4. Decisions and Dinner
25 December 1933
Berlin, Republic of Germany
There had been no rest for Freikorps Stahlhelm on return to Berlin. Faced with criticism from the SPD and the unions on the measures he had taken against the extreme parties, Schleicher had issued the August Decrees suspending basic freedoms of the Republic for a maximum of one year. Criticism of the President and Chancellor was made equivalent to sedition; the Social Democrat Party was banned shortly thereafter when Heinrich Bruening had made a public declaration that Germany was on the road to dictatorship, and that if Germany had wanted to be led by the generals, it would have been Hindenburg and Ludendorff, not Hindenburg and Schleicher, in office. Bruening thus found himself at the Landsberg fortress alongside Roehm and Thaelmann, and Schleicher found himself casting about for allies. He found the most unlikely ally imaginable, the former Nazi Gregor Strasser, whose relatively moderate fascist position was more palatable than the increasingly strident criticism of the SPD, the distrust of the nationalist parties like the DNVP, or the outright demands for dictatorship which the KPD and NSDAP had made.
None of this truly mattered to Major Ernst Volkmann. He had returned to Berlin to find that his shoulder boards, rather than the simple straight-row boards of company-grade officers, were the braided silver of a field-grade officer, and that he was the commander of Hausser's engineering battalion. For an infantry corps to have a single engineering battalion was disgraceful by 1918 standards; for an engineering battalion to fill the role which Hausser had it fill was even more outrageous. "Engineer" in Hausser's parlance meant "problem-solver." It was thanks to Volkmann and his engineers that Hausser had trucks, for instance - even if they were stolen from every handyman, mover, and dairy from Potsdam to Berlin, and even if they were just enough to ferry one battalion at a time. When Volkmann had protested that he was not a thief, Hausser had merely smiled and replied that his job was to overcome obstacles... and that transportation was just one of many obstacles.
There were benefits to all of this, he had to admit - he had not remembered Lise being nearly this affectionate at any point since the Armistice. Most nights, he got to sleep at home with his family. A few weeks in the past few months, he had been in the field suppressing one or the other of the trade unions, bastions of SPD resistance. They had marched on May Day as usual, and the march had nearly become a riot, according to Lise, who had been unfortunate enough to be shopping that day. She feared for him, of course, but she had feared for him in the Great War, and she was slowly adjusting to the fact that her husband was once again a soldier.
All of this combined to make the news he had to give her at Christmas much more difficult.
---
"Ott, where is that damned man?" Schleicher demanded as his fist hit the desk. "Krupp von Boehlen said he'd be here at eight. It's seven-fifty and there's no sign of him."
Eugen Ott, a massive, broad-shouldered officer who looked more like a professional athlete than a soldier-politician in the Schleicher mold, pursed his lips beneath his thin mustache. "Sir, Krupp von Bohlen may have been delayed, I understand there's been snow between here and Essen."
"Don't give me that twaddle, Ott. He'd have arrived in Berlin yesterday. I know he dined with Oskar and the Whale last night." If Ott was surprised at Schleicher's description of the President, he hid it well. The fact that Schleicher viewed Hindenburg with contempt was by now a poorly-hidden secret, and Hindenburg's accidental referral to Schleicher as "Ludendorff" at a state dinner the week prior had made him even more loathsome to the Chancellor than usual. As it happened, Ott was facing the window behind Schleicher, enabling him to see the massive Maybach pulling up into the Chancellory drive with the three-ring flag flapping at its front fender. "Krupp von Boehlen is arriving, sir. He will be up shortly."
"Pig-iron Krupp better get his steel buttocks up here before eight, or I'll skin him," Schleicher grated out, hiding his nervousness. Krupp von Bohlen had led the Republic's strongest company since well before Schleicher was a power worth reckoning with. For Gustav Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach to keep Kurt von Schleicher waiting was a sign of which of them was actually the stronger.
Schleicher went so far as to stand upon Krupp's entrance. "Herr Krupp! Welcome to the Chancellory, as always." He was all smiles and grace now, bringing the man they called the Cannon King to a small table off to the side of his office. "Please sit, Herr Krupp," the Chancellor smiled and gestured, completely reversed from his earlier facade. "I understand you had something which you wished to tell me regarding our project?"
"Yes, Chancellor," Krupp replied stiffly. "You recall that you asked us to look into the matter of the French progress since 1918 in certain fields." Just because you started as a diplomat, old man, doesn't mean you have to speak in circles. Come right out with it, Schleicher bit back. "Of course. What do you have to report?"
"We believe that within six weeks, we can begin production of an intermediate model... provided funding," Krupp replied, emphasizing the funding. For a man like Krupp to be so blatant about money showed just how bad the Depression still was, one more thing with which Schleicher felt he must deal... but first, the endless talk of revolution had to be ended. "Consider it provided, Krupp. Though of course, I consider the resumption of pre-war levels of production still to be the priority."
Krupp resumed. "In that case... we can give armament roughly equal to the French FT-17 immediately. We expect the armaments division to have a suitable twenty-millimeter ready within six months. This is of course just a starting point. As for mobility..." Krupp waved his hand as if repelling an unpleasant odor. "The French engines, very primitive, you must understand. We made a breakthrough earlier this year... we can give you fifty kilometers per hour."
Fifty kilometers per hour...! Schleicher had to force himself to remain impassive. When the front in the Great War had advanced rapidly, it had advanced at a very small percentage of that speed. He knew it was not the rate at which such units would advance, but it was as if Mars himself had just showed him Germany's future.
"That is an acceptable starting point, Herr Krupp. However, it is nothing more than a starting point. I tell you what... I will speak to General von Hammerstein-Equordt, see if he believes there is room in the military budget for... shall we say, a thousand of these vehicles?" He smiled slightly, a predatory grin that even Krupp could not fail to recognize. "And, of course, we will bring Reichsheer men into the production process, since they will be the end users." A thought struck him, and his eyes flared the way they had the day he had first challenged Hindenburg. "Say, Krupp... how do you feel about selling to the Chinese? I have a memorandum from General von Seeckt in Nanking, who wants to modernize the Chinese military. The Chinese will be glad to buy a company or two of these off of you; that should be an excellent proving ground for them. You have my permission," he added, leaning back expansively. Krupp just nodded slowly, as if considering the possibilities. "There are risks in selling to the Chinese warlords, but to allow us to field-test... that is certainly worth pursuing." Krupp nodded once more, decisively this time. "Excellent. Now... if I may...?" He began to rise, and Schleicher was barely able to get out of his chair fast enough to play the gracious host.
"Certainly, Herr Krupp. And if I may ask, how are things going with the Dutch boats?"
It was Krupp's turn to give a sly smile. "Why Chancellor, I have no idea of what you speak, as Germany is forbidden by treaty to have any submarines. But I understand that Scheepsbouw has a handful of hulls, just for testing, with the black eagle. They are scheduled to cruise, strictly for testing, from the Hague to Kiel in March, and to undergo further testing in the Baltic. Strictly for testing." Krupp gave one slow wink before he turned, walking stiffly towards Schleicher's massive office door. Ott waited outside for the old industrialist; Schleicher stood motionless, seized by a vision of Germany free of Versailles and astride central Europe once more. Once Krupp had fully departed, he was able to call out to the anteroom.
"Ott, get me a list of qualified engineering officers from the Truppenamt."
---
"Welcome to our last meeting of the semester. I have your examinations graded, and for some of you, I believe you may wish to consider another field than ballistics." Major-General Professor Karl Becker, head of Technicsches Hochschule Berlin military engineering faculty, stepped from the podium to post the final examination grades to his class. At the moment, there was precious little for the Army's ballistics research office to do, so he had been able to spare time to teach this class. He taught it less because of any interest in teaching - though he had to admit, there was more chance of a legacy here than over in the Heereswaffenamt, unless Dornberger's little program came to fruition... Becker shook his head, clearing away the distraction as he turned to face the class once more. "Gentlemen. Dismissed until next term, with exceptions. The following individuals, stand fast." The class stayed frozen as he read off the names, concluding with "Volkmann, Peter." The rest of the class, save for the dozen he had named, filed out of the lecture hall. A quick segregation followed; for half of the remainder, he merely snapped out, "I regret that you will be required to take a verbal examination during the recess." To the others, he was somewhat more polite, asking them instead to follow him to his office for brief interviews.
Peter Volkmann was in many ways his father's son - else he would hardly have been studying civil engineering, nor would he have enrolled in the new military engineering faculty. At twenty, the sandy-haired young man expected to graduate in two years, then begin the probably arduous process of finding employment in Depression Germany. He was bookish, though not to an extreme, and preferred quiet to the rowdy student gatherings that the Depression had never quite damped out. Thus, he was somewhat nervous waiting on Becker's summons. Finally, when the last of the others had spent their five to ten minutes with the professor, he knocked, to be greeted with a brisk, "Enter."
At first glance, Becker's office was in a state of dynamic chaos. Books were filed haphazardly on the bookshelves, papers stacked wildly across the desk, and both in- and out-boxes were filled to overflowing. "Sit, Volkmann," Becker commanded, gesturing at a chair across the desk from where he sat while he rotated to pull a volume from the bookshelves. Volkmann glanced at the cover, seeing only the title - Truppenfuehrung. Becker all but slammed the book down as he came back to face his pupil. "Now, Volkmann, you are probably wondering first, why I called you in, and second, what this book has to do with it." He slid the book forward. "Interested?" Volkmann nodded mutely, and Becker pulled his hand away, smiling in satisfaction. "Take a look, and listen to me. We see a couple hundred students a year come in here talking about a commission. The fact is that the Reichswehr does not have room for a couple hundred technical officers a year. It has room for about ten right now." Becker grabbed his armrests with both hands, leaning forward. "That is about to change, though don't ask me how or when. Just look at your father, though - called up as a temporary policeman, next thing you know, he's in Silesia chasing Reds. How is he, incidentally? Never mind. Important part is... you never once asked about a commission, but you're ranked third in this class. So are you interested in it at all?"
Peter blinked - this was not at all what he had expected. "Sir. I don't know. I didn't really think of it when I signed up, it just seemed like the right thing to do. Besides... sir, I think that things have changed so much since the last war, I don't know of any job I'd like to do in the Army." Since Becker made no move to stop him, he shrugged, expanding. "I mean, horses are just bigger machine-gun targets than a man. Your ballistics course pretty much showed what artillery will do to an infantryman, but the guns can't win the war by themselves. We tried tanks in 1918, but the Army can't have them... so what exactly would I want to do?"
Becker nodded, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I have an idea... and a man I would like you to meet, a Colonel Student. Are you free over the recess to speak to him?"
"I suppose, sir. What does he do?"
"Just find out, Volkmann, just find out."
---
Peter Volkmann met Colonel Kurt Student a week before Christmas, during that notable's brief stop before returning to the clandestine training schools in Russia. The two of them met in a cafe just off Unter den Linden, Student looking uncomfortable out of uniform - a necessary subterfuge to conceal his military role in Russia. "I'll get right to the point," Student said bluntly, leaning forward over his coffee. "General Becker says you're promising, but you don't want to play around in the Army. Have you ever considered flying?"
Volkmann blinked. "Sir, I don't want to be a bus driver for Lufthansa, if that's what you're asking." Student growled; it was perhaps the most menacing sound that Peter Volkmann had ever heard. "Don't play with me, boy. I'm not talking Lufthansa. You remember Luftsportstag a few months ago?" Volkmann nodded mutely. "You notice how many 'racing' planes there were?" Again, a nod. "And how many 'mail delivery' planes?" A further nod. "Day's coming when Germany's going to have an air force again. Becker says you've got a brain... catch." Student flipped a shiny object towards him, and Volkmann instinctively snatched it out of the air. "Good reflexes, too. Take a look."
When the younger man looked down, he saw a white-and-black enamel cross patee with crossed swords behind it. He looked dumbly up at Student, who explained, "House Order. Got it for my fifth air-to-air kill. Would have gotten a Max, but I got shot about a month later, so... just six." Student smiled tiredly. "Since then, it's mostly been gliders. Look... Becker says you're smart, and your reflexes are pretty good... what do you say? Think about stopping by the Air Ministry some time, okay? What's the worst that can happen, you decide to go be an engineer?"
Volkmann nodded, borne down by Student's sheer force of personality. "Good, now can I have my medal back?" Student grinned - something Volkmann had a feeling he did rarely, given the way his face creased, and despite himself, the younger man felt himself drawn into Student's world.
---
At the head of the table, Ernst Volkmann sat nervously in his field-gray uniform, waiting for his wife to bring the goose in. His children ranged down the table from him - Peter on his right, looking almost as nervous, as if he had something to hide about his grades, which Ernst doubted. He could hardly help but smile when he looked at his eldest son, following him into engineering. To his left was his second son, Johann, whose hair tended to run a shade long for Ernst's liking, and who had yet to leave the gymnasium. Past Peter and Johann were Wilhelm, barely fifteen, and Anneliese, all of thirteen and just old enough that boys started to look at her, and her at boys... a fact which Ernst Volkmann viewed with some suspicion, if not outright hostility. Finally, Lise, struggling under the goose which Ernst's army salary had enabled them to buy this year, after year upon year of lean times, arrived at the table, and Ernst was struck by a pang for his wife, still lovely after twenty-three years of marriage.
"Let us pray," he said, clearing his throat and beginning the grace; upon its conclusion, he looked up and surveyed his family one more time before setting to carving. "I have something you all ought to know," he said brightly, continuing despite the sudden rush of apprehension in Lise's eyes. The last time he had said that, he had rushed into the burning Reichstag building the following week. Peter looked up, though. "Yes, father?"
"Some good news and bad news... first the good. Apparently in the new year's list, I'm Oberstleutnant Volkmann." He grinned, and saw his sons' moderate interest. Lise was, however, less than thrilled. Any promotion that rapid, she knew, had to come with a catch. "Second... I am afraid that I have been restationed."
All hell broke loose, predictably, with the entire family starting to speak at once. Lise's voice drowned out the others. "You what? What about the firm? Are you going to be able to go back? What am I to do with the house?" He held up his hands in self-defense, seeing that Peter, too, had something he wanted to say.
"I... could take care of the house, Mother. I'll still be here at the Hochschule, I'll need a place to sleep." He swallowed. "And besides... I need to stay here in Berlin anyway." All eyes swiveled toward him, Ernst's reassignment momentarily forgotten. "I joined the Luftsportverband last week. I'm supposed to get my pilot's license this spring. Professor Becker signed off on it as a special-study course and everything."
Ernst sat down, his own declaration momentarily forgotten. "My son a pilot?" he mused, not realizing it was out loud. "A pilot? God, I never would have dreamed..." He caught Lise's glare, and gathered himself back together, somewhat stuffy once put on the spot. "Yes. Well, Peter. I suppose that's a fine thing, though I do wish you'd brought it up with us first. Besides, we won't be that far away. Essen is only a few hours by train, and by air, why I'm sure you can practically visit us in the afternoon!" Lise's glare melted slightly, but only just - he had accidentally let slip where they were going, and it was not, as she had feared, something like the German embassy in Ethiopia.
"All right, all right, let's just enjoy what's left of dinner," he finally harrumphed, looking everywhere but his wife's eyes in embarrassment. "After all, Christmas only comes once a year. Though if I'd known, Peter... I'd have gotten you that toy plane you wanted when you were five."
STOP! COOKIE TIME