The officers had been summoned at dawn. Paul stood shoulder to shoulder with Erich and a few others when Hauptmann Kruger finally appeared. With a face devoid of any emotion, he sank into his worn leather chair, clasping his hands.
"Gentlen," he began. "The Führer has placed the army on full alert. Although he did not elaborate, I believe sothing extraordinary will happen tomorrow. You should brief your platoons and be ready to march at any ti."
The words hung heavy in the cold air. So officers looked simply surprised, others excited. Paul showed none of it; he was neither excited nor surprised. He simply knew what he had to do.
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The Hauptmann’s assumptions proved correct, for at exactly nine o’clock in the next morning, the radios sprang to life, and a voice ca through them.
Paul and his platoon stood in formation on the front courtyard, awaiting what was about to co. The entire 2. regint stood neatly organized, filling every inch of the vast courtyard.
The radios blared across the courtyard, carrying the voice of the Führer to every corner of the nation.
"German people! Today we reclaim the Rhineland, a land that belongs to us by right. Let no man doubt the strength of our holand, and let every citizen take pride in the honor of our soldiers. Today we tear apart the unfair Treaty of Vairsailes that chained our nation for so long. The eyes of history watch us, and the world will rember this day."
The broadcast ended with a crackle of static, leaving a heavy silence in the winter air. Soldiers shifted uncomfortably, listening to the fading echoes.
Monts later, a man stepped forward, dressed in a perfectly fitting gray-black officer’s uniform. His black hair was streaked with grey at the temples, and his uniform, indicating his rank as an Oberst, commanded respect.
Paul managed recall a na within his mories, that man was regint commander Oberst Heinz Schwarzer.
Oberst Schwarzer cleared his throat before speaking:"n of the regint, you have heard it yourself, we are to move into the Rhineland, by orders of the General Staff and the Führer himself. Rejoice, you are witnessing history."
A murmur ran through the ranks. So soldiers exchanged grins, clapping each other on the shoulders, the thrill of marching into history lighting their faces. Others stiffened, eyes scanning the courtyard as if asuring the weight of what they were about to do. Paul stood motionless, folding his hands behind his back, neither stirred by pride nor fear, only the weight of what was about to unfold.
Schwarzer concluded, "2nd Regint of the 8th Infantry Division, move out!"
The sound of boots striking the stone echoed across the courtyard as the platoons moved forward, slowly but steadily. Paul, too, ordered his n to organize and follow him. He walked at the front, carrying his Karabiner 98k rifle slung over his shoulder, the standard weapon of the German soldier at the ti, and his Luger pistol secured at his belt. Behind him, his n marched in disciplined rows of four, each carrying a Karabiner 98k and a backpack.
They cast respectful glances at their commander’s back, especially after his demonstration the day before.
*Flashback*
The afternoon sun burned on Pauls face while he was observing the shooting exercise of his n. His n although good, were lax. "They don’t know what is about to co," Paul wispered. His eyes fell on one of the new recruits, Hans, whose hands shook as he tried to aim. Quiet laughter rippled through the other n.
"Watch closely, n," Paul said, stepping forward, his voice calm but commanding. Hans stood to his left, while the rest of the platoon ford a half-circle behind them.
"Focus, Hans," Paul said. "Your body knows what to do, let it guide you, not your fear." He demonstrated the grip, stance, and breathing, moving slowly so the recruit could mimic him.
Hans, following every move of his superior with wide eyes, glanced at Paul with awe and gratitude.
Hans fired again, this ti hitting closer to the center of the target. Paul adjusted his stance slightly, guiding the recruit’s shoulders and breathing. With each shot, Hans steadied, and the nervous tremble in his hands faded. By the last few rounds, he was striking the bullseye consistently.
A murmur of impressed approval ran through the platoon. Karl nodded subtly, and even the older soldiers exchanged glances, clearly impressed by the rapid transformation and their Leutnants skills with the riffle.
But only Paul knew the truth. He hadn’t been a particularly skilled shooter in his own life, but the original owner of his body had been. Heinrich had graduated at the top of his class in marksmanship. In comparison, Paul had only been on a handful of hunting trips and had fired a few modern weapons during his mandatory military service.
Why didn’t Heinrich ever beco truly succesful with this skill? Paul wondered silently, shaking his head. Perhaps he had been unlucky, was a poor tactitian or he died early. But now it was Paul wielding those insticts and he intended to put them to their fullest use.
*Flashback End*
The regint’s boots thundered against the cobblestones as they approached the Rhine, the towering spires of Cologne Cathedral looming ahead.
Paul’s platoon led the long column, and ironically, it was Paul’s feet that first touched the bridge spanning the river. Historians later wrote: Leutnant Heinrich Jeager beca the first German soldier to set foot in the Rhineland since the end of the First World War.
Behind them, a convoy of transport trucks rumbled along. From one of the trucks, Oberst Schwarz erged, adjusting his uniform with an air of thriumph. He strode toward the front of the column, scanning the French guards stationed at the far side of the bridge.
"Do you intend to step aside, or are you going to stand there like children, trembling at the sight of n? Don’t emberrass yourselves further." Schwarzer called out in perfect French and a mocking smile on his face.
Most of the French soldiers froze with anger, unsure how to respond. One guard at the back, flushed with sothing more dangerous, as he began to raise his rifle. "No!" a senior french soldier barked.
But it was too late. The sound of a gunshot tore through the stillness. Both German and French soldiers froze, rifles halfway raised, eyes wide with shock.
So instinctively ducked, glancing at the French guard. The young soldier crumpled silently to the ground, a red hole between his eyes, blood spattering onto the cobblestones.
The soldiers’ eyes darted around, confused, until the truth beca clear. The shot hadn’t co from the French guard, it had co from Paul. His Luger pistol still smoking in his hand.
Paul lowered the Luger, his hand still trembling slightly. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the soft murmur of the river and the distant rumble of trucks.
For a mont, he felt nothing. His body had moved before his mind could catch up. It had been Heinrich’s instincts that saved Oberst Schwarz’s life, but in doing so, he had taken another.
Paul’s eyes fell on the crumpled body of the young French guard. The sight was stark, undeniable, a pool of blood already ford around him, life extinguished in an instant. He swallowed hard, the reality of what he had done, threathing to crush him.
Clarity ca swiftly. The guard had been about to fire, not just at Oberst Schwarz, but into the ranks of his own platoon. If Paul hadn’t acted instantly, many more might have died.
In the end, killing would always be a soldier’s duty. At least half of him was made for it, he thought, even if the other half still recoiled at the cost...
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