The sounds of shouting echoed through the thick wooden door of the Reichstag. Attendants and politicians alike drew a wide arc, their eyes fixed firmly on the ground as they hurried past.
"Herr Göring, I implore you to see reason!" a man shouted, his voice muffled slightly by the heavy wood.
"The tanks have already received enough funds and attention. It is time for the Luftwaffe to receive proper funding for a new transport aircraft!" Göring roared in response.
"With all due respect, tanks are the future of Germany!" the other man shot back, the anger in his voice now unmistakable.
"Respect?" Göring bellowed. "Yes, tell me, Oberst Rommel, where is your respect?" A loud crash followed, as if a fist had struck the table.
Outside, people whispered among themselves, casting approving or disapproving glances at the door before continuing on their way.
"If Oberst Jäger were here, he would say exactly the same," Rommel replied coldly.
"Oberst Jaeger? Oberst this, Oberst that!" Göring shouted. "Where is your respect? You are not a General yet, and I swear to God, if you do not stop, I will make sure it stays that way!" His fist slammed down once more.
Fritz, a parliamentarian, shook his head as he passed the door.
"Göring is at it again..." he muttered, then suddenly looked up, realizing how loudly he had spoken.
A tall man stood before him, sunlight from the nearby window illuminating his face.
The man smiled, clearly having heard Fritz's remark.
Fritz froze, surprised by both the familiar face and the sudden presence. The man stepped closer, leaning in until his face was near Fritz's ear.
He whispered something inaudible. Fritz's expression instantly softened, shifting to one of friendliness mixed with complete astonishment.
The man gave him a pat on the back. The silver-lined sleeve of his uniform betrayed his high rank.
Only then did Fritz gasp. As a newly elected parliamentarian, he had never seen the man in person, only heard the stories.
The man in the immaculate uniform continued down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. People stepped aside instinctively. Some watched him with open mistrust, yet none dared block his path.
The shouting inside the room grew louder again as Paul reached the door. With a loud creak, he pushed open the massive wooden panels and stepped inside.
Four men stared at him in stunned silence, their argument abruptly forgotten.
Rommel's eyes gleamed with hope.
Göring looked at Paul with a mixture of anger and surprise, his fist clenched beneath the table.
The other two drew Paul's attention next as he studied their faces and expressions.
One wore a navy blue uniform, the insignia of an admiral clearly visible.
Dönitz, Paul thought, taking in the young, tall, blond man.
Then there was Richthofen. Paul gave him a subtle nod, which Richthofen returned with a faint smile.
"Well, gentlemen," Paul said at last, his tone deliberately provocative. "What have I missed?"
Rommel immediately stepped closer to Paul. Richthofen twitched as well, instinctively moving forward before stopping himself just as quickly, remembering his affiliation.
Göring sighed, barely containing his anger and frustration.
"So you are back, Jäger? From your little secret mission?" he remarked, his tone dripping with mockery.
"Indeed, sir," Paul replied, wearing a mocking smile of his own and deliberately overpronouncing the word.
You little insect, Paul thought as he watched Göring carefully, his eyes squinting. Quite a large insect, admittedly.
"Hm? Did you say something, Jäger?" Göring asked, half turning toward him and raising an eyebrow.
Paul tilted his head slightly. "Nothing."
"Mhm," Göring muttered, his gaze returning to the paperwork spread across the table.
"Well then," Paul continued calmly, "let us return to the discussion that has been echoing through the hallways. I heard it quite clearly." He paused, watching Göring's reaction. "And naturally, I must side with Oberst Rommel. The tank is vital to the Wehrmacht. A new tank project is non negotiable."
"You speak as if that decision is yours, Jäger!" Göring roared, gripping the edge of the table a little too tightly.
Paul stepped closer, picking up one of the documents.
"A transport plane?" he asked, his voice almost pitying.
The burly man before him barely managed to restrain an inappropriate remark.
Paul took another step forward, now standing directly in front of Göring.
He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper near Göring's ear.
Rommel stood close enough to catch fragments of what was said.
"Hermann," Paul murmured, deliberately using his first name. "No need to keep up the facade. Just give in."
Göring exploded.
His hand shot toward his belt with surprising speed, fingers already brushing the holster.
But something stopped him.
His arm froze mid air, caught in an iron grip.
"I would not do that if I were you," Paul said quietly, tightening his hold. "You and Himmler have enjoyed my absence quite a lot, haven't you?"
Göring stared at him, eyes wide, desperately trying to piece together Paul's words.
"Surprised?" Paul asked softly. "You cannot believe it? I gave in. I let the mask fall. And you did too. You and Himmler. Not too long ago."
Göring's mouth opened slowly. "What are you talking about?"
Paul merely nodded.
"Remain quiet, and I will remain so as well. Remain noisy, and the Führer will learn about your sudden revelation. About the mistake you and Himmler made some time ago."
"I learned quite a lot during my little vacation," Paul added, releasing his grip as he turned away.
He left Göring behind, baffled and red with rage.
"This meeting is adjourned," Paul proclaimed.
Confused gazes followed, several men instinctively turning toward Göring. For a brief moment, the man said nothing. Then he simply turned and walked away, closing the door behind him without a word.
Someone needs a vacation, I presume, Paul thought.
"Well, that was something," Dönitz muttered. Yet his eyes remained fixed on Paul, filled with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.
"A pleasure to meet you, Admiral," Paul said, extending his hand.
Dönitz hesitated for a moment before accepting the handshake.
"Yes. I have heard a lot about you," he replied, his tone far from convincing.
If you cannot choose a side, Dönitz, you will be devoured by the giant steering your ship. Either you take his side, or you will be thrown overboard by the current, Paul thought, holding the man's complicated gaze.
Rommel, meanwhile, looked at Paul with growing trust. A gaze Paul caught in the corner of his eye.
"Wolfram, it has been a long time," Paul said, shaking Richthofen's hand.
"I agree. Two months without you felt long indeed," Richthofen replied.
"How touching," Paul joked lightly. "We should grab a drink sometime."
"Without question," Richthofen answered. "But first, we have some land to conquer."
Paul raised an eyebrow.
"I assume you have not heard yet. The Führer and a delegation of politicians, including Ribbentrop, have gone to Munich. A conference regarding the Sudetenland."
Paul's eyes widened, his thoughts spiraling toward a single conclusion.
Earlier than in history, but fine, he thought.
Already bidding farewell to the group of officers, Paul turned away.
A black Mercedes rolled through the heavy gate into the courtyard. Paul stepped out and was immediately greeted by a familiar face.
He embraced the man before him in a brotherly manner.
"Hasso, how have you been?" Paul asked.
"As well as one can be, I suppose," Hasso replied, his face noticeably brighter than before Paul's departure.
Paul nodded.
"Much as I would like to talk longer, we do not have the time," he said. "Rally the men. Something big is about to happen in the coming days."
Paul paused, watching soldiers march past in perfect order, their voices rising in song.
"We will have to show our best side," he added quietly.
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