Chapter 27: Power and Destiny
"I've heard Britain is already developing new tanks. If only we could get our hands on a batch of French FT tanks…"
Guderian's excitement was so unrestrained that, for a moment, he seemed almost childlike, as if merely speaking the wish aloud might cause a warehouse full of tanks to appear by morning.
Jörg shook his head.
"What we need is innovation, not suicide, Guderian."
The cold air in the corridor sharpened his voice rather than dulling it.
"The Allied Control Commission forbids us from possessing tank units. There will also be an inspection of army formations at the end of this year."
He looked at him steadily.
"Forget dozens or hundreds. If we acquired even one, the French would lose their minds."
Then his tone shifted, becoming more deliberate.
"What we can do is train a cadre of men who know how to drive tanks, and another cadre who know how to command them in battle. Only when we are capable of building our own machines will it be time for sailors who have never touched a rudder to board the ship."
Guderian frowned at once.
"Without tanks, how are we supposed to teach them to drive?"
Jörg did not answer immediately.
By then, a plan had already begun taking shape in his mind.
He simply patted Guderian on the shoulder.
"You need not concern yourself with that part. Your task is to turn the ideas in your head into reality."
Then he added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world,
"I'll send a recommendation to General Staff Headquarters. I want you assigned as my deputy."
Guderian blinked.
"Would you be willing, Captain Guderian?"
Faced with a superior who not only understood armored warfare but actively valued it, Guderian found it difficult to imagine any sane man refusing.
He nodded repeatedly.
"Of course, Mr. Jörg."
…
Once the office had been properly cleaned and refitted, the reform work of the First Logistics Armored Division officially began to move onto the right track.
Naz and Heca, quite unusually, voiced no direct objection. On the contrary, they even signed off on the officer retraining program that had come down from above.
Jörg had no illusions about their motives.
He did not know precisely what those two old conservatives were planning, but he knew enough to understand that men like them did not learn humility from a single setback.
Still, so long as they were not openly moving against him, he saw no need to strike first.
For more than a month after that, Jörg was busy nearly every day with training programs for future tank drivers. Working past midnight became routine. Whatever time remained was spent on sand table exercises and tactical discussions with Guderian.
It had to be said, even before fame had touched his name, Guderian's one on one instruction was enough to raise Jörg's military literacy at astonishing speed.
Because of that, Jörg gradually became a frequent guest in the Guderian household. On occasion, he would even take Guderian's son, still not yet ten years old, out riding.
Inside the army, his influence expanded almost without his noticing.
He had a habit of promoting the young, the capable, and the energetic. Combined with his noble background, approachable manners, and surprising lack of arrogance, this earned him increasing affection among younger officers. And after the story of how he had openly challenged his superior spread through the division, he acquired a nickname within the ranks.
The Rebel of the Old Era.
…
At the training center, inside a black car, Naz Meier looked out the window at the unit that had transformed in barely a month, and his already dark expression grew even uglier.
That bastard.
He had ruined his army.
Naz had seen tanks before. In his view, they were nothing but awkward piles of scrap iron, clumsy contraptions unworthy of real devotion. And now, not only was someone trying to elevate them into the core of future war, but that same someone was also using them to turn Naz's division into his own personal domain.
He watched the men on the training grounds and suddenly pointed toward one of the warehouses.
"What's in there?"
His tone was casual, but the question was not.
The officer beside him followed his gaze.
"I heard there are a great many tanks stored inside. It seems Deputy Division Commander Jörg acquired them. Men are going in and out of that warehouse nearly every day to practice tank driving."
Naz's eyes narrowed.
"Are you certain?"
At the word tank, a thought flashed through his mind like a blade catching light.
Tanks were one of the very things the Allied Control Commission watched most closely. If some unknown source leaked word that Jörg was secretly hoarding tanks and training a tank army in violation of Versailles, then even all his background and patronage would not save him.
Under those circumstances, he would be thrown out.
Of course, Naz himself could not be the one to expose it.
It had to be discovered… accidentally.
That was why he had not dared act before. Until now he had lacked both a proper excuse and a safe distance from the consequences. He had also been wary of Jörg's complicated backing.
But now this fool had delivered a handle right into his hands.
Heca lowered his head, thinking.
In truth, he had never personally entered the warehouse himself. Under Jörg's reforms, the First Division had already begun splitting into two camps, the conservatives who still followed him, and the reformists who had gathered around Jörg.
The conservative officers despised the whole armored training concept.
Naturally, that meant they had no idea what was actually inside the warehouse.
Still, how could one train tank drivers without tanks?
By meditation?
With that logic, Heca finally nodded.
"It must be true. I'd stake my head on it."
Naz rolled the car window back up and sneered.
"Excellent."
Then, turning slightly toward Heca, he spoke in a tone of feigned thoughtfulness.
"Don't you think it has already been far too long for some outsider to come into our First Division and start pointing fingers everywhere?"
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"And what if the Allied Control Commission happened to learn that he was secretly storing tanks and training tank crews? Unless the French have suddenly decided they're his true father, no one could protect him then."
Heca's expression shifted.
Despite the bitterness of the internal struggle, they were still all officers of the Reichswehr. Secretly cooperating with former enemies, even indirectly, would cross a line difficult to uncross. And if such a thing were exposed, the charge would not simply be disloyalty.
It would be treason.
Seeing the hesitation in his subordinate, Naz pressed harder.
"Of course, I'm merely speaking hypothetically. After all, who can guarantee that there will never be information leaks within the Reichswehr? Such things happen all the time."
Then he struck where he knew Heca was weakest.
"If that outsider is driven out, then the First Logistics Armored Division remains your division."
His voice dropped lower.
"It won't become Jörg's personal armored kingdom."
Heca stared out the window and weighed the matter in silence.
At that moment, the voices of soldiers drifted in through the cold air.
"Deputy Division Commander Jörg is much easier to get along with than he looks. I never thought a noble would stoop to ask me questions directly."
"Exactly. I even heard Marshal Hindenburg called him a genius and gave him a sidearm. He's truly young and destined for great things."
Those words landed where they were least welcome.
Heca thought of the authority he had already lost, piece by piece, to that smiling young officer who had arrived like a storm wrapped in manners.
By the time he spoke again, his face had already hardened.
"Yes," he said quietly. "If such a thing truly happened, then even the most talented young officer would still have to pay the price."
He looked ahead, expression darkening.
"After all, the Treaty of Versailles exists."
…
On the other side of the division, Jörg locked away the tank concepts he and Guderian had been refining in a secure safe.
It was not yet time for real tank development.
Just the previous day, Seeckt had sent him a telegram. After Christmas, the Reichswehr and the government would hold a feasibility conference regarding the broader military reform plan. Since Jörg was not only one of the plan's original proponents but also one of its primary architects, he had been granted a place at the table.
Thanks to the three circles he had once drawn on the blackboard, Seeckt, finding no better name, had settled on one taken from ancient Greek mythology.
He called the plan Fate.
Jörg thought the name suited it perfectly.
.....
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