Paul sighed as he stepped out of his tent, breathing in the cool night air. Between the branches of several oaks, the moon hung low in the sky. The branches swayed gently, stirred by the light breeze the night carried with it.
He began walking forward, the two soldiers behind him immediately following.
Paul stopped and turned.
"Men, who am I to need protection from my own soldiers? Go back. Get some rest. You will need it," he said, patting one of them on the shoulder.
They nodded, smiling, before walking away and leaving Paul alone.
He continued through the sprawling camp. Although the soldiers were meant to remain on high alert at all times, it hardly felt like it. Men sat around campfires, laughing and talking, some already asleep where they sat.
Paul spotted a group of lower ranking officers gathered apart from the others, playing cards. Nearby, another group practiced their aim with pistols.
For a moment, he took in the atmosphere. His men glanced at him with respect, some lowering their caps as he passed.
He nodded and stepped closer, yet his attention remained fixed on a silhouette at the edge of his vision. An older man, an officer, standing apart from the rest. Distant. An anomaly within the camp.
Paul did not turn, but he tried to match the face to a name.
He is familiar. I just cannot remember from where.
He reached the group of soldiers playing cards.
"Sir!" one of them exclaimed, saluting with exaggerated enthusiasm, earning mocking laughter from the others.
"No need, soldier," Paul said, winking as he took a seat on a large tree trunk. He set his cap aside and sighed.
"So, who is winning right now?"
"Well, I am quite," one of them began, only to be interrupted by a light punch to the gut.
"He is talking nonsense. Hermann here has won the most today, Oberst," another said, pointing at the mentioned Hermann.
Hermann was a scrawny, middle aged man, smiling sheepishly at Paul.
"And what is your profession, Hermann?" Paul asked, his gaze drifting once more toward the older man leaning against a tank.
"I am a driver, sir. Panzer III," Hermann answered.
"A driver?" Paul asked. "Well, are you as good at driving as you are at gambling?"
"My tank was never hit once at the Battle of Gniezno," Hermann replied proudly.
"Yes, yes, Hermann. Someone should promote you to General," the soldier beside him joked, loud laughter erupting from the group.
"But Oberst, when will Berlin promote you?" the same man continued, his tone suddenly more serious. "A genius should be rewarded."
"Yes," another added, standing up. "We should drive to Berlin and demand it."
Paul's smile vanished. A cold glint appeared in his eyes.
Then the man burst out laughing, the others quickly joining in.
Paul smiled again, but this time it was only a facade.
General, he thought. Of course. General...
"Well, men, I wish you a good night," Paul said, standing up.
They groaned but offered their farewells.
Paul walked on, slowly distancing himself from the group, heading toward the older soldier, who now met his gaze directly.
He lowered himself and sat beside the man, his back resting against the still warm metal hull of the Panzer.
"Sir?" the older man asked, adjusting his cap.
"Why do you not salute a superior officer?" Paul asked, mockery lacing his voice.
The man tilted his head, studying Paul with mild confusion, before leaning back once more.
"Why don't you?" he replied.
"Yeah, you are probably right," Paul replied, suddenly shooting upward, his boot striking the ground with exaggerated force.
"Ge—" he began loudly, only to be immediately interrupted.
"Hey!" the old man hissed, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.
"Sit down," he added, grabbing Paul and pulling him back.
"I did not expect you to recognize me so quickly. We have not had much contact over the past few years," the man said.
"I have a good memory for faces. And who would not recognize the famous General Witzleben?" Paul replied, his tone neither mocking nor reverent.
For a moment, only the quiet crackle of nearby campfires filled the air.
"You are not curious?" Witzleben asked, tossing his cap aside. "Why I am here?"
"You have your reasons," Paul answered calmly. Yet that was only the surface of his thoughts, the tip of an iceberg he kept carefully hidden.
"But perhaps you will be generous enough to tell me yourself," Paul added, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes.
Witzleben stared at the pack for a moment, visibly surprised, before suddenly letting out a short laugh.
Paul lit his cigarette, then asked calmly,"What is it?"
The general's expression slowly settled.
"These cigarettes," Witzleben began. "I know it is probably just a coincidence, but they were the favorites of His Majesty, the Kaiser."
Is that so? Paul thought, allowing himself a faint, mocking smile.
"A coincidence indeed," Paul replied, "but it seems we both have good taste." He held out the pack.
"You know, Jaeger," Witzleben said as he took one and lit it himself, "I have spoken with many people. Men who admire you. Men who serve under you. Men who support you." He exhaled slowly. "All their exaggerated stories had one thing in common. Only one."
Paul remained silent.
"You are different."
"I am different?" Paul asked, studying the old general as he subtly adjusted his posture.
"In the sense that you are ahead of us," Witzleben continued. "That you think differently. As if you do not quite belong to our time." His eyes fixed on Paul, sharp and searching.
Even an old wolf still has sharp fangs, Paul thought, genuinely startled by the precision of the assessment.
"That is rare," Witzleben added.
Stillness returned once more, broken only by the faint sound of burning cigarettes.
"Tell me something, Oberst," Witzleben continued. "You understand the importance of the epoch before us. The war we are about to face will decide Germany's future."
Paul merely nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"When a war goes wrong," the old general asked, a small piece of ash falling from his cigarette, "do you believe that means it was fought poorly… or that it should never have been fought at all?"
Paul waited a moment before answering.
"Most wars don't go wrong all at once," he said quietly.
"They fail through small decisions. Decisions no one wants to question."He paused."They shake the foundation stone by stone, until the castle collapses."
Paul glanced around the camp.
"By the time it looks like a mistake," he continued, "it is usually too late to ask whether it should have been fought at all."A small pause."And even later for anyone to admit it was one. At least in the circles we operate in, General."
"Indeed. Indeed," Witzleben answered, his gaze fixed ahead.
"I have long lost my patience with these half men," he continued. "People with no restraint, no humility, no sense of honor. They do not understand what it means."
He exhaled slowly.
"They wear uniforms brighter than those of the most decorated soldiers, yet they have never fought a single battle, never earned a shred of glory."
A pause followed.
"They shout it instead, believing words alone can become deeds."
"Those," Witzleben almost shouted, pointing at the soldiers sitting around them. "Those have attained glory the true way. You have attained it the right way." He tapped Paul's chest.
"You," Paul suddenly shot back, pointing at the general. "You have attained it too. Far more than I ever have."
The general laughed.
"That was long ago," he muttered. "But I believe the time is right to gain some more."
He rose to his feet.
"Come on, Jaeger. Let us talk tactics," he said, gesturing toward Paul's tent.
Paul nodded, and the two men crossed the camp together until they reached it.
Inside, Paul spread a large map across the wooden table.
They talked long into the night, until Witzleben finally took a chair and leaned back, sighing.
"Different," he murmured, reaching into his breast pocket.
"I…" he began, when someone suddenly stepped into the tent.
"General," Hasso said, saluting without the slightest surprise.
Paul narrowed his eyes.
"You knew about this?" he asked.
"Well…" Hasso muttered, scratching his head.
"All your officers knew," Witzleben said with a quiet laugh. "Do not be too hard on them."
He raised a hand.
"But you may leave us now, Oberstleutnant Mannteuffel."
Hasso left the tent as quickly as he had entered.
"So," the general continued, now holding a letter.
"Open this once you have been promoted to Generalmajor. I will make sure it happens soon." He handed it to Paul.
Paul nodded, feeling the soft fabric of the paper between his fingers.
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