyway, Oberstleutnant, what I wanted to speak to you about... have you ever considered a career with Krupp?" Ernst chuckled, the line of questioning unexpected, reassuring. "No... Alfried. And to be honest... this is the second time in a year that someone has asked me to change careers. I've just gotten used to being a soldier again."

Alfried snorted, their walk carrying them further away from the factory floor. "Yes, well. My father has a saying. 'What is good for Krupp is good for Germany.' I wonder sometimes." Alfried continued a few paces, turning to face Ernst again. "There's a lot going on, Ernst. We've let a series of rail contracts to revive the Munich-Istanbul line... trade's been hurt by the Depression, and Schleicher did more than his part to kick-start it. Part of that is getting the rails moving again. Anyway... I know the Reichswehr has a stake in the rail network, and I know the Foreign Office has a stake in getting German firms involved in other countries. So I thought I'd pitch it to our in-house Reichswehr rail specialist." He grinned, apparently at his own wit, while it sank into Ernst. "Of course," he continued, "it'd mean leaving Lise and the kids behind, or at least relocating them city-to-city, but the first stage is Munich-Vienna. Ask back at the Truppenamt, see if they'll let you on board."

"Alfried, I haven't said yes yet."
"Ernst, if you were the type to say no to something like this, you wouldn't have been sent here." Alfried stopped at his most recent car, an Auto Union, apparently a gift from Dr. Porsche the same way the Krupps themselves had once given a steel cannon to the future Kaiser Wilhelm I. "You like it, Ernst? They tell me it'll do two hundred kilometers an hour without the pilot cowling." Ernst, despite himself, whistled. "You want a spin?" Alfried asked, holding the keys up, one eyebrow cocked. "No, thank you," Ernst demurred, looking sheepish. "I can barely drive as is."

"Bring Johann over this weekend, we'll see if he can't kill himself on the Huegel grounds. Cars are the transport of the future. Twenty years, no one in Germany will bother with trains. No offense," Alfried hastily added. "None taken," Ernst mumbled as the fact that he had just received a social invitation to the Villa Huegel sank in.

---


September 7, 1934

Wilhelm von Hohenzollern said:

... And so it gives me great pleasure to address you in an official capacity after all these years. I swear that I will uphold my duties to the utmost of my ability, and will rule as justly as man may rule man. Thank you for the faith which you have placed in me. We shall go forward together into a better future for Germany, a future free of the uncertainties of our recent past.

However, we shall not make this better future without the help of good men, and such men deserve to be rewarded. It is my pleasure and my prerogative, therefore, to reward these men. In my father's time, the ultimate accolade for a soldier was the Pour le Merite - an award to which front-line soldiers and generals alike aspired. There is one man in Germany today who has done more to preserve us against disaster than any other, and I wish to reward him for his faithful service. General von Schleicher, present yourself.

For your tireless service, for your unfailing energy in the defense of Germany against revolution, for your efforts to save us from the panic that has enfolded the whole world, I hereby award you the Pour le Merite, Military Class, and create you Graf von Schleicher...

... Furthermore, it gives me great pleasure to inform the people of Germany that the time of 'extraordinary measures' is now over. Germany has been through the crucible, and we have emerged stronger. While there remain small matters which must be attended related to the recent past, the suppression of parties and persons is fundamentally in opposition to the rule of law, and therefore is a matter of last resort. I extend the hand of friendship, not the raised gauntlet, to all honest men, within and without, who wish to join us in making Germany better.

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---

8 September 1934
Essen, Republic of Germany

Alfried greeted them at the base of the staircase at the Villa Huegel's entryway. "Welcome to Toad Hall!" he laughed, waving at the massive gray edifice behind him. Nonplussed, the four Volkmanns smiled uncertainly; Alfried's smile wavered. "Toad Hall? 'The Wind in the Willows?' Well, never mind then, I promised Ernst that I'd show Johann my mow-to-cah." The exaggerated, Anglicized last word was accompanied by a grin, and Alfried had all but collared Johann Volkmann by the time any of the others figured out what was going on. "Frau Volkmann, Alfried von Bohlen. Very pleased to meet you finally, it's always easy to tell the end of the day when Ernst starts to moan about missing his Lise, and frankly, I see why!" Alfried kissed her hand before abducting Johann. "Head on inside, Ernst, make yourselves comfortable, the Old Man is in Berlin and the servants know to expect you."

Lise turned to her husband as Alfried and Johann vanished around the corner. "Ernst, is he always like this?"
"On good days... sometimes he just sits at his desk, working and smoking. Then every now and then he turns into a little boy again, like you see him today."
"Let's just hope he doesn't kill Johann then... sounds like the poor boy could use a normal life." Ernst laughed softly at Lise's comment. "Well, yes... but who do you know that's had a normal life in the last ten years?" That got him a dirty look, but they were distracted momentarily by a uniform they had become increasingly familiar with over the last year. "Peter?" Ernst gasped before the figure turned.
"No, I'm sorry... Claus von Bohlen," the young man said, offering a hand diffidently. "Claus...? Alfried's brother!" Ernst said, blinking. "Terribly sorry, you just looked like..."

"Yes, Alfried's brother. Who's Peter?" The young man had none of Alfried's jauntiness, but there was a quiet certainty about him that Ernst liked - completing the resemblance to Peter. "My son. He's in the Luftsportverband too. Of course, he's in Berlin right now going to school." Claus pulled a face. "Charlottenburg? They wanted me to be there, turn me into an engineer like Alfried. Well, come on inside, Alfried will... eventually... be with us."

---


Alfried leaned over the sleek little Auto Union racer, pointing at dials and controls. "All right. Speed here, engine revolutions here, fuel here. That's the gearshift - be gentle! - that's the accelerator, and that's the brake. I'd ride with you, but that's a bit close, and you're not my type." He grinned, winking at Johann Volkmann, who was strapped into the harness, goggles in place already. Johann looked up, slightly overwhelmed. "So how do I start it?" Alfried reached in, twisting the key, and the car roared, then purred. Alfried had to raise his voice to make himself heard, cupping his hands to yell in Johann's ear. "Whatever you do, don't hit the Maybach. I'll be fine, but the Old Man will kill you." He barely had time to snatch himself back before Johann had pushed the gas pedal down, pulling away in a squeal of tires. Fortunately, he only went a few yards, as he was unused to working the manual transmission... but as the next few minutes proved, he was a fast learner. By the time Alfried turned back toward the house to check on Ernst's project, Johann had succeeded in driving all the way around the circular drive twice, and had taken the car down the drive towards the main gates.

Alfried smiled, shaking his head. He knew the Auto Union as well as any non-professional driver... which, he admitted, was a total of about three men... but even he couldn't see a way to wreck the car between the drive and the gate. If Johann tried to plough through the gate, perhaps, but if that was the case, the boy was both reckless and stupid, and Alfried only saw one of those qualities, which was why he had made up his mind to speak to Ernst about something urgent during the few minutes the two of them had been talking about the car.

Alfried went inside, lighting a cigarette on the way. The smoke cloud billowed behind him, like a battleship just getting under steam - a thought that struck him as appropriate given the large-scale arms work he knew was coming, which was part of his conversation with Ernst. When he found the remaining Volkmann family members inside, marveling at the glass-ceilinged entryway, he saw that Claus had already grabbed Ernst's attention. He felt a momentary pang - if he had remembered that Ernst's other son Peter was also Luftsport, he'd probably have arranged for a fly-in this weekend. "Claus," he called out, "have you been picking our guest's brain about the Luftsport?"

The younger von Bohlen turned on hearing Alfried's voice. The same way that Gustav was known as the Old Man, the Cannon King, or the Sole Proprietor behind his back, Alfried was the Heir Apparent, and carried himself as such. "Yes, Alfried," Claus replied, surprisingly meek. "He tells me his son is in the bomber program."
"One of them is. I hate to do this to you, Claus, but may I borrow the Oberstleutnant for a moment?" Claus quickly backed away as Alfried grabbed Ernst's elbow. "Not that Claus is a bad kid," he murmured to Ernst, "but there's something I want to talk to you about."
"Oh?"
"Yes." Alfried pulled Ernst into a small drawing room, closing the door. It was not the massive conference room where Krupp had received Schleicher, but it was close enough. "This isn't related to the eastern rail lines, is it?" Ernst asked as Alfried turned back to him.
"No, not at all." Alfried sat, gesturing for Ernst to do the same. "Herr Volkmann..." he hesitated - what he was about to ask was terribly awkward, and the formality was the result. "Ernst. You doubtless realize, based on what you've seen at Meppen, and your work here, that the Reichswehr is about to explode." Ernst nodded wordlessly. "There are two things I think you should know out of this - first, that you could become fabulously wealthy, and you would hardly be the sole beneficiary, if you made some judicious stock purchases now. Second..." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as Ernst's eyes narrowed. A simple stock tip seemed like a waste of an occasion like this to the middle-aged engineer. "Second... Johann's not an engineer. He's not cautious, he'll never think things through twice before executing a plan, he's a daredevil. Frankly, you'd be better swapping Peter and Johann, from all I hear of Peter. Johann belongs in the air." He took a deep breath and held up his hand. "I mean no disrespect, Ernst, he's a fine boy, he's just not an engineer. But... well... I'd like to do something for you."
"What?" Ernst asked, voice flinty. "Indenture my family as loyal Kruppianer like the rest of Essen?" Alfried suspected he'd gone too far, but still, the words hurt.
"No." He drew in deeply, lighting his next cigarette from the butt of the first. "They're reopening Lichterfelde." The flat statement echoed with Ernst; the reopening of the Main Cadet Academy meant that the Army was planning on serious expansion. "It won't be formally announced until next year, but they asked the Firm if we had any of the old cannon we would be willing to donate. The new President -" he smiled archly - "is moving fast, it appears."

"So what has this got to do with Johann?" Ernst was still suspicious - sudden fairy-tale visits to a place like the Villa Huegel, invitations from great men to personal conversations, all of it was a bit much for a man like Ernst Volkmann.

"Simple. He's not much of an engineer, but... well, everyone in Germany knows what you did at the Reichstag, and I can see Johann doing that in a heartbeat. First few years, they're going to have more applicants than they can take... and they'll be so short of officers that they'll take gymnasium graduates who'd normally be too old, put them through a year or so of school, and send them out as candidates. I have most of this from the Old Man." Alfried took a deep breath. "So what I'd like to do for you... if you'd like, and if Johann would like, I'll make sure he gets in. After that it's up to him."

The sound of squealing tires came up the drive; they both glanced out the window to see a cloud of smoke as the Auto Union came back, slewing sideways as it came to the front of the house. Miraculously, though they both saw it come out of the cloud on its right two tires, the entire car was in one piece, and rocked suddenly back down to all four wheels. "I think," Ernst said drily, "that a year at Lichterfelde would be very good for my son."

Duly noted.

9. Empire


4 November 1934
Berlin, German Empire

"Behold your right and lawful Emperor and King," the Bishop of Berlin intoned for the last time, facing the majority of the congregation in the Berliner Dom's nave. The audience roared in approval, and Friedrich Dibelius once again turned to face the throne at the crossing. "Do you, Wilhelm, third of your name, swear to rule and protect the people of the Empire of Germany and the Kingdom of Prussia, according to the laws and customs of the land?"

"I do so swear." Wilhelm's voice was clear, firm - the perfect tone for the new German Emperor, as he stood from the throne, eyes sweeping the nave.

"Do you swear to cause by your power the law to be executed justly and mercifully throughout your domains?"
"I do so swear."
"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Laws of God and the true profession of the Gospel? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in the Empire of Germany the Evangelical Protestant Religion established by law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolable the settlement of the Church of the Reich, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Germany? And will you preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of Germany, and to the Churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?"
"I will so do. All of these things which I have sworn, I shall uphold, so help me, God."

"Kneel then, Wilhelm, third of your name." The anointing and crowning took seemingly forever; from his position in the privileged section of the transept, Schleicher watched with a mixture of satisfaction and sadness. He had brought this moment to pass, but he was not attending as Chancellor. Papen was closer to the Throne at this moment. He, and not Bruening - who sat at the edge of the dais, just on the other side of the Empress Cecilie from Wilhelm - had spent the majority of the past few months convincing the Reichstag that offering Wilhelm the crown had not technically violated the treaty of Versailles. Bruening, loyal to the treaty, had been dubious, but had been persuaded by Schleicher, Papen, and Hindenburg at great length. The younger Hohenzollern, they pointed out, had not been explicitly named in Article 227 of the Treaty of Versailles, and there was nothing specifically forbidding the restoration of monarchy in Germany in the Constitution...

Schleicher rose from his reverie when his moment came - the simple matter of kneeling before his sovereign to present a marshal's baton to him, the only such baton in the Reich since Hindenburg the elder had died. His role completed, he backed away, head bowed, until ceremony's end. Wilhelm III, the German Emperor, stood with his father's coronation crown upon his head, his marshal's baton raised high to symbolize his mastery of the Reichswehr as the orb tucked into the crook of his left arm symbolized his mastery of the Church in the Reich. What began as sporadic cries of acclaim quickly became an all-encompassing roar as Wilhelm began his triumphal march down the main aisle.

At the church's doors, they burst out into bright sunshine, units from the whole Reichswehr drawn up in parade order before him, Wilhelm's old First Foot Guards in the lead. Their equipment was shining and new - hardly surprising to Schleicher, given that until the week prior, they had officially been the Infantry Regiment No. 9. Even so, in their black dress uniforms, they formed a stark contrast to the other infantry regiments in field-gray. At a signal, the regimental band struck up the royal anthem and the regiment started forward, only to find that the band was drowned out by the assembled city of Berlin, roaring out words which most had half-forgotten in the past twenty-five years. Schleicher, for his part, came as close as a Prussian officer ever should to weeping as the words swept over him again.

---

Ernst Volkmann was farther back in the parade, among Hausser's staff in the Infanteriekorps "Stahlhelm." He had delayed his departure long enough to attend this ceremony before going to Munich to begin the first stage of the planned Berlin-Istanbul renovation. Hausser looked back over his shoulder, quirking a smile at his staff. "Hell of a day, eh, boys?" He whipped back around just in time as the units in front of them moved out, roaring the official command over his right shoulder.

"For-WARD - MARCH!" Thousands of newly-tapped boots slammed into the Berlin pavement, goose-stepping, unlike the new regiments. Hausser had explained why the night before - By God, we're going to show them how it used to be done, just this once! - and for today at least, Volkmann could accept the inevitable knee pain.

After half an hour of marching, more than a mile of ground covered, the crowd still roared out Heil dir im Siegerkranz to either side, seemingly in endless rounds. Hausser's sabre snapped up in warning, then down and right. He knew the commands had been given, but he could not hear over the crowd. Even so, the staff rendered their collective salute as they passed the new Kaiser. Ernst was surprised by the tears in the man's eyes, visible even from here at street level. We finally got it right, after all these years.

---

Peter Volkmann held his Fw 44 as level as he could, off the wing of his flight leader, as they roared down Unter den Linden towards the island and the cathedral. The three fighters reached the bridge before the cathedral on schedule, and on a signal from his flight leader, Peter flicked on a smoke generator, bellowing black smoke. The other two trainers were blowing white and red, in order, forming a tricolor smoke trail over the parade below. Even over the engine and the wind, Peter could hear the crowds, a bellowing roar which stayed with him as they brought the planes back around, well out of sight of the parade, for landing.

"Good job, Volkmann. Your transfer came across my desk a couple weeks ago," the flight leader said after landing, clapping him on the arm. "You're all set for the dive bomber school after graduation. You avoid a coffin, you'll be Lieutenant Volkmann after that." The balding little man grinned at him, reaching up to ruffle Peter's hair. Peter blushed slightly, but saw no reason to protest - it wasn't every day that a relative novice got grabbed to fly with Ernst Udet. Peter had been fortunate in that he had been at the airport on Friday for his weekly ride when Udet had stormed in, demanding a wingman on Sunday. Udet had on his glittering blue Pour le Merite both days, despite the fact that there was no way on earth the new Kaiser could have seen it.

Udet vanished with a ruddy, thickset man, one Volkmann knew from early-'30s politics in Berlin. He was surprised to see Goering back in Germany after the Nazi fiasco, but the Great War aviator had protested loudly that he had not been involved in the Summer Rising, and besides, he had received the Pour le Merite from Wilhelm's father's own hand! He had finally returned in mid-October, but he was not trusted so far that he was allowed in the air at a moment like this. Volkmann, for his part, turned to reclaim his personal belongings from his locker. "Fat one's nothing but trouble," he heard over his shoulder. "Eh?" He straightened, turned, and immediately saluted.

The past year had been relatively kind to Kurt Student. "Heard you got picked up for dive bombers, Volkmann. I'm impressed. Takes some balls to point yourself deliberately at the ground and pull up when everybody else thinks it's too late."
"Ah, sir, well... thank you, I'm glad to see you again..." Student waved away Volkmann's stammered greetings. "Save it, Volkmann. Mostly I wanted to check up on you. You're my baby, sort of. Wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, and all that." Student smiled, offering his hand rather than returning the salute. "Come on, Volkmann. I'll buy you a proper drink, I've got some celebrating to do myself. Congratulate me, boy, our new Kaiser found out I had a House Order." He all but pulled Peter along to an impromptu dinner of duck and more wine than Peter was used to, by quite a bit. It turned out that Student was one of the Kaiser's first promotions - to Major-General. After a short period listening to Student's discussion of the coming German air force, Peter was distracted by a woman walking into the restaurant.


He sat up suddenly, eyes riveted on the sharp-featured little woman, her short curly blond hair bound back from her face. "Excuse me, sir," he asked Student, interrupting him, "who's that?" Student turned, looked over his shoulder, guffawed. "Don't tell me you...? Her name's Reitsch. Udet swears she's the greatest pilot in Germany today." Student smiled, shaking his head. "Even tells me he wants her at Rechlin, soon as we can get funding. Good luck with that, I say. Woman'll wind up killing herself if left to her own devices. No bottom... no pun intended." Peter ignored the general as he continued to plough his way through the better part of a duck. His own eyes could not stay off the Reitsch woman, and eventually he worked up the courage to stand and make his excuses to Student.

He made his way to where she sat, alone and looking quietly furious. "Ex... excuse me," Peter stammered, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Get lost, soldier. I'm in no mood to 'celebrate,' if that's what you're after." She half-turned, snarling at him before recognizing that he had a pilot's jacket looped over his arm. "Sorry," she quickly amended, blushing slightly. "It's been a long day. I was supposed to meet with someone, and he's run off, and, well..." she sighed, gesturing to the other chair, "might as well talk about this with someone. I'm sorry, I'm Hannah."

"Peter. Peter Volkmann." He gratefully sat, slinging the jacket over the back of the chair. "Volkmann? Any relation to that Reichstag fellow?"
"His son."
"Hmm-mm." She looked him over, obviously weighing him. "Well, least you had the good sense not to go into the Army after him." She grinned - the most winning expression he'd seen from her yet, and, he had to admit, he'd been won on first sight. "So anyway, Peter, don't tell me it's my winning personality that brought you over here!"
"No... I was with that gentleman over there..."
"Colonel Student? You do keep good company!"
"Well... General Student, actually. But I saw you come in. He said that General Udet thought well of you."
"Don't mention fast Ernie to me right now, Peter." She blew out slowly, some of the anger running out of her as she did. "Supposed to meet him for dinner tonight. Said it was work-related. Should have known better, really... I mean, everybody knows the man's got enough girlfriends to fill a squadron by himself."
Volkmann coughed. "Actually, I can clear General Udet's name tonight, at least. He went out with Goering." Reitsch's face brightened. "Oh? Goering is back in Berlin? Excellent, perhaps I can speak to both of them." Seeing Peter's disappointment at her reaction to his news, she continued, "Well, thank you, Peter, good to know I wasn't just one more notch in Ernst's belt." She smiled, taking her cup in her hand - tea, Peter noted, not the wine he felt pounding behind his temples. "I'm currently flush, and you look like you could use a good meal. Can I at least say thank you?"

Peter smiled. "I'd like that."

---


21 December 1934

Schleicher found himself summoned - yes, summoned - by a page in the uniform of the Foot Guards, who informed him that his presence was demanded by His Most Serene Majesty. He had expected to spend the day tending to strictly personal matters, so the summons came as an unfortunate interruption.

He approached the new Kaiser, who was seated once more behind Hindenburg's desk. It lent him an air of authority that even the crown could not; when he looked up, Schleicher bowed his head, heels clicking. "All-Highest, you summoned me?" The Kaiser's eyes blazed as he slid a sheaf of papers towards Schleicher. "What is this I hear, that you have inserted a special clause into some of the armament contracts specifically to enrich your estate?" he ground out, cool and contemptuous.

Schleicher's eyes bulged. "Majesty? I do not understand." He mentally scrambled for an answer, and found himself defenseless against the monster which he had created. "I... certainly, there may be such clauses in the contracts, but if so I had no knowledge of them, and I do not believe..."

"I do not believe you, Schleicher. I do not believe that, only a month into my reign and four days before Christmas, I would receive the results of a Troop Office investigation into your accounts. A quarter million Reichsmarks, Schleicher!" The Kaiser stood, fist slamming the desk. "That is what they found, and they still have not accounted for the disposition of the Nazi Party treasury, nor the Red treasury!" Wilhelm was furious now, but kept his voice carefully under control. "Schleicher, I regret to inform you that as of this moment, your services as Minister of War are no longer required. Bock!" he snapped toward the door. In stepped the sharp-faced General von Bock, once Wilhelm's aide de camp during the War. "General von Schleicher, please familiarize General von Bock with your duties as War Minister on your way back to your office. General von Bock, congratulations on your appointment. Good day, gentlemen." The Kaiser turned away from them, unable to contain his outrage further. The stone-faced Bock clicked his heels, backing from the office.

"Bock," Schleicher began, voice failing. He had not expected this final fall, any more than he had not expected to be replaced by Bruening. He saw Papen in the hallway, smiling in mock sympathy. "Tough break, old chap, tough break indeed," Papen called over his shoulder before knocking on the Kaiser's door, entering before being fully bidden. Papen. You did this to me. Otherwise... why the comment on the treasuries? To Bock, Schleicher ground out, "Let's get this over with, Bock."


---

1 January 1935
Munich, German Empire

"Yes, Alfried, thank you for the call. Work here is satisfactory. Thank you for sending a minder to check on Johann... what? No, honestly, I've never had one before." Ernst Volkmann gamely made his way through the seemingly interminable conversation with his Essen patron, sighing inwardly. "Erm... Alfried? I need to go, thank you, and I appreciate you calling me on such a day." He finally hung up, taking a deep breath. Lise yawned, stretching. "Does that man ever take a day off?"
"Not as far as I can determine," Ernst shrugged before offering his hand. Lise normally rose before anyone else in the house; since Ernst's recent rise in status, he had splurged and hired a couple of servants - a maid and a cook, luxuries unimaginable during the Depression. She smiled, accepting and rising from her bed. "You know, Ernst... we have a few days, we could go see that Berchtesgaden place we're always hearing about..." She smiled coquettishly, and Ernst felt his heart skip a beat the same way he remembered from the glory days of Wilhelm II. He grinned slowly.

"I do believe we could..."

The nationalization of the Obersalzberg as a recreational region for the German military, and incidentally as a mountain-warfare training site, was one of the few blessings of the Summer Rising. Ernst and Lise, free of their children for the first time in what felt like forever, vanished into what had been the Nazi Party's luxury retreat, surrounded by other officers and, best of all, still accessible by telephone so that Ernst was not technically absent without leave. It was a thoroughly irresponsible fling on their parts, but it was also just what the doctor ordered after two years of intense stress, nerve-wracking field service, and the unique pressures of working directly under Alfried von Bohlen.


It was an exceptionally unlikely vacation, snatched out of the middle of a whirlwind, and it led to all sorts of unlikely fun - Ernst fell in with an impromptu ski team organized by a young officer named Rommel, who incessantly talked about his service not far from here in the Great War. Frankly, Ernst found him more than a little tiresome, but he had to admit, the man had an excellent eye for terrain, and a sense of fun - Erwin had once popped up from behind a snowdrift no taller than ankle-high and pegged him with a snowball. Rommel had also confirmed what Bohlen had said: Lichterfelde was reopening. He was reporting to Berlin in two weeks to begin the preparation; he was supposed to be an instructor there. Rommel had attracted Schleicher's attention by writing the new infantry platoon and company manual, and had apparently managed to stay in Bock's good graces after the changeover. Volkmann was pleasantly surprised at the similarities between the two of them; neither was an orthodox German soldier, and he was surprised to find he predated Rommel by two months - Rommel, after all, had the Max to keep him from falling off the career ladder, and Volkmann had taken an extended break from soldiering.

"Look over there," Rommel exclaimed on Ernst's last day at the Obersalzberg, pointing southward. Volkmann strained his eyes, scanning the south horizon. "What? I don't see anything."
"Austria." Rommel drank from his canteen, wiping his mouth before continuing. "They speak German just like us, they were humiliated just like us after the War, and they even asked to be part of the Republic. Wouldn't it be grand, Ernst, if we could just bring all the Germans under one roof?"

Ernst nodded, surprised at Rommel's thoughts in this train; most German officers would gladly have cast the Austrians aside, regarding them as useless after the collapse of 1918. Rommel had experience in Italy, though, and he liked the average Austrian trooper.

"Someday, Ernst. Someday, they'll say 'I am a German' with pride over there."

10. Commencement


28 February 1935
Berlin, German Empire

"All-Highest, his excellency, the Ambassador from your cousin, King George of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Sir Eric Clare Edmund Phipps." The Foot Guards page's voice bellowed out the introduction just inside Wilhelm's immense office. Wilhelm stood, striding forward across the thick red carpet eagerly, hand extended. "Sir Eric!" he exclaimed in slightly accented English. "How very good to see you again! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Phipps, for his part, looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Majesty, it has to do with recent reports from... certain interested parties in Whitehall." Wilhelm raised an eyebrow inquisitively; to the side, Franz von Papen, one of the few members of Hindenburg's camarilla to survive the past two years unscathed, smiled slightly to himself. He at least knew what was coming, and relished seeing the British Ambassador's discomfort.

"Please, Eric, may we sit? I fear it's already been a long day," Wilhelm suggested, drawing the ambassador to a low table where Papen joined them. "May I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Anything stronger? Tea for all of us, Hans," he called to the page. The diminutive Phipps shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Majesty, I was as pleased as any man upon your return, but recently, I've been receiving some rather worrisome rumors from the Home Office. They say you've reintroduced conscription..."

"I have, Eric, and that's nothing unusual. Why, Britain and France have conscription, even the United States has the mechanisms for it!"

Phipps's face showed his dismay, but he forged ahead despite the Kaiser's interruption. "... That you have ordered your naval staff to look into expanding your Navy..."

"Yes, yes, quite true. As it is now, have you been aboard some of those ships? Why, I do believe that they were in better condition immediately after the Helgoland Bight!" Phipps's jaw dropped for a moment, then he collected himself, continuing.

"And finally that you have authorized the formation of an air force." The Kaiser sighed, standing to pace slowly from window to table. "Eric, what would you have me do? I am as much a man of peace as you, but I do not see His Majesty's government scrapping its battleships, nor turning the Royal Air Force into an auxiliary of the Royal Mail. You have the advantage of peace at home since Cromwell. Here, Eric, do you realize how close we came just two years ago to total anarchy? We need a strong state, if only to show the German people that they are safe from hooliganism."

"Majesty," Phipps asked bleakly, "what am I then to report to the Home Office?"

Papen spoke up, unexpectedly. "Why, the truth, of course. His Imperial Majesty has often said that we offer the hand of friendship, not the raised gauntlet, to anyone who wishes to join us in making Germany great again." Wilhelm looked over at the Catholic aristocrat in surprise, then nodded. "Yes, quite, what Franz said. Germany is not your enemy, nor France's, Eric. Please make sure my cousin understands that. We merely seek what we always have, a fair settlement of our interests."

Phipps stood, sighing. "I will tell London, Majesty, but I doubt that anyone there shall be pleased. If I may ask, Majesty, who among your people is to lead your new air force?" Papen growled out a single word in reply. "Luftwaffe." The ambassador blinked. "General Luftwaffe...? Don't believe... ah, excuse me, momentary lapse. So who will lead this... Luftwaffe?"

"Why, hadn't really considered it, I suppose one of the Air Ministry chaps." Wilhelm looked up as the page returned. "Ah, our tea! Gentlemen, may I make a toast? To peace!"

"To peace," Phipps responded dully, wishing that he had asked for something stronger than tea.

---

15 March 1934
Berlin, German Empire

"Gentlemen," Wilhelm said, "be seated." It was a command, uttered in a thoroughly businesslike manner, and the four men facing him took their seats immediately. "Let me be up-front about this. I am no pilot, and know little about flight. My advisors," he said with a nod towards Papen and the War Minister, General von Bock, have told me that you are the men I need." One of them, a heavyset, ruddy man whose onetime good looks were now tending to fat, replied immediately, "We are here to serve, All-Highest!"

"Yes. Quite. Thank you, Hermann. Please, be patient. Let me review." Wilhelm himself leaned back in his high-backed chair - the one major furniture replacement in Hindenburg's office. "General Wever. You have in essence been the steward for the air program since Schleicher nominated you as air minister." Wever nodded wordlessly; of the four of them, his record spoke for itself as an able administrator of broad strategic military vision.

"Oberst Milch. You have an excellent record over at Lufthansa, but you never actually qualified as a pilot. The last command you held was in 1920, though I admit you have been very active since." The solid-looking Milch nodded as Wever had before replying. "That is correct, All-Highest, and if it is all the same... I wish to return to Lufthansa for the moment." He hesitated. "I will be of use in the pilot training program there," he explained to the surprised Kaiser, who nodded and made a note.

"General Udet. I don't know where to begin with you, you're quite the prodigy. Sixty-two kills, and you brought Hermann here back into the fold! Still... I hate to say this, General, but you act like a schoolboy." The Kaiser's disapproving glance fell on Udet, who looked hurt and defensive. "Majesty," Udet protested, "if we spent every day seriously preparing for tomorrow for the past ten years, many of us would have starved." Bock's glare fell on Udet, and he fell silent, knowing that he had just doomed himself for the post he suspected was under discussion, and folded into himself.

"Which leaves you, Hermann. You... are quite an unorthodox character. Attempted overthrow of the Republic in '23, exile abroad for much of the last ten years, only allowed back on sufferance last year." The Kaiser's fingers drummed thoughtfully. "Tell me, Hermann, why the Luftwaffe even needs a man like you."

Goering took a deep breath, his chest swelling impressively - for all his sedentary habits of late, he was still a dynamic, powerfully-built man. "All-Highest, I have only ever acted with the best interests of Germany at heart. Franz here can speak to that," he said, nodding toward Papen, who leaned forward to murmur in the Kaiser's ear. Goering overheard the remark; if any of the others did, they made no sign: "Besides, All-Highest, he's the only one of the bunch who's really of the right sort." Goering picked up the cue: "Majesty, Germany has been beset by terror from right and left, and I know I bear some burden of responsibility; however, my role was just to rein in the impulses of the shopkeepers and farmers who thought they could govern this country." Wever's eyes rolled, Bock's eyes narrowed, and the Kaiser nodded thoughtfully.

"Very well... here's my decision, then. Hermann, you are going to be Minister of Aviation, though you will answer to General von Bock in military matters. General Wever, you are to guide Major-General Goering in his decision-making until he is fully comfortable with affairs at the Luftwaffe. General Milch, your request has been granted, though I recommend that you resign yourself to wartime service. General Udet... I fear that you must remain the public face of the Luftwaffe. Even if you are a risk to yourself and others," Wilhelm said distastefully, "the recruiting reports make it obvious that Germans love you. All of you, dismissed - you have a tremendous amount of work to do."

Goering leapt to his feet, rendering a theatrically precise salute. "All-Highest, we shall not fail you!" he barked, as if on parade in July of 1914. Wever turned visibly green, standing and rendering his salute silently, with immense but wounded dignity. Milch and Udet were slightly slower, slightly sloppier, but Wilhelm waved them all away. "General von Bock," he said over his shoulder, "bring in Raeder, we have the Navy to discuss next."


---


24 May 1935
Berlin, German Empire

The sound of construction marred the ceremony only slightly; everyone present knew that it was for the restoration of the Imperial palace here in Charlottenburg, and the vast majority of those arrayed here were still swept up in the monarchical fever of autumn 1934. Oberstleutnant Ernst Volkmann, his wife, and his children sat close to the stage, a privilege granted by the two elder Volkmann males' uniforms. Ernst was in his dress uniform, down to white coat and saber. He had grown used in the past two years to the awkward sword, but it sometimes felt out of place. A graduation ceremony seemed like one such place. Johann Volkmann was in the dark-blue dress uniform of a Lichterfelde cadet, hair recently shorn almost to the scalp. Tellingly, he did not even wear a ceremonial bayonet, and indeed it had taken intercession through his acquaintance Rommel for Ernst to secure permission for Johann to wear the uniform after only a week officially enrolled.

Johann looked nearly mutinous at being forced to attend the ceremony; Ernst repeatedly had to glare at him to keep him quiet as the names and theses were called. Finally... "Peter Volkmann. Excuse me, Officer Candidate Peter Volkmann, for 'Design of Civil Road Facilities for Emergency Aircraft Usage.'" Peter strode across the stage in the new dark-blue Luftwaffe uniform, complete with yellow-trimmed peaked cap. Peter rendered his salute to the podium, then exchanged a handshake and diploma with General Becker. Unlike many parents, Ernst had sprung for a photograph of the occasion; he barely held his applause until the last graduate had passed. When the time came, he was on his feet, clapping furiously. "My boy's finally on his way," he murmured, beaming over at Johann, who despite himself was cheering Peter.

After graduation, they only had a few minutes together before a Luftwaffe captain approached them. "Sir," he said with surprising deference, for the new service was already developing a reputation for informality, "I regret that I must take Candidate Volkmann. He has training to complete." The captain smiled confidentially, leaning toward Ernst. "And I've met that girlfriend of his, lucky boy."

"Girlfriend...?" Ernst turned toward Peter, who reddened slightly. "I'm sorry, Father. I meant to introduce you, but..." The young man shrugged. "Besides, it's not like it's really serious. She's very religious." His face lit up as it had at Christmas when he was a boy. "There she is! Hanna! Hanna!" he called out, waving frantically. The young woman who approached was slightly formal, apparently in awe of the uniforms in front of her. "Herr Oberstleutnant," she said with a somewhat farcical half-bow. "Your son has told me quite a bit about you."

"I wish that I could say the same, young lady...?"
"Oh, Father, Mother, this is Hanna Reitsch. She's a pilot." She turned a light pink. "Sailplanes only, Herr Oberstleutnant. Not like your son."
"Don't be silly, Hanna. I thought you said that General Udet...?"
She swatted his arm, looking furious, and he fell silent. "Well, Father, I'll fill you in later. Now, Herr Hauptmann, as you command!" He popped to attention with a loud heel click and a salute that would have done Goering proud; Ernst and the captain both frowned before the Luftwaffe officer pulled him away toward a small gathering of cadets. Behind him, Johann mimicked, "As you command, Herr Hauptmann! Pop-click, I'm a wind-up toy!" Ernst whirled, glaring at his son. "At least I can trust Peter not to do something stupid with Herr von Bohlen's car!" he snarled quietly. Johann subsided, cowed.

---

William L. Shirer said:

Good evening, America. This is William Shirer, reporting from Berlin for the Universal News Service.

Today, German economics minister Dr. Hjalmar Schacht announced that all further reparation payments under the Treaty of Versailles would be suspended. This follows the recent German announcement of conscription, the foundation of the German air force, and the renunciation of the naval restrictions of the Treaty. While Doctor Schacht insists that the reparation decision is unrelated to the military provisions recently announced, many here in Berlin are very nervous that this is a prelude to a general European war. The Kaiser, in his weekly public address, reiterated his frequent statement that, and I quote in translation, 'Germany extends a welcoming hand, not an armored fist, to all who wish to aid us in making Germany a great nation once more.' Kaiser Wilhelm was raised to power last year in a nearly unanimous parliamentary decision here, and has so far been noteworthy more for his building programs, including a renovation of the Imperial residence in Charlottenburg and road programs throughout Bavaria, than for his militarism. Whether he will begin a proper rearmament, or merely the legal means for doing so, remains to be seen.

Again, this is William Shirer in Berlin for the Universal News Service, signing off.

Click to expand...

---


23 August 1935
Airspace above Jueterbog, German Empire

"Red lead to red flight, target in sight, targets in open, release at two-fifty, level at four thousand and roll in... on... my... mark."

Peter Volkmann lifted the nose of his Ju 87 slightly, simultaneously rolling right and continuing through the roll on the tail of the flight leader. The nose plummeted as the roll completed, pointed nearly straight down. This was an unusually steep dive - nearly seventy-five degrees, probably the steepest the bomber could handle without dropping its bomb into its propeller. He felt the acceleration pressing him back into the seat, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep the plane pointed on target. The airframe shuddered under the countervailing force in the air brakes, but the plane continued to rocket toward the ground. A glance at the altimeter showed it unwinding furiously. Three thousand, two-five, two thousand, one-five... one-two-five... one... seven-fifty... five... His hand drifted to the bomb release, hesitating. Five hundred. Four-fifty. Four. Three-fifty. Three. Two-fifty... release! In spite of his training, he held on a split-second longer, releasing as the plane broke two hundred meters and yanking hard back on the stick. The Stuka groaned in protest, barely audible over the shrieking of the dive brakes, and for a sickening moment he thought that the nose would never clear the horizon.

It did, miraculously, it seemed, and he heard the voice in his ears again. "Red leader to red three, good contact, low release, there a reason, over?"
"Three to leader. I wanted to make sure it stayed on target... over." Even in his own ears, the excuse sounded phony.
"Good move, right in the meatball. Just try not to ride it in, got it? RTB. Red leader out."

Right in the meatball...? He blinked, realizing what he had heard. The most critical component of dive-bomber training was over, and he circled back toward base, roaring in for a low pass before landing. The grading sheets were already posted on the hangar door by the time he landed, and he eagerly sought out his.

Volkmann P. Navigation: 8/10. Communication: 9/10. Bombing: 10/10. Qualification: Gold.

He could barely contain himself. A gold badge was an automatic three-day weekend, minimum, as soon as the awards ceremony was complete. I can surprise Hanna at Rechlin, he thought, heart pounding. She was supposed to have completed a special course there by now. According to her last letter, Udet had managed to finagle a place for her there as a test pilot, provided that she was not camera-shy. That, she claimed, was the worst part of her work.

"Volkmann," the chief mechanic called over. "It's time." He nodded, stepping out to the evening formation. For a change, the band was present as well, and while the pilots were all in their flight uniforms, the squadron commander, Major Weiss, was in his dress blues. "Squadron, atten-TION!" They snapped to, followed by a quick, "At ease."

"Boys, I'm not going to waste your time, you all have some serious drinking to do. I wanted to congratulate you and read out the gold list. Bennecke... Greiser... Jaeger... Moritz... Volkmann. Congratulations all of you. Now. Attent-TION!"

They stayed at attention as he came down the ranks, the first sergeant reading off the official orders entitling them to the rank of lieutenant and the wear of the pilot's badge, or in some cases the combined pilot-observer badge. Each time, a quick hole-punch through the leather marked the pilots' transition from trainee to official pilot, and eventually, it was Volkmann's turn. "Good work, Leutnant. Look forward to seeing you in action." It was accompanied by a handshake and a smile, and then it was over. Peter Volkmann had gone, in the space of a few months, from a nominal civilian to a qualified engineer and finally an officer and qualified pilot of Germany's new Luftwaffe.

He stayed on post just long enough to get his orders and his pass, then practically sprinted to the train terminal to speed north to Rechlin. When he got there, he found Hanna moody, uninterested in his story of his qualification. At dinner, he tentatively reached out, touching her hand and apparently disrupting her brooding. "Hanna," he asked mildly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing. They just say I'm not qualified here. They're making me recertify with Franke in every category I'm licensed in." Volkmann blinked; it seemed both excessive and arbitrary to him. "Hey, I'm sure you'll do fine. 'Sides, the planes they're testing up here are pretty boring these days." She shot him a murderous look before mellowing slightly, smiling. "Sorry I'm such bad company today, Peter. You were saying you have the weekend?"

"Yes, I have to report back Tuesday. Is it true they still have a couple Type A '87s up here still?"
"They're kept in a back hangar for glider tows, things like that. Why?"
"Would you like a ride?" Hanna smiled tiredly, extending her hand to take his. "I think I'd like that very much, Peter. Just... not on Sunday."

---

Generalmajor Kurt Student said:

TO: LEUT VOLKMANN P
FM: GM STUDENT K
DT: 25AUG35

CONGRATS ON GOLD - COME BY DOEBERITZ SOME TIME - REAL EXCITEMENT HERE - H-I-M SAYS PLM FOR FIRST MAN OUT UNDER FIRE.

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Karaiskandar said:

Awesome!
The Luftwaffe is taking shape.

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Yeah, but there won't be production units for a while, because I need the IC to build more IC. Plus, I haven't expressed the Reichsmarine events in the AAR yet.

trekaddict said:

See... Student =/= paras just doesn't work. Besides, Paras are cool.

Click to expand...

Oh no, I never said he wouldn't wind up there - I actually had to rewire the "Student and the Fallschirmjaeger" event so that it fires under any non-communist government... among others. I was just pointing out that Student could have wound up somewhere else, and while I did know where I wanted to go with that, I also knew that Student was about the right rank to be acquainted with General Becker (also a historical figure, for background on him, see my other AAR).

Kurt_Steiner said:

The Wehrmacht is taking shape. To be used for what?

Click to expand...

Karaiskandar said:

Revenge!

Click to expand...

Not revenge, a fair and equitable redress of the European situation with an eye toward a logical rearrangement of European borders that takes into account both Germany's place at the center of Europe, and the needs of Germany's people and industry. If said fair and equitable redress involves territorial claims...

11. The Price of Admiralty


2 September 1935
Berlin, German Empire

Wilhelm looked up from his desk, staring at the lovely conditions outside. The fact that he had finally been able to reoccupy Charlottenburg properly pleased him to no end, and if he was truly honest with himself, he would rather have been outside riding than in here dealing with the business of government. A knock at the massive mahogany door interrupted his reverie. "Enter," he said, clearing his throat. The usual Foot Guards page stepped through and saluted. "All-Highest, General-Admiral Raeder."

Wilhelm sighed. Raeder had been after him for weeks to meet with him, claiming that while modernizing the Luftwaffe and the Reichsheer were all well and good, they were inadequate so long as the Royal Navy was still a threat to Germany. Intellectually, Wilhelm agreed with him, but instinctively, he still could not, after all these years, see Britain as a true threat to Germany. "I will see him," he replied to the page. "Bring tea, please. And brandy for the admiral, I know he prefers it."

General-Admiral Erich Raeder strode into the room, purposeful and erect with his cap tucked under his left arm. He stopped the prescribed three paces from the Kaiser's desk and saluted rigidly. One would almost think he was another young Guards lieutenant, the Kaiser thought with some amusement, returning the salute without standing. "All-Highest, my report on the Reichsmarine." Raeder resolutely stared over Wilhelm's head at a point, by Wilhelm's estimation, in the inner yards of Charlottenburg Palace.

"I've read it, Admiral. I agree with you." Raeder blinked, not expecting the response. "Our fleet is in hideous disrepair, and the dozen or so ships we have... can we really do anything with them in the limits of the Washington Treaty sizes? Sit, sit, this could be a long meeting," Wilhelm continued with a wave. Raeder sat, remaining as stiff as ever, but lowering his gaze to meet the Kaiser's. "Honestly, All-Highest, no." Raeder drew a deep breath. "The best we can do within the treaty tonnages is modernize the Deutschland-class ships, otherwise we will be pushing the limits with new construction. I have two plans for your approval... one to convert them into battleships we would have been willing to use at Helgoland Bight. The other to convert them into aviation cruisers."

"Split the difference. We have four decrepit cruisers, make it two decrepit battleships and two decrepit carriers." Raeder had not expected such a decisive move from the Kaiser, nor one that made so little sense - there was no concentration of force at all here. "All-Highest?"
"Prestige, Admiral. Simply prestige. I have no intent to go to war with Britain any time soon, and to be honest, that is why we are building a fleet. But I am tired of going to Kiel, Bremen, and Wilhelmshaven and seeing a line of rusted-out old museum pieces." There was an ache in Wilhelm's voice now. "I remember traveling to London for their Fleet Week, those fine big ships... one day, Admiral, I want to receive a British monarch at Kiel." Wilhelm leaned forward across the desk as the page returned with tea and brandy.

"Admiral, let me tell you what I truly want. I do not want another general European war, but Germany has been turned from a power of the first rank into... well, we are very close to what Turkey was in 1914. Part of fixing that is the fleet. I hope they never have to fire a shot in anger, but I want our neighbors to know we are a nation to be respected."

"We are united in that, All-Highest." Raeder was nervous, uncomfortable with Wilhelm's frank admissions regarding Germany's status. "I wish to thank you for not signing any agreements with Britain regarding the Navy, by the way. Our naval architects have just really started to bear fruit." Raeder drank slowly, eyes on the Kaiser. "Think nothing of it. I wanted no part in any further international agreement that benefits others more than they benefit Germany." Ambassador Phipps had been dismayed by Wilhelm's adamant refusal to consider a special naval agreement between the two countries, but Wilhelm had pointed out steadily that there was absolutely no benefit to Germany compared to that Britain derived.

"Just so, All-Highest." Raeder hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I wish to begin a true construction program then." Wilhelm leaned back, frowning. "Go on."

"Germaniawerft has already informed me that they are prepared to turn out a minimum of two U-boat hulls a month on command, and I have plans on hand at Kiel for a new battleship, something to make the First Sea Lord sit up and take note. Also a battlecruiser similar to the British Hood." Raeder's reserve began to melt as he spoke of a resurrection of the Kaiserliche Marine. "In total, that will give us... two aviation cruisers, four battleships, four battlecruisers, and ten cruisers, plus the submarine fleet. That is enough to contest the North Sea, All-Highest."

"Mmm. As I said, though, I don't want to contest anything unless pressed. What I want, Admiral, is prestige, not war. Still... begin your construction, submit the butcher's bill to Dr. Schacht, and I expect we'll take further expenditures on a year-by-year basis."

"Yes, All-Highest. Do you have any suggestions for the names of the ships? Perhaps Kaiser Wilhelm?" Raeder asked, unable to avoid the flattery now that his wildest dreams had been approved. Wilhelm shook his head. "Neither I nor my father have passed our ability to ruin Germany utterly, Admiral. Perhaps... Fuerst von Bismarck." He smiled before continuing. "And of course something for the Admiralty - Admiral von Tirpitz?"

"Of course, All-Highest."

"Excellent! Now, more brandy?"

---


27 September 1935
Lichterfelde Barracks
Berlin, German Empire

Cadet Johann Volkmann woke in pain, as usual. His body was sore and stiff after weeks of grueling physical training, combined with classroom exercises that left him numb. Many of the other students had fallen asleep in class; they had learned quickly what the price of sleeping was. He himself had spent one of his Saturdays standing guard as a result, and God help the cadet who fell asleep during religious services.

The only part of Lichterfelde that was particularly bearable to Johann was the monthly field exercise. Once a month - such as this weekend - the cadets would be excused from classes and routine duties for a weekend, to spend it instead on military field exercises. This week's exercise was headed up by Oberstleutnant Rommel, which the other cadets had already confidently informed him meant a probably interminable hike, interspersed with ambushes left and right.

As usual, they rolled out of their racks, all but silently gathering their field gear. Some bothered to brush their teeth and shave; Johann only shaved in the minutes allowed to him. The cadets fell out onto the parade ground, where the school's commandant, General von Schleicher, awaited them, already mounted on his horse. Schleicher, who had fallen far in the past year, viewed the assembled cadets with some measure of contempt. Johann had learned several things about the general. First, it was unlikely, and dangerous, for a cadet to make his acquaintance. Second, he was something of a paper lion. His fall had affected him deeply, and sometimes he seemed plagued by indecision.

Rommel, in contrast, with the cadre who were to be sent on today's march, was a blur of activity. He moved through the rows of sleepy cadets like a scythe through wheat. "Tighten that chinstrap, Haase. Wodrig, did you shave today?" Johann suddenly appreciated his borderline decision to shave; there was no reason to find fault with him, at least. He would rather have the sneering general than Rommel's "I expected better" reprimands. Finally, Rommel was satisfied with his cadets. "They tell you," he began conversationally, "that the Reichswehr of tomorrow will ride to work. Nonsense, I say. Trucks break down, and what happens when the truck breaks down?"

"We march, sir!" One cadet piped up. Rommel smiled, cocking his head and cupping his ear. "What? I thought I heard the answer!" The assembled cadets answered as one now: "We march, sir!" Their instructor nodded, slapping his thigh. "Good lads. Now let's get started. I want to see the sun rise in the Lustgarten. Right - FACE! Close on the lead platoon! Forward - MARCH!"

To be honest, it looked more like a parade than a tactical march; that was one consequence of moving through downtown Berlin. Still, Rommel had his reasons. He had lectured his cadets ceaselessly on the risks inherent in modern warfare, that it would get bogged down in cities and towns, and on a predawn Friday, they had a chance to experience some of its rigors without any of its risks. Rommel had given very clear instructions: they were to be astride the islands at the city's center by dawn, which gave them perhaps an hour to move five miles. It was a punishing walk-jog pace, and by the end of it, even Rommel was mildly winded in combat gear. It turned out he had a reason for the Lustgarten: drawn up in parade order along Unter den Linden was one of the new armored companies.


"All right, lads, pay attention. This is the alternative to walking everywhere. I asked Major Dietrich to bring these over, and he obliged." Rommel nodded to the balding former Reichstag deputy and erstwhile Nazi, his black overalls unstained by the grease and oil that coated most of his crews. Major Dietrich for his part mumbled noncommittally, avoiding Schleicher's eyes as the commandant rode through.

"Tell me, Major," the general asked quietly from his horse, "how is Oberleutnant Eicke doing?" Dietrich glanced away, muttering, "Wouldn't know, sir, haven't seen him since the summer of '34." Schleicher chuckled. "Mmm. I need to speak to him, and I had hoped he had stayed with you. Well, never mind, never mind, good to have you at the academy, Dietrich." Schleicher leaned down, all joviality fading. "Where I can keep an eye on you."

Behind Schleicher, Rommel had already called in the cadet officers, directing them to set up perimeter security while the rest of the cadets got to eat. Volkmann, as a gymnasium graduate and fast-track cadet, was an officer, but his particular responsibility was as cadet intelligence officer, mostly responsible for newspapers. Thus, he got to eat while the others made choices. "Volkmann! Come look at this!" Rommel beckoned, calling him over to look at the tank. Rommel had more or less adopted him on a whim, after meeting his father on vacation. This was a mixed blessing; the instructor had higher standards than Johann was used to meeting, but he was undeniably good at his job, and for the first time Johann was developing an interest in a career in uniform.

"Yes, sir?" Rommel was flicking at the drive wheels with a stick. "Think these'll stand up to hard use, Volkmann?" Johann looked nonplussed, Major Dietrich looked somewhat confused at Rommel's energetic inquisition. "Sir?"

"You heard me, Volkmann. Your father's an engineer, surely you picked up something!" Volkmann hesitated, leaning in to look at the drive wheels. "Well, sir... they do look rather... narrow," he said dubiously. "I mean, the whole tread looks kind of skinny." Dietrich chuckled, slapping the hull. "Boy's got a good eye, sir. This is the new version. One we tested back at Meppen, the track was barely wider than the drive wheels." Rommel grinned at Johann before waving him away. "Go ahead and eat, Hans, plenty of time for these things later." Volkmann quickly retreated, leaving the two officers deep in conversation while he wolfed down his bread ration.

They were fortunate from here - as an experiment, Rommel and Dietrich had arranged for the cadets to ride from here to the training areas on the city's edge on top of the tanks. It was a jolting, noisy, hot ride, but the city's citizens cheered as they turned out, and the passage through the Brandenburg Gate was one of the most stirring moments Johann had experienced in uniform. It was a hard, jolting ride to Jueterbog, and at the end of it, he had hoped to have a moment to stretch.

He had been mistaken - instead they set up a perimeter around the tanks. A quick meeting of the cadet officers followed. "Put the word out, anyone interested in the tanks, get over to the CP immediately," Rommel quietly instructed them. To Johann's surprise, fairly few people turned out. Perhaps they were the wiser ones: Rommel and Dietrich presented the attending cadets with greasy coveralls and maintenance manuals, and told them to get to work on basic inspection and maintenance.

Johann, greasy and filthy, found nothing to complain about, really. How many other eighteen-year-old Germans got to do this, after all? True, he would rather have been sleeping, but if he was going to play soldier, he might as well play the role well. As they finished, he wiped his hands on a rag, looking up to see Dietrich and Rommel. "All finished, sir," he reported, automatically saluting. Rommel raised his eyebrow, then waved a hand. "Very good, Volkmann. Care to take it for a drive?"

It was not, he freely admitted, an Auto Union. Again, though, how likely was he to have driven one of those, either? The Panzerkampfwagen Modell II was hardly a sporty vehicle, but it was infinitely better than marching. Dietrich dropped down through the hatch to the commander's position, seating himself. "Now then, Volkmann, nice and easy. That's the left gearshift, that's the right... there you go." The tank sputtered, rotating in place before moving forward. Johann murmured to himself, "And away we go..."

---

20 October 1935
Doorn, Kingdom of the Netherlands

Doorn had exploded in the past year. A new airfield, telephone switch, and rail nexus replaced the splendid isolation in which Wilhelm von Hohenzollern, once German Emperor, lived. The airfield was today's focus of attention, as four new Messerschmitt-built fighters roared in low to escort an equal number of Junkers trimotors. The Ju 52s landed and the Messerschmitts sped back to the Reich, and the former Kaiser found himself facing the four airliners alone. He pulled his coat tighter, coughing once before he saw the staircase wheeled to the lead plane.

"Yes, lovely," Wilhelm III called back over to his shoulder, "very smooth. But don't you think, Hermann, that I can find another pilot than the Air Minister himself?" Turning, he saw his father, and instantly he became far more formal. "Father. I have returned."

"Son," the old Kaiser said, equally stiffly, bowing at the waist. "All-Highest." He gruffly reached out, taking his son's elbow. "My boy. Home at last, in so many ways." Behind the younger Wilhelm, Goering was squabbling with someone else in the cockpit; a glance showed the elder man that it was Papen. He remembered both of them very faintly from the glory days, but they had both been very junior then.

The two of them, unobtrusively watched by a pair of guards in field uniforms complete with rifles, walked back toward the house. "Father," Wilhelm III began, eyes studiously on the path in front of him, "so long as Germany is fully bound by the treaty, you realize that I cannot bring you home." The elderly man sighed, shrugging. "I have spent the past twenty years here. I can spend the rest of my years here as well."

"Father, just because Clemenceau wanted your blood does not mean that even the modern Frenchman wishes you ill. Treaties do not last forever." The old man stopped, whirling to face his son. "Oh, and you think you are strong enough to face France if you are wrong?" The words were a snarl. "I have lost my throne once, to see my son regain it in my lifetime! Do you think I could bear to see it lost again?"

"Father, I apologize. Yet with all due respect... do you remember Neurath?" The elder Wilhelm nodded once. "Our man in Istanbul, wasn't he?"
"Quite, Father. Now he is Foreign Minister. Neurath gives the French no better than a one in five chance of reacting if we completely abrogate the treaty."

"Well - outside like this is no place to discuss any of this. When I heard you were coming, I laid on a small reception." Wilhelm the elder waved with his good hand, indicating the grounds, which were indeed well-maintained for autumn, and closer to the house, the reigning Kaiser saw a variety of vehicles, from automobiles to horse carriages. Some he recognized - Krupp's immense Maybach was present, for Essen was not too far away - and the royal coach of Queen Wilhelmina stood out as well. His quiet family visit had, on his father's whim, become a state occasion. The younger man sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before replying to his father. "Of course, Father. I am sure that Hermann, Franz, and Oskar will be delighted."

---

TO: HIM KAISER WILHELM III IMP GERM ETC ETC ETC, DOORN, NL
FM: GENADM RAEDER E, KIEL, DE KR
DT: 1NOV36

ALL-HIGHEST - PROGRAM SUCCESSFUL - SCHLESIEN SCHLESWIG HOLSTEIN BOILERS RUNNING - SAILORS CALL THEM NINETY-DAY WONDERS - FDK HINDENBURG CONVERTED AWAITING CARGO AND OPERATORS - ALL STEAM AHEAD.

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---

Dear Ernst,

Please accept the attached Christmas present, and don't you dare complain about it. We're very pleased with you opening the Vienna-Budapest line on the new gauge, and expect you to be in Istanbul in time for Army Day here. Please convey my compliments to Dr. Terzaghi in Vienna while you are there, and tell him the Firm is considering a Bosporus bridge. His experience may be of use, as he has both Turkish experience, and is the best man there is for foundations. So much for work.

Regarding your gift, the Americans are planning on opening an Opel plant outside Potsdam next year. This is what they plan on producing; the model name is 'P4,' apparently because four people may sit comfortably. I expect it suits you a bit better than my Auto Union.

Business here in Essen is as you would expect. I expect to see you in Berlin for the Olympics. I have the honor of competing in the rowing events, and hope to do the family credit.

Write back when you have a chance to speak to Dr. Terzaghi and tell me what his terms are. We will agree to them, of course, but I would like to be informed ahead of time.

I remain, as ever, yours,
ALFRIED VON BOHLEN UND HALBACH

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