Oberst Schwarz finally turned toward him, his face a mixture of surprise and honest respect. "Young man," he called, his voice carrying over the bridge, "What is your name?"
"Leutnant Heinrich Jeager, sir," Paul replied, keeping his voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him.
Schwarzer studied him for a long moment, then nodded sharply. "Jeager... excellent work. Quick thinking, precise execution. You just saved my life and quite possibly the lives of dozens of your comrades. Well done. It seems like Germany has still some good soldiers."
Paul’s chest tightened, lingering unease washing over him.
The Oberst gestured to one of his attendants, who held the flag firmly in his hands. Schwarzer then pointed toward the flagpole at the center of the bridge.
"Leutnant Jeager, to thank and reward you for your outstanding action, you may plant the flag of the Fatherland. Plant it, and show the world that Germany is back."
Paul nodded and took the flag, moving toward the pole at a steady pace. He walked through the masses of soldiers still on the bridge, catching familiar faces along the way, Hauptmann Kruger, his friend Erich, and squad leader Karl, all giving him glances of approval and quiet admiration.
There was also Hans, who looked at him like a child at his father.
He climbed the stone column and raised the banner. The black, white, and red flag snapped sharply in the wind. The crowd of residents that had gathered along the riverbank erupted in cheers, while soldiers saluted and marched in orderly lines into the heart of the city.
POV Thomas Scholz
Among the crowd, there was another kind of observer. A journalist, notebook and camera in hand, pushing eagerly through the masses of people, trying to get the perfect picture.
Every detail of the scene, the disciplined march of the soldiers, the thunder of boots on cobblestones, the fluttering flag, and Paul standing at the top of the column, was being recorded. The cathedral loomed behind, framing the historic moment.
The man was called Thomas Scholz, he worked at a local newspaper and his boss sent him to document the historic reclaiming of the Rhineland, but what caught his attention was Paul.
"Perfect..." he muttered, half to himself, heart pounding.
This wasn’t just another parade, not another soulless piece for the daily column. This, he knew it in his bones, was the image that would burn itself into the memory of the nation and could be him who captured it.
He had to speak to that man, whatever it takes. Not the arrogant Oberst laughing or the politician who already made their way over, looking to claim this achievement , no it had to be him.
He caught the sight of Paul climbing down and quickly pushed through the crowd, calling out: "Hey, you! Wait! What’s your name?"
Paul POV
Paul turned, unsure of what to expect. He saw a small and burly looking man trying to reach him, rather desperatly. A notebook and a camera in his hands and a determined look on his face.
"Leutnant Heinrich Jeager,"he said cautiosly, after the man finally reached him.
"Thomas, Thomas Scholz," the man said breathlessly, while extending his hand."Journalist."
Paul hesitated a moment before taking the mans hand. Scholz’s grip was surprisingly strong, ink marking fingers.
"What you just did," Thomas continued, "was a piece of history and I intend to tell the world of it."
Paul frowned. "A journalist?" His eyes flicked to the camera. The last thing he wanted right now was more eyes on him, dissecting his every move.
Thomas seemed to notice the reluctance and leaned in slightly. "Listen... I’m not here to trap you or make you look like some stiff statue in a report. This could really help your career, you know. Are you a member of the party?"
The Party. Paul sneered at the thought. Why would I be part of that detestable group? A cabal of madmen, drunk on their own ideology, willing to drag millions into slaughter. A genocide he knew was coming, a future he intended to prevent.
Yet the thought raised other questions, pulling him into deep reflection. How?
And yet...he frowned. There is only one way.
He would need to walk among them. Smile when they smiled. Speak their words. Wear their uniform as if it fit. But when the time came, he would stop them, he would pierce them from within, right where it would hurt the most.
As for the Second World War, Paul did not believe he could stop it. Perhaps it was necessary, in some terrible way, for a long-lasting peace. But the killing of innocents, that could be prevented. That was a line he would not let be crossed.
"Heinrich? Heinrich!" Thomas shouted, seeing how long Paul had been lost in thought.
Paul blinked, shaking himself from the spiral of thought. He forced a small smile, hiding the storm inside. "Sorry, Thomas. Just... thinking."
"No I’m not yet a member of the party,"he continued.
Thomas’s pen scratched across the notebook. "Not yet," he repeated, eyes glinting with curiosity. "Well, that’s interesting. People will watch closely now. I can note that you’re a promising young officer, likely to join, it’ll help your popularity, make others take note of your potential."
Paul gave him a small nod: "I’m fine with that." Yes... this is the door to get right into the lion’s den. I’ll have to secure my place next to the lion himself, soon, or it will be too late...
With a final nod to Thomas, Paul turned, walking back toward his platoon. He saw Hans looking up at him with wide, almost reverent eyes, he was one among many. Erich stepped forward as well and gave him a brotherly embrace while laughing, savoring the moment.
The murmurs of the crowd and the distant clatter of boots faded behind him, replaced by his his own thoughts. The game had begun.
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