The guns ceased their echoes throughout the dimly lit corridors the jungle cast across the landscape.
Peace arrived at last, its cost insurmountable, and yet it ca all the sa.
Erich found himself largely fulfilling paperwork. As a Colonel, he now had the duty of becoming a desk jockey when the bullets stopped flying.
The work itself was almost insulting in its mundanity. Forms stamped and restamped, casualty lists reduced to neat columns of nas and serial numbers, requisitions tallied in ink as if lives could be balanced like ledgers.
He signed comndations for n who would never read them, approved replacents for platoons that no longer truly existed, and authorized transfers knowing full well the jungle would claim so of those n before the ink had ti to dry.
It was a different kind of killing, quieter and far more impersonal, and in many ways it weighed heavier on him than the fighting ever had.
A rifle demanded presence, intent, consequence. A pen required only obedience.
Only then did he begin to understand how his grandfather had survived command without losing himself to it. The restraint. The distance. Not cowardice, but control.
As he cracked open a bottle of beer from his mini-fridge and began to sip its cold suds, a taboo for any German, Erich found himself overwheld by relief, sitting there relaxing for the first ti he could rember.
Truly, he could not conjure a life before the war he had begun, no matter how hard he tried to force the mories to stir.
And then ca a knock, not once, but thrice.
He quickly placed the beer on the desk’s coaster, spilling so across his uniform as he did so.
"Shit... sorry. The door is open, co in...."
The mont the door opened, Erich found himself cleaning off his uniform with a rag, only to see Generaloberst Josef "Sepp" Dietrich standing in the doorway.
He sprang from his seat so quickly it was as if a mortar had just launched. Snapping to attention, he threw up his fiercest salute.
Josef, noticing the Colonel was about to shatter the windows with the intensity of his shout, quickly cut the tension with a glance toward the beer frothing at the mouth and spilling over the finely carved desk.
"So," Josef said dryly, "we’re smuggling contraband now?"
Erich imdiately realized what the General was referring to and was just about to admit fault when Josef sat down in front of the desk, staring at him rather impatiently.
"Well?" Josef continued. "Aren’t you going to offer one? Or have you conveniently run out of supplies?"
Only then did Erich realize this was not a formal matter, but sothing closer to a social call.
He quickly opened the mini-fridge once more and handed the General a beer, popping off its cap with the edge of the desk before sitting back down.
"To what do I owe the pleasure... sir?" Erich asked.
Josef instantly raised a hand, his expression lightening significantly as he took the beer.
"No need for such formalities, not now, at least. Truthfully, I ca to give you so good news. You and your brigade are rotating out before we cast off for Guam."
Erich was just about to protest when Josef cut him off with a sharp gaze.
"I admire your fortitude," Josef continued. "In fact, if the legends of your grandfather are true, I would believe you were the literal reincarnation of his spirit, if not for the fact that the old bastard is still very much alive and well."
Erich couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as Josef went on.
"And while I respect that fortitude, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that your unit sustained heavy casualties in Manila. If I may be frank, you boys have seen so of the fiercest fighting in the war... and it’s starting to show"
Josef paused then, studying Erich with a look that carried neither judgnt nor pity, but sothing closer to recognition.
"I’ve buried enough good officers to know the difference between courage and erosion," he continued quietly. "So n burn fast and bright, and the Reich honors them in marble and mory. Others we pull back before there’s nothing left to save."
He took a asured sip of his beer.
"You’ve been running at a pace no formation can maintain forever. Victory doesn’t always look like another campaign, it sotis looks like knowing when a blade needs to be sheathed."
Josef set the bottle down with finality.
"The Fatherland doesn’t need another legend carved into stone. It needs n who can return whole enough to lead what cos next."
"So I’ve petitioned for your imdiate rotation. Go get so rest, and enjoy the Kaiser pinning a few dals to your chest. The Fatherland needs its heroes, and you’ve been away from the public eye for far too long."
Erich didn’t know what to say. At first, he simply reached for the beer and took a large gulp.
After wiping the froth from his mouth, he spoke carefully, knowing that voicing his true thoughts would be a recipe for disaster.
"Thank you, sir. I’m sure my n will be naming their firstborn sons after you for such a gracious gift, just before Christmas, no less."
Josef caught the intent Erich tried to hide behind his words.
"Your n will be pleased," Josef said, "but I wonder how their Oberst will handle a temporary separation from the battlefield."
Erich’s gaze narrowed in understanding, though his words remained polite, if informal.
"I’m sure he’ll manage just fine."
The two n sat in silence for so ti, drinking their beer. Eventually, Josef glanced at his watch and used the ti as an excuse to rise.
"Well, as much as I’d enjoy continuing this conversation, preparations must be made for Guam. And you’ll want to ensure your n are ready to catch their flight first thing in the morning. It’s been the honor of a lifeti to act as the commanding officer of the young wolf. I’m certain your grandfather is proud. Until we et again, Oberst."
Erich rose to salute as the General departed, then collapsed back into his chair, staring at the bottle in his hands as his thoughts drifted.
---
The flight ho to Berlin was a long one, but when the wheels touched the ground and Erich breathed the clean, crisp air of the Fatherland, he nearly fell to his knees.
Though he restrained himself from such an uncouth display, many of the less proper n of his brigade did not.
So wept openly, worshipping the dirt beneath their boots as though it had been touched by divinity.
Erich said his farewells to the n he was closest to, reminding them that while they had been rotated out of the field, this was hardly a vacation.
They had been granted two weeks to settle their affairs and would be expected to regroup and resu duties well behind enemy lines once the new year began.
As Erich entered the limousine waiting for him, the car pulled into traffic and headed toward the nearest railway station.
He gasped softly at how much the city had changed since his first deploynt.
The grandeur of its architecture remained, though subtly altered in style and scale. But the infrastructure felt as though he had stepped a century into the future compared to the land he had just left.
Streetlights glowed brightly as mories flooded his mind, of a life before war, a life of love and peace.
Airships drifted lazily overhead while high-speed trains cut clean, orderly paths through the railways.
Police cars patrolled the streets, helping the elderly cross and maintaining order where necessary.
Everything flowed smoothly, efficiently, and damn near flawlessly.
It was deeply unnerving.
After months in the jungle, where even his own shadow might betray him, the precision of it all felt alien.
It was only when the driver spoke that Erich returned fully to the present.
"So you’re a soldier," the man said. "My younger brother’s off fighting. If you don’t mind asking... what front were you on?"
Erich’s voice dropped low as he continued gazing out the window, half-entranced, half-present.
"The Philippines."
The driver stiffened almost instantly.
"My condolences," he said quietly, changing the subject at once. "We’ll be arriving at the station shortly."
Monts later, the car pulled into the station parking lot. The driver fetched Erich’s luggage and opened the door for him.
As he handed off the bags, the man extended his hand.
"Welco ho, son. I hope wherever you’re headed now brings you so peace."
Erich shook his hand and boarded the train bound for Tyrol.
The train lurched forward with a smoothness that felt unnatural, its steady rhythm at odds with the stop-start violence his body had learned to expect.
Each click of the rails echoed like asured breathing, calm and deliberate, and he found himself unconsciously counting the seconds between them as if they were patrol intervals.
Fields blurred past the window, then foothills, then the first hints of snow-dusted stone. The land felt immutable, ancient in a way the jungle never had been: solid, and enduring.
For the first ti in months, the world did not feel like it was trying to kill him.
In little more than an hour, he would arrive in Innsbruck, just as the sun dipped behind the frost-crowned crags of the Alps.
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