The echoes of the talk still lingered faintly behind him when Paul slipped back into the hall.
Glasses clinked, laughter rippled, and the orchestra's melody swelled as though nothing outside those gilded walls had happened. But for Paul, everything had shifted. He had laid a card on the table with Reader, and in return, he had been handed a chance, dangerous, precarious, but a chance nonetheless.
He felt the small object resting in his breast pocket, a card, the only evidence that the last ten minutes had not been just his imagination.
Before he could linger on the thought, a familiar voice pulled him back to earth."Oberstleutnant Jaeger!" It was Schwarzer, broad-shouldered, wine glass in hand, his cheeks flushed from drink.
"Good news travels fast. Your presence has been requested, official orders. Spain, a cival war has erupted, my boy. The Reich sends its finest to aid Franco. And you," he jabbed a finger toward Paul with mock solemnity, "you're going to war."
"Ah, fuck... There was that," Paul cursed silently. But why me? Why the hell does it have to be me, specifically me?He lifted his eyes, just in time to catch Rundstedt's sly look from across the room. A chill slithered down his spine. Does he think he's helping me… or is he trying to sabotage me? His mind raced, paranoia clawing at reason. Or perhaps…because of his daughter...
Paul forced a thin smile, though inside a storm churned. Spain. The Legion Condor. He knew what history would make of it, bombed cities, fire raining from the skies. Another step down the bloody ladder. And yet… another step up the ladder he needed to climb.
Perhaps you have done me a favor, Paul glanced an Rundstedt, who was enjoying himself, although Reader has to wait now...perhaps it's for the better, the Wehrmacht is not strong enough yet to launch a coup de etat. But in a few years...when I come back, of course assuming I come back in one piece.
He nodded slowly. "Spain, then."
Schwarzer clapped him on the shoulder. "Spain. Wear it like a badge of honor, Jaeger. When you return, Berlin will remember your name."
Oh they will, Paul thought.
The night air hit Paul as he stepped out onto the quiet driveway, this was a long evening, he thought.
He barely had time to take a deep breath when Elisabeth appeared beside him, her presence sudden yet comforting.
"I didn't mean to follow," she said softly, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. "But I… wanted to see you one last time before the night ended and before you go to Spain."
Paul turned to her, words caught in his throat. Her eyes, still curious and warm despite the weight of her family name, met his.
"I should apologize," she said, her voice low. "For my father… for all of it. I hope you understand I'm not part of the game he plays."
Paul shook his head slightly, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in his expression. "It's… not your fault, Elisabeth. Don't carry that burden."
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to shrink around them. Then she stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his chest, her fingers lingering. Paul's pulse quickened, but he stayed still, sensing the fleeting moment.
"I hope… this isn't goodbye," she whispered.
Before he could respond, she leaned in and pressed a brief, delicate kiss to his lips. It was quick, almost teasing, yet charged with the promise of unspoken understanding.
"Hey, Leutnant, hahaha, no, Obersleutnant!" The voice came from the doors, still half open, slightly slurred and carrying the lilt of someone who had indulged a little too much.
Pulling back slightly, she smiled again, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Goodnight, Oberstleutnant," she said, then stepped back, giving him space to collect himself.
Paul watched her retreat toward the mansion, the doors closing behind her. Then his eyes turned towards the troublemaker.
"You alright, Hans?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hah! Never better!" Hans hiccuped lightly.
"Ah, you idiot," Paul shook his head dismissively, watching Hans stumble slightly, still giggling from his earlier drinks.
*****************
A week had passed since the party on the balcony.
Schwarzer had visited Paul to brief him on Spain. "A military truck will pick you up and take you to the nearest airfield near Cologne. There, you will board a plane with several officers and the commanding officer of the Condor Legion. Everything is prepared. You just need to be ready."
As Schwarzer left, Paul felt the familiar mix of anticipation and unease. Within hours, he would be on a plane to Spain, stepping into a conflict that would test both his skill and his loyalty.
Was he prepared for war? Certainly not, he thought with a twinge of unease, his eyes wandering over to his desk.
The first time he had woken up in this body, the desk had been empty, save for a notebook tucked in a drawer. Now, it was anything but empty. Stacks of books, journals, and notes lay neatly atop it. Their covers read: Military History by Martin Brown, Air Superiority by Michael Johnson, The New Age of Warfare by Tom Heimann, and many more.
Paul had spent every ounce of his free time writing down famous tactics, cunning tricks, and well-known weaknesses he could exploit with his knowledge of the future. But he also began learning on his own. Although he had Heinrich's memories and education, he did not think that was enough to become a great general. To be someone truly outstanding, he needed to push beyond conventional wisdom and work outside the bounds of common sense.
Paul closed the last notebook, sliding it carefully into his backpack. There was no time left for lingering thoughts or second guesses. A low rumble outside signaled the arrival of the military truck. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and adjusted his uniform one last time.
He had already said goodbye to everyone he deemed important: Erich, Hans, Karl, his squad, and, of course, Elisabeth, from whom he had received a telephone number.
Now the moment had arrived. Paul stepped into the military truck, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. He took one last look at the old barracks, which he had called home during his time in this new body. The sun shone warmly upon the old bricks, signaling summer.
The journey was short but tense, each mile bringing them closer to the unknown. When the truck finally slowed at the perimeter of the airfield, Paul could see the plane waiting, a Junkers Ju 52, its engines humming steadily. Near the nose was the emblem of the Condor Legion: a black condor in mid-flight, wings spread wide. Officers and ground crew moved efficiently around it, preparing for departure.
Paul stepped out of the truck, scanning the area around him. The crisp morning air carried the scent of fuel and dust, mingling with the distant hum of engines and shouted commands. Ahead, a general approached, flanked by two guards whose polished boots clacked sharply against the tarmac. His uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid, exuding authority.
As they drew closer, Paul instinctively straightened, giving a crisp salute. The general returned it with a measured nod, his eyes briefly flicking over Paul.
"Oberstleutnant Jeager," the general said, "I am General Hugo Sperrle, commander of the Condor Legion." His voice was firm, yet not unkind. "You are expected aboard. Spain awaits. Follow me. I will brief you and your fellow officers once on board."
Paul followed General Sperrle across the tarmac. The Ju 52 sat ready, its engines thrumming.
The two men climbed into the plane, the cabin tight but orderly. Soldiers and officers moved with practiced efficiency, checking maps, securing equipment, and adjusting radios. Paul took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the mission ahead settle on his shoulders.
The engines roared louder, the plane shuddering slightly as it taxied down the runway.
With a final roar, the Ju 52 lifted from the tarmac, the German countryside falling away beneath them. Sunlight glinted off the wings as the plane leveled, heading south toward Spain.
Paul leaned back, staring out at the horizon, knowing that from this moment on, everything would change.
This is it, he thought. The real war begins now.
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So guys, some action, finnaly!
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