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“Enough!” Halstead shouted, silencing the president. “I am not going to quibble over what is already past.” Halstead, his hands still behind his back, took two steps toward his highest-ranking prisoner. “You are going to do me a favor. A few favors, actually.” Ebert’s back straightened once more and his fists reclenched. “And what favors are those?” Halstead reached inside an inner breast pocket of his uniform and retrieved a sheet of paper. “First, you are going to renounce the strike.” Ebert smiled for the first time since his arrival, and now placed his hands behind his back in the same manner as Halstead. “But, Herr Hitler, what does that matter? The strike was merely a last-ditch resort. I hardly see how renouncing it—” “Last-ditch it may be, Herr Reichspraesident, but it will prove quite effective in the next few days.” Halstead smoothed out the folds in the sheet and handed it to Ebert. “I have no intention of stopping it right away. First, Lüttwitz, Kapp, and the others must be brought to their knees. Once that is accomplished, the workers can resume work and the country can get on with its rightful business of establishing a Third Reich.” Ebert read the brief statement himself, a statement which rescinded the order for a national strike he and his Social Democrat Cabinet members had signed twelve hours before. Ebert then looked up, and handed the sheet of paper to his nearest minister. “I refuse to sign such a statement. I will not be a pawn for your counterputsch.” Halstead smiled as he watched Ebert’s fugitive Cabinet lean as one over the table to read the paper. “Fine, then this will be the last meal, at least for one of you. Göring.” Hermann Göring stepped forward from the hallway doors and pounded his chest with a salute after pulling up to a standing position beside Halstead. “Mein Führer!” Halstead reached out an empty hand. “Göring, hand me your pistol.” |