The fires of Manila still burned when Erich von Zehntner pulled himself out of the commander's hatch.
Smoke curled around the ruined intersection, drifting in slow gray ribbons through the shell-shocked district.
Somewhere to the west a munition dump was still cooking off, each detonation rolling through the city like distant thunder.
It was no longer chaos, it was something colder, more deliberate. A battlefield that had shifted from survival to calculation.
Erich wiped dirt from his eyes and listened. The thump of distant gunfire had thinned into sporadic cracks.
The brigade was stabilizing. Airborne doctrine, drilled, refined, perfected, was taking hold again.
"Sir!"
A Thai officer jogged toward him, helmet askew, uniform scorched, rifle still slung across his chest.
He halted and snapped a sharp salute. His men fanned out behind him, exhausted but standing.
