OKW – Wehrmacht
The officer walked straight to the large meeting table placed in the center of the room. Voices filled the air around him. Massive maps covered the walls behind the table.
Sitting around it were dozens of well-known faces, the giants of the Wehrmacht: Guderian, Hasso von Manteuffel, Blaskowitz, Werner von Fritsch, Walter Model, Ludwig Beck, Hermann Hoth, Maximilian von Weichs, and many more.
A few chairs remained empty, marking the places of the top generals who were absent or still on active duty. Rommel and von Lettow-Vorbeck were among them, as was Rundstedt, whose health had grown even worse since the death of his daughter Elisabeth. Blomberg was also missing, along with several others.
The most important man in the room was present. Field Marshal Erich von Manstein lowered the cigarette he had been smoking, just like most of the men there.
"This is?" Manstein asked, raising his head to meet the officer's eyes and holding out his hand for the report.
"The newest report from the Africa front, sir. General Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck has informed us about the latest developments."
Manstein nodded. His leather-laced fingers took the paper. He stubbed out his cigarette in a small ashtray, the stump still glowing. While he read, officers hurried to move the small icons of tanks and soldiers on the map behind him.
"That will put Rommel in a dangerous position," Guderian remarked.
"Indeed. He is completely cut off from the supply chain and trapped between two enemy forces. Do we have any intel on what lies east of Rommel?" Model asked.
"The Luftwaffe will have to scout the area," Manstein replied as he stood up, turned around, and studied the map. "But as you all know, gentlemen, fuel is the decisive factor at this stage of the war. Rommel and von Lettow-Vorbeck have understood that exactly."
"Wether Rommel wil be able to confront the british tanks succesfully, or wether he will flee, I will leave it to his own decision. All of know Rommel he will make it. Our taks now is to coordinate with Luftwaffe adn Kriegsmarine to get our men more supplies
OKM – Kriegsmarine
A very similar room unfolded, filled with the giants of the Kriegsmarine. Their concern, however, was entirely different.
Dönitz, Lütjens, Marschall, Carls, and von Friedeburg sat around the table. At the head sat Grand Admiral Erich Raeder.
"The U-boat war in the Mediterranean must be intensified. There is no question about it," von Friedeburg exclaimed, rising to his feet. His navy-blue uniform sat perfectly on his frame.
"I agree," Dönitz said, nodding toward him. "The reports from the Wehrmacht are more than worrying when it comes to fuel supplies in Africa. We have to cut the British supply lines not only on land but also at sea."
"But what about our own fuel consumption?" Carls asked, voicing his skepticism. "Large shipments are already on their way to Africa and will need protection. That means we will need our Mediterranean fleet for escort duty."
Dönitz stood up and walked over to the large map of the Mediterranean. Small icons marked shipping routes and merchant vessels.
"Since this is our situation, don't you think the British feel exactly the same?" he said, turning back to the admirals and spreading his hands with clear arrogance. "We will only use the U-boats to raid their convoys. As for our own shipments… we simply do not protect them."
Raeder sighed and rose as well. The room fell into complete silence the moment the tall Reichsmarschall's frame appeared beside the table.
"Sit down, Dönitz," Raeder said calmly. "I agree with your idea, but we will still provide some protection for the convoys. Not purely for escort duty, but also for training. The Mediterranean fleet is still insufficiently trained and not yet up to the standards of the German Kriegsmarine. This is a good opportunity for them to gain real experience."
Dönitz nodded slowly and returned to his seat.
While the Luftwaffe held a similar meeting elsewhere in Berlin, the newest developments had already reached even the highest of the high.
Baltic Sea Coast
The majestic waves of the Baltic Sea rolled against the shore, sometimes gentle, sometimes crashing with raw power. The pale sun hung low in the sky, bathing the endless sandy coastline in a warm, golden light. Two men walked alone along the vast beach, their long coats fluttering in the brisk sea wind, their leather boots sinking deep into the soft sand with every step.
"May I expect that Your Highness will take on all coming official duties with the same dedication as today's ship christening?" the taller man asked. His broad back was clad in a heavy brown leather coat worn over a black military uniform.
"Indeed," the second man replied. He wore a pristine white and gold ceremonial uniform that gleamed in the sunlight. He stopped for a moment, gazing out over the waves. "My father, thank God, is still in reasonably good health, yet he wishes to retire now that his greatest wish has been fulfilled."
"Well, we need someone to represent this side of Germany," Paul said with a warm smile and patted Wilhelm firmly on the shoulder. "I believe you are the best match, Wilhelm."
He stopped walking. The wind tugged at their coats.
"I will have to ask you for something."
Wilhelm raised an eyebrow in interest.
"You have probably heard of the ongoing struggle for oil and fuel in the Africa campaign. In that regard, an interesting idea came to my mind." Paul paused, letting the words sink in.
"I believe you know the royal family of Iran quite well…"
Wilhelm III turned and looked directly into Paul Jaeger's eyes.
"I have done all I could to bring back the dynasty," he said, clenching his fist. "To bring back order and stability for Germany. In the end I did not succeed. But you…" He exhaled slowly. "I have not thanked you yet, Jaeger. Of course I will go to Iran. But is there something else I can do for you?"
Paul met his gaze. A subtle twitch of his eyebrow escaped Wilhelm's notice.
You fool, Paul thought, saying it like that, how can I not?
He turned his head toward the sky as the wind grew stronger, whipping strands of hair across his face.
"Your daughter, Princess Louise II… how old is she this year?" Paul whispered, continuing to walk. Wilhelm followed, watching him closely.
"She will turn four in April."
"Is that so…"
Paul let the words linger for a moment, the crashing waves filling the silence. A faint, satisfied smile touched the corners of his mouth.
"My son Marcus just turned two last month," he said calmly. "He is a healthy, bright boy. Strong..."
He stopped again and faced Wilhelm fully.
"I want our families joined, Your Highness. A simple, private betrothal for now. When the time is right, your daughter and my son will secure the future of both our lines. The Jaeger line and the imperial house, bound together."
Wilhelm was silent for a long time, the only sound the roar of the sea.
He knew exactly what it was Paul was doing. It was an attack and a safety net at the same time. If his daughter were to marry a commoner, it would break apart the aristocratic society that was balancing on a fragile knife. But he could secure the Hohenzollern influence. At the moment they were nothing more than figureheads, who knew when even that would change.
"I trust you understand that I will have to talk with my father first," he finally answered, his voice careful.
Paul nodded, the picture of polite understanding.
Of course you will, Paul thought, the smile never reaching his eyes. Run to daddy, little prince...
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