Chapter 37: Interwar Period – Widerstand (7)
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
For the latest updates, visit: ProNovels.com
Join our Discord for release updates: https://discord.gg/Eh2ayfR4FB
July 28, 1939
Berlin Pub, Germany
“Diplomacy is war by other means. Idiots who don’t understand that can’t conduct foreign policy. And our Foreign Office is full of them!”
“Indeed, Minister Ribbentrop’s achievements are remarkable. The Anschluss, the Munich Agreement… British and French diplomats are no match for you.”
Claudia, sitting with Ribbentrop in a Berlin pub on a Friday evening under the guise of an interview, felt her irritation and anxiety growing. She maintained a pleasant smile, playing to his ego.
“You’re a discerning woman! It’s a pleasure to drink with such an intelligent beauty!”
“The pleasure is all mine, Minister. It’s an honor to be in the company of the world’s greatest foreign minister.” Claudia sipped her beer, wondering when he would finally excuse himself to use the restroom.
The pub was nearing closing time, and the crowd had thinned considerably. She fought the urge to chew her lip, anxiously waiting for her opportunity.
“You’re a very attractive woman. If my wife were as beautiful as you, I’d rush home every evening! Haha!”
“Ah, yes…” Just go to the bathroom, you fool! The Abwehr agents waiting outside must be getting anxious.
Ribbentrop drained half his beer and slammed the mug on the table, grinning. “I’m very fond of you, you know. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and you don’t talk nonsense. I wish our Foreign Office staff were half as competent.”
“I’m flattered, Minister. Your favor has certainly helped my career.” She had officially resigned from the Frankfurter Zeitung after Dietrich had recruited her, sending information to Heuss while remaining out of sight.
As she kept Ribbentrop engaged, she noticed the last of the other patrons leaving. They were alone now.
“Well, then. I have a little gift for you, my dear.” Ribbentrop, oblivious to their solitude, leaned in conspiratorially. Claudia instinctively recoiled, but regained her composure as he whispered in her ear,
“I’m working on something that will make all those old-fashioned diplomatic policies obsolete.”
This was it. She reached for the capsule in her pocket, struggling to open it with sweaty fingers.
“…Something truly remarkable.” Was her smile convincing? She couldn’t be sure, focused on opening the capsule.
“But such a magnificent gift requires a little… reciprocation, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ribbentrop was still close, his voice a low murmur.
“Reciprocation… you mean…?” A cold sweat trickled down her back as she feigned a playful curiosity.
“Oh, come now, my beautiful journalist. Don’t be so tense. I simply desire a more… private meeting. Hahaha.”
“A private meeting…” Under normal circumstances, she would have been furious. Did he think he could make her his mistress? But that was hardly a concern now.
She met Ribbentrop’s gaze, her stiff expression mistaken for nervous anticipation, and finally managed to open the capsule. “Yes. If you agree, my dear, I’ll give you an exclusive scoop, the biggest story of the year. A mutually beneficial arrangement, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ah, I see.” Maintaining her smile, she carefully poured the contents of the capsule into his beer mug while pretending to search for it.
“So, what’s your answer?”
“Hmm…” She found his mug, but he, misinterpreting her hesitation, started to pull away, a look of disappointment on his face.
“Not so fast.” She caught his chin with her left hand, pulling him back with a seductive smile. He leered at her, and she dropped the capsule into his beer.
“I’m not cheap, Minister. If you want a private meeting, I need to know if your ‘magnificent’ news is worth my time.”
“Haha, very well. You’re a woman worth pursuing. I’m parched.” His expression clearly said, “Impudent woman.” She didn’t care.
The few seconds it took him to lift his mug felt like an eternity.
“Very well. Haha. You’re worth it. I’m about to conclude a non-agg…” He slumped forward. She caught him before he hit the floor, gently lowering him onto the table.
“Oh dear, I told you not to drink so much…” She spoke loudly, feigning concern, then left a generous tip on the table and helped Ribbentrop to his feet.
“So sorry, we stayed too long.”
“Oh, not at all! Have a good night!” The pub owner, torn between his inability to eject a Nazi official and his desire to get rid of them, beamed at the sight of the generous tip.
As she half-dragged Ribbentrop outside, a car pulled up, and he was quickly bundled into the back seat. “…Auf Wiedersehen.”
Claudia’s farewell was cold and final. The car sped away.
Enjoying the translation? Stay updated with the latest chapters at ProNovels.com.
August 20, 1939
Moscow, Soviet Union
Joseph Stalin, General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, sat in his office, scowling. “France can mobilize only one hundred divisions, and Britain a mere four. And the French insist on staying behind the Maginot Line…”
The speaker was Marshal Kliment Voroshilov, Stalin’s close friend and confidant. But even he was cautious. The shadow of the Great Purge still loomed large.
Stalin had been furious when Britain refused to send Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax to negotiate. He had cursed when the British delegation, far below his expectations, arrived by passenger ship and spent a day sightseeing in Leningrad.
“…These damned capitalist swine have no intention of allying with us.”
Voroshilov hesitated, then replied, “I agree, Koba.”
Stalin sighed and turned to Lavrentiy Beria, head of the NKVD, who stood beside Voroshilov. Beria, the architect of the Great Purge, cringed under Stalin’s gaze.
“As you instructed, we investigated. There’s no connection to the Rote Kapelle. The suspect’s movements are untraceable, and the operation was meticulously planned. It wasn’t a simple hate crime. She had support from within Germany, Comrade Stalin.”
Ribbentrop’s assassination had made headlines worldwide. The Nazis, humiliated by their inability to apprehend the suspect, had launched a belated investigation.
The fact that Claudia Jung had been working as a journalist for years, gaining access to Ribbentrop, and her past association with socialist movements, had led the Nazis to accuse the Soviet Union of orchestrating the assassination.
“…Or it could be the work of the British or the French, hoping to see us bleed…”
With his attempts to forge an alliance with Britain and France thwarted by their lukewarm response, Stalin’s suspicions were understandable.
“Comrade Stalin, we have reports of secret contacts between German dissidents and the British.”
Beria’s report fueled Stalin’s suspicions. Soviet intelligence was aware of the German resistance’s attempts to contact the British. They didn’t know the specifics, however.
“Hmph, I won’t let them have their way. While the fascists distract the capitalist pigs, we’ll deal with Finland.” Stalin had made his decision.
—
August 31, 1939
New Reich Chancellery, Berlin, Germany
“Damn it! Nothing’s going right! That imbecile Ribbentrop, seduced by a communist whore!” Hitler slammed his fist on the table. His popularity, sky-high after the Munich Agreement, was eroding as war loomed.
Public support was still strong, but the military was deeply apprehensive. They feared a war against Britain, France, and possibly the Soviet Union.
“Idiots! Cowards! The Anglo-Franco-Soviet talks failed! They won’t intervene! It’s the same as Munich! Why don’t they understand!”
Göring and Himmler listened nervously to Hitler’s rant. Hitler, breathing heavily, finally calmed down and turned to Göring. “How much gold do we have left?”
“Mein Führer, we’re facing a credit crisis. Businesses are on the verge of bankruptcy after years of unpaid MEFO bills. The Czechoslovak gold reserves were smaller than we anticipated…”
“Damn it! Always the economy!” Despite Schacht’s warnings, they had printed MEFO bills to finance their rearmament, and even after seizing the Czechoslovak gold reserves, they were still short of funds.
They desperately needed war. Without it, the economy would collapse, and the regime would fall. Hitler turned to Himmler. “Even those fools in the Wehrmacht won’t be able to object if Poland declares war first. Implement ‘Operation Himmler.’”
“Yes, mein Führer!”
—
Gleiwitz, Germany
One day before the outbreak of World War II.
Gleiwitz, a town in Silesia near the German-Polish border, housed a radio station with the tallest wooden broadcasting tower in Germany.
“[Grandmother has died. Repeat, grandmother has died.]”
“Grandmother has died, confirmed.”
Alfred Naujocks, an Obersturmführer in the SS, and his SD agents, who had been waiting in Gleiwitz, stretched. “Finally. What about the ‘cans’?”
“They’re alive, but still unconscious.”
The “cans” were concentration camp prisoners selected by Heydrich, rendered unconscious by poison.
“Operation commences. Change into your uniforms. Speak only Polish from now on. This is a crucial mission. No mistakes!”
“Yes, sir!” The Nazis, wanting to avoid a wider war, had devised a plan in May to fabricate a Polish attack, provoking a declaration of war.
Operation Himmler. Their mission was to attack the Gleiwitz radio station in Polish uniforms, broadcast a declaration of war in Polish, and then stage a retreat, leaving behind the “cans,” dressed in Polish uniforms and shot dead, to be presented as evidence of Polish aggression.
While Britain and France had eventually declared war, this operation had effectively demonized Poland, despite their heavy losses in the war.
The truth, that the incident was a staged SD operation, would not be revealed until after the war, during the Nuremberg trials.
“Ugh… sleepy… when’s my shift over…? Huh?!” The radio station guard stared at the men in Polish uniforms bursting through the door, guns drawn. “P-please, don’t shoot…”
He was clubbed unconscious.
“What the…? Polish troops?!”
“D-don’t shoot! We’re civilians!” The SD agents, maintaining their “Polish” charade, were ruthless. The radio station staff, unfortunate enough to be on duty, were beaten and tied up.
Naujocks, having secured the radio station, smirked. Everything was going according to plan. All that remained was to broadcast the declaration of war and stage the “Polish” casualties.
He’d shoot them in the back to simulate a retreat. He was considering the details when the lights went out. “What the…?”
“What’s going on?!”
As his men swore in German, Naujocks frowned. Suddenly, the sound of boots filled the building, and the door burst open, revealing German soldiers.
“What the…?!” Naujocks and his men were quickly overpowered. He briefly wondered if he had been betrayed, but dismissed the thought. This operation was too important to be sabotaged. There had to be some misunderstanding.
Unable to reveal his identity, he fumbled for his SD identification card. “Don’t shoot! We’re SD! You’re disrupting a vital operation…” He was struck in the face with a rifle butt, spitting out broken teeth.
“Damn it! We’re SD! You’re jeopardizing…” He was kicked in the gut and collapsed.
“I know who you are, Obersturmführer Naujocks.” A man wearing a Lieutenant Colonel’s uniform entered the room. “Lieutenant Colonel, we’ve secured the perimeter!”
Oster, deputy head of the Abwehr, nodded and ordered his men to release the radio station staff. “What… what’s happening?”
“The SS were about to commit an act of treason, dragging Germany into war. We’re here to protect you.”
“Oh… thank you…” The radio station staff, valuable witnesses, had to be protected. As the power was restored, Oster picked up the telephone, requesting a connection. He swallowed hard.
There was no turning back. But was this the right course of action? “[Captain Schacht speaking.]”
“…Grandmother hasn’t died.”
“[…Well done, Lieutenant Colonel. Phase one is complete.]” He heard sighs of relief from Schacht’s end. Oster hesitated. His belief in the necessity of removing Hitler had never wavered. But how many German lives would be lost in this coup?
He had wrestled with this question for a long time. “[Lieutenant Colonel, we don’t know what the future holds, but one thing is certain: if we allow Hitler to continue his course, the consequences will be far worse than anything we can imagine.]”
Schacht, always passionate, almost reckless in his dedication to their cause, seemed to read his mind. Oster realized that they wouldn’t have come this far without Schacht.
And having come this far, there was no turning back. “…Authorize Operation Widerstand.”
He heard the phone being passed to someone else. A long, heavy silence followed.
Oster waited anxiously. Finally, Beck’s voice came through the receiver, “[Operation Widerstand is authorized. God save Germany.]”
“Confirmed. Operation Widerstand commences. God save Germany.”
The die had been cast.
For the latest updates, visit ProNovels.com. Join our Discord for release updates: https://discord.gg/Eh2ayfR4FB.
