Outskirts of Berlin, two days earlier
Silent footsteps splashed through the puddles of a deserted street. Slowly, a man erged from the rain. His black leather coat was soaked, his hat pulled low over his face.
As he reached a gate, two soldiers standing guard briefly inspected him, then gave a familiar nod before slowly opening the tal structure.
The man continued along the gravel path, passing through the large garden. He stopped in front of the heavy doors, raised his hand, and knocked.
After a mont, the door opened with a faint creak. A man dressed in a butler’s uniform greeted him. The butler inclined his head respectfully.
"The lady of the house?" the man asked.
Without a word, the butler gestured toward a corridor. The man followed without hesitation.
Soon, he entered the living room. Elegant furniture filled the space, an unused fireplace dominating one wall, ornate carpets covering the floor. On one of the sofas sat a woman who stared at him with wide eyes.
She rose instantly, crossing the room and throwing her arms around him.
"Gustaf," she murmured. "What about Heinrich?"
Gustaf removed his hat and sat down beside Elisabeth, who was still visibly trembling with adrenaline.
"He is doing well," he said calmly, pulling out a thin stack of photographs.
Elisabeth grabbed them imdiately, scanning each one in search of her husband.
"Is that a beard?" she asked, half-whispering, half-laughing. "And it hasn’t even been three weeks."
"No one hurt him?" she added, looking up at Gustaf with an insistent gaze.
"No. In fact, he asked to return and see whether that is also the case for you." His blond hair caught the dim light of the chandelier, still damp from the rain.
Elisabeth studied the man before her. Paul’s friend. Paul’s employee. Paul’s subordinate. She was not even sure herself. Paul had rarely spoken about the origins of the man who had followed him since that mysterious mission, the sa man who led the team which presence now guarded their ho every day. But there was one thing Paul had told her.
The man sitting before her had saved her husband.
"Gustaf," Elisabeth began, ignoring her earlier question."Tell how you saved him back then."
Gustaf leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing.
"I killed his enemy," he replied flatly. "That is all."
He hoped it would be enough. Before she could respond, he spoke again.
"So what should I tell the Oberst?"
Elisabeth tilted her head, glancing at the neatly set table before looking back at him.
"What enemy?" she asked instead of answering.
"I..."He began shaking his head, then he suddenly stood up from the sofa, his gaze deep.
"Why are you dodging my questions?"
Elisabeth sighed, a hint of distance entering her eyes.
"I am pregnant," she said quietly. "That is what the doctor told ." She sank back into the soft cushions of the sofa.
Gustaf stepped back, leaning against the table.
"Then that is what you tell him," she continued, forcing a fragile smile. "Hopefully he has good news as well. Tell , Gustaf, what good news does he bring?" Her eyes filled with tears.
Present, Central Poland
Paul lowered himself onto a small wooden chair, the fabric creaking dangerously under his weight.
"Yes, rwin?" Paul asked, pressing the radio tight against his ear, trying to make out what the old politician was saying amid the thunderous explosions all around him.
Only an indistinct crackle answered.
Paul shook his head and tilted it slightly, gesturing for the officers nearby to close the thin wooden door that stood wide open.
The house shook again. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Paul rely brushed it off his uniform before grabbing the radio once more.
"So what about the Russians?" Paul asked again.
"Yes. I managed to intercept information regarding a secret eting between the Russians and Ribbentrop," rwin replied hastily.
Paul leaned back in the rickety wooden chair and thought. He thought for a long ti.
"Sir?" rwin’s already impatient voice crackled through the radio.
Paul did not answer. Instead, he balanced a small combat knife on his index finger. The tip hovered just monts away from falling, the sharp tal ready to bite into the floor. Then he adjusted his finger slightly, steadying it again.
It remained balanced for so ti, even as the primitive house vibrated from the distant blasts.
"Okay," Paul said suddenly.
"Okay?" rwin asked.
Paul grabbed the knife and slamd it into the wooden table.
A small, muffled whimper ca from sowhere in the room, sothing Paul ignored.
He tilted his head, his eyes drifting toward the blade’s edge, using it like a mirror to inspect the three day beard that had grown on his face.
"Yes. Continue listening. No intervention."
rwin was silent for a mont.
"Yes, sir. And there is sothing else I should report. I have received information that several of the projects are nearing completion. Especially Project ’God’s Fist.’"
Paul raised an eyebrow.
"Good. Thank you, rwin. Is that all?"
Before rwin could answer, Paul reached for a small plate standing on the table. On it sat a large cake, a rare sight in the middle of a war.
"That is all, sir," the radio crackled.
Paul slowly pressed the knife into the cake, dividing it into even pieces.
Then he turned the radio off.
He stood up and turned.
Behind him sat three children and a woman, flanked by two Wehrmacht soldiers, pressing them against the wall.
"We apologize," Paul said, crouching down. "For intruding, especially on such an occasion."
He smiled faintly.
"Little Tommy, your birthday cake is ready," he added, motioning for the two soldiers to step away from the family.
The soldiers obeyed.
Paul shared a brief, familiar glance with one of them.
The soldier in question left the room last, his eyes lingering on little Tommy a mont longer than necessary.
As they opened the wooden door, a tank roared past at high speed, swirling sand and dirt into the air.
Monts later, another tank pulled up and ca to a halt in front of the house.
"Our ride," Paul said, climbing onto the tank. The other two followed him without hesitation.
They took their seats atop the hull as the tracks slowly began to move again.
They were the sa two n who had always followed Paul. The sa ones who stood guard outside his tent, who rode in the tank beside his own.
Naless soldiers.
And that was exactly what they were.
Paul glanced at the one from before.
"Gustaf," he said, instantly drawing the man’s attention.
"How is Elisabeth? Tell , now that you are back," Paul asked, his face unreadable.
"I..." Gustaf began. "She misses you a lot." A hint of embarrassnt flickered across his face before he continued."But she is well. Unhard."
The tank rolled over a large crater, rattling violently. Gustaf and the other soldier had to steady themselves to avoid being thrown off.
Gustaf pressed himself against the tank’s hull, wishing he could sink into it in that mont.
"Anything else? Anything important?" Paul asked, his face bathed in the sumr sun, unaware of everything.
Gustaf’s eyelids trembled slightly, but he shook his head in the sa breath.
Paul nodded, turned away, and raised his goggles. Then, suddenly, he tilted his head back toward Gustaf, who nearly had a heart attack.
"Wait!" Paul shouted.
Gustaf’s eyes widened.
"What about the photos? The beard? Did she like it?" Paul asked.
Gustaf forced a broad, awkward smile.
"Of course, sir. Of course she liked it."
"Good. Good," Paul said, lifting his goggles once more.
Gustaf, however, felt hollow inside. He had lied. He had lied to Paul, because he believed it was better that way.
"For the plan, it’s better for you, Heinrich," Gustaf murmured. His words were swallowed by the roar of the tank’s engine as it pushed relentlessly deeper into Polish territory.
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