Chapter 105: Fury

Although Akado’s speech in the Reichstag was a resounding success and interpreted by the outside world as “the German government holding its head high again,” discussing border issues now, with the aftershocks of the economic crisis yet to fade, was an unwise choice. At the very least, Akado knew that the cards in his hand were not yet all in place.

But what no one knew was that after returning to his office, Akado swept everything from his desk onto the carpet. He flew into a rage in his private room, startling even his secretary, Anna.

“Those bastards! Are they all idiots? Since I am the Chairman! Since I am their leader! Then their job is to faithfully execute every single order I give! Not to act on their own damn initiative!” Akado roared furiously at the line of people standing by his office door.

He could hardly be blamed for his loss of composure. At this moment, Akado felt a sense of panic and despair. Everything that had just happened in Czechoslovakia proved that his control was being challenged—an unprecedented challenge. It proved that many within the Greater German Party had not faithfully carried out his orders.

Even more critically, once events deviated from his plan, the one thing Akado could rely on—his foreknowledge of the future—became useless. He was changing Germany, but the more he changed, the more hazy and unpredictable the future became. He could no longer see many things clearly, which was why this loss of control terrified him so profoundly.

“Merkel!” Akado called out with a deep frown. “Tell me what happened. Why did the operation inside Czechoslovakia begin ahead of schedule? This isn’t what we planned! It’s going to disrupt my entire strategic deployment!”

Just a few hours earlier, the former German Chancellor, Stresemann, had been dispatched on a critical mission to Britain to mediate the suddenly erupted Czechoslovakian crisis. Germany being forced to take a public stand seemed bold, but in reality, it was a stopgap measure they had been coerced into. This time, Stresemann carried a secret order from Akado: if Britain refused to support Germany on the issue of the Sudetenland Germans, then Germany would announce its intent to take unilateral military action against Czechoslovakia.

“Chancellor, some of the local leaders acted on their own authority,” Merkel answered, flustered. It was the first time he had seen Akado so furious, and he was unsettled. “They believed that launching the operation early would garner more support and aid, so they initiated the riots ahead of schedule.”

The Austrian question, which Akado had been orchestrating for some time, was still brewing. He had originally hoped to follow Hitler’s old path step by step, making only minor alterations—such as advancing the timeline of events or choosing the correct options at key moments. But now he realized he had been wrong. He had lost his grip on the future of this world.

“The original plan was to launch ‘Project Defector’ in Austria next month to bring the issue of the ethnic Germans there to the forefront. We were going to use it to test the reactions of Britain and France. But now, it seems we have no choice but to change that plan,” Merkel said with a frustrated frown.

“That is one of a top-ten industrial power in the world! A country equipped with a thousand tanks! They have comprehensive fortifications on their border. If they resist, we will be dragged into a quagmire! Do you expect me to go to the Presidential Palace and persuade Hindenburg to order a national mobilization? You fools!” Akado clutched his forehead in anguish, waving away Anna, who was approaching with a cup of coffee.

“Britain and France aren’t prepared for war either,” interjected Gascoigne, the intelligence minister, in an attempt to soothe him. “Reports from all countries indicate that, just like us, they can only wait and see what happens.”

Akado looked up at him and shook his head. “Gascoigne, the difference is that those countries still have a choice. We no longer do! If we don’t make an issue of the ethnic Germans on the Czechoslovakian border right now, we will never have the chance to do so again. Do you understand?”

After speaking, Akado sighed and turned to General Hammerstein, who had been standing silently to the side. “What is the status of the Army’s preparations? Is everything proceeding according to plan?”

“Mr. Chancellor,” Hammerstein replied, standing at attention, “five divisions of the Wehrmacht are currently moving toward the border. If necessary, another three reserve divisions can be mobilized from nearby.” He added, “For the specific deployment of these forces, please refer to the operational plan prepared separately by the Wehrmacht.”

“There are no outsiders here. Don’t worry about secrecy,” Akado said with a wave of his hand, gesturing toward a map. “Give me a brief overview of the deployment.”

“Guderian’s 25th Panzer Division, serving as the main assault force, has already moved into the vicinity of Chemnitz. However, they will need one to two days to rest after the forced march,” Hammerstein explained, pointing to the map. “The 23rd Panzer Division is on standby in Dresden, and the 21st Motorized Infantry Division is also moving toward that area.”

“Enough!” Akado interrupted, asking the question that weighed most heavily on his mind. “Can you guarantee that the Wehrmacht can breach the Czech border defenses in the initial assault? I’ve heard they’ve built permanent fortifications there, known as the ‘Little Maginot Line’.”

“Mr. Chancellor,” General Hammerstein said, lowering his head slightly. “For some time now, the Wehrmacht has been striving for weapons standardization and logistical simplicity. Our artillery calibers are mostly small. The advantage is that we can carry more munitions and achieve greater fire density, but the disadvantage is also obvious—we lack the heavy artillery needed to attack fortresses and reinforced concrete fortifications.”

He paused before continuing, “Therefore, if the Czech forces decide to make a stand and counter-attack from those defensive positions, I cannot guarantee that my troops can swiftly overcome those obstacles and break through their lines.”

“This is the second time we have placed our fate entirely in the hands of others! How many more times do you intend to play this game?” Akado laughed, a sound devoid of humor. He stood up and stared at his subordinates, his blue eyes looking somewhat terrifying above the high cheekbones of his thin face.

Everyone knew what he meant by “two times.” The first time was when, on his sole authority, the German army marched into the demilitarized Rhineland. Back then, Germany’s army was even smaller than it was now, and the French and British forces could have defeated them at any moment. Now, Germany was once again plunged into a similar crisis.

Only Akado himself knew the true meaning behind his words. The remilitarization of the Rhineland had been his personal gamble, based on his knowledge of the future. To be blunt, he had a good idea of the outcome, so he had been reasonably confident. This time, however, he could not guess the result. This was the first time he was truly “leaving fate in the hands of others.”

In truth, the past year had brought a stream of good news from all corners of Germany—exhilarating, uplifting news. Thanks to long-term technological accumulation and the time saved by allowing designers to avoid historical dead ends, Germany had achieved astonishing results in various scientific and technological fields.

Sumitomo Metal Industries in Japan, acquired by Akado years earlier, had successfully developed a high-strength aluminum alloy. This material technology was sold by the Wehrmacht at a high price to their “Japanese friends” in the Far East. Naturally, this alloy was also used in the Luftwaffe’s new fighter, codenamed “Eaglet.” (At the request of structural engineers, the material was used sparingly on non-critical components to reduce the aircraft’s weight, accounting for no more than 20% of the total materials).

Under the cooperation agreement, Germany imported large quantities of aluminum from Japan. At the same time, Germany purchased tens of millions of aluminum ingots from the United States, which were shipped home and sealed away as a strategic reserve. Although this was still insufficient to meet the demands of a large-scale war, it represented a concrete, planned stockpiling of these rare metals.

As for the Luftwaffe’s secret weapon, the ME-109 fighter, codenamed “Eaglet,” its design was finalized, and two prototypes had been built. During test flights, the fighter’s performance was near-perfect, completely surpassing all existing aircraft in metrics like speed and climb rate.

The aircraft featured a fully enclosed cockpit and a service ceiling much higher than contemporary military planes. The only minor drawback was its somewhat short range. Still, it could achieve an impressive 800 kilometers and was equipped to use disposable drop tanks. While it was still considered a “short-legged” fighter, its range was a significant improvement compared to the version from his “past life.”

Drawing on the historical experience from that past life, Akado knew that by the mid-to-late stages of World War II, liquid-cooled engines had decisively outperformed air-cooled ones. Therefore, he was determined to prevent Germany from taking the wrong path in aircraft engine development. He ordered the Luftwaffe to use liquid-cooled engines and develop the associated cooling technologies. At first, the aircraft engine engineers could not understand this stubborn, almost unreasonable decision. However, after several futile protests, they were forced to accept the fact that the Luftwaffe would only place orders for fighters with liquid-cooled engines.

The engineering design for this aircraft could only be described as demanding. Designers were required to fit the most powerful engine possible into a very small airframe. Ultimately, it was only through the birth of a new engine, combined with updated materials, that they were able to meet the technical specifications laid out by the military—that is, by Akado.

To meet these design standards, the BMW company revamped its aircraft engines. From the very beginning of the design process, they abandoned their original air-cooled engine plans and focused wholeheartedly on developing their own liquid-cooled engine technology. They soon achieved a breakthrough in this area, and the ME-109 fighter became the direct beneficiary of this liquid-cooled engine.