The flight from Berlin to Tokyo took twenty-three hours with a refueling stop in Novosibirsk.
Below, the endless steppes of Siberia stretched like a frozen continent of silence.
He had not been to Japan since the end of the German-Japanese War nearly a decade prior.
Back then he had turned multiple cities into black husks. All burned by the kind of fire that left no bones, only shadows.
German thermobaric bombardment had broken the Japanese will faster than any invasion could.
Afterwards came the reconstruction: German engineers, German police, German advisors, brick by brick, Japan rebuilt under the eye of its conqueror.
Now, through the oval window, Bruno saw the archipelago again: neat as clockwork, the rebuilt lights of Tokyo forming perfect grids along the bay.
It was beautiful in the way order always is when purchased by ruin.
When the aircraft landed at Haneda Field, the honor guard was waiting:
