Chapter 47: Black Army
The car sped along the narrow country road, leaving the city behind with every press of the accelerator.
Unlike other military restricted zones, the First Armored Division no longer wore the old green brown greatcoats of the past. In their place were elegant, solemn black uniforms. Even the rotating guards at the gate now stood in polished black leather boots, their figures sharper and more imposing than before.
It seemed the uniform project had advanced even faster than Jörg had expected.
In little more than a month and a half since Christmas, the entire division had been transformed.
"Sir, may I see your pass, please?"
As the car window rolled down, the guard who had reached out for the document immediately stiffened in the melting snow, brought his heels together, and saluted.
"Good day, Major."
As Germany's youngest major, Jörg's reputation had already spread across the army whether he wished it or not.
Public opinion, of course, was sharply divided.
Among the younger officers, he had become a benchmark, a rising star of the new military. Among the conservatives who still distrusted reform, he remained nothing more than the Lucky Captain who had somehow climbed too fast.
But within the First Armored Division, his prestige had already reached a terrifying level.
Under the banner of military reform, a large number of officers once loyal to Naz had been purged. Their vacant positions were filled, almost to a man, by officers loyal to the reforms and willing to follow his line. Though Seckt had repeatedly emphasized that political factions had no place in the army, the ideas of the Progress Party had still seeped into the ranks through mandatory lecture films and ideological sessions during off duty hours.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that one third of the present First Armored Division still belonged to the Reichswehr in spirit, while the other two thirds belonged to the Progress Party, and through it, to him.
This was his first real military force.
His first direct lineage unit.
The barrier was removed at once, and the guard stepped aside.
"Please proceed, sir."
The car rolled forward.
The newly reborn First Armored Division unfolded before his eyes.
The logistical transport drills that had once dominated the parade ground were gone. With funding finally flowing in, the training field had changed completely. Guderian had somehow gotten his hands on a battered old tank, and the men now rotated through live armor drills around it.
Infantrymen moved skillfully along the tank's flanks, using its movement as cover, counterattacking, advancing, and securing ground in one fluid rhythm. Even at a glance, Jörg could tell that under Guderian's hand, Germany's first armored formation had already begun to take shape.
It was still a chick fresh from the shell.
But one day, it would spread dark wings across Europe.
The moment the familiar car came into view, Guderian jogged over.
"Commander, you've finally returned. Commander Seckt and the representatives sent by the government are waiting for you in the office."
Jörg nodded. He could already guess why they had come.
The first wager had been won.
Now it was time for the second to begin.
"I know. Since they've already waited this long, I doubt the two of them will mind waiting a little longer."
He stepped out of the car and turned toward Guderian.
"Have you finished the list I asked for?"
Guderian nodded at once.
"It's done. I selected dozens of officers with strong minds and quick judgment, and more than three hundred men for the foundation of the armored force. Shall I call them over now?"
Jörg shook his head.
"No need."
Guderian immediately fell in beside him, listening with full attention.
"The academy in Soviet Russia is essentially settled, but it still needs time and a great deal of money before it can be put into operation. Keep observing them. Capability matters, but loyalty matters more. It would be best if their political instincts align with the Progress Party's ideological line."
Though the military academy in Soviet Russia remained top secret, Guderian had long since become part of his core circle. Jörg had no reason to hide the broad outline from him.
The thought of unrestricted tank drills and serious military study in Soviet Russia made Guderian's lips twitch upward in unconcealed excitement. To him, the transformation of doctrine into reality was nothing short of a miracle. And the man who had brought it about naturally inspired something close to fanatic admiration.
Still, he hesitated before asking, "But sir, wouldn't that violate Commander Seckt's order? He said politics must not be brought into the army."
Jörg lit the cigarette Guderian wordlessly offered him, then exhaled slowly.
"This does not violate the army's bottom line, Guderian. On the contrary, it serves the army."
He spoke calmly, as though explaining an obvious truth.
"You know Germany's present condition. We need to cultivate men willing to fight for Germany. The ideology of the Progress Party is merely a screening tool. It helps us filter out the weak, and just as importantly, the radicals."
He glanced at him.
"And joining the Progress Party is not a strict requirement for Soviet training. We are not recruiting party troops. We are using a political framework to test character. There is a fundamental difference."
The answer was so smooth, so complete, that Guderian could only nod.
"I understand, sir."
Jörg checked his pocket watch. Their brief exchange had already eaten up half the minute hand's advance.
He took the new uniform Ethan brought over and headed into the former dilapidated office building to change before the meeting.
Although the new uniform had been approved by Seckt, it was still technically experimental issue only. At present, only officers at division level and above were authorized to wear the full version.
Closing the door behind him, Jörg changed in silence.
When he finally turned to the mirror, even he paused.
From top to bottom, the new uniform carried a very different kind of authority from the old Reichswehr cut. The cap brim cast his eyes in shadow, giving his gaze a colder weight. The symmetrical breast pockets, the cinched waist, and the thick black overcoat made the entire silhouette sharper, leaner, and far more dignified. Combined with his deep blue eyes, the result was almost unfair, equal parts military authority and aristocratic poise.
At his suggestion, the front of the cap now bore a new emblem, an iron eagle clutching a cylindrical bar in its talons.
This would one day become the insignia of German armor.
Each branch would eventually be distinguished through its own badge, but for now, only the First Armored Division possessed that privilege. The rest of the Reichswehr still wore the familiar double headed eagle of Germany.
Once the broader reforms were complete, that distinction would spread.
Jörg gave himself one last look, then left the room and made for the command building.
Though he was already commander of the First Armored Division, Soviet diplomacy had drawn him away almost immediately after Christmas. Combined with Naz's earlier obstruction, this was in truth his first time entering his own proper command post and, more specifically, the commander's office.
There was a certain irony in that.
With the position of divisional military supervisor abolished, Naz's former office had become his. The previous commander's office, in turn, now belonged to Guderian as his deputy.
Jörg glanced once at the brass nameplate on the door, confirmed he had not walked into the wrong room, and pushed it open.
The moment he stepped inside, two pairs of eyes fell on him at once.
Seckt's gaze sharpened briefly, then softened with the faintest trace of approval.
Though uniforms were, in his eyes, utilitarian things first and foremost, even he had to admit that this design stood on an entirely different level from the old one.
If the previous uniform had been a common shirt, then the one before him now was a tailored suit.
The difference was impossible to miss.
.....
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