"Report! Commander of the 1st Guards Infantry Regiment's battalion, Major Mainz von Lewinsky, requests permission to report!"
The voice was crisp, military, and precise.
A young officer stepped into the headquarters. His uniform was immaculate, his posture rigid and upright, his expression stern yet strikingly handsome. The room seemed to pause, eyes turning instinctively toward him.
"Is that him?" someone whispered.
"It must be."
"He's the youngest son of General Lewinsky, isn't he?"
"As expected—like father, like son. The bloodline shows."
Murmurs rippled through the staff officers, curiosity and admiration laced with envy. Yet the subject of their discussion, Major Mainz von Lewinsky, stood utterly still, eyes fixed ahead, as if carved from stone.
"Enter."
The command boomed from within. The voice was gravelly, deep, and commanding—yet astonishingly strong for a man of seventy-two.
Inside, Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg, towering in both reputation and authority, lifted his gaze. His sharp eyes studied the young major before him, weighing and judging.
"Major Lewinsky," Hindenburg said coldly, "according to the military law of the German Empire, how should battlefield disobedience be dealt with?"
There was no hesitation. "It should be tried before a military court. If evidence is conclusive, the penalty may extend to death, Your Excellency."
His tone was firm, instinctive, almost reflexive—like a cadet drilled endlessly until obedience became second nature.
The officers around the headquarters exchanged uneasy glances. A chill crept into the room. Did the old marshal summon this young officer to discipline him? Perhaps even to make an example of him?
Hindenburg's expression gave nothing away.
The truth, however, was more complicated.
The Junker aristocracy of Prussia had always been deeply intertwined. Families intermarried, forging a tightly bound military caste. Major Mainz was no exception. His father, General Eduard von Lewinsky, had served with distinction before his death more than a decade earlier. His mother, Helene von Sperling, was the daughter of Major General Oskar von Sperling. Through this web of kinship, Mainz's aunt had married none other than Hindenburg himself.
His extended family tree included yet another tie to greatness: his cousin Erich von Manstein, who would later rise as one of the most brilliant field marshals of the German Wehrmacht in the coming war.
This was the shield of the Junkers—their survival, even as old European nobility declined. Interwoven by blood and bound by duty, their interests held them together. Only with the rise of Hitler, a commoner from Austria, would this system be shaken, as men like Guderian and Rommel—talented outsiders—were elevated over the traditional aristocracy.
But for now, inside this headquarters, Major Lewinsky was not an accused soldier. He was a nephew being tested.
Hindenburg's question had not been a condemnation, but a warning. His harsh tone was the discipline of family, not the hand of punishment.
Lewinsky's unflinching response earned the old marshal's approval. If the young man had attempted to justify himself, to excuse his actions with explanations, Hindenburg would have been gravely disappointed. But he had not. He had stood firm.
The old marshal gave a sharp nod.
"An order is an order. No matter when, no matter under what conditions—it must be carried out with precision. Do you understand?"
His voice was stern, yet beneath it lay something almost paternal.
"Understood, Your Excellency."
There was no tremor in Major Lewinsky's voice. No trace of confusion.
"Oh?" Hindenburg's eyes narrowed, curiosity glinting in their depths. "And what exactly do you understand?"
Lewinsky's reply came instantly, with the clarity of conviction:
"Report, Marshal. A single soldier may appear insignificant in a war fought by millions. Yet the actions of one soldier can determine the outcome of a battle. The outcome of that battle may determine the course of a campaign. And the success or failure of campaigns decides whether the strategy of the General Staff prevails or collapses. Victory or defeat is built upon obedience and discipline at every level. If orders are carried out with precision, they can bring strategic triumph. If they are ignored, they guarantee failure."
The room fell silent.
Even Hindenburg himself lowered his gaze, murmuring softly, almost to himself:
"Yes… yes… strategy is nothing more than the accumulation of victories and mistakes in battle. Perhaps that is why we—despite superior soldiers and training—failed to win the last war…"
For a moment, the great marshal sat in silence, as though hearing not the voice of a young major, but the echo of history itself.
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