Chapter 74: The Devil Has the Last Laugh
The moment Seckt hung up the phone, Drew understood one thing with perfect clarity.
There had been a minor disturbance, yes, but the outcome had not changed.
In the end, he would still be the one laughing last.
A mere Rapid Response Force?
When this was over, he would throw that so called commander into the stables and have him spend the rest of his life raising horses.
"Speak," Drew said at last, watching Seckt closely. "What are you going to do?"
Seckt picked up the cigarette that had been bent out of shape during their scuffle. He tried to straighten it, then pressed the lighter once, then twice. Only a few weak sparks jumped out. Still no flame.
His expression darkened.
In the next instant, he crushed the cigarette into pieces in his palm.
"Damn it!"
Drew did not react to the outburst. He only continued in the same steady tone as before, as if everything had already been calculated down to the last detail.
"Call the commanders of the various army districts. Make them understand one fact: Jörg has staged a coup, and Berlin is in immediate danger. At the same time, order the two infantry divisions stationed outside Berlin to enter the capital at once."
Then he narrowed his eyes.
"And you must personally go to the First Armored Division. A phone call will not be enough to control them. They are all Jörg's men."
"Only if you go in person will they abandon the thought of resistance."
Seckt did not answer immediately.
He had begun searching the desk again, not for a document, not for a telephone number, but for a match. All he wanted at that moment was to light one damned cigarette.
At last he found one.
He struck it.
The match head snapped off and dropped uselessly to the floor.
"Damn it all!"
He snatched up the receiver.
Then, before he could issue a single order, a disturbance from outside the window made him turn his head instinctively.
At the outer guard post, the sentries had already sensed that something was wrong.
From the distant road came the rumble of engines.
Two unfamiliar tanks were speeding straight toward Reichswehr headquarters.
For a brief moment, the guards hesitated. Report it? Raise the alarm? Open fire?
That instant of uncertainty cost them everything.
The tanks were already upon them.
With a screech of metal and a blast of snow and mud, they came to a stop. Dust and slush sprayed into the guards' faces. Several of them started to raise their rifles, but then noticed the soldiers clinging to the armor.
Even beneath the black rain capes, the rank insignia on their shoulders was unmistakable.
Officers.
Not only officers, but officers from the First Armored Division.
That hesitation doomed them.
An officer carrying a submachine gun jumped down from the lead tank. He looked at them once and gave the order without the slightest pause.
"Disarm them."
The sentries stared at him in disbelief.
"This..."
Before they could resist, soldiers were already on top of them. They were slammed into the snow, their wrists bound with rope, their rifles stripped away in one clean motion.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
One guard managed to shout before the officer smashed a rifle butt into the side of his head and knocked him cold.
"Behave yourselves and stop yelling," the officer barked. "We are all soldiers of the Reichswehr. I do not want to kill anyone."
He stepped forward, his boots sinking into the snow, and spoke in a voice loud enough for every sentry to hear.
"I am here by order of Jörg, commander of the First Armored Division, to take over the Reichswehr and arrest the coup faction."
He paused, then added with cold, almost mocking calm:
"This rifle butt is on me. When this is over, if you want satisfaction, come find me at the First Armored Division. My name is Rommel."
He turned at once and began issuing orders.
"Everyone else, proceed according to the original plan."
"Groups One and Two, seize the broadcasting section and the General Staff communications office. Cut off all external transmissions. Resumption time will await further orders."
"Groups Three and Four, secure every road junction."
"Groups Five and Six, take over all interior and exterior security at Reichswehr headquarters. No one enters or leaves without direct authorization from Jörg."
"Group Seven, receive the follow up forces."
"Group Eight, with me. We are taking the Commander in Chief's office."
He vaulted back onto the tank.
The armored vehicle smashed straight through the frail wooden barrier and rolled into headquarters grounds like an iron beast.
The remaining sentries finally understood what was happening. Some tried to form a human wall. Others shouted for reinforcements.
Rommel did not slow down.
"Drive through them," he ordered coldly. "Fire one round as a warning."
The engine roared, belching thick black smoke.
The tank ground across the central lawn and stopped directly beneath the statue of Bismarck. All around it, senior officers stared in stunned disbelief.
Then the gun barrel elevated.
Boom.
A single shell tore into the frozen lawn.
Earth, snow, and stone burst skyward. When the smoke cleared, a huge crater had opened in the heart of headquarters grounds.
That one shot shattered the last illusion of hesitation.
Truck after truck poured in.
Armored cars followed close behind.
Squad after squad of black coated soldiers armed with submachine guns flooded through the heavy snow and into the red brick complex.
In less than ten minutes, every entrance and exit of the entire General Staff complex had been sealed. Two tanks began patrolling fixed routes, and the smoking crater in the lawn became the most eloquent warning of all.
The third tank did not remain.
It surged back out through the snow, followed by two trucks filled with soldiers, and headed straight for the Commander in Chief's office.
Inside the communications wing, several officers tried to protest.
"What are you doing? You are from the First Armored Division, aren't you? Do you even understand what you are doing?"
The black coated troops ignored them.
They swept through the corridor and advanced on the broadcasting room. The duty officer inside tried to slam the door shut, but the lead platoon commander kicked it open before it could latch.
He raised his weapon and fired several rounds into the ceiling.
The room froze.
"I am acting under orders to take over the Reichswehr," he roared. "All personnel are to leave their positions immediately. All current work stops at once. From this moment forward, National Defense Headquarters is under emergency radio silence."
"Hands up."
The men inside were not cowards, and more than a few wore the stiff expressions of bureaucrats who had no intention of yielding to a young officer with a gun.
Then another figure entered.
A young man in a dark coat, wearing the Iron Cross and the rank of colonel.
Jörg stepped out of the specially modified bulletproof Imperial Eagle and into the room under the escort of black uniformed troops. Every soldier along the route snapped to attention and saluted him.
He did not return the gesture.
He moved through them with the calm of a man who had already decided the outcome.
His eyes swept across the room.
"Everyone," he said, voice low and sharp, "stop."
No one moved.
He took another step forward.
"I will not repeat myself. If a single one of you twitches the wrong way, your pension will be delivered to your family by morning."
The room went still.
Only now did the weight of his presence settle over them.
No shouting. No wasted fury.
Just absolute certainty.
After signaling for the soldiers to remove the staff, Jörg went straight into the inner communications room.
There, he leaned over the telegrapher and asked in an icy voice:
"Have you received orders from the Commander in Chief's office?"
The man was already trembling.
"Yes... yes, Colonel."
"What orders?"
"To transmit... martial law in Berlin," the man stammered, "and to report that you had organized a rebellion."
Jörg's face did not change.
"Has it been sent?"
The telegrapher swallowed.
He nodded, then hastily shook his head.
"Only halfway. We had just finished transmitting the encrypted code for martial law in Berlin. The remaining content had not yet been encoded and sent."
"The army districts are still verifying whether the order was issued in error."
Jörg gave a slight nod.
That alone made the situation far better than he had expected.
He beckoned over one of the First Armored Division's own signal officers.
"Call every army district according to the contingency instructions I gave before my departure. Then verify every word he has said."
The telegrapher flinched.
Jörg looked at him.
"If he is lying," he said flatly, "then I apologize in advance. You will be the only casualty of this operation."
He let the words hang for a heartbeat before adding:
"Do not worry. You will receive the highest wartime compensation."
The First Armored Division signal officer saluted.
"Yes, Colonel."
The telegrapher nearly collapsed on the spot. He hurriedly shoved the codebook into the signal officer's hands without another word.
Jörg turned away and looked at Guderian.
"Guderian, you will remain here and command the communications center. Anything may go wrong tonight, but not this room. Do you understand?"
Guderian drew himself up at once.
"Yes, sir."
Jörg gave a single nod.
"I am going to the Commander in Chief's office."
His gaze hardened.
"It is time to settle everything."
.....
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