“My Fuhrer…
is that really true?”
The reaction gave me an overwhelming sense of deja vu.
Only a few days had passed since my meeting with the Nazi Party’s three leading figures—hardly close companions, despite appearances—and once again I found myself facing the same stunned expressions.
The three men before me, however, were a very different breed.
The one who looked openly delighted was Hjalmar Schacht, Minister of Economics and the architect behind the MEFO bills.
Across from him sat Count Schwerin von Krosigk, the Finance Minister, whose expression was one of open skepticism.
The third man, Fritz Todt, the engineer overseeing the Autobahn project, remained silent, simply watching.
“That’s right,” I said.
“To divert the attention of the foreign powers, the campaign against the Jews will be suspended—for the time being.
Himmler and Goebbels will see to the Party and the public.”
“I believe that’s an excellent decision,” Schacht replied, visibly relieved.
“Industry—particularly the financial sector—will welcome it.”
The tension had all but vanished from his face.
Since 1933, the Reich had pursued its Four-Year Plan, pouring resources into public works and employment programs.
On the surface, the results were spectacular.
Unemployment had collapsed.
The economy appeared to be booming.
But appearances were deceiving.
The recovery had been built on hidden debt.
The government had simply borrowed against future demand and flooded the domestic economy with spending.
Certainly, projects like the Autobahn represented genuine infrastructure investment—the sort of public works that would remain valuable long into the future.
But infrastructure wasn’t where most of the money was going.
An enormous share was being consumed by rearmament.
Military spending, by itself, does not create lasting economic growth.
True, military research can occasionally rescue technologies that private industry would abandon in the “valley of death,” eventually leading to civilian innovation.
But Germany had gone far beyond that.
The scale of military expenditure was excessive.
And it was being expanded far too quickly.
At the current pace, it would do more harm than good.
In fact, the Reich was already heading toward severe shortages of foreign currency and mounting inflation.
The obvious solution was simple.
Cut military spending.
Redirect those resources into the civilian economy.
The problem was…
That wasn’t politically possible.
Germany was riding a wave of momentum.
There were three pillars supporting Hitler’s government.
The first was blaming Germany’s defeat in the First World War on the so-called “stab in the back,” with the Jews serving as the convenient scapegoat.
The second was popular support born from the apparent economic miracle.
And the third was the military’s backing, strengthened by last year’s public declaration of German rearmament.
I’d already decided to suspend the persecution of the Jews.
If I weakened another pillar of support now, the government itself could begin to crumble.
I might not merely lose power.
I could end up assassinated.
Which was precisely why I couldn’t recklessly slash military spending.
“Schacht,” I said, “this should make it easier to secure funding from the Rothschilds and Goldman Sachs.
If they prove reluctant…”
I let the sentence hang.
Not that I actually intend to threaten them.
I’m not about to tell the Party what I’m really planning, so I have a free hand here.
“I understand, my Fuhrer,” Schacht replied.
“I believe they’ll be willing to cooperate.”
He hesitated.
“If we could also reduce military spending…”
“That is not an option.”
I cut him off immediately.
“The Reich must become great once more.”
“It will be forged through iron and blood.”
I watched Schacht’s brow crease into a frown.
Yes…
I expected that reaction.
Schacht was, by the standards of the regime, an ordinary man.
A member of Germany’s traditional bourgeois elite.
An educated economist trained in the latest economic theory.
Unlike Himmler, Goebbels, or Goring, he wasn’t devoted to Hitler.
He believed Hitler and the Nazi Party were necessary for Germany’s recovery—but that was as far as it went.
Treat him carelessly, and he was the sort of man who would seriously consider leaving the country.
From Hitler’s perspective, that made him difficult to manage.
Ironically, that was exactly why I needed him.
If Nakajima Masaru was going to avoid repeating Hitler’s fate, men like Schacht were precisely the kind of people he needed to keep close.
“Schacht,” I asked, “have you heard about the new Four-Year Plan?”
His face soured even further.
“Yes, my Fuhrer.”
“I’ve heard that Goring is to be placed in charge of it.”
His expression practically screamed:
How could anyone entrust something like that to an amateur?
He’s not wrong.
From everything I remembered of history, Göring simply wasn’t capable of managing Germany’s economy.
To put it bluntly, asking a former fighter pilot to steer the economy of an entire nation was asking for disaster.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
I looked directly at Schacht.
“Goring will not be in charge.”
“You will.”
“As for the practical work, make full use of Todt.”
“W-What…?”
All three men stared at me, mouths hanging open in stunned disbelief.