“…My Fuhrer…
have I failed to live up to your expectations?”
Göring’s face was stricken.
The blow had clearly shaken him—so much so that it took him several moments before he could even find the words.
(Part of me—the part that inherited Hitler’s memories—can’t help feeling sorry for him.
But this is for the Reich.)
After my lengthy speech at Schleswig Air Base, Göring requested a private audience.
I wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
Everything I had said during the aircraft trials, I believed, was necessary for the Reich’s future.
Nor did I think the Luftwaffe would reject my ideas outright despite the abrupt change in direction.
Even within the air force, opinions had already been divided between those who favored maneuverability and those who valued speed in a fighter.
As for heavy bombers, there had always been supporters within the Luftwaffe as well.
General Wever—who had died only a month earlier in June—had championed the concept before his death.
Ironically, one of the main reasons Germany abandoned heavy bombers in the original timeline was because Hitler himself became obsessed with increasing the sheer number of aircraft.
(That reminds me of the president of the real estate company where my son works.)
The thought surfaced out of nowhere.
The company had been built from the ground up by its founder, a man supposedly blessed with uncanny instincts, incredible luck, and genuine talent.
Success had turned him into a dictator that would have made Hitler himself blush.
In his later years, he ignored the advice of every executive around him—just like Hitler during the final years of the war—and the company slowly wandered off course until its performance collapsed.
But that’s beside the point.
“Göring.
I know everything you’ve done for the Party and for me.
I have no intention of replacing you.
The Luftwaffe will remain under your command.”
“You’re still my number one.”
The moment he heard those words, Göring’s expression brightened.
“…Then why won’t you entrust me with the Second Four-Year Plan?
Surely I have far more influence over industry than Schacht—or especially Todt!”
(…That’s exactly where you’re mistaken, Göring.)
It was true.
Göring had tremendous influence in industrial circles.
From IG Farben to the steel magnate Thyssen, countless companies and industrialists supported him.
He was unquestionably indispensable to both the Nazi Party and the Reich.
But what Germany needed now wasn’t another political heavyweight.
It needed technocrats.
People like Nobusuke Kishi…
or Fritz Todt.
Men capable of directing industry through systematic planning and administrative discipline.
Of course, rule by bureaucrats had its own dangers.
An unhealthy relationship between government officials and private industry…
corruption…
favoritism…
Those were obvious risks.
Even so, Germany couldn’t survive the turbulent years ahead without a government capable of exercising strong centralized control.
And asking Göring to play that role would be unfair.
Pilots and bureaucrats rarely make good administrators.
History had already shown as much.
Göring and the men around him had ultimately failed to manage Germany’s wartime industry effectively.
(Even so…
the Reich still needs Göring.)
Simply browbeating him would accomplish nothing.
There was only one way.
I would have to convince him face-to-face.
About an hour later…
“…I see.
So that’s why you want an attack aircraft…
and heavy bombers.”
I’d spent nearly an hour explaining everything.
Göring had been bewildered at first, but by the end he seemed to understand.
(Though, to be fair…
I mostly won him over by praising him to death.)
Praise him.
Praise him again.
Keep praising him.
Sweep him up in a torrent of words.
Moments like this reminded me just how frightening Hitler’s charisma really was.
The sheer force of personality was overwhelming.
No wonder he’d become the archetype of the charismatic dictator.
“That’s right.
I want an aircraft that can serve as a heavy fighter, a light bomber, a torpedo bomber, and a reconnaissance aircraft—all in one.
A machine unlike anything the world has ever seen.”
“When the rest of the world sees it, they’ll finally understand the brilliance of the Luftwaffe.”
“Exactly, my Führer!” Göring’s eyes lit up.
“I’ll inform the manufacturers immediately!”
At heart, he was still a pilot.
The moment the conversation turned to new aircraft, he practically came alive.
“And as for the heavy bomber, tell Dornier and Junkers to continue their prototype work just as planned.”
“Understood.
I’ll meet with the staff officers and work out the details.”
“Good.
I’m counting on you, Göring.”
“You can rely on me!”
With a crisp salute, Göring left the room.
(That settles the Luftwaffe…)
(Next comes the Army.)
The year 1936 was a turning point for the Reich.
Projects that had existed only on drawing boards were finally beginning to bear fruit.
That was precisely why I’d rushed to convene meetings with both the Navy and the Air Force.
I’d managed to force my vision through.
But the Army…
The Army was an entirely different beast.
Ever since the days of the German Empire, it had been the Reich’s greatest institution—its pride and backbone.
Many of its officers came from the old aristocracy.
They were capable.
They were proud.
And, more than anything else, many of them still looked down on Hitler as nothing more than the Bohemian corporal.
A short man without formal military education.
An amateur pretending to understand the Army.
The Luftwaffe, by comparison, wasn’t even ten years old.
No one in Germany—or anywhere else in the world—truly knew what the correct doctrine for air warfare would be.
And everyone understood that.
Its officers were younger.
More flexible.
The Navy was another matter.
For Germany, it had always been a secondary service.
The Reich had always been a land power.
Its true enemies were France and Russia.
Compared to them, Britain’s Royal Navy was almost like an optional bonus stage.
(Granted…
a bonus stage on Hell difficulty.)
But the Army…
The Army was different.
It had generations of tradition behind it.
Even at the end of the last war, it had demonstrated its brilliance to the world by developing infiltration tactics.
Success had only reinforced its confidence.
Which was exactly why it rejected outside interference.
At present, even the SS—the growing symbol of the Nazi Party’s power—still couldn’t truly dominate the Army.
If anything, the balance of power might eventually tip in the Army’s favor as rearmament accelerated and its ranks continued to swell.
(Still…
no organization is ever completely united.)
Not even the Army High Command—the OKH (Oberkommando des Heeres).
For now…
The real battle was about to begin.
I sent orders summoning the senior leadership of the OKH to the Führer’s Chancellery.