Chapter 277: There are no true borders between kin. Only waiting lines.

Words : 1607 Updated : Oct 1st, 2025

Berlin had never liked silence. Not this kind. Not the sort that crept in after a week without fresh reports from Paris or London. But since Moreau had returned to Spain and France had erupted in development, Berlin’s war rooms had been unusually quiet. Until now. Reich Chancellery. Inside, the long oak table was already full generals, ministers, advisors, and secretaries. Hitler entered last, slow, measured, hands behind his back, followed by a staff officer carrying a leather folder. "Sit," Hitler said, before anyone could rise. The rustle of chairs was brief. A dozen eyes turned toward him. "We’re not here to discuss Spain," he began. "We’re here because France is no longer who we thought she was." Göring shifted in his seat. "It’s been less than two months. They’re still stretched thin. Spain isn’t secure." Hitler looked at him evenly. "No, Hermann. Spain isn’t resisting. That’s worse. Spain is... cooperating. Functioning." He opened the folder and slid out a photograph. A factory floor in Bilbao. Workers in uniform. French technicians visible in the background. Neat, orderly, clean. "They’ve turned occupation into a public service," Hitler said. "They’ve made authority look like oxygen. No flag, no anthem, but roads and food and discipline. The French have rewritten the formula. And we’re still citing Clausewitz." A long silence. Keitel cleared his throat. "Their actions suggest confidence, but that doesn’t make them strong. Mobilization is one thing. Sustainment is another." "They’re building for ten years," Ribbentrop said from across the table. Hitler walked to the map on the eastern wall. He placed a hand over France. "I don’t care if they deliver mail on time. What I care about is that no one challenged them. Not Britain. Not Washington. Not even Moscow." "They’re exhausted," Himmler offered. "They’ve burned fuel, grain, manpower.." "And no one dared to call it aggression," Hitler said sharply. "That’s the point. They’ve set precedent. The idea that action if dressed as restoration can go unchecked." He moved his hand east. To Austria. "That is why this conversation matters." Göring raised an eyebrow. "You’re talking about Vienna." Cooperating with Hitler because both of them have already spoken on this privately. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. But yes. I’m talking about Austria. Its position. Its people. Its purpose. The Anschluss was always our eventuality. Now it’s our opportunity." "But the Allies will react," Keitel said. Hitler shook his head. "They didn’t react to Spain. They wrote letters. Held conferences. Roared into silence. What they’ve shown is that their red lines are imaginary." "They weren’t violated directly," Ribbentrop added. "France claimed necessity, not ambition." "Then we must offer unity," Hitler said. "No tanks. No parades. Just reunification. With smiles. With ballots." There was a pause. "Ballots?" Göring repeated. Hitler smiled thinly. "If it works for Moreau, it will work for us." Himmler leaned forward. "We’d need to begin ideological prep immediately. Cultural alignment, student groups, radio broadcasts..." "Already being drafted," Hitler replied. "I want the word ’brotherhood’ used until it has no meaning." "And military?" "No uniforms near the border. We move through society first. Painters, not soldiers. Architects, not gunners." Speer, silent until now, spoke. "You’re thinking infrastructure." "I’m thinking optics," Hitler said. "We don’t want to look like we’re moving. We want them to think we’re already there." Hitler turned from the map, his fingers tapping a measured beat on the polished wood. "They must not feel us coming. They must wake up and realize it’s done." Göring leaned back in his chair. "So we don’t use tanks, but we move factories?" "Precisely. Factories, unions, youth clubs. Newspapers. We pump German literature into Salzburg. Broadcast Heimat radio in Linz. Sponsor cultural weeks." He glanced at Ribbentrop. "Secure a concert in Vienna. Something grand. Mahler. Bruckner. The classics Austrian birth with German soul. I want the people to feel we’re already in the room." "And the government?" Keitel asked. "They’re weak. Divided. They don’t trust each other, let alone us. That’s perfect." Hitler walked slowly. "We’ll make them believe we’re the answer to their instability." Himmler scribbled notes furiously. "I’ll begin work on identifying sympathetic judges and police chiefs. Not just in Vienna Graz, Linz, Innsbruck." "Carefully," Hitler said. "We don’t want purges. We want smiling surrender." Göring chuckled. "This time, the sheep walks into the pen on its own." Hitler’s eyes darkened. "No. This time, we remove the fence altogether." There was silence again. Finally, Keitel broke it. "What about France? If they see us making moves in Austria, won’t they see it as a threat?" Hitler turned sharply. "France is the problem. But it’s also the key." "How?" "They’ve overextended. Spain is not secure, no matter what their reports say. They’re running their trains on fumes and hope. Let them stay distracted. Every telegraph they send to Madrid is one less they read from Vienna." "But Moreau isn’t a fool," Ribbentrop warned. "No," Hitler admitted. "He’s worse. He’s competent. Which is why we must act in rhythm, not reaction. We don’t counter France. We outpace them." Göring raised a glass of water. "To timing." Hitler didn’t smile. "To inevitability," he said. The meeting ended By dusk, Himmler had summoned his cultural advisors. By nightfall, a new directive was issued. Priority translation of German constitutional law pamphlets into Austrian dialects. By Monday morning, German bookstores in Passau and Freilassing were instructed to offer free delivery across the border quietly. In Linz, a German consulate official delivered copies of Beethoven’s Ninth to five local orchestras, along with generous grants and no explanation. "From friends," the letter read. "For friendship." The SS began mapping out Austrian public gathering locations under the pretense of cultural liaison visits. No uniforms. Just surveyors, journalists, young men in clean shirts and academic coats. It was infiltration by invitation. Three days later, Hitler called a second meeting this one smaller. Göring. Himmler. Ribbentrop. Keitel. No generals. No clerks. "Talk to me about readiness," Hitler said, sitting now, not pacing. Göring responded first. "Luftwaffe capacity can be doubled within sixty days. I’ve already begun quietly adjusting contractor schedules." "No construction announcements?" "None. Only shifting internal targets." "Excellent," Hitler said. Keitel nodded. "Army reserves will remain where they are. But we can quietly stage movement to the Bavarian interior for drills. No direct proximity to Austria, no provocation." Ribbentrop added, "The key is the illusion of stagnation. We move, but not forward. Not visibly." "And if France does notice?" Himmler asked. "Do we signal back?" Hitler shook his head. "No. France has already written their story. They won’t revise it for us. Not unless we make them." He picked up a piece of paper one of Moreau’s press quotes. ’I did not enter Spain with flags. I entered with bread.’ Hitler read it silently, then laid it down. "He plays at nobility. It will be his weakness." Ribbentrop frowned. "The world sees it as strength." "Only for now. But the world is full of boredom and doubt. And once Spain stabilizes, they will turn their gaze east. Toward us. Toward Austria. We must look already finished when they arrive." Himmler folded his arms. "And if Moreau turns toward us first?" "He won’t," Hitler said confidently. "Because he’s still trying to govern. He believes in administration. In legitimacy. I believe in movement. That’s the difference." The others said nothing. The next week. Hitler gave a speech in Munich not televised, not recorded, only transcribed. He spoke of cultural legacy. Of shared roots. Of brothers divided by war and paper. He did not mention Austria by name. But he ended with one sentence that lingered in the typewritten pages that followed. "There are no true borders between kin. Only waiting lines." The message spread. Whispers bloomed in Innsbruck cafes. Academics in Vienna debated federalism with new enthusiasm. Radio waves began to carry more Wagner than usual. All without orders. That was how Hitler wanted it. The French embassy in Berlin sent two dispatches. One was routine. The other carried a single line "Berlin seems quieter than usual. I find that more concerning." Back in the Reich Chancellery, Speer unrolled a set of plans across Hitler’s desk. "New public buildings for Linz, in the event of integration. We can have foundations dug within two months under normal budgetary codes." "Do it," Hitler said. Speer blinked. "You’re sure?" "I don’t want to march into Austria," Hitler said. "I want to stroll into a city that already has my library." As the weeks passed, the tempo of planning increased. Not in parades or flags or broadcasts but in paper, signatures, building permits, and train logistics. Austria didn’t know yet. But the countdown had already begun. Later Hitler held a private dinner with Göring and Ribbentrop. They drank lightly, mostly wine. Hitler still drinking water. "He’s smarter than we thought," he said suddenly. "Who?" Göring asked. "Moreau." They waited. "He’s bought time. But he’s made the world smaller." "You think France will pivot back to us?" "Not yet. But they will. They have to. The continent is not big enough for two experiments." Ribbentrop nodded. "And when they do?" Hitler smiled slowly. "By then, we’ll already be finished." There was silence again. In Munich, a professor received a grant to lecture in Salzburg on the Austro-German romantic tradition. His ticket was paid for by the Cultural Unity Office, newly minted. In Linz, another shipment of German textbooks arrived by mistake. No one returned them. In Vienna, a student political group began wearing small pins shaped like oak leaves. They said nothing. They didn’t need to. The groundwork being laid was visible only to those who knew where to look.

Chapter 277: There are no true borders between kin. Only waiting lines.

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