Chapter 2 The Hydra’s Children
The Hydra’s Children
Berlin
As assistant to army general Werner von Blomberg, Derek found himself in the office of the recently appointed chancellor of
Germany, Kurt von Schleicher. Derek was well aware of the lack of sympathy between the men.
“General, have a seat,” the new chancellor said, seemingly with the confidence of one who believed he could rein in Adolf
Hitler as easily as he had supplanted the former chancellor, Franz von Papen.
“As you wish, Chancellor.”
Von Schleicher, whose good-natured and friendly affect made him an effective negotiator, turned a serious gaze at the recently
widowed officer. He knew that von Blomberg detested him.
“How did things go at the World Disarmament Conference?” von Schleicher asked. There was nothing jovial in the question.
Von Blomberg, with Derek in tow, had recently returned from an unpleasant gathering in Geneva, where delegates had spent months attempting to reach an agreement.
Most had resigned themselves to enjoying the city and its expensive restaurants in the face of the standoffs: The Soviets refused to budge, and the Germans tested every angle to get their former enemies to remove the restrictions on their national army.
“Nothing much to report. Only the United States seems to understand our position—and the Soviets, to a degree—presuming that
support for us would lead to their rearmament as well.”
Von Schleicher knew von Blomberg’s political tendencies, which is why he had called the general to his office. The chancellor
had told himself it was time to face the devil, though his father had warned him that the devil always came for his due after
a deal.
“I’d like to have more direct contact with Adolf Hitler,” said von Schleicher. “I’m already in touch with Gregor Strasser,
though he’s losing ground in the Party.”
“I’m not sure that Hitler is interested in your Querfront strategy. He’s about to hold all the power. Why would he join a coalition with sectors of the Communist and Socialist Parties?”
Von Blomberg made no effort to conceal the disdain in his voice. In fact, he quite enjoyed watching the confusion of the traditional
politicians. Though as a Prussian he detested Hitler’s commonplace looks and shrill speech—not to mention the fact that he
had only achieved the low rank of Gefreiter—what he liked was that the man knew how to control the political terrain and make it follow his rules.
Von Schleicher sat up in his seat. His pudgy body tensed, and sweat prickled at the neck of his spotless white shirt.
“President von Hindenburg would never agree to a government presided over by that ‘Bohemian corporal,’ as he calls him. Germany still has enough strength and class to keep from falling into the hands of opportunists.”
Derek still stood at attention behind his boss. Every day he was less interested in politics. All he wanted was to get back
to see Helene. They had been apart for almost a month, and there was so much to prepare. The wedding would be in the summer,
despite the fact that most of both families disapproved of the union.
“If you’ll help me,” the chancellor continued, “I can appoint you head of the army.”
Such tactics did not work on von Blomberg, whose Kantian code of honor was unshakable. The general forced a smile, knowing
that President von Hindenburg trusted him more than he relied on the current chancellor.
The general stood at attention. “I’m sorry, I won’t be able to do that.”
The insult was not lost on von Schleicher. He contained his fury, knowing that the support he had after only a few hours in
office was tenuous. His power extended only as far as a piece of paper. In reality, Franz von Papen conspired behind his back,
von Hindenburg saw him as a pawn filling a space until a new government was named, and the Nazis hated him for being too traditional.
Von Blomberg walked decidedly out of the office, his leather boots smacking against the hallway floor. Derek followed a few
steps behind until the general stopped short.
“What an utterly despicable clown,” von Blomberg burst out.
Derek, his pale face now red, knew to keep his mouth shut while the man vented.
At the car, the general directed the driver to the Hotel Kaiserhof, where Hitler and his trusted men lodged. The Austrian-born
leader detested Berlin, a little bourgeois city full of despicable Jews and horrid architecture. The hotel was the only place
in the decadent capital he tolerated.
Beyond the entryway, two SS officers watched the movements of all who entered and exited the enormous hall. They snapped to
attention when they spotted the uniforms of Derek and his boss, who were standing in a room in Hitler’s suite a few minutes
later.
Derek had never seen the National Socialist candidate in person. He was simultaneously nervous and intrigued but, when the
famous orator walked in, he was ultimately unimpressed.
Hitler was shorter than Derek: five feet nine inches, at best. His straight black hair was combed to the side, and the only
features that stood out in his commoner’s face were his bright blue eyes and the look of a distrusting merchant. As he stood
at attention, Derek knew Helene would not believe what he had to tell her.
The general saluted Hitler with his arm raised, and Derek followed suit, though the movement was not completely fluid. Hitler
was carrying a riding whip in his hand and tapping it gently against his thigh.
“My dear general, how good to see you!” the Nazi leader exclaimed with a smile. Then he sat, and von Blomberg followed his
example.
Tea was served, and the room smelled of Danish pastries and red roses.
Derek was taken aback by Hitler’s nearly servile cordiality. Before speaking, the Nazi leader cast a curious glance at Derek and then looked back at von Blomberg.
“He has my complete trust,” von Blomberg said gravely, then gestured for Derek to stand at ease.
“Very well.” Hitler gave a single nod. “Have you spoken with the chancellor?”
“Yes. He’s willing to make you vice-chancellor in a new government presided over by von Papen.”
“What a waste of time! We haven’t gotten this far just to be the vice-anything. Power is not what I’m after, General—I’m here
to change Germany. So we’ll call for new elections!” he exclaimed. He slurped his tea, then gnawed at a pastry, slouching
back in the comfortable chair.
“The communists and Social Democrats are gaining ground. If they win the next elections, we’re bound to become a damned Soviet
country!” von Blomberg spouted out.
His outburst did not sit well with Hitler, who frowned and leaned forward. “We can keep that from happening, but I’ve got
to have the ministry to the interior, foreign affairs, and justice. Anything less would mean selling the German people, and
I’m not willing to do that. Understood?” The question came with Hitler’s piercing wolf gaze, which few could meet for even
a second.
“But that’s impossible! You don’t have more than thirty-three percent of the votes. You’ve lost seats. They simply won’t accept
it. I’m with you, but I’m a realist.”
Hitler crossed his arms over his chest like a child whose toy had been taken away. “Well, happy holidays,” he pouted. Then
he stood and quickly exited the room with a curved back, as if his shoulders bore a heavy weight.
Von Blomberg looked at Derek, stood, and let out a long sigh.
They left the hotel, and Derek checked his watch as they made their way through the chilly streets of Berlin. Within an hour
he would be with Helene. That was all that really mattered to him. The last time he had seen her had been at breakfast in
her apartment the month before. They had barely even been able to talk on the phone since. He was counting the seconds.