The first streaks of sunlight tore through the dark sky as the fire consuming the city hall finally extinguished.
It left behind nothing but destruction and carnage.
From behind the ruins, a small group of about thirty soldiers revealed itself.
Some Nationalists already raised their rifles, thinking they were enemies, yet a stern voice stopped them.
Major Ramírez appeared between the German tanks that had also taken part in the assault, a group of loyal officers following behind him.
When he spotted Paul among the tired and bloodied soldiers, his eyes lit up. He quickly approached, shaking Paul's hand and pulling him into a half-embrace.
Though they did not speak each other's languages, they shared an unspoken understanding in that moment.
Ramírez shook every man's hand, grateful for the effort these German soldiers had put in — an effort that had brought them victory.
Yesterday, when Paul and his platoon had appeared, Ramírez had thought the situation unwinnable. But that handful of men had changed the course of an entire battle — almost single-handedly.
Paul, Ramírez, and Hasso made their way to the city center while the rest of their soldiers received treatment and rest.
The three arrived at the very spot where they had planned everything that had happened during the long night.
"I told you we'd sit right here and drink a beer once we'd taken this city," Ramírez said through his translator, laughing heartily.
Paul and Hasso smiled as well, allowing themselves a rare moment of relief.
"A bit early for a beer, don't you think?" Hasso asked Paul, who only winked in response before gulping down the cold drink with evident satisfaction.
He didn't care anymore, too much had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Two days ago, he'd been a prisoner; now he was free, and he had just helped conquer a city.
Hasso shrugged, then took a sip himself, joining the two men.
The three men stayed there until a German soldier came running toward Paul and Hasso.
He crouched down and whispered, "Sir, High Command messaged us that the reinforcements — consisting of General Sperrle's armored division and two Spanish divisions, are going to arrive in about thirty minutes."
"Reinforcements? How early," Hasso joked.
Paul did not laugh. A silent bloodlust — the one he had suppressed since the prison — welled up inside him. He thought about the unknown officer who had pulled him into darkness, even smiling while doing so.
He only knew one thing: all the officers they had saved back in the old school building were part of the General's division, so that man had to be with General Sperrle this time.
Paul looked at Hasso. That unknown man was the reason why Paul had never once communicated with High Command, never once revealed that he was still alive — and he had asked Hasso to do the same. All of it was for one goal: to get his hands on that officer, without scaring him away beforehand.
Paul dismissed the soldier before turning toward Hasso.
"Hasso..." Paul began. "Have I ever told you how I ended up in that prison?"
The air grew cold, Paul's voice even colder.
Hasso slowly shook his head, watching Paul intently.
"It was not because of incompetence. Not because of failure. Not because of bad luck. But because of..."He paused."Betrayal."
Hasso's eyes widened. "Are you saying—?"
"Indeed," Paul answered promptly. "I was nearly killed by an officer I had saved. I didn't even know his name. In fact, I've never understood why he did it..."
Paul looked up at the sky."After that, I was rescued, but not by friendly troops. By the enemy. They brought me to their prison, tortured me for information."
Paul shook his head to the side."I didn't reveal a single thing. They came with knife and whip... and left with less than my name."
A stare full of bloodlust filled Paul's eyes, sending shivers down Hasso's back.
"They who tortured me have already paid the price. The officer will be next, and I know only one thing: that man is part of General Sperrle's division."
Paul clenched his fist. "This time I will finally reveal myself. Let's see how that man reacts."
There was a moment of silence before Hasso laid his hand on Paul's shoulder, his voice low and steady. "I'm with you, Heinrich. We'll make that son of a bitch pay."
Ramírez, whose translator had quietly relayed the conversation, looked at Paul with compassion before whispering something to his translator.
"The major will support you. You are one of our own," the man said.
"Thank you Major and thank you Hasso."Paul said, his eyes deep, comtemplating his next stetps.
"Thank you, Major, and thank you, Hasso," Paul replied, his eyes deep, contemplating his next steps.
The three men leaned on the railing of the terrace, watching life slowly return to Ávila.
After a while they saw small dots appearing in the distance. The dots grew bigger, revealing the silhouette of countless tanks, trucks, and soldiers. They moved in order through the streets, carrying the discipline and iron cross of the Wehrmacht like a presence that demanded respect.
Residents stepped aside; men lowered their heads.
The long column halted before the ruins of what had once been the city hall, then spread out across the large, empty marketplace.
Paul, Ramirez, and Hasso made their way down, greeting their reinforcements.
Paul whispered something to Hasso before waiting at the corner of the building, the shadow engulfing him.
Hasso and Ramirez stepped outside, walking toward a noticeable man, the general, his uniform shining in the morning sun.
"General," Hasso saluted.
"Manteuffel," General Sperrle answered, a slight smile hanging on his face.
He shook Ramirez's hand before turning back to Hasso. "You did a fantastic job, Lieutenant. I was informed about your diversion..."
Hasso interrupted him. "I apologize, General... it was not me who did those things, although I participated..."
"So it was Major Ramirez's idea?" the General asked, raising an eyebrow. The officers behind him exchanged confused looks.
"No, it was someone else..." Hasso said.
"It was me, General."
A voice rang out from around the corner of the building. The loud sound of leather striking stone echoed, and a figure slowly revealed itself, half of its face already illuminated.
"It was me. Everything." Paul stepped forward toward Sperrle, his scarred torso catching the sunlight.
Silence fell.
Hugo Sperrle looked at Paul as if he had seen a ghost. Nothing in his long life had surprised him as much as this. How could there be anything more shocking — a man risen from the dead.
The General opened his mouth only to close it again. He met Paul halfway, laying his hands on Paul's sturdy shoulders, studying him from head to toe.
"Is this really you, Jaeger?" Sperrle asked, his voice broken.
Paul nodded.
"When? No — how did you survive that?" Sperrle asked, disbelief in his eyes.
Paul did not meet his look. Instead, his eyes wandered to the officers behind Sperrle. He recognized a few of them, the ones he had saved together with Lang, Fischer, and Weber. Their faces showed the same surprise, but also happiness.
His gaze wandered further through the rows until it landed on a man whose expression was nothing like happiness or relief. His gaze was stone-cold, filled with shock. Paul recognized the face instantly, that mouth that had laughed at him, those eyes that had looked at him.
That man has to die, if it's the last thing I do, Paul thought, his body practically shivering with bloodlust.
Hasso noticed Paul's state and followed his gaze, seeing the same man. He understood immediately, that man was the rat.
"Heinrich?" Sperrle asked, noticing his absent-minded stare.
Paul didn't answer. He stepped aside and walked toward the officer, Sperrle's voice fading away.
He walked — four steps, three steps, two steps. Paul pulled out his pistol, his hand shaking. One step. He stood before the man, who didn't move. He only looked at Paul, eyes wide with fear.
Paul pressed the pistol against the man's head, his own eyes staring holes into him.
The officers all around began shouting. Some soldiers and officers even pulled out their pistols and rifles, aiming at Paul, ordering him to drop the gun.
Paul did not drop it.
Behind him, his own platoon raised their weapons, seeing their commander in danger.
Ramirez's men too raised their rifles, ready to protect Paul.
Paul's finger trembled on the trigger, the memory of pain and betrayal burning behind his eyes.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop, only the wind moved, flowing through the city.
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