Chapter 75: The Cunning Rabbit Dies
Inside the Commander in Chief's headquarters, the atmosphere had already curdled into the cold stillness that came before slaughter.
Fully armed guards stood in ranks across the hall. Even the reserve firearms locked away in storage had been dragged out and distributed, not only to the soldiers, but even to janitors and cleaning staff. Everyone inside the building understood the same brutal truth.
If they remained here, they would be waiting to die.
Only by forcing their way out might they still have a sliver of hope.
With two grenades hooked to his belt, the commander of the security company stepped to the office door, knocked once, and asked in a lowered voice,
"Commander in Chief, sir, we are ready."
Seckt did not answer at once.
He was standing by the window, staring at the tank parked broadside beneath the building.
He remembered that Jörg had once reported to him that Imperial Eagle Automobile Company had begun experimental tank development. At the time, he had only regarded it as one more audacious piece of the young man's military vision.
He had never imagined the first time he would truly see one of those machines would be under such circumstances.
It was almost absurd.
No, more than absurd.
It was grotesque.
At last, Seckt shook his head. Strangely enough, some of the turbulence in his expression receded, replaced by a calm that came only after the worst had already arrived.
Behind him, Drew still refused to surrender to reality.
"Seckt, we haven't lost yet!" he barked, voice cracking with strain. "Without Jörg here to anchor them, we still have a chance to talk them down!"
He was no longer hiding his desperation.
He could not accept defeat in this fashion. He had nearly succeeded in branding Jörg a traitor. He had been one step from overturning the whole table, seizing power, and bringing every piece into the position he wanted.
He would not let go.
He could not.
Seckt finally turned from the window and looked at him.
"In a situation like this," he said quietly, "and you still do not understand?"
He glanced once more at the tank below.
"The First Armored Division is not stationed near here. For them to arrive at this precise moment means they moved the instant the police chief contacted them."
He paused, and his voice became firmer.
"That level of coordination is not improvised. Guderian could not have mobilized an entire division alone, much less done so without a single leak."
His gaze settled on Drew.
"Jörg is back."
Drew's face twitched.
"No. No, no, no. I had men confirm it. He is in Soviet Russia, negotiating military cooperation with those barbarians. He cannot be back."
He stepped forward, almost pleading now.
"Believe me, Seckt. You can still persuade them."
Then, as if clinging to one final branch over an abyss, he added,
"And besides, it makes no sense. Even if Jörg somehow knew of my plan and returned, he would never have failed to contact you."
A bitter smile touched Seckt's mouth.
"You are right."
For an instant, hope flickered in Drew's eyes.
Then Seckt finished.
"You are right, Drew. Jörg's ambition is greater than even I imagined."
He spoke almost to himself now.
"But is that not precisely what makes him Jörg? What kind of man could devise such a nearly insane military preservation plan without ambition? What kind of man could throw himself in front of a bullet for Hindenburg without ambition?"
He lowered his head briefly, then said,
"Come. Let us go see him."
This time Drew did not follow.
Instead, he strode to the Commander in Chief's chair and seized the telephone, dialing again and again. Every line met him with silence.
He imagined the court martial.
Imagined prison walls.
Imagined survival stripped of dignity, power, and cavalry, leaving him only with the long rotting years of a useless old man.
Fear curdled into fury.
With a shout, he swept everything off the desk.
The steel nib of a fallen pen sliced his hand. Blood seeped through the skin of his aging fingers and stained the cuff of his immaculate uniform.
Outside, Seckt addressed the security company commander, who had already organized the men for a final stand.
"Dismiss them."
The officer froze.
"Sir?"
Seckt's expression did not change.
"You have no heavy weapons. If you go out there, you will only die."
He glanced once toward the office door behind him, then back at the young officer.
"This is my fault. I will not send a group of young men to their deaths for a chance that does not even amount to one in ten thousand."
Then he said, with quiet finality,
"Open the door. Let me out."
The security company commander wanted to protest. The refusal reached his throat, then died there under Seckt's steady gaze.
In the end, all he could do was nod.
"Yes, sir."
The locked doors were opened.
The corridor beyond, one Seckt had walked for half his life, now felt impossibly long. Each step seemed weighted with iron, as if cannonballs had been chained to his legs.
When he stepped outside, the wind and snow struck his face hard enough to make him close his eyes for an instant.
When he opened them again, he found himself staring down a crescent of submachine guns.
Every muzzle was pointed at him.
Yet the first man to step forward did not bark an order. He removed his rain cloak instead.
Rommel had recognized him at once. For the Commander in Chief of the Reichswehr, a man known to him previously only through photographs, reports, and secondhand judgments, he still gave the respect due to the office.
He signaled the soldiers to lower their weapons, then draped the rain cloak over Seckt's shoulders.
"Commander in Chief, sir," Rommel said, "I am glad you chose not to force a battle."
Seckt studied the young officer before him. His memory, even now, had not dulled.
"You are Rommel, are you not?"
Rommel straightened.
"Yes, sir."
Seckt gave a faint nod.
"I remember now. Jörg specifically called me to request your transfer by name."
For a moment, something almost like amusement touched his tired face.
"I never imagined our first meeting would happen under circumstances like these."
Rommel said nothing.
After a brief pause, Seckt added,
"Serve Germany well, young man."
Then, looking past him into the night, he asked quietly,
"Where is Jörg? I would like to see him once more."
As if summoned by the question, a black Imperial Eagle rolled forward through the snow.
The door opened.
Jörg stepped out.
His blue eyes fixed at once on the old man standing in the storm.
He crossed the distance without haste. Before speaking, he signaled Rommel to remain alert.
"I regret," Jörg said at last, exhaling a long breath that dissolved into white mist, "that we meet under such circumstances, Herr General."
"There is no need for regret," Seckt replied. "At this point, speaking of right and wrong would be childish."
His voice was calm now, almost stripped bare.
"I have only one final question."
By habit, he took an unlit drag on the cigarette between his lips. The gesture, empty as it was, seemed to steady him.
He already knew the answer. Still, he asked.
"Did you know of Drew's actions all along?"
Jörg took a silver lighter from his pocket and flicked it open.
The yellow red flame flared in the cold, melting the snowflakes that drifted toward it. He raised it to Seckt's cigarette and lit it before answering.
"Yes."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
That single word was enough.
Seckt inhaled. Smoke curled into the winter wind.
"Excellent," he murmured. "Excellent methods."
His eyes moved briefly over Jörg's face.
"With a mind like this, you would make an excellent commander. It is a pity I may never live to see the day you stand at the head of a million men."
There was no bitterness in the words, only resignation, and perhaps something close to reluctant admiration.
Then he said,
"Handing the Reichswehr to you may well be the best answer."
He looked past Jörg, toward the silent tanks and the black uniformed soldiers spread across the grounds.
"As you once told me, the old ways are outdated."
He raised his hands.
"I will bear sole responsibility for this affair. I will accept every charge."
His gaze sharpened for the first time.
"Do not make things difficult for my old friends."
None of the surrounding soldiers moved.
Without Jörg's order, no one dared lay a hand on the former Commander in Chief.
At last Jörg removed his own rain cloak and draped it over Seckt's bound hands.
"Take the Commander in Chief away," he said.
Rommel stepped forward at once. Yet what he did looked less like an arrest than an escort. His hand rested on Seckt's shoulder as he guided him into the back seat of the waiting car.
Jörg remained where he stood, watching the vehicle disappear into the snow.
Then he took a long drag from his cigarette.
Ahead of him loomed the Commander in Chief's building, the physical embodiment of military authority. It now lay within reach. He had only to extend his hand and grasp it.
But he knew better than to mistake this for the end.
Too many loose ends remained.
Too many names had yet to be crossed out.
Too many men still needed to be dragged into the light.
Then the sharp crack of gunfire rang out from inside the building.
Jörg looked up toward the sound.
A faint smile touched his mouth, as if he had expected precisely this.
Then he turned and gave his next order.
"Tell Guderian to redirect the follow up forces."
His eyes were cold now.
"Send them into Berlin proper. It is time for the final sweep."
.....
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