General Walther von Brauchitsch arrived at Army High Command just after 7:00 a.m.
A junior officer opened the door for him without a word.
Inside, the hallways were strangely silent.
There were no congratulations.
No flowers.
No formal welcome.
Just papers left on desks.
Brauchitsch didn't expect a celebration.
He was stepping into another man's shadow, and everyone knew it.
His new office was neat, clean, already stripped of Fritsch's presence.
The desk was cleared.
The chair felt stiff.
Someone had already replaced the framed print on the far wall.
It was a map of Germany.
He stood at the window for a moment, hands behind his back.
There was no joy in the appointment.
No pride.
He hadn't asked for it.
But he hadn't refused, either.
Keitel arrived twenty minutes later, crisp and cheerful in that strange way he always carried.
"Walther," he said warmly, closing the door behind him. "I trust the morning finds you well."
