Chapter 283: The day is soon. Be ready. Wear the pins.

Words : 1033 Updated : Oct 1st, 2025

The days following the Klagenfurt raid passed in a strange blur too quick for reaction, too thick for clarity. Markel tried to maintain order, but authority had begun to slip like sand through glass. Protests increased and police barricades appeared at university gates, only to be mocked and dismantled by the same students they meant to deter. Pamphlets, printed in immaculate German, littered the streets calling for "brotherhood," "unity," and "a return home." But nowhere was "Germany" mentioned explicitly. The campaign was subtler now. And far more dangerous. In his Vienna office, Markel sat across from Interior Minister Guido Schmidt. The doors were closed, the curtains drawn. "You saw the cable from Innsbruck?" Schmidt asked. "I did," Markel replied quietly. "Half the city joined the cultural parade. There were flags, Anton. Black-red-gold. But in the wrong order." Markel didn’t respond. He simply stared at the reports before him accounts of railmen refusing to inspect German shipments, mayors delaying city permits on spurious grounds, university deans found hosting "heritage lectures" funded by mysterious donors. A thousand threads, none individually threatening, but together... "We are being pulled apart from within," Schmidt whispered. "And Berlin hasn’t fired a shot." A knock at the door. A young attaché entered, holding a sealed envelope. "Telegram. From Geneva." Markel read it once. Then twice. Slowly, he sat back in his chair. "Nothing," he muttered. "Nothing?" "No statement. No warning. The League considers the matter of Austrian sovereignty ’sensitive but not of immediate concern.’" "So they’ll let us go," Schmidt said, tone flat. "They’ll let us be taken." In Berlin, the mood was anything but uncertain. In the Reich Chancellery, Hitler stood before a table lined with detailed reports troop readiness, road conditions, fuel reserves, weather projections. The final stage had begun. Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel traced his finger down a sheet. "We can move armored columns through Passau and Freilassing. Innsbruck can be reinforced within eight hours. Salzburg even faster." "No resistance?" Hitler asked. "Local units are loyal to Vienna, but morale is low. Many sympathize with Germany." "And if Schuschnigg calls for help?" "There’s no help to call." Hitler’s eyes flicked to Ribbentrop. "Diplomatic fronts?" "Sealed. Britain is still stuck with Gandhi, France hasn’t recovered from the Spanish campaign. And Roosevelt is boxed in by Congress. We’re alone on the stage." "Perfect," Hitler said. Then turned to Himmler. "The SS?" "Already inside," Himmler smiled. "Over a hundred field agents active. Posing as businessmen, artists, foreign students. Coordinating from within." "And propaganda?" "Radio broadcasts ramped up two nights ago. We’re transmitting speeches from exiled Austrian figures calling for reunification. Popular pieces from Berlin orchestras. One of them even played ’O du mein Österreich.’ That stirred the newspapers." "Good," Hitler said. "I want the Austrians to hear our footsteps before they see them." At that moment, a courier entered. "Message from Goebbels." Hitler opened the note. Read. Smirked. "He’s secured a press release for the Frankfurter Zeitung. A leaked story unverified, of course that senior Austrian generals are secretly aligned with the Reich." "True?" Keitel asked. "Not yet," Hitler replied. In Vienna, those same generals were anything but certain. In a quiet drawing room near the Ministry of War, a group of senior officers met off-record. The atmosphere was tense. Men who once drank together now sat apart, glancing at doorways and windows between sentences. "They’re coming," one of them muttered. "This time it won’t be 1914. There will be no declarations." "We still have the border forces.." "Do we?" another interrupted. "Half our depot reports are incomplete. Ammunition stocks are short. The training manuals haven’t been updated in four years." "Then what do you propose?" asked General Löhr. "Capitulate before they cross?" "No," said Colonel Gruber. "But we must be ready to yield without dying. Austria cannot be Napoleonic about this. We’re a nation of engineers and accountants now. Not empires." No decision was made that night. But inaction was its own choice. Back in Berlin, Hitler summoned Göring for a private meeting. "You’ve seen the reports?" Hitler asked. "I have." "Then you know it’s time." Göring nodded. "How soon?" "Three days. We move by the end of the week." Göring’s brow furrowed. "That’s ahead of schedule." "Yes," Hitler said. "Because I want to be in Vienna by Sunday." "And the pretext?" "Markel will give us one." "How?" Hitler smiled. "Because we’re going to ask him something he cannot accept." The following morning, Ribbentrop drafted a diplomatic cable officially requesting Austria hold a national plebiscite on the question of reunification with Germany. The message was delivered with courtesy. And within it, a deadline, seventy-two hours. In Vienna, the reaction was swift. And desperate. Markel called an emergency session of parliament. "We are being cornered," he declared. "Not by troops, but by timelines. Not with tanks, but with phrases dressed as fraternity." Some in the chamber cheered. Others looked away. By afternoon, a counter-proposal was floated. An Austrian referendum, organized domestically, with the question framed on independence, not reunification. It was a gamble. And Hitler called it instantly. "They want to stall," he barked. "Delay long enough for France or Britain to awaken. We will not wait." In the early hours of the next day, the final directive was signed. Operation Ostmarsch. A silent march. No blitz. No battle. Just columns of soldiers crossing invisible lines. "We walk," Hitler told his staff. "And the world watches." By dusk, orders had been dispatched to the 8th Army Corps and supporting SS formations. Tanks were fueled. Radio frequencies assigned. Maps were folded into officer satchels. And across Austria, agents began whispering. "The day is soon. Be ready. Wear the pins." In Linz, a group of students unfurled a homemade banner from the top of a clocktower. "Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Führer." The mayor ordered it taken down. No one listened. The police station remained quiet. Inside the Reich Chancellery, Hitler stood before a new map. Austria now colored faintly in gray, marked not as conquered, but as "under review." He turned to his generals. "This will not be war." "But it will be remembered," Göring added. Hitler nodded. "And once we enter, there will be no turning back."

Chapter 283: The day is soon. Be ready. Wear the pins.

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