The young Sergeant stared at him, bewildered, trying to place the name. Then realization dawned. His posture straightened even more, respect, maybe even fear, flickering in his eyes.
Paul held his gaze for a moment, then turned toward the platoon assembled behind the tanks, watching him warily.
"Sergeant," Paul said evenly, eyes still on the men. "Where are we right now?"
"Where—? Ah, yes, sir." The young man fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a folded map. His hands shook as he spread it open, tracing the lines with a trembling finger. For a second, it looked as if he feared Paul might shoot him for hesitating. Then he found the spot and exhaled. "A city called Ávila, sir."
"Ávila…" Paul muttered, trying to recall the maps he and Lang had studied so many times. He saw it in his mind, a small city at the edge of their operations zone. His brow furrowed."How far from Salamanca?"
The sergeant looked back at the map, calculating. "Roughly a hundred and twenty kilometers, sir."
Paul sighed.
"What about your orders, Sergeant?" he asked.
"My orders?" The sergeant blinked, clearly confused.
Paul's voice turned cold. "Your mission. What are you doing here?"
"Yes, sorry, sir." The sergeant straightened immediately. "We're part of the 6th Armored Platoon. Our orders were to secure key strategic positions on the outskirts of Ávila. One of them being this… prison."
He hesitated, glancing back toward the road. "The rest of our unit and our Leutnant are still behind us. They ran into a group of resistance fighters. But they should be here soon to reinforce us, sir."
Paul thought for a moment before speaking."Then we'll wait for them here. I want to speak with your Leutnant."
He walked over to a pile of rubble from the outer wall and sat down casually, letting the sun warm his face.
"Sir…" the sergeant began hesitantly. "Sir?"
Paul didn't open his eyes. "What is it?"
"We need to clear the building. It's dangerous to stay here."
"Clear out the building?" Paul repeated, lowering his head slowly. His gaze locked onto the sergeant's, a dangerous glint in his eyes."I've already done that.
The sergeant froze. At first, disbelief crossed his face — but then he looked at Paul again. The scars, the dead calm in his eyes, and the blood covering him. A chill ran down his spine.He started to believe it.
The rumble of engines cut their conversation short. Both men turned toward the road.
Two additional tanks were rolling toward them, treads grinding over the dirt. The platoon's soldiers straightened instinctively as the vehicles came to a halt in front of the building.
With a loud metallic screech, one of the tank hatches opened. A man climbed out and jumped down, striding toward Paul and the sergeant.
"Sergeant Ritter!" he barked. "Why aren't you attacking the building?"
Before the sergeant could answer, Paul stood up and walked toward the Leutnant.
The Leutnant frowned, confused, and turned to Ritter again."Ritter, who is this man?"
Paul's voice cut in, calm but commanding."Normally, officers salute their superiors, Leutnant. What's your name?"
The Leutnant eyed him warily, but the aura Paul gave off—the blood, the scars, the coldness in his gaze, made him straighten instinctively."My name is Hasso von Manteuffel. And who, may I ask, wants to know that?"
Paul's brows lifted slightly."Hasso von Manteuffel," he repeated, almost to himself. Another historical figure. Not bad company to keep.Then he said aloud, "Oberleutnant Heinrich Jaeger."
Hasso let the name roll off his tongue, then froze."Oberleutnant... Wait!" His eyes widened in disbelief. "You're Oberleutnant Heinrich Jaeger? The Hero of the Rhineland? The one who saved General Sperrle? But that's impossible, you were declared dead two months ago!
Paul stopped him with a faint smile:"I survived as you can see, but it seems I've become an even bigger celebrity in the meantime."
Hasso blinked, collecting himself. Then he straightened sharply and saluted."It's an honor to meet you, sir."
The honor is mine, Paul thought, remembering what kind of commander Hasso would one day become.
Almost absent-mindedly, Paul returned the salute. No words came out. Then he stepped closer, placing a hand on Hasso's shoulder."I'll take command now, Leutnant—of course, only if you don't mind."
"Well... no, sir," Hasso stammered, "but shouldn't you receive medical attention? You were imprisoned there for how long? I have truck that can send you to Slamanca. And your wounds—the blood—"
"The blood isn't mine," Paul said quietly. "Mine dried long ago inside that prison. I don't need to go to Salamanca. I want to fight the enemy, there is no enemy in Salamnca, so what's our next destination, Leutnant?"
Hasso, who looked at him with a mixture of concern and reverence, openend his mouth slowly:
"We were ordered to capture the city hall, together with two Spanish companies."
"What about the enemy? Where are their positions?"Paul asked.
Hasso motioned Ritter over. "Give me the map."
Ritter handed it across. Hasso grabbed a pen and started marking positions quickly. "This is the prison," he said, circling a point. "Further south"—he traced a line, "that's the city hall. About two kilometers in that direction. We're supposed to rendezvous with the Spaniards here"—he tapped another mark—"at a school, then advance together on the city hall."
He looked up. "Intel says the local garrison has barricaded itself inside, so assault will be difficult. Guerrilla bands are spread throughout the city, ambushing from side streets. The Luftwaffe reports they intercepted Spanish reinforcements roughly twenty kilometers to the south."
"That's enough," Paul said. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
Paul paused, then turned back to Hasso. "We must take the city hall before their reinforcements arrive. We can't let them regroup — they'll overwhelm us. My call: a swift, decisive assault on the city hall, then prepare to hold against incoming forces. What about our own reinforcements?"
"The 2nd Armored Battalion and an infantry regiment are still tied up in combat to the west," Hasso replied. "They've promised to reinforce us once they push the enemy back."
"So we're on our own," Paul muttered.
"They said they'll win and come," Hasso protested.
Paul's gaze was sharp, his voice calm but icy. "You should always brace yourself for the worst-case scenario, not the best. Of course, you plan for both, but never assume the enemy will fall in line for you, Lieutenant."
Hasso nodded, absorbing the advice.
"Either way, speed is essential," Paul added, his hand brushing against the small beard that had grown during his captivity.
"I agree with you, Oberleutnant," Hasso said, his gaze fixed on Paul.
Paul noted the conviction in Hasso's eyes. Good. "Then that's what we'll do."
He turned his head slightly. "Sergeant Ritter, was it? Give me your coat. It's unbecoming for an officer of the Wehrmacht to walk around half-naked."
Ritter glanced at Hasso, who simply motioned for him to obey. The sergeant hurried forward and handed over his coat.
Paul draped it over his shoulders. The fabric fluttered in the warm wind as he strode toward one of the Panzer I's. Before climbing in, he turned once more."Oh, and Leutnant Hasso—order the Luftwaffe to level this prison. Just in case I missed anyone."
"Yes, sir."
Hasso watched him in silence, a trace of awe in his eyes. Around them, the soldiers who had overheard the exchange stood motionless, each staring at Paul with the same reverence.
Paul called up, standing in the hatch of his Panzer. "Soldiers of the 6th Armored Platoon, you've heard my name. I will assuming temporary command, as highstes ranked officer. First order: we advance into Ávila and seize the city hall. Exercise the highest caution. When this is done, I want to shake the hand of every one of you."
"Fall into formation," Paul ordered loudly.
For a moment, the soldiers hesitated, but then they snapped to attention, quickly falling into line behind the tanks. The tank crews closed their hatches, Sergeant Ritter and Hasso each taking command of a vehicle.
"Move out!" Paul shouted.
He glanced down at the driver beneath him. The man revved the engine of the Panzer, while the other crew members took their positions.
The grumble of engines rolled through the courtyard, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of boots striking dirt. The tanks and soldiers fell into a precise column, moving south toward the center of the Spanish city.
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