Have I already changed the reality I knew this much? Paul wondered. Doesn’t matter. I can’t change the fact that I’m stranded sowhere in Spain with... He glanced at the officer beside him. Amateur.
"Sir, Oberstleutnant, what do we do?" the young man asked, voice trembling.
Paul’s jaw tightened. "First you calm down and act like a Leutnant of the German Army," he snapped. His voice was stern, sharp, already annoyed.
The Leutnant shut his mouth at once, straightening his posture.
Paul let the silence hang while he pulled out his Luger. He checked the chamber, then scanned the fields and olive groves around them.
"We don’t know where we are," Paul said finally. "So our first priority is to locate our position. For that, we’ll need soone local. Finding our comrades matters too, but they’ll probably have the sa idea."
Paul’s eyes lingered on the horizon. Despite the danger, the countryside looked almost peaceful. Rolling hills, sun-baked fields, clusters of olive trees. Beautiful, and deadly.
"What’s your na, Leutnant?" Paul asked, realizing he didn’t know it yet.
The young man snapped to attention. "Leutnant Hermann Koch, sir." He saluted, stiff, respectful.
"And... thank you for saving , Oberstleutnant," Hermann blurted, voice unsteady.
Paul gave him a quick glance, then holstered his Luger. "Don’t thank . The next few days will be harsher that anything you have ever endured. Just keep yourself alive. That’ll be thanks enough."
Then both of them looked at the stuff they managed to bring with them after jumping from the plane.
Paul brushed a hand through his still disheveled hair, letting out a quiet sigh. Two pistols, about twenty-five rounds between them. One water kettle. A watch. A single chocolate bar. That was all.
He squinted up at the sun, gauging direction. "North-west," he decided aloud. "If this is loyalist territory, that ans Republican ground. Either way, we’ll find a settlent. Soone will know where we are."
The two lieutenants exchanged uneasy glances but nodded. Hermann adjusted his straps, the other clutched his canteen like a lifeline. Paul holstered his pistol and started moving, boots crunching on the dry earth.
Better to move than sit still. A moving target survives. A waiting one dies. If we’re behind enemy lines, they’ll hunt every one of us down. That was their plan all along when they hit ourplane, Paul thought grimly.
The sun beat down as they trudged on, dust clinging to their boots. Paul kept his eyes scanning every ridge, every tree line, hand hovering near his pistol. Hermann followed silently, steps careful, tense.
They stayed slightly off the road, using the trees and fields for cover, but keeping the roads in sight. Paul knew that roads would always led to people, sotis help, sotis danger.
Then, gunfire. Sharp cracks rolling over the fields. Paul froze, hand tightening on his pistol. Koch dropped to one knee, eyes scanning.
"There!" the Koch hissed, pointing.
Between the trees and low stone walls, a small settlent shimred in the heat.
Figures ran out of a house, supporting a seemingly injured man.
Paul and Hermann exchanged a quick glance. For a heartbeat they hesitated, danger was obvious, but the uniforms were unmistakably German. Without another word, they sprinted toward the soldiers.
As Paul and Hermann closed the distance, flashes of gunfire erupted from the distance. Dirt and gravel sprayed around them as a group of ard Spaniards, ten, maybe fifteen, opened fire, shouting in rapid Spanish.
The injured German officer stumbled, nearly falling, but Paul grabbed him, pulling him toward cover behind a low stone wall. Hermann crouched beside him, returning a few shots with trembling hands, trying to keep the attackers at bay.
"Move! We get them behind cover!" Paul barked, voice sharp, scanning for an opening.
But then Paul froze for a mont. This was his first battle, and he had to kill these Spanish soldiers.
The sharp cracks of gunfire snapped him back. He aid his Luger, finger trembling, and fired. One of the advancing soldiers dropped; another dove for cover behind a wall. Adrenaline surged, hesitation was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Heinrich’s side of him ensured those feelings stayed suppressed.
Hermann and the others followed, exchanging shots, moving from cover to cover. Dust and smoke stung their eyes, each second stretching into a lifeti. Paul’s stomach churned, but his hands stayed steady. Kill or be killed, nothing else mattered.
Gunfire crackled across the street. One of the unknown officers flinched as a bullet nicked his shoulder, shallow, but enough to make him stumble.
Paul gritted his teeth and scanned the area. Think, Paul, think. Five of us... ten of them... we need sothing creative, sothing...
His eyes locked on a truck in the distance, parked between two houses. Spanish, lights on, the engine must still be running.
A plan clicked, Paul shouted a few words at his comrades who understood the assignt quickly. Gunfire erupted again, this ti primarily from the German side. While the Spanish were caught of guard and kept their attention on the German position, a figure dashed towards the truck, ducking behind scattered debris.
Paul reached the truck unnoticed, picking up a heavy brick lying in the debris. He opened the door, quickly adjusting the steering wheel, pulling the brake loose and pressing the brick on the accelarotor.
The engine roared to life. The truck lurched forward, tires skidding on the dirt, speeding straight toward the distracted Spaniards.
The first soldier was slamd into, catapulted away. A second was caught under the wheels, his fate horrendous. The rest stumbled back just in ti, exposing themselves to the German gunfire.
Paul and his comrades didn’t hesitate. They moved in, firing from cover, each shot finding its mark.
One by one, the Spaniards fell, tripped, shot, crushed by the montum of the truck. Dust and smoke filled the air, masking screams and the acrid sll of gunpowder.
Within monts, the street lay silent. Bodies sprawled across the dirt, rifles abandoned, the enemy completely neutralized. Paul’s chest heaved, hands still tight on his Luger. The adrenaline burned in his veins, cold and sharp.
The quiet was eerie, broken only by the engine of the truck still idling, and the ragged breaths of his small group. Paul looked at the carnage, a grim realization settling in. This was war.
The smoke and dust settled. Paul motioned for the others to regroup. Hermann, still pale from the close call, hurried over.
The unknown officers, shaken but alive, limped toward them.
Paul took a closer look. The man on the left, bleeding from a shoulder wound from the earlier gunfight, was an Oberstleutnant. The man on the right supported an injured major, while he himself was a Leutnant.
Paul raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. So... I’ve been giving orders to a major this whole ti. He shook his head slightly.
The injured officer spoke first. "I’m Major Lang. And this is Leutnant Fischer, Oberstleutnant Weber."
Paul’s eyes widened knowingly. Lang... he sat one row ahead of on the plane. A flicker of recognition passed over his face. "Ah, yes, sir... I rember now," he said, saluting.
Major Lang gave a weary but approving nod. "Impressive work, Oberstleutnant. You saved all of us back there. Quick thinking and decisive action... well done. I will ntion this to my superiors, when we get out of this hellhole."
Paul nodded curtly, thanking him.
After that the group moved cautiously toward the fallen Spaniards, eyes scanning. They began searching through pockets, looking for anything useful, maps, ammunition, radios.
Paul looked at one of the dead Spaniards, eyes still wide open, a neat hole in his chest. He grabbed the body by the collar, dragging it slightly to search the pockets. Coins, a small notebook, and a few rounds of ammunition. Not much, but enough to matter.
He sighted, scanning the area, when his eyes caught movent, not twitching, deliberate. Paul’s gaze widened with a terrifying clarity as he raised his pistol.
His heart skipped. A shiver ran down his spine. But it was too late. The half-dead Spaniard’s muzzle was already raised, eyes filled with grim resolve.
A shot shattered the quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Hermann crumple to the ground, blood blooming across his uniform. Paul fired twice.
The man went down, finally still.
Paul dropped to his knees beside Hermann, gripping his shoulder.
He saw the blood gushing from Hermann’s neck and pressed his hands instinctively against the wound, trying to stop it.
"Koch, Wake up! Move!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
But Hermann did nothing. Blood quietly poured out, slowly forming a dark pool beneath them.
Adrenaline and cold fury surged through Paul.
He was dead.
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