Chapter 201: The Lost Past
When the speech from the Olympic Organizing Committee ended, a thunderous salute erupted across the stadium, and the ceremony officially entered the performance segment.
Little William was dazzled.
On the vast green lawn, well trained German performers moved with mechanical precision, continuously assembling enormous images with square blocks that resembled pixels. Each picture was novel and ingenious, cleverly combining Germany, the Olympic Games, and the spirit of competition into one seamless spectacle.
After that came the marching performance troupe of Germany's advancing soldiers.
Then came the martial arts delegation, the jazz band from America, and the dance troupe from England.
Without question, Joseph had pushed the ceremony to its peak.
By the time the sun began to sink toward the horizon, the final performance at last drew to a close.
Just as Little William was about to leave with his mother, a guard dressed in ornate black formal attire stepped forward and stopped them.
"Are you Lady Helka?"
Helka froze for a moment.
The guard smiled politely and said, "Congratulations. You have been randomly selected for an opportunity to meet the Führer and receive his autograph. If you are not in a hurry, I strongly suggest you come with me."
He paused, then added, "Of course, if you have other arrangements, please decide now, so that I may give the place to someone else."
Before Helka could speak, Little William jumped up excitedly.
"We'll go! We'll go now!"
Under the envious gazes of the surrounding crowd, Little William followed the guard up the steps.
After a period of anxious waiting, the line gradually moved forward.
Jörg, who had been wondering whether his autograph might become absurdly valuable in the future, was pulled back into the joyous present by the arrival of a child.
He picked up his pen and smiled.
"What is your name?"
"My name is Carlos William!" Little William answered loudly. "Mr. President, can you sign this flag?"
He happily handed the small flag to Jörg.
Jörg accepted the little military flag and signed his name on it. Then he raised his hand slightly, signaling the guards on both sides not to hurry the child along.
"What do you want to become when you grow up, William?"
Little William answered almost without hesitation.
"A Wehrmacht soldier! Like my father!"
Jörg seemed especially pleased by that answer.
"Then work hard, William. I look forward to the day I place a medal on your chest."
Seeing her son suddenly throw himself into the President's arms, Helka was so startled that she nearly spoke out to stop him. But then she noticed the gentle look Jörg directed toward her.
After placing Little William back on his feet, Jörg smiled and said, "You have a fine son, madam. Germany is proud of you and your family. Enjoy the Olympics."
With that, Jörg took an unopened piece of chocolate from his pocket and handed it to Little William.
Only after watching mother and son leave did he return his attention to the next person waiting in line.
The grand event continued for several more days.
During the Olympics, Jörg was almost always present. He cheered with the people, sighed with them at missed victories, and smiled with them at unexpected triumphs.
But no grand event could last forever.
Two weeks later, on the eve of the Olympic closing ceremony, Berlin's pubs, restaurants, cinemas, and other places of entertainment were packed to capacity. Tourists and athletes, reluctant to part with the city, spent their final night in the heart of Europe enjoying themselves as if unwilling to let the dream end.
Jörg did not attend the closing ceremony.
Instead, Joseph delivered the final speech.
Although Joseph's gift for public speaking was no weaker than Jörg's, in the hearts of the people, Jörg had already become Germany's living totem.
He represented this new and powerful nation.
He was Germany, and Germany was him, young, confident, and brilliant like the August sun.
Internationally, the Berlin Olympics received almost universal praise.
From its unique torch relay to its dark horse opening ceremony, the Berlin Olympics was like a perfectly orchestrated stage play, breathtaking from beginning to end.
"Undoubtedly, Berlin has replaced London as the heart of Europe!"
The American Progress Report.
"Artistic creativity, a jubilant atmosphere, and unmatched organization. If I were to rate the Berlin Olympics, I would give it a perfect score!"
The Spanish Evening News.
"The Berlin Olympics embodies Germany's pursuit of peace, and peace will undoubtedly be the defining word of Europe's future."
The Times.
Yet amid all the praise, one question quietly spread.
Where was Jörg von Roman?
The reason Jörg had not attended the closing ceremony was simple.
Hindenburg was gravely ill.
Königsberg, East Prussia.
A private hospital in the suburbs.
The gentle sea breeze could not dispel the faint sadness in Jörg's heart.
Hindenburg's relationship with him was unlike any other.
He had been Jörg's guide, benefactor, patron, and the last bridge connecting him to the old days of the Weimar period.
It was no exaggeration to say that everything Jörg had achieved today was inseparable from the support of three men: Hindenburg, Albert, and Seeckt.
And among them, Hindenburg was the one who had walked beside him the longest and supported him the most.
An unlit cigarette slowly burned away between Jörg's fingers.
A moment later, a deep voice called out from behind him as he stopped before the hospital entrance.
"Jörg? Come walk with me."
Escorted by a nurse, Hindenburg appeared before him in a wheelchair.
Although his rest after resigning from office had extended his life by two years, his bearded face was now covered with the exhaustion of age.
The eyes that had once been cloudy yet spirited now held only a calm acceptance of life's end.
But the moment he saw Jörg, Hindenburg's failing mind suddenly seemed to clear.
His loose hospital gown, pale beneath the lights, seemed for an instant to become once more the marshal's uniform adorned with golden braids.
"Of course, Herr Hindenburg."
Jörg stepped forward and took the wheelchair from the nurse.
The entire street had already been cleared. Cool streetlamps illuminated the road, and by the evening sea, gentle waves lapped against the shore. The full moon hung above the water, casting a dreamlike glow across the world.
For once, the two men did not speak of military affairs or politics.
They did not discuss the fate of the nation, nor the affairs that had occupied most of their lives.
Hindenburg only talked about his fishing experiences in East Prussia, and that unusually large tuna he had once caught.
Jörg spoke only of ordinary family matters.
He mentioned that Lucy was pregnant and could not sleep properly because she kept thinking about the child's name. He talked about Senna, who had gained a great deal of weight during her pregnancy and still insisted she had not changed at all.
Hindenburg merely smiled as he listened.
Then, like an old tree stump rooted in a forgotten age, he began to speak of the past.
Of glory.
Of Prussia.
Of kings, Russians, Frenchmen, and countless brutal wars.
He spoke of soldiers whose legs had been blown off, yet who still kept their rifles aimed.
He spoke of officers who had shoved their own intestines back into their stomachs while shouting for their men to charge.
He spoke of battlefields where blood and gunpowder mixed so thickly that even the wind seemed unable to breathe.
"Jörg," Hindenburg said at last, "tell me about the present."
Jörg pushed the wheelchair to a wooden platform by the sea.
Looking at the full moon above the water, he said quietly, "Herr Hindenburg, I am ready to end all of this."
Hindenburg understood what he meant.
"I am not as capable as you," the old marshal said. "I cannot give you better advice. But I know one thing. In military affairs, a man must be cautious and ruthless."
His voice was old, yet firm.
"You must use soldiers like paper. But even a piece of waste paper must be used for its proper value."
He paused, breathing faintly.
"Jörg, I believe that under your leadership, Germany will welcome a golden age like Napoleon's. Prussia will witness an empire on which the sun never sets."
A faint regret entered his voice.
"It is a pity that I will not see it."
Then he smiled.
"But fortunately, you can see it for me."
The old marshal's gaze drifted toward the moon.
"Whether you bring back the royal family is your decision. But please ensure their safety. This is the final wish of an old man."
Hindenburg took a deep breath of the faintly salty sea breeze.
He looked up at the moon above the sea, his pupils gradually dilating.
"Tonight's moon... is so round..."
Jörg lowered his gaze.
After confirming that Hindenburg had stopped breathing, he stood silently for a long time.
Then he nodded gently.
"Yes, Herr Hindenburg."
His voice was soft, almost drowned by the waves.
"Tonight's moon... is so round."
.....
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