It was a rainy, stormy evening. Leaves were flying through the streets of Berlin, past a large window.
Reichskanzlei
"Bohrmann, welcome," Paul said, his voice devoid of any emotion as he looked at Martin Bohrmann, who had just entered his office. The room was in complete darkness, only the thunder outside occasionally illuminating the interior.
"Why do I have the pleasure?" Bohrmann asked, taking a seat before the table.
"I wished to hear of your progress regarding the dismantling of the party structure," Paul said, folding his hands while watching Bohrmann with something far deeper, far darker in his eyes.
"Well, I think we have come far. We have been slowly spreading the image of the Kaiser and you together. Although we had many members leaving because of the shifted priorities, we managed to retain more than we had hoped and..."
He stopped, his heart rate increasing.
"My Führer?" he asked, confused, finally realizing the strange atmosphere their conversation carried. Something was wrong.
"What is it? Why don't you continue, Bohrmann?" Paul asked, smiling, his voice carrying a mocking undertone.
"I..." he stammered, his heart virtually hammering in his chest.
"Your heart," Paul suddenly said, fixing him with a death stare."It has quickened its pace quite a bit, hasn't it? There is also a bead of sweat running down your forehead."
"Mhm."
"Are you nervous, Bohrmann?" Paul asked.
At that very moment, a massive thunderbolt streaked across the horizon, illuminating the room for a brief second. Half of Paul's face was lit, and in Bohrmann's eyes the light reflected directly. Yet there was something else. Behind Bohrmann, further down the room, three additional reflections appeared. Eyes.
A shiver ran down Bohrmann's spine as he slowly turned, following Paul's gaze.
He widened his eyes, quickly turning back to Paul before looking again at the three men sitting there.
"What does this mean?!" he asked, suddenly standing up. "Why are all the Reichsmarschälle here?"
"Why, Bohrmann?" Paul asked, his eyes full of false concern."They are here to dispose of a traitor."
Paul stepped forward, moving around his table.
"When have I ever? I..." Bohrmann stammered.
"Do you remember," Paul began, "when you received your letter on the night of the coup?"
Bohrmann nodded hesitantly.
"Do you also remember what Herr Lehmann said to you that day? No?" Paul asked, his finger slowly moving toward Bohrmann's chest.
"You may not be the only one who received such a letter. The one you tried so hard to free, so hard to retain, touched the paper in his prison cell long before you ever did." Paul smiled, though there was no joy in it.
"Come in, Speer."
Slowly, the door opened and a slick-looking man entered.
"You… You bastard. You betrayed me!" Bohrmann roared, suddenly retreating backward, then looking down at his torso.
Speer retracted his hand, glancing at Paul for approval.
"Colluding with foreign intelligence. Colluding with partisan groups. Revealing my location, my route, even after it was changed. You must hate me a lot." Paul nodded at the breathless Bohrmann.
Slowly, Paul extended his fingertip and pressed the knife, already buried beneath Bohrmann's ribs, deeper into his body.
"This is how we deal with traitors," he said, his eyes suddenly filling with killing intent.
In a fluid, masterful movement, Paul pulled out the knife and turned toward Speer.
"Indeed it is," he said, looking at the blade now buried in Speer's torso.
Who looked at Paul with a horrified gaze.
Silence.
"If I myself ever receive punishment for my betrayal, then do not stab me in the back. Stab me in the front," Paul said, lookings toward the three men seated behind the table, who were watching with grim expressions.
At that moment, both Speer and Bohrmann collapsed, hitting the ground hard, their heads coming to rest beside one another.
Paul paused for a moment.
"All, besides the corpse that has risen from his grave, have been dealt with," he murmured.
"Now," he began, looking at Manstein, Kesselring, and Raeder, "now we come to the endgame."
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At 6 a.m., the German Reich officially declared war on the state of Denmark.
"We have received the all clear!" Generalmajor Hasso von Manteuffel shouted toward Rommel, who was adjusting his new uniform, the insignia of a true general marking his collar.
Rommel looked proudly into the mirror for a moment, then slowly tilted his head.
"Then we ought to go. All Panzer divisions are to advance at full speed. All air units are to begin close air support immediately."
"And we," Rommel added, walking past Hasso, "will be at the forefront of it all." He smiled with visible passion, almost madness.
Only a minute after the formal declaration was delivered to the ambassador of Denmark, a massive wave of Panzer III and IV tanks rolled across the grasslands at the border. Messerschmitt fighters and Stukas overtook them from above, one by one, flying only meters above the tanks' turrets, their wind barely shaking the metal giants.
The vibration of their tracks echoed for hundreds of meters across the plain, reaching even the first scrambled units the Danish had hastily assembled.
"Destroy them. With absolute power we may cause more casualties than necessary, but just this one time we will strike with everything we have," Rommel said, watching the lightly armored units in the distance through his binoculars. Then he retreated into the safety of his tank and closed the heavy metal hatch.
"FIRE!" he ordered, his voice loud yet laced with the calm authority of a seasoned commander.
At his command, the massive tank division opened fire. The hillside where the lightly armored Danish unit had taken position was completely shaken by explosions.
All the while, from the clouds above, Stuka after Stuka emerged, their terrifying sirens arriving even before their bombs.
"Sir, Luftwaffe scouts have spotted artillery positions being established around two kilometers northwest of here," a soldier reported, pressing the earpiece against his ear as a voice crackled through.
Rommel nodded.
"They are to target it. All bombers. This division is being devoured quickly, but we do not want to be interrupted while feasting. Take them out."
As the group of Stukas made a sharp turn, rain suddenly began pouring down, creating small puddles inside the craters left by tank shells. The water stirred lightly with every additional explosion, with every Danish corpse hitting the ground. Then, from a nearby body, a small streak of blood trickled into the earth, the crimson color mixing with the clear rainwater, forming a visible cloud beneath the surface.
At the same time, Paul raised the spoon of honey he had stirred into his tea, watching as a thin thread of gold trickled back into the cup before he placed the spoon on the table beside him.
He lifted his head, studying the two men seated with him. Unlike the battlefield, Berlin was enjoying a hot summer day on the last day of May, the sun shining brightly upon the men sitting in the garden of the Reich Chancellery.
After clearing his throat, an older man, his demeanor unmistakably cold, moved to stand.
"Ambassador? Why leave already?" Paul asked, leaning back in his garden chair and exchanging a glance with Wilhelm, who sat opposite him. Both now looked at the Ambassador of Denmark.
"I have urgent matters to attend to, as you may imagine," the man replied, his displeasure barely concealed.
"Well, it was brave of you to come, but it would be braver to stay. Also far more efficient." Paul smiled, gesturing toward the chair the man had just vacated.
"How so?" the ambassador asked, already half turned, having caught the underlying tone.
"Since your country will not survive until the Kaiser and I finish our tea, you could simply stay here and present us with your surrender agreement," Paul said, smiling, though his eyes did not.
The ambassador flushed slightly, clenching his jaw before turning abruptly and striding away.
Gustaf, who was standing beside the door leading inside, gave Paul a questioning look.
Paul merely shook his head lightly and turned back to Wilhelm.
"Entertaining a guest who does not wish to be one can also be tiresome for the host."
"Indeed." Wilhelm nodded, taking a sip of his tea before suddenly looking up. "I have yet to tell you about the diplomatic visit my son made to Bulgaria." Wilhelm's eyes lit up.
Paul inclined his head.
"Since our line maintains a strong connection with the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, the visit was a fruitful one. They are this close." Wilhelm raised his index finger and thumb, nearly pressing them together. "To agreeing to join the war on our side. They simply wish to regain their lost territories in return."
"Of course," Paul replied, nodding with approval. "Your son will one day be a great Kaiser, I am sure."
Paul paused, raising his cup.
"Let us hope that day remains far into the glorious future, my Kaiser."
Wilhelm laughed heartily.
"Well said, well said." He raised his cup as well, and the two sat peacefully beneath the bright sun, greenery surrounding them.
"Oh right, my apologies, I have yet to ask..." Wilhelm paused, pressing his lips together. "How is your own son faring, now since..." He did not continue, falling silent as he met Paul's gaze.
Paul clenched his jaw, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
"No need to look at me like that, my Kaiser," Paul said slowly, meeting Wilhelm's apologetic gaze.
"All of us come and go in this world. For some, death comes naturally, peacefully in their beds. That was the fate nature had predetermined for my wife. But through the influence of others, that fate was defied."
His voice remained measured, at least on the surface, but for a brief moment he slipped. It was only a glance, a subtle tightening of his facial muscles, yet it betrayed everything Paul had been holding back for so long.
Absolute darkness.
A shiver ran down Wilhelm's spine, and his eyes quickly retreated behind the rim of his cup.
"And like all who meddle with destiny, they too met their end. In time, all such men do."
A brief silence settled between them, heavy despite the summer air.
Just like me, Paul thought.
He raised his cup once more and took a quiet sip as somewhere in the distance a bird cried out, its shadow gliding across the garden before vanishing beyond the walls of the Reich Chancellery.
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