"Come on, we don't have unlimited time, Stefan!" a worker shouted at the colleague beside him, their faces smeared with dirt and grime.
"The barrel's bent," Stefan growled, hurling the twisted metal aside. He immediately reached for the next piece, his jaw clenched.
The discarded part skidded across the pier and stopped at the edge. A little more force and it would have splashed into the dark water below.
The pier itself was dominated by a colossal steel monster. A half-finished warship loomed above the men. Dozens of workers clung to its hull, welding plates into place, while an enormous crane swung a massive turret through the air, its shadow sliding across the steel.
Welding torches hissed. Hammers rang. Metal screamed as it was cut and shaped.
Across Germany, the same sounds echoed, fueled by words.
"Germany has the right to defend itself. Germany has the right to arm itself. And Germany has the right to take back what belongs to us!" Hitler roared, thunderous applause erupting inside the Reichstag.
Families at home applauded. Men and women, even teenagers sitting in schoolrooms, heard the broadcast and clapped, cheering as one.
Germany was alive with sound again.
But somewhere, it was completely still.
Only the faint crunch of tires rolling over gravel broke the silence in the middle of nowhere.
An old concrete complex lay hidden in a forest outside Berlin.
A line of expensive cars stood before the building as Werner pulled in, arriving at his battalion headquarters.
SS men snapped to attention as he stepped out.
"Good morning, Mark," Werner said, patting one of them on the shoulder.
"Are they here already?" he asked.
The man nodded.
Werner quickened his pace, entering the building and immediately turning toward the stairwell leading down. He descended into the basement without hesitation and walked straight toward a heavy metal door.
Two familiar SS guards stood watch, but now they were not alone.
Two Wehrmacht soldiers flanked them, their gazes sharp and unreadable. Beside them stood a Luftwaffe officer, an Oberleutnant in a pressed uniform, and a naval officer, calmly stroking his beard.
The SS guards saluted and swung the door open.
The room beyond was spacious, a long table dominating the interior. Seated behind it were figures whose names carried weight.
Raeder, Werner realized, studying the tall, stern man who remained standing.And Dönitz? The thought surprised him.
His gaze moved on. Richthofen. Sperrle. Manstein. Heydrich. Rundstedt. And one old man he did not recognize.
Then he saw him.
Rommel.
Werner watched as Rommel spoke quietly with Paul.
Paul noticed him, gave a brief nod, and gestured toward an empty seat.
Werner sat down beside two men whose faces were hidden beneath hoods. He did not need to see them to know who they were.
Paul's eyes lingered on the hooded figures for a moment longer than necessary.
The room fell silent as everyone took their seats, polished uniforms catching the light, authority radiating from every rank and insignia.
Four Wehrmacht soldiers stood guard in the corners of the room. They were Ghost Squad. Directly behind Paul stood Gustaf, unmoving, a silent reminder of where true power rested.
Paul straightened.
"I have called this meeting to discuss…" He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly."Operation Z."
Several officers nodded at once.
Before Paul could continue, Raeder rose from his seat.
"Before we proceed, I wish to inform everyone present that the Kriegsmarine is fully aligned with Plan Z," Raeder said calmly. "All internal opposition has been removed. Admiral Dönitz has also pledged his full support."
He smiled, measured and calculating.
Paul inclined his head.
"Excellent," he said. "Admiral, you have exceeded our expectations." He clasped his hands together. "What about the Luftwaffe?"
Richthofen began to rise, opening his mouth to speak.
Before he could, the metal door opened once again.
Footsteps echoed into the room.
"General?" Richthofen asked, surprise flashing across his face as his eyes shifted between Paul and the newcomer.
Paul smiled faintly.
General Kesselring had arrived.
It had been difficult persuading him, step by step, over time, but Paul finally managed it by presenting the documents. Forged by Heydrich, yes, yet entirely plausible. They showed Göring's position as Commander in Chief of the Luftwaffe clearly, leaving no room for Kesselring to rise, black on white.
Reader's eyes widened slightly, and he gave Paul a faint approving glance.
"The Luftwaffe is now led by an incompetent commander," Kesselring said, his voice calm but laced with disgust. "Many officers realized this long ago. They are searching for more capable leadership."
"A leadership you intend to assume, Kesselring," Reader said, smiling provocatively.
Kesselring said nothing. He simply sat down beside Richthofen. His silence was answer enough.
Paul cleared his throat.
"Regarding the Wehrmacht," he said, suddenly standing, "we have, of course, myself and Oberst Rommel. Both of us will see our chances for promotion rise with the coming war."
He stepped closer to Rommel, standing just behind him.
"But as you know, Plan Z does not depend solely on numbers. It depends above all on timing," Paul continued, walking around the table and meeting each gaze.
"The Wehrmacht's influence and power will reach their peak in the upcoming war. That is when we strike."
"Doesn't a strike during wartime destabilize the country? That would be a dangerous game," Rundstedt said, his voice rough.
"Yes," Paul replied evenly, "but not if we direct all fear and uncertainty toward an enemy, an enemy we invent."
"The enemy?" Reader asked, tilting his head.
Paul smiled faintly. "Of course..."
Reader nodded slowly. "That would be possible."
Paul arrived behind the older man, clad in the expensive suit.
"Exactly. And to legitimize these claims, we have Herr Mervin and the other economic leaders of Germany. Their influence in parliament will secure formal legitimacy. Of course, after a thorough cleaning operation," Paul said quietly, his gaze drifting briefly to Heydrich, whose eyes shone with excitement."The goal must be to avoid portraying this as a coup at all, but as us taking control because we have to."
The members nodded.
"But there will still be opposition," Rommel said, raising an eyebrow. "Especially from the SS and the Wehrmacht." His gaze lingered on Werner.
Paul nodded.
"Everything has its price. Friedrich will try to keep it at a bare minimum. Heydrich will play his part as well. But yes, there will be resistance, and we have to be ready to face it," Paul said, a murderous intent seeping into his voice.
"Those who cling to the Führer, to the old order, those who have lost all reason in the face of their leader's death, will have to be eradicated. They are poison, a deadly venom we must expel as quickly as possible if we want to survive."
Paul finished, letting the words hang in the room.
Some murmured, others were deep in thought, like Reader. Then, suddenly, a deep, old voice filled the room.
"Gentlemen." The voice came from one of the figures covered by hoods.
All turned their gazes toward him, curious.
Both of them lifted their hoods, the damp light falling across their faces, revealing every crease and grey strand.
Everyone in the room went silent, except for Paul, Werner, and Heydrich. Confusion, surprise, and fear filled their eyes, not because of the unknown men, but because of Paul, the man who had fooled them all.
"Impossible..."Kesselring muttured.
Only Reader remained calm, sitting normally, having been informed by Paul in advance.
Outside the basement, outside the concrete building, outside the dark forest, the world continued. Preparations for the bloodiest war in history went on, not with fear, tears, or sadness, but accompanied by thunderous applause and cheers, coming even from the youngest.
Thick, dark clouds loomed over the forest, over Berlin. The next chapter of humanity's fate was in its final preparations. All the while, the original war cast its shadow over the internal struggles, covering their schemes like clouds blocking the sun.
The group sat inside the inconspicuous basement for what felt like an eternity, discussing spoils, discussing the fate of millions, as if it were already in the palm of their hands.
Werner watched the conversation, remaining a silent spectator. His eyes distant, unreadable.
Outside, the first drops of rain reached the ground, thunder echoing in the distance.
"In the end, we are venom fighting venom. Which is more potent?" Werner whispered.
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Merry Christmas in advance, everyone. I won't be posting for the next few days.
Thank you all for the support! I appreciate every Power Stone, comment, and review.