To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [362]
Wilhelm still stared at the desktop in front of him. There was a silent moment, and von Hindenburg could hear Ludendorff’s breathing, short and urgent. Wilhelm said, “If you believe it is our only option, then prepare your proclamation for the army. Tell them what the Americans propose. A copy shall be given to the chancellor. The civilian ministers will hear it as well. They have opposed me for so long . . . this will show them what I am faced with.” He looked up now, tired eyes looking past von Hindenburg. “The president of the United States does not wish to negotiate with me. I am insulted. I cannot ignore that.”
BERLIN—OCTOBER 26, 1918
The statement was prepared, and communicated to the headquarters of every division on the Western Front. It was made public the same night to the civilians in the Reichstag. The essence of the message was simple. The Americans might offer any terms they pleased. The German army intended to fight to the last man.
Von Hindenburg had returned to his train, but would not yet leave Berlin. The night passed like so many before, an old man’s dreams of great battles, horsemen riding under bright flags, silver swords reflecting the sunlight. But the dreams were interrupted, a soft knock at the door, the soft apologies of his orderly.
“Field Marshal, an urgent message has come from General Ludendorff. He was most insistent that you come to his office, sir.”
GENERAL STAFF HEADQUARTERS, BERLIN—OCTOBER 26, 1918
Ludendorff was behind his desk, watched him as he entered. Von Hindenburg moved to his usual chair, sat, saw a single piece of paper on the desk, a handwritten note.
“Thank you for responding, Field Marshal. I hope I did not wake you too early.”
There was a quiet formality to Ludendorff’s words, unusual, a soft edge to his voice that von Hindenburg had rarely heard before.
“I am always at your service, General, when I can be.”
“I have learned that the Reichstag did not receive our proclamation in the patriotic spirit that we had intended. Apparently there was considerable debate on the matter. As has become regrettably commonplace, there are opportunists in the government who have used our current crisis as a sounding board for their personal ambitions. The traitors have revealed themselves.” Von Hindenburg said nothing, watched Ludendorff carefully, the man’s hands fidgeting, his eyes black, sleepless. “The civilian government has deserted us. It seems President Wilson has found allies among our own ministers for his blatant attempt to destroy the Imperial German government.”
Von Hindenburg looked again at the handwritten note on the desk, said, “May I inquire?”
Ludendorff pushed it toward him. “I have prepared my resignation. I shall abide by your wishes as to when this should become effective. And of course, the wishes of His Imperial Majesty.”
Von Hindenburg ignored the paper, said, “There will be none of this. The Fatherland still calls upon its warriors. I know of nothing that should change your resolve to continue this fight. Civilian ministers will never control the army, and will never convince their country to lie down beneath the boots of our enemies.”
There was a faint knock at the door, and Ludendorff said, “Enter.”
An aide appeared, snapped to attention, said, “Sir, a messenger has just delivered this.”
He stepped forward, placed a white envelope on the desk. Ludendorff said, “Dismissed, Captain.”
The man was gone, the door quickly closed, and both men stared at the envelope for a long moment, the eloquence of the gold border, the official seal of His Imperial Majesty, Kaiser Wilhelm II. Ludendorff picked it up, opened