Chapter 25: Interwar Period – The Sudetenland Crisis (2)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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May 8, 1938
Hjalmar Schacht’s Residence, Berlin, Germany
“Dietrich, welcome home.”
“Mother, how have you been?” He was used to acting affectionately towards Luise Sowa, his mother as Dietrich.
It had been difficult at first, but seeing her happy that her wayward son was finally treating her kindly was rewarding.
But today, he wasn’t just here to visit his mother.
He had been a better son to her than the original Dietrich, but he hadn’t forgotten his true purpose.
He thought of the invitation tucked inside his jacket and swallowed nervously.
Tresckow might have judged him based on their conversation, but the ‘higher-ups’ in the Kleist Group were more interested in his father, Hjalmar Schacht. He wouldn’t be considered a valuable asset unless he could bring his father on board.
Hjalmar was a shrewd and capable economist, a gifted orator. He had even managed to silence Roland Freisler, the “Bloody Judge” who had sentenced countless Nazi opponents to death with his arrogant and insulting pronouncements.
He had even secured an acquittal at the Nuremberg trials, despite being practically defenseless, maintaining his arrogant and defiant demeanor throughout.
He knew that his father would eventually join the anti-Nazi resistance, but he didn’t know who had persuaded him in the original timeline. Now, because of him, it had become his responsibility.
His mother was so delighted to see him that it wasn’t until after dinner that he finally had a chance to speak to his father alone.
“What is it, Dietrich?” Hjalmar, looking composed and intellectual, rather than the disheveled figure he had first met, looked at him impassively from behind his glasses.
“Um… how’s… work…” He stopped mid-sentence. What a stupid question to ask a man who had been dismissed, even if he still held the title of minister without portfolio!
Hjalmar glanced at him, folded the newspaper he was reading – the Frankfurter Zeitung – and placed it on the desk, turning to face him, “You have something to say? Sit down.”
“Yes, sir…” He sat obediently on the sofa opposite his father.
“So?”
“Have you heard of the Kleist Group, Father?”
“Yes.”
It was known as a social gathering of aristocrats, so it would have been strange if he hadn’t.
“They’ve invited us to their next meeting. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in attending.”
“Yes.”
“…Excuse me?”
“You’re asking me to go with you, aren’t you?”
“…Yes…”
“Then I’ll go.” He was confused.
In Dietrich’s memories, Hjalmar wasn’t kind or affectionate. Even discounting Dietrich’s own failings, Hjalmar was a typical workaholic politician.
He had never been close to his family, so it wasn’t surprising that his relationship with Dietrich had been strained.
“…Do you know what kind of group this is, Father?”
“It’s a group of people who oppose Hitler.” He almost jumped out of his seat, but managed to stay put.
How did he know?
“I was invited when I was still Minister of Economics.”
“Ah…” So, they had already approached him, though he hadn’t joined yet.
Hjalmar was silent for a moment, then clenched his fist, “Back then, I believed that Hitler and the Nazis were Germany’s hope. I believed they would save our country from the burden of the Treaty of Versailles, from the humiliation of foreign troops occupying the Ruhr, the heart of our industry.”
His father had been half-right. Hitler would rebuild Germany and defeat France, which had occupied the Ruhr and humiliated the German government.
But Hitler had achieved those successes through a combination of luck and circumstance, and he had used the resulting popular support to lead Germany to ruin.
“So, I helped them as much as I could, neglecting my family and friends. It was foolish of me.” Hjalmar’s contribution to Hitler’s rise to power had been significant.
It was largely thanks to him that the Nazi Party, originally a fringe group with extremist views anathema to business leaders, had secured the financial support of the business community.
He had also played a key role in curbing the hyperinflation caused by the Treaty of Versailles and the Ruhr occupation and in rebuilding the German economy, making rearmament possible.
Hjalmar tapped his fingers on the armrest of the sofa, “I know what you’ve been doing lately. Luise is much happier thanks to you. I’ll go to this meeting, but there’s something I need to tell you.”
“…Yes, sir.”
“The German economy is on the verge of collapse. If we don’t reduce military spending immediately, there’s no way to stop inflation. But I doubt those militarists will agree to such a thing, even if it means getting rid of Hitler and the Nazis.”
He had suspected as much. His father had been dismissed because he had warned about the economic consequences of unchecked military spending. Göring, his rival, had boasted that he could increase military spending without harming the economy.
It had been six months since then…
Göring’s boasts had proven empty, and the issuance of Mefo bills had been halted recently, as the Nazi regime could no longer sustain its unsustainable war economy.
He had read analyses arguing that the Nazis’ war economy made war inevitable, but it wasn’t pleasant to see it confirmed in reality.
“I don’t have a high opinion of you, but I hope you’re not involved in this just because you think everything will be fine once Hitler and the Nazis are gone.”
“…Haha… yes…”
He had been feeling optimistic after his meeting with Claudia, but now he had another problem to worry about.
—
May 14, 1938
Schmenzin, Farther Pomerania, Germany (present-day Smęcino, Poland)
The ‘castle’ of Ewald von Kleist-Schmenzin, a traditional aristocratic family in Pomerania, looked more like a large mansion to him.
Shouldn’t a castle in this era be more like Neuschwanstein?
Even the French châteaux weren’t quite like the castles depicted in medieval stories. Reality was always disappointing.
Ewald von Kleist-Schmenzin, the owner of this ‘castle,’ was a different person from the Wehrmacht general, Ewald von Kleist, though they shared the same name and family. Kleist-Schmenzin, a fervent anti-Nazi who had been imprisoned for refusing to fly the swastika flag over his property, was a gentleman with a receding hairline and a magnificent mustache.
“Thank you for coming, Minister Schacht. Or should I say, former Minister?”
“Thank you for the invitation, Kleist-Schmenzin.” The barbed exchange between his father and their host made him nervous.
Was Kleist-Schmenzin criticizing his father for refusing the invitation while he was still a minister and accepting it only after being dismissed?
“Ah, is this your son?”
“Yes, my son, Dietrich Schacht.”
Kleist-Schmenzin turned his attention to him. He greeted him cautiously, “It’s an honor to meet the head of such a distinguished family. Captain Dietrich Schacht, at your service.”
“Oh, haha. A well-mannered young man. I’ve heard of you, Captain Schacht. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
They entered the house, leaving their host to greet other guests. Inside, a social gathering was in full swing, like a scene from a medieval story. Elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen… It looked like a typical high-society event.
Social gatherings like this were practically mandatory for the upper echelons of society. Even the Nazis wouldn’t interfere with these seemingly harmless events, where people mingled, gossiped, and even arranged marriages.
These seemingly idle guests were members of traditional aristocratic families or prominent members of high society, so it was best not to offend them.
High-ranking military officers also attended these events as a matter of custom, reducing the risk of suspicion.
As he and his father entered the room, a familiar face approached them, “Minister Schacht, thank you for coming. Lieutenant Colonel Henning von Tresckow.”
“Good to see you, Colonel. Hjalmar Schacht.”
“How have you been, Lieutenant Colonel?”
Tresckow chuckled at his question and whispered, “Wait a moment. I’ll call you when everyone’s assembled.”
“Certainly. Thank you.”
“You’ll find many interesting people inside. Enjoy yourselves.” Tresckow nodded and walked away.
There was no turning back now. He had taken his first step into the Schwarze Kapelle (Black Orchestra), the anti-Nazi resistance, even if he wasn’t fully committed yet. He needed to be careful.
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