Paul climbed down from his tank and scanned the outskirts of Warsaw.
Wehrmacht soldiers and heavy machinery were parked everywhere. Artillery positions were already firing deep into the distance.
That was the first line. Then came the second line. And the third.
He stood behind the last one, watching the soldiers laugh, smoke, and wait. Too relaxed. Too careless.
He turned toward the men he had brought with him.
Hasso, Reicher, Leichthofer, and Gustaf who was there for protection. Even though this was a meeting with fellow Wehrmacht officers, it certainly did not feel like one.
The entire group was tense, including Paul, who shook his head as he looked at the soldiers sitting around without discipline.
"Who is your commanding officer, major?" Paul asked. The older major had been talking animatedly with another man.
"Huh? What?" the major replied, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he turned.
"I will ask again," Paul said, his tone cold. "Who is your commanding officer?"
"My commanding officer?" the major repeated with a laugh. He turned to the man he had been speaking with earlier and exchanged a mocking look. "He's inside, idiot. For the meeting."
Paul raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, studying the man's face.
"Your name?"
The major squinted against the sunlight, his grin unchanged."Major Mark Heiter. And who wants to know?"
Paul did not answer. He continued in the direction the major had pointed earlier, toward the large factory building. It was built from red bricks, marked by two tall towers that made it impossible to miss.
The group reached a massive metal door guarded by two Wehrmacht soldiers. They snapped to attention and saluted before opening it.
Inside was a vast, mostly empty hall. A few tanks stood in one corner, covered with tarps.
In the center of the space stood a cluster of tables pushed together into a single formation. Dozens of high ranking officers were already seated.
Paul's group was met with displeased stares and openly curious looks.
"Oberst Jaeger, you are late," a sharp voice said. It came from a man who had been turned away.
Paul recognized both the voice and the face that revealed itself a moment later.
"General Keitel. Our apologies. We were delayed by a group of partisans we had to engage on the way here."
"They were not cleared out yet," Paul added as he chose a seat next to Rommel, one of the few men in the room who stood on his side.
Keitel pressed his lips together, then cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen, we are here to discuss our battle plan for Warsaw."
Paul glanced around the table. Most nodded eagerly.
Jodl. Halder. Reichenau. Bock. Brauchitsch. Paul had studied their faces beforehand.
Some of the strongest core members of the loyal Wehrmacht bloc, which still held the clear majority.
Behind each of them stood their staff officers, holding paper, discussing. The same went for Paul's officers and Gustaf.
"I propose an aerial bombardment of the city, using both artillery and the Luftwaffe," Keitel said, squinting his eyes.
Paul paused for a moment, tilting his head toward Hasso, who could only return a helpless look.
This is foolish. Absolutely foolish. Why not bomb the city strategically? Have they all gone mad? Paul thought, stroking his chin. Then his eyes widened.
Our advance has been even faster than historically. Because of my adjustments to Fall Weiss. Because of my encirclements. Because of me.
They have grown arrogant.
Slowly, Paul stood up.
"May I ask why?"
"Why?" Keitel repeated loudly. "It seems our young Jäger needs a refresher from military school." He joked, drawing a dry chuckle from some of the generals.
Paul only smiled faintly, still waiting.
"Why, Jaeger? After we bomb the city, we advance with infantry. All opposition will be softened, and a smooth advance is guaranteed."
"Do you care to explain why specifically infantry, General?" Paul asked suddenly, a slight smile on his face.
For a moment, Keitel hesitated. A low murmur spread through the room.
He has to answer to preserve his dignity. He cannot appear less knowledgeable than an Oberst. But if he answers, he proves my point, Paul thought, clasping his hands and giving Keitel an impatient look.
The general scoffed.
"Jaeger, I think this revision has gone far enough. We will now focus on the—"
Paul's fist slammed onto the table, cutting Keitel off. Every eye in the room turned toward him. Paul straightened, calmly adjusting the leather glove that had slipped from the force.
"General, if you do not wish to say it, I will." He leaned slightly toward the assembled officers.
"Although I am certain you all understand the narrow-mindedness of this approach."
"Nonsense!" Keitel roared, pointing a finger at Paul. "This is… this is insolence!"
"Lower your finger, General," Paul said coldly, his eyes filled with killing intent.
"With such heavy, imprecise, and unstrategic bombing, you eliminate any chance for armored units to advance into Warsaw. The city is already densely populated, making a mechanized approach extremely difficult."
"Does it matter?" a voice asked from Paul's side.
Jodl, Paul thought, narrowing his eyes.
"You believe the Luftwaffe will make it easy for us to simply walk in? It will leave ruins, chaos, despair. And ruins, chaos, and despair lead to desperation. They will fight to the last man. With the Russians at their backs and us in front, how do you think they will fight?" Paul said, his voice rising.
"Like animals!"
"Lower your voice, Oberst!" Keitel shouted, stepping closer.
"Why?" Paul shot back. "I am speaking this loudly so you cannot simply refuse to hear it. So you can't send countless German men to their deaths. Unnecessarily."
"Such insinuations!" Keitel barked, now standing directly in front of Paul. "This is enough, Oberst Jaeger. You will be detained!"
He barked an order at two soldiers standing at the side of the hall.
The two looked at Keitel, then at each other, before fixing their gaze on Paul as they moved toward him, hands resting on their holsters.
Keitel, too, had his pistol in hand. The moment Gustaf noticed it, he stepped forward and drew his own weapon.
Then hell broke loose.
The guards drew their pistols as well, raising them. Keitel kept shouting, his voice sharp and panicked, while Paul pulled out his own Luger almost reflexively. Another reflex followed as Paul's officers saw their superior draw a weapon. They drew theirs too.
"Drop your weapons!" one of the guards shouted, sweat running down his face.
"Why don't you?" Major Reicher replied coolly, his gaze shifting sideways. There were clearly more guns aimed from Paul's side than from Keitel's.
Keitel trembled. Whether from rage or fear was impossible to tell. His finger twitched nervously on the grip of his Luger, raised and aimed directly at Paul's head.
In the middle sat Rommel. Unsure of what to do, he remained seated, silent and unmoving.
For a moment, no one noticed how everything fell silent. The shouting, the accusations, the panic all vanished. Only the dull explosions outside remained, the vibrations shaking the hall, and the heavy breathing of armed men.
Boots echoed. Slow. Measured.
A man stepped forward.
With every step, he moved closer to the barrel, until cold metal pressed against warm skin.
Gustaf's eyes widened. A drop of sweat traced its way down his temple.
Paul stood directly before Keitel, the barrel pressed against his cheek. It was his cheek because Paul was taller.
Then Paul seized the barrel in one swift motion, forcing it upward and pressing it against his own forehead.
"Happy now, Keitel?" Paul said calmly, studying the man's face, the mustache, the creases, the eyes staring back at him. "You can shoot me now."
Keitel did not answer. He only breathed heavily.
"Do it!" Paul shouted, pressing the barrel harder against his own skin. "Do it and explain it to the Führer. Explain it to the generals. Explain it!"
Paul looked at Keitel with a gaze so detached, so utterly devoid of emotion, that Keitel believed he truly meant it. As if pulling the trigger would not matter to him at all.
"You are mad," Keitel muttered.
"Perhaps," Paul whispered, smiling now.
Suddenly, the heavy metal door slid open and a soldier rushed inside.
"Is Oberst Jaeger he—" he began, then stopped short when he saw the scene.
For a moment, he simply stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. Then he slowly turned, as if to leave.
"Stop," Paul commanded. "I am here. What is the problem? Why are you here?"
The soldier stammered.
"I was… I—I was sent to deliver a—"
"Get it out!" Hasso snapped, shaking his head.
"A message! A message from headquarters!" the soldier blurted out, fear evident in his eyes.
Slowly, Paul turned away from the barrel and faced the soldier.
"What is it? Read it."
The soldier hesitated, then carefully unfolded the paper.
"Third of March, 1939—" he began.
"The important part, for God's sake!" Hasso barked.
"Yes, sir." The soldier skimmed the text, his voice dropping to a whisper before rising again, echoing through the hall.
"The General Staff, in accordance with the Führer, has decided, in light of recent actions, demonstrated bravery, and tactical genius in the campaign against Poland, to promote Oberst Heinrich Jaeger, to the rank of Generalmajor. All equipment in accordance with the rank shall be bestowed. All assets in accordance with the rank shall be bestowed. All authority in accordance with the rank shall be bestowed."
A loud murmur rippled through the rows of generals, disbelief written openly across their faces.
"The youngest Generalmajor ever. At thirty," one of them whispered.
"Why would the Führer?"Another whispered.
"Congratulations, Generalmajor Jaeger," the soldier added, reading the final line. His voice wavered as he noticed the hostile glares of the generals.
"Thank you," Paul said, turning back to Keitel, who was still trembling. The cause was clear now. Pure anger mixed with fear.
"This can't be," Keitel stammered.
"Lower your guns, gentlemen," Paul said calmly, looking at the two soldiers Keitel had summoned.
They hesitated, their resolve weakening with every second. Slowly, they lowered their weapons, their eyes never leaving Keitel, whose own pistol was already tilting downward.
"Go. Go away," Keitel snapped, waving his hand dismissively. "You are dismissed from this meeting!"
"General, it is not too late to adjust your—" Paul began.
"Go. I said go. That is an order!" Keitel shouted, then lowered his voice.
"This will have consequences, Jaeger. Believe me."
Venom laced every word.
Paul shook his head and turned, walking toward the door. As he passed the table, he tilted his head slightly.
They have chosen their owner carefully. What happens when that owner disappears? Do they choose a new one, or remain loyal to the old? he thought, meeting the eyes of the core faction, where only hatred remained seated.
Paul walked beside Gustaf, exchanging a glance with him. For a brief moment, it carried the same tension as the one they had shared inside the hall.
"You know," Paul said quietly, "for a moment in there, I considered implementing Plan Z. Right there."
Gustaf narrowed his eyes, studying Paul's face.
"Yes," he said after a pause. "You were patient. That matters."
Paul nodded.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The distant thunder of artillery rolled across the outskirts of the city, steady and indifferent.
Patience, Paul thought. Not mercy. Timing.
Each day, it demanded more.
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