"Heinrich, how have you been?" Sperrle asked Paul.
"Well, considering our advance, good," Paul answered plainly. The dark circles under his eyes became more visible under the chandelier light of the Spanish royal palace's throne room.
"Mhm," Sperrle muttered, thinking for a moment.
"Leave us," the General ordered the two guards standing at the entrance.
After the soldiers left, closing the heavy doors behind them, Sperrle spoke again. "How have you really been? You look like shit. Even Student has said you should take a break."
Paul looked at the General for a moment, his gaze somewhat surprised.
"As I said, I'm fine." He paused for a moment. "I'll take a break once we've finished conquering this city."
Sperrle sighed before sitting down on a spruce chair beside the grand table dominating the room.
An awkward silence followed, broken only when Sperrle cleared his throat.
"I've received orders from High Command," he said, gesturing for Paul to take a seat.
Paul obeyed, choosing the chair opposite him.
"They're very pleased with our progress. The Führer has personally praised our recent campaign, which means morale in Berlin is high. They've promised more troops, supplies, and equipment within the next week." Sperrle paused, idly playing with the golden cutlery lying on the table before him.
"Great news, for us?" Paul asked, somewhat confused, not understanding Sperrle's serious expression despite the positive report.
"Yet they've ordered you to leave the battlefield," Sperrle said awkwardly.
"What? Why would they do that? They can't possibly be unhappy with me," Paul said, his brows furrowed.
"Quite the opposite. The Führer himself is so in awe of your tactical genius that he wants you to be kept safe. But I managed to persuade him. You'll remain in Spain until the end of the year, under the condition that you don't participate on the foremost front."
Paul studied Sperrle for a long moment before replying, "That's absurd. No it's stupid."
Sperrle stiffened. "Be careful. That kind of talk is dangerous."
Paul narrowed his eyes. "My apologies. I didn't mean to criticize the Führer's decision, I just..."
"Don't apologize," Sperrle interrupted. "I...agree. A soldier should always fight at the front. That kind of babysitting isn't fitting for a German officer. He doesn't understand the realities of the military."
A small, subtle smile formed on Paul's lips. Someone is unhappy with the King, he thought.
"General," Paul began, his voice turning serious. "It's obvious that we share the same viewpoint on..." His gaze shifted to the gleaming golden throne at the end of the room. "...the King."
"Opposing the King is a dangerous game, yet it is the duty of every citizen to question their King's actions," Paul said quietly, almost whispering.
"What are you trying to say?" Sperrle asked, intrigued.
"Could you introduce me to... like-minded citizens?" Paul asked.
Sperrle widened his eyes and looked around, as if afraid someone might be listening.
"Well, there are some," Sperrle said.
"I've heard from Oberstleutnant...The old General has always insisted...There was also that friend of mine..."
Paul and Sperrle talked for some time, with Sperrle speaking mostly about his "friends."
When they finally parted, both men shared one last look, silently promising to keep their conversation private. Paul then bid Sperrle farewell and watched through the tall windows of the throne room as the General's retinue of trucks drove away.
His gaze wandered, as it often did, to the golden throne.
He walked slowly toward it, stopping before the gleaming chair. His hand caressed the smooth surface before he turned and sat down.
His facial expression shifted, his eyes, his smile, his brows, they looked somehow different, yet the same. He leaned back into a comfortable position, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
After a few seconds, Paul shook his head and blinked several times. He clenched his jaw.
He knew exactly what that was. It was him, and yet not him. Heinrich's side was surfacing more often now, more intensely, influencing him and his actions. His sleep-deprived, constantly strained state was feeding it.
This wasn't the first time and it won't be the last time, he thought.
Paul blinked a few more times before standing up from the throne and calling for the guards outside.
The loyal soldiers entered moments later, one of them asking, "Yes, sir?"
"Get me Hasso— I mean, Oberleutnant Hasso."
"Yes, sir." He saluted before walking out again.
After a few minutes, a familiar face appeared at the doorway.
"You called?" Hasso asked.
"Yes. Let's plan for tomorrow," Paul said, pointing at the unfolded map of Madrid lying on the large table.
Paul liked discussing tactics with Hasso. The man who would one day become a brilliant general already carried the makings of one. Hasso's perspective and way of thinking always sharpened their plans.
The two men leaned over the map, discussing various approaches and strategies deep into the night. The ashtray filled up little by little.
In another office, before another table, somewhere in Republican controlled Madrid,
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of the spacious room, illuminating the faces of two men in uniform.
"Major Heinrich Jeager."The name hung in the air, met with silence.
An older, heavyset man stroked his beard."So he is the one," he muttered.
"One of the youngest soldiers ever to receive the rank of Major in the German army," another man added. "Our intelligence reports that he was personally decorated by Hitler himself."
"Then he is probably the reason behind our defeats, the one sabotaging our plans," the bearded man said, taking a long drag from his cigar.
"The President grows more panicked by the day," the other sighed. "And I cannot even blame him, considering their unbelievable advance. How far are they from the command center?"
"Ten kilometers. They have nearly reached the city center. Liuetenant General Carlos's division managed to halt their advance near the Royal Palace. Fierce fighting is taking place as we speak."
The bearded man swallowed hard."What can we do?" he asked.
"If you want to kill a snake, you have to cut off its head."
Silence filled the room once again.
"Fine. Send a telegram to that person. We still have one last thrumph to play." The fat man began, his tone darkening.
The next morning
Paul yawned and pushed aside the blanket. He had slept in one of the many guest rooms of the Royal Palace, choosing one at random.
He walked to the bathroom, splashing fresh, cold water onto his face and studying his reflection in the grand mirror.
After showering, he grabbed a comb and parted his hair into the neat side part he had grown used to since transmigrating. Then he took one last glance at his scarred body and put on his Wehrmacht uniform.
Many attendants had abandoned the Royal Family after their flight, so Paul simply instructed the remaining ones to cook for him. He was sure they would not dare to poison him, especially since none had access to poison in the first place. No one could smuggle anything into the complex anymore after Paul had completely locked down every inch of it. Guards were stationed at every entrance and key position, some of them even left behind by Sperrle.
Paul arrived in the grand hall, greeted by a few attendants speaking broken German and Hasso who already arrived.
He greeted Hasso before sitting down, studying the lavish breakfast spread before him.
I did not even have this kind of breakfast in the 21st century, he thought, grabbing a spoon to taste the porridge.
He raised the spoon, but before he could lower it, a bright reflection flashed across its surface.
Paul's eyes widened. Instinctively, he kicked the chair away and jumped to the side.
A deafening crash of shattering glass echoed behind him. A burning pain exploded through his shoulder, blood soaking the fabric of his uniform. He gritted his teeth, rolling across the floor until his back hit a broad marble pillar.
"Heinrich, are you okay?"Hasso shouted from behind a turned over chair, he used for cover.
"I am."Paul answered shortly, mustering Hasso.
The attendants all around them screamed and fled. One of them collapsed mid-run, a bullet piercing her head.
"How the hell did a sniper manage to get into the high security area?"Hasso shouted in disbelief.
Moments later, two soldiers burst into the hall with rifles raised. Seeing the scene, they instinctively turned toward Paul."Herr Major!"
"Get down!" Paul shouted. But it was too late. One soldier was thrown backward by another shot. The second, thinking quickly, took cover behind a pillar.
"Give it to me!" Paul barked, pointing at the soldier's rifle.
The man hesitated only for a moment before tossing it to him.
Paul caught the weapon with his right hand, still clutching the spoon in his left.
He extended his left hand, revealing only the spoon, using its polished surface as a makeshift mirror to locate the sniper. A flash appeared again in the reflection, then the spoon was shot clean from his hand, spinning through the air.
A shiver ran down his spine. But he used that instant to lunge out of cover, scanning an specific area of the rooftops. His eyes darted across a thousand angles in a single heartbeat before locking onto a dark silhouette lying prone on a distant roof.
Time slowed for a millisecond. It was only Paul and the sniper. Paul blinked, and suddenly he saw something in the darkness. A golden eagle soaring through the skies, crying out. Its eyes, sharp and ancient and it seemed to look straight at him. Then, he saw himself, blood bursting from his forehead, his body falling lifeless to the ground.
He gasped, eyes snapping open, every muscle in his body pulling him violently to the side.
The sniper's shot grazed his cheek, missing his head and wide-open eyes by mere millimeters. Paul's bullet, in turn, struck the man clean in the head, leaving him motionless on the far rooftop.
Paul exhaled shakily, clutching his profusely bleeding shoulder before fully collapsing to the ground. His vision blurred as pain surged through him.
"What the hell was that?" He whispered, his last bits of strength leaving him, while blood was formign a small puddle around him.
He closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was the guard frantically shouting something and Hasso running toward him.
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Very important chapter today
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