Chapter 80: Drawing Board
At Berlin Cathedral, the mild January sunlight finally broke through the month long tyranny of wind and snow.
Golden light streamed through the great blue glass dome and fell upon the vast mosaic above, where Christ preached upon the mount in solemn silence. Once the chapel of emperors, the cathedral seemed built not merely for worship, but for spectacle. Golden chandeliers hung beneath vaulted ceilings. Massive circular columns rose in perfect symmetry. Murals, saints, and scriptural scenes covered the walls in endless succession, each one proclaiming the magnificence of Prussian faith, monarchy, and state.
And today, this cathedral, which had so often been reserved for kings, nobles, and titled men, welcomed an ordinary man into its heart.
Ebert lay quietly before the altar.
White chrysanthemums surrounded the black coffin in neat solemn bundles, their pale petals carrying the final wishes of a nation for the President who had borne its burdens.
Jörg stood in silence and took in the scene.
To be honest, this was the first funeral he had ever truly attended across two lifetimes. But the longer he stood there, the more he realized that once the dead had occupied a sufficiently high station, a funeral ceased to be merely a farewell. It became a social gathering dressed in black. A political ceremony wrapped in mourning. A final review of alliances, ambitions, suspicions, and influence.
Especially now.
The coup had only just been crushed. Hindenburg had already stepped into Ebert's place. Every glance in the cathedral carried weight.
Even during the pastor's eulogy, Jörg could feel eyes landing on him from every direction. Some were curious. Some were wary. Others whispered quietly behind gloved hands, their murmurs soft but unceasing beneath the sacred stillness of the church.
Hindenburg, who never tolerated disorder in public settings, finally lost patience.
He lightly tapped his cane against the stone floor.
At once, the murmurs vanished.
The cathedral returned to silence. The pastor finished his final words. Then Hindenburg rose, walked to the front, and leaned slightly upon the podium before speaking in a steady, resonant voice.
"President Ebert was a good President."
His words echoed through the cathedral.
"I admit that, at first, like many others, I underestimated him. I did not believe in him. But through his labor, his dignity, and his perseverance, he proved to us all that a President's worth is not determined by noble blood."
His gaze swept slowly across the gathered mourners.
"There are scoundrels among noblemen, just as there are heroes among common men. Without question, Ebert was such a hero."
When he finished, he raised one hand.
The black coffin was draped with the Black Eagle flag. Soldiers in black dress uniforms stepped forward, lifted it in perfect formation, and carried it out of the cathedral with measured, synchronized steps.
Jörg watched them load the coffin onto the funeral carriage.
There was still to be a second stage, the burial itself, but Ebert's family had requested privacy for that final part of the ceremony. There would be no public procession through the cemetery, no photographers crowding the graveside, no final spectacle for the newspapers.
The more Jörg watched, the more convinced he became that state funerals were not honors so much as burdens laid upon the dead.
At first he had thought such ceremonies represented glory.
Now he only found them cumbersome.
When his own time came, he decided, he would leave clear instructions. No parades. No cathedral. No flags and speeches. Let his descendants quietly place him in a coffin and bury him in the earth. That would be enough.
His wandering thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him.
"Are you Jörg?"
He turned.
A man in royal ceremonial dress had come up behind him, his neatly trimmed bobbed hair and striking little mustache making him instantly memorable.
Seeing the momentary uncertainty in Jörg's eyes, Hindenburg approached at once and offered the introduction himself.
"Jörg, this is Crown Prince Wilhelm."
Wilhelm extended his hand with a faint smile.
"Just call me Wilhelm. All that crown prince business belongs to another age."
They shook hands.
At once, Jörg placed him.
The former imperial family had never truly abandoned the idea of returning to Germany. They had not given up the dream of replacing the last three words of the Weimar Republic with the Empire once more. In theory, given the earlier agreements barring the royal family from direct political life, Wilhelm should never have attended such an event.
Yet he was here.
And from the brief glance Hindenburg cast his way, Jörg immediately understood. The old field marshal, royalist to the bone, had quietly opened the door for the dynasty he had never ceased to revere.
"Your Highness Wilhelm," Jörg said evenly, "forgive me. I've been rather busy lately. I nearly forgot you were in Berlin."
Wilhelm laughed softly.
"That is quite all right, Jörg. Hindenburg has told me a little about what happened at Christmas. I can only say Germany was fortunate that you were in Berlin when it mattered."
He paused, then added with frank warmth, "If you ever come to the Netherlands, I assure you my father will like you."
Hindenburg stood nearby, saying nothing.
Wilhelm patted Jörg lightly on the shoulder, took out his pocket watch, and glanced at the time.
"I should go. If the reporters catch me here much longer, tomorrow's headlines will start shouting about royal restoration again, and I have no wish to create trouble for Hindenburg."
He inclined his head politely.
"Goodbye, Mr. Hindenburg, and thank you for the invitation."
Then he turned and left without lingering.
Only after he was gone did Hindenburg step closer to Jörg and speak in a low voice.
"You should cultivate a better relationship with Wilhelm. There are still many men in the Army, and not a few in the government, who remain undecided on whether the royal family ought to be completely excluded from Germany's future. Being on good terms with them will do you no harm."
Then, after a pause, he added almost casually, "I intend to return the confiscated royal property to them. What do you think?"
Jörg was not foolish.
This was not merely a remark. It was a test.
Whether the idea had truly come from others or from Hindenburg himself mattered little. The President was measuring his attitude toward the monarchy.
"I have no objection, Mr. President," Jörg replied at once. "That decision is yours to make. But personally, I do think the royal family's life in the Netherlands has been rather difficult."
Hindenburg studied him for a moment.
"If there is nothing else, Mr. President," Jörg continued smoothly, "I should take my leave. The trial begins in an hour."
He had no strong view of the imperial family at present. But if they ever sought a share of real political authority again, he knew his own view would become much sharper.
Hindenburg nodded, visibly satisfied by the answer.
"Go, then. The appointment letter will be sent to you tonight. After this evening, I suppose I should start calling you Deputy Commander in Chief Jörg."
Jörg smiled, inclined his head, and withdrew.
Outside, beside the car, Ethan was already waiting.
The moment he saw Jörg emerge, he stepped out from the driver's seat and opened the rear door without a word.
As Jörg's power grew more concentrated, so too did his standing. Even though Ethan still technically held only the rank of lieutenant, there were now colonels in Berlin who would hesitate before refusing him anything.
Jörg slipped into the back seat.
Ethan started the engine at once and drove toward the military court.
During the drive, Jörg said nothing.
He simply took a pen from his pocket, unfolded the promotion list on his knee, and began revising it line by line.
After a while, he finally spoke.
"Ethan, have you given any thought to another future for yourself?"
Ethan stiffened at the question.
For a moment, he thought he had done something wrong.
"Sir... I haven't made some mistake, have I?"
Even as he asked, he began mentally reviewing everything he had done over the past several days, searching for any possible oversight.
Jörg understood the misunderstanding immediately and shook his head.
"No. I'm considering a change in your position. Nade will likely be transferred into the General Staff structure, which means the rapid response force will need a new commander. I think you would be suitable."
He paused.
"Of course, if you have other ambitions, or if you prefer to remain as my adjutant and security officer, then we can forget the matter."
For someone of Ethan's background, this was a rare opportunity, perhaps the best he would ever receive.
He hesitated.
Then, after only a short silence, he still shook his head.
"Forget it, sir. I know my own limits. I don't have the talent to command troops. Staying by your side is where I'm most useful."
Jörg did not argue.
He merely drew a black line through Ethan's name on the paper, then added several others from memory in neat strokes beneath it.
Without Seckt, the Reichswehr had finally become a blank canvas that belonged to him.
And now, at last, he could begin building the stronger army he had envisioned at full speed.
.....
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