Chapter 141: Number Two
"Jörg, I am ready to retire."
Hindenburg lit a cigarette.
His tone was calm, as if he were merely mentioning the weather, but the smile at the corner of his mouth refused to fade.
"Mr. Hindenburg, your term still has several years left."
Hindenburg shook his head and took a slow drag from his cigarette.
"I am old enough. After this year, I will be eighty-two. Especially this year, there have been days when I could not even remember whether I had signed a document or not."
He looked out through the car window, where Danzig's ruined streets were still filled with marching soldiers and fluttering flags.
"There is no need for me to cling to this position and turn myself into a joke. If not for you, I would still worry about who would control the government after I stepped down, and who would guide Germany's course."
Gray-blue smoke drifted through the back seat.
Hindenburg continued, "But now, those concerns no longer matter. This military conflict has given you enormous influence. The Progress Party holds only thirty-five percent of the seats in Parliament, but that will not be the end."
"You already possess every condition required to advance further. What remains is for this old man to vacate the seat."
As he spoke, Hindenburg took a folded list from his pocket.
Jörg opened it.
The page was covered with names.
More than half of the right-wing members of the Center Party, several influential right-wing veterans of the Social Democratic Party, and almost the entire monarchist faction.
Without question, these were among the most valuable political resources in Germany.
Watching Jörg accept the list, Hindenburg nodded with satisfaction.
"From now on, these are yours."
He spoke slowly, but every word carried the weight of a transfer of power.
"After today, I will arrange for you to become Chancellor of the Weimar Republic and Commander-in-Chief of the Wehrmacht. I will remain only as the nominal President of the Republic and effectively enter retirement until the general election of 1932."
"As for the signing of official documents and orders, there will be no need to report to me."
Hindenburg paused, then looked at him with unusual seriousness.
"Of course, Jörg, I must remind you. The other side of power is responsibility. Economic problems, unemployment, and the balance among the different classes still need to be solved."
Then, as if remembering something far more urgent than the fate of the Republic, the old man added, "And of course, what you must solve even sooner is your marriage."
After saying that, Hindenburg seemed to forget that Jörg had already quit smoking. He pulled a cigarette from the pack and handed it over.
Jörg accepted it out of habit.
For a moment, it was as if they had returned to that hospital ward years ago, when the two of them exchanged pistols, lit cigarettes, and spoke loudly of Germany's future.
"Do you trust me that much, Mr. Hindenburg?" Jörg asked with a faint, helpless smile. "Are you not afraid I will make a mess of the country and leave the landlords, industrialists, and Junkers cursing me behind closed doors?"
He lowered his eyes to the cigarette between his fingers.
"Are you not afraid I will become a dictator?"
"Who else should I trust?"
Hindenburg's answer came without hesitation.
"Should I ignore the genius who saved my life, rebuilt the Army at impossible speed, drew military funds from the Americans, prevented a Wehrmacht rebellion, and defeated the Poles, then place Germany in the hands of those ambitious schemers?"
His cloudy eyes sharpened.
"Go forward, Jörg. So long as Germany can stand tall among the nations again, it does not matter who you offend. Everyone must make way for Germany's rise."
As for the second question, Hindenburg suddenly laughed even more heartily.
"A dictator? Ha! That would be wonderful."
He tapped ash from his cigarette.
"To be honest, I can hardly wait for a genius to devote his entire life to work. And the current situation truly does require a dictator."
Listening to the old man's laughter beside him, Jörg felt, for the first time, the full meaning of the word responsibility.
Before this, Hindenburg had always stood above him, smoothing out the deepest political troubles. Even when Jörg held great power, there had always been an older, heavier figure behind him, shouldering the final burden of the state.
But now, the old man was stepping aside.
From this moment on, it would be Jörg and the Progress Party standing at the center of the storm.
One word from him would determine the direction of German politics.
One decision would shape the future of a nation.
Thinking of this, Jörg shook his head and smiled.
"Mr. Hindenburg, is it too late to refuse?"
The moment his words fell, the system's voice sounded in his mind.
"Congratulations, Host. You have completely changed the destiny of Jörg von Roman, transforming an ordinary police officer into Germany's nominal number two figure, and its actual number one."
"Congratulations. You have obtained penicillin mass-production technology."
"Extract now?"
As the Christmas bells rang across Europe, time turned to a new page.
New York, United States.
Ford lowered the newspaper in his hand.
The headline was particularly striking.
"Clark Hoover Wins the Presidential Election. Can His Protectionist Policies Revitalize the Economy?"
Ford was not surprised by the result.
Although Franklin Roosevelt had gained many supporters with his political ideas, he was still too young. More importantly, his doctrine of government-led economic intervention had failed to win over many businessmen.
Without newspapers as a crucial channel of propaganda, falling behind in the vote had been inevitable.
The presidential campaign had already lost Ford's interest.
What he cared about now was how to drive the Jewish financial networks he hated out of America.
"Mr. Ford, this is a letter Mr. von Roman asked me to deliver to you. He believes the contents will greatly support your plan."
A middle-aged man in a suit handed the letter over.
On the surface, this man was the president of two major newspapers, an isolationist, and a man known in private circles for his anti-Semitic views.
No one would have guessed that this middle-aged gentleman, who moved freely through high society, was an agent of Germany's Internal and External Intelligence Department.
Ford had not known it either.
Because of similar views, he had maintained a good personal relationship with this Mr. Ak Merson, who had risen rapidly over the past two years.
Only today did he learn that the man had long been a German spy planted in the United States.
Such infiltration was terrifying.
Ford opened the envelope.
Inside were several candid photographs.
Morgan and Rockefeller both appeared in them. Beneath the photographs were detailed notes explaining how to link the economic crisis to their secret discussions, how to use those images to construct a public narrative, and how to direct public anger toward the financial circles Ford already despised.
Looking at the familiar hotel background, Ford immediately realized that the photographs had been taken when Jörg visited the United States to negotiate the shipbuilding agreement with several major enterprises.
To use photographs from the past to solve a problem in the present.
Such foresight was almost frightening.
"Please send my regards to Jörg and congratulate him on becoming Chancellor," Ford said, carefully putting away the letter. "I know what to do. I also hope he can provide public opinion support within Germany."
Merson nodded.
"No problem, Mr. Ford. I will deliver your message."
With that, he rose and left to carry out his mission.
Meanwhile, in Germany, the news of Jörg's appointment as Chancellor did not provoke public unrest.
The people recognized the young man who had reclaimed lost territory.
More than that, they were waiting to see whether this new Chancellor could lead Germany out of its present misery.
However, not everyone welcomed the decision.
At the Reichstag building, a heavy Imperial Eagle slowly stopped at the foot of the steps.
The guards, wearing winter uniforms and standing on both sides of the entrance, immediately straightened when they saw the license plate.
The driver's door opened.
Ethan stepped out, raised a black umbrella, and jogged to the rear door. He opened it carefully and bowed.
"Your Excellency the Chancellor, we have arrived."
Jörg took a breath of the cold winter air and nodded.
Snow swirled before the steps of the Reichstag.
He put on a black wool overcoat, tucked his neatly combed golden hair beneath a felt hat, and took his first step toward the parliament of the Republic.
.....
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