The war room in the Reich Chancellery was abuzz with constant chattering.
A single globe lamp threw a pool of light across the great map table; shadows hunched in the corners where officers consulted folded papers and whispered into phones.
Outside, Berlin moved like a city in a fever, factories working, trains stacked with men and steel, but inside this room the world was an arrangeable problem laid flat on a table.
Bruno stood at the head of the map, his uniform impeccable, however he did not stand in his full glory.
Rather he wore the simplified field uniform of his position.
He had not needed to be called; such councils had long since become his stage.
Around him leaned the Reich's senior commanders: Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel, Großadmiral Karl Dönitz, and of course Generalfeldmarschall Heinrich von Koch, who kept his hands folded and said little, letting others fill the silence.
Reports were brought in, one by one, in clipped German, voices measured and controlled.
