A dimly lit street, somewhere in Vienna.
The sound of boots striking the wet asphalt echoed through the late-night silence. A man in a thick coat walked steadily forward, his hat pulled low, hiding most of his face.
He stopped at the corner, blocked by two men. Both wore heavy leather jackets that concealed their black uniforms. They examined him from head to toe in silence before reluctantly stepping aside.
"Herrn Himmler," the man said as he spotted a lone figure standing in the middle of the street. His heavy American accent was unmistakable.
"Herrn Lancaster," Himmler replied, adjusting his glasses. "Please come straight to the point. I am a busy man."
"The point?" Lancaster asked, almost playfully.
"Do not take me for a fool, American," Himmler said as he stepped closer, his jaw tightening. "What information do you have about Heinrich Jeager?"
Lancaster watched him for a moment, then slowly reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope.
"We have intel suggesting that Herr Jeager is responsible for the recent deaths and disappearances of Wehrmacht officers," he said, offering the letter.
Himmler let out a short laugh. Then he abruptly stopped.
"So you do take me for a fool after all," he said coldly, nodding to the two men standing at the entrance of the alley.
Lancaster stared at him, confusion spreading across his face as the guards approached.
"What do you mean?" he said, panic beginning to show. "You do not believe me? Read the letter."
The two guards grabbed him by the shoulders, not dragging him away but holding him firmly in place.
Himmler adjusted his glasses once more.
"I have known about this for months, you fool. Although the Führer has not told me personally, these operations were still conducted in cooperation with the SS," he said, his voice full of disdain.
He gestured for the guards to take the American away.
Lancaster opened his mouth.
"I know something else," he muttered.
Himmler halted mid-step and turned slowly back toward him.
"Jeager is going to meet with General von Rundstedt by the end of the week," the American said, pausing for a moment. "Alone. In the later ones home."
"Interesting…" Himmler muttered.
After a short silence, the American asked in a pleading tone, "Can I go now?"
"No. You will help," Himmler said, his eyes gleaming with calculation.
.....
It was a sunny yet cold morning. Paul walked through his command center on the outskirts of Vienna, the marble floor reflecting the pale streaks of sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
Officials along his path greeted him respectfully, acknowledging his new role as vice commander of the provisional regional government of Austria, a reward from Hitler. In practice, he was the de facto vice-chancellor of Austria.
When he reached the courtyard, he stepped forward and saluted Major Manteufel, recently promoted and now second-in-command of the 1st Panzer Division. The closeness between the two men was unmistakable.
Paul approached a stone ledge and placed his hands behind his back.
"Good day, men," he called out.
"GOOD DAY, HERR OBERST!" hundreds of soldiers replied in perfect unison, standing in precise formation.
Paul nodded and descended the steps, moving down the rows and meeting each soldier eye to eye. No one dared move a muscle.
Then Paul suddenly stopped in front of a young soldier. The man tried to stand even straighter, a bead of sweat running down his forehead.
Paul stared at him intensely, then reached into his leather coat.
A gunshot cracked through the courtyard. A heavy thud followed.
Uneasy murmurs rippled through the ranks as they saw a soldier lying motionless on the ground, blood spraying across the pavement. But the dead man was not the young soldier. It was the one standing beside him.
"Be at ease, men," Paul shouted.
"This man has betrayed the Fatherland," Paul said, his voice cold and commanding. "He collaborated with foreign powers. He handed over information. He betrayed each and every one of his comrades... he betrayed you. Death is what he deserves."
In truth the man, lying dead before him, wasn't a spy. At least not a spy for foreign powers but a spy of the SS. Werner had identiefed through a stroke of luck, with the man being a distant friend of Friedrich, the original owner of Werner's body. Both had enlisted in the SS at the same time.
Just what is Himmler planning. Is his ego really this big, Paul thought, walking away and leaving his soldiers behind in shock.
End of the week, Berlin.
Knock Knock.
Paul stood before the door of a familiar mansion in Berlin. He adjusted his collar and sighed.
Creak.
The door opened, revealing a tall, grumpy man.
"General," Paul greeted, saluting halfheartedly.
"No need for formalities, Jaeger." Rundstedt stepped aside and gestured for Paul to come in.
He led Paul to a large wooden table, and both men took a seat.
"So, Jaeger, what do you have for me?" Rundstedt asked.
Paul did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the figure standing behind Rundstedt.
Elisabeth. He recognized her instantly, as shocked as he was.
Rundstedt frowned and turned around.
"Oh, Elisabeth. You two have met before, right? At the… what was it… the party two years ago. Yes, I remember. I promoted you to Oberleutnant." Rundstedt laughed. "What a time that was."
Paul nodded awkwardly.
"Why don't you join us, Elisabeth?" Rundstedt asked his daughter.
Paul tilted his head slightly in embarrassment as she walked over reluctantly, a forced smile on her face.
"Nothing top secret, right Jaeger?" Rundstedt asked.
"Of course, just formalities," Paul said, opening his briefcase and pulling out several documents.
"This is the new order for a prototype developed by Rheinmetall," Paul explained.
I developed it… but who cares about formalities, he thought as he looked down at the paper.
MP40 was written at the top.
"Interesting." Rundstedt nodded, signing the document. "I heard you have quite the connections to the development department at Rheinmetall. At least that's what your driver's report says."
"Well, some personal connections and some interest in their work. I give them a little inspiration now and then," Paul said, clearing his throat.
Rundstedt raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He only coughed.
"Elisabeth, would you be so kind as to bring us some tea? For you as well, Jaeger?" Rundstedt asked.
"Yes, thank you," Paul replied, doing his best to avoid Elisabeth's eyes.
She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen next to the room. Moments later, the muted sound of boiling water drifted through the closed door.
"Now, there is another matter…" Paul began.
"Let me see," Rundstedt said, leaning forward.
They talked for quite a while, discussing upcoming weapons projects, the political climate, and the recent Anschluss.
"Well, yes, that is…" Paul started, then stopped abruptly and turned around. "Where is Elisabeth?"
"Right?" Rundstedt muttered, frowning. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Paul followed closely behind.
The moment Rundstedt touched the handle, a golden flicker flashed in Pauls eyes. A burning image shot through his mind. A blast. Blood. Rundstedt lifeless beside him.
Paul's eyes flew open.
Again… he thought. Not this time.
Without hesitation, he lunged toward Rundstedt, who had already begun to lower the handle. Paul grabbed him and violently shoved him aside.
They were still in the air when the door exploded with a deafening blast. Splinters of wood burst in every direction, cutting through the room. They struck both men, but most tore into Paul, who had instinctively thrown himself between the blast and Rundstedt.
Paul lay on the ground, rubble pressing against his back. Somewhere to his right was Rundstedt, but all Paul could see through the thick smoke was a faint silhouette.
He coughed. Blood sprinkled across his palm when he lifted his hand. His jaw tightened from the pain coursing through his body, though it barely slowed him down.
Then he remembered.
His half-closed eyes snapped open with a wild, almost feral determination.
Elisabeth is still inside, he thought, forcing his battered body upright. Debris slipped off him as he rose, stones and splintered wood clattering to the ground. He staggered toward the blasted doorway, coughing again. More blood.
When he reached the room, his eyes scanned every corner. Then he froze. A silhouette lay half buried under a thick wooden beam.
He rushed over and shoved the plank aside with all his remaining strength, groaning loudly from the effort.
Paul knelt beside her, gently brushing hair from her face before checking her pulse.
For a moment, his own heartbeat threatened to stop. Then he exhaled in shaky relief.
It is there… but weak, he thought, and began pulling away the debris to free her.
His eyes widened again.
A gunshot cracked through the house. Instinctively, Paul jerked to the side, something hot grazing his cheek. Another shot punched through the wall, then another, splintering the kitchen's tiles. Paul crouched low, teeth clenched.
He reached for his pistol.
Another shot tore through the window, narrowly missing him and grazing Elisabeth's head.
Paul's eyes filled with murderous intent. He fired a single round toward the source. A loud rustle followed as the attacker collapsed into a bush outside.
Then a second explosion roared through the mansion. Paul dropped to the floor instinctively.
The entrance, Paul realized. He peeked out of the kitchen and immediately ran toward Rundstedt. The general was still alive, dazed but conscious. Paul dragged him back into the kitchen with effort.
"Jaeger…" Rundstedt muttered. "Jaeger… is she alive?"
Paul nodded and lowered him beside his daughter.
Then he positioned himself by the doorframe, pistol raised, holding his breath.
Footsteps approached. Soft but steady. More than one.
A muzzle appeared in the doorway. Then a hand, an arm… a head.
Paul fired. The intruder collapsed instantly. Paul shoved the falling body aside and stepped into the frame, searching for the others.
Before he could react, someone batted his pistol aside. Paul instinctively squeezed the trigger, the bullet flying harmlessly into the living room.
He ducked just in time to avoid another muzzle flashing from the side. A missed shot cracked past him. Paul lunged, grabbing the weapon by the barrel. The intruder punched at him with his free hand, but Paul dodged at the last moment and slammed a brutal uppercut into the man's chin.
The hit was devastating. The man stumbled back but recovered quickly and kicked Paul in the stomach, raising his pistol again. Before he could fire, Paul rammed into him, sending both crashing to the floor. The pistol flew across the room.
Paul grabbed the man by the throat, squeezing hard. Suddenly a fist struck his cheek from the side, knocking him off.
A third one? Paul thought, turning to see another man in black.
The new attacker leapt at him. Paul reacted instantly, striking him midair and sending him crashing to the ground.
The first man was back on his feet. He grabbed a loose brick and hurled it at Paul. Paul blocked with his arm, vision obscured for a split second. That was enough for the intruder to land a crushing blow to his ribs.
Paul gasped, collapsing to the floor. The man raised his fist for the killing strike.
Paul's hand found something hard. The brick.
With a hoarse scream he slammed it upward. It shattered against the man's face with a sickening crunch.
Paul crawled toward him, the man was coughing, struggling for air through his broken nose. He grabbed the man's collar and lifted the brick again.
"AAAH!" he roared, smashing it down again and again.
After a dozen blows, he collapsed forward, throwing the bloodied brick aside. He forced himself upright, swaying, when he heard a metallic click behind him.
He turned.
The third intruder stood there, grinning triumphantly, pistol raised at Paul's head.
Paul clenched his fists, absoulute madness filling his eyes.
A gunshot rang out. The intruder's eyes widened before he crumpled, blood spilling from his mouth. His chest still rising and falling hectictly.
Paul whipped around.
Rundstedt sat slumped against the wall. One hand held a pistol, smoke rising from the muzzle. The other clutched his bleeding stomach...
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