The plane touched the earth late Sunday evening. Berlin's streets were illuminated by street lamps as far as the eye could see.
Most reasonable people were already in bed, but not Erich… The moment the ramp opened his soldiers began pouring out of the plane.
Hundreds of sorties had been flown to make sure the brigade and all of its equipment were returned to the fatherland. And his was the last, he was not the kind of man to abandon the field until after every soldier under his command had left before him.
It was a quality he had inherited from his grandfather. Had Bruno's presence not been paramount to the peace treaties that ended the war.
He would likely still have been in Cuba, ensuring that every single German asset was out of the theater before he dared to step foot on the last plane out of Havana.
But none of that mattered now; Erich instead stood there gazing upon his Brigade, and the men who had survived the war.
