"Come on! Hurry up!"
Wehrmacht soldiers were running through the temporary camp Paul had established in the small village of Dimont. This morning, hectic energy erupted as the German supply trucks finally managed to catch up, a feat only possible because Paul had ordered a pause inside this little French village.
"Here, this is for Panzer no. 225," an officer explained to a soldier next to him, pointing at the fuel canisters on the truck's loading area.
"Yes, Sir," the soldier answered. He grabbed a canister and walked with haste toward the tank the officer had indicated. Around him, other soldiers ran or walked with purpose, many of them carrying similar canisters.
Paul watched the commotion through a small window overlooking the main plaza, sitting behind a poor wooden table.
"Have you established contact again?" Paul asked, without averting his gaze.
"Yes. As you said, I told them we fixed our technical problems," Hasso answered. He was standing in the middle of the living room, an old couch resting beside him.
"Do you think they believe us?" Hasso asked, squinting his eyes.
"No," Paul answered, finally turning toward him. "But it is not about what they believe. It is about what they want to believe. Many want to believe things are different than they are, the foremost probably Hitler. Otherwise, we would have tasted the consequences long ago."
"And we are winning," Hasso added.
"Exactly. Something that can justify a lot of things, if you use the spirit of triumph to your benefit," Paul nodded.
For a moment, there was silence, interrupted only by a light sound coming from the door. It creaked open slightly, revealing a small hand and a pair of wide, gleaming eyes peering through the gap.
"A little visitor," Hasso noted, meeting the boy's eyes.
Then a female voice shouted, first loudly, then hushed. The boy turned around and the door was closed quickly.
"A short visit," Paul added, laughing dryly. He turned back toward the window and raised his cigarette to his lips.
"Who have we to thank for this rare present? Trucks are still sparse." he asked, gesturing toward the supply trucks outside.
"It was Witzleben who informed us about the current movements, so I suppose it was him," Hasso answered.
Of course it was him. He hasn't forgotten, Paul thought, a faint smile touching his face.
"Where is Rommel?" Paul asked.
"Taking a stroll, at least that's what he told me," Hasso answered, shrugging his shoulders.
"Something we should do too. Because once all those canisters are emptied, we will continue at once," Paul said, standing up.
Outside, they walked through the narrow streets. They were deserted, although one or another villager risked a glance through their windows.
"Look at them," Hasso said, meeting the gaze of one of the locals. "They would kill us the moment they had the chance. Like now."
"Like now?" Paul repeated. "I will not be killed by a random attack. It would have to be planned extensively; that is the least they should do," he joked.
Hasso chuckled lightly, before stopping suddenly.
Paul turned, giving him a questioning look, but Hasso didn't look surprised for long; instead, amusement spread across his face. Paul followed his gaze and scoffed as well.
"Looks like no stroll to me," Paul said, before walking toward Rommel.
The General was standing in a doorway, leaning against the wall and laughing.
"Erwin," Paul said, walking up next to him and looking at the woman Rommel was talking with.
"Heinrich," Rommel answered, sounding slightly embarrassed.
"You have not yet introduced me to your friend here?" Paul said, meeting the eyes of the woman standing before them.
"Well, this is Frau Liemand," Rommel said. "Viktoria, this is Generalmajor Jaeger."
"Nice to meet you, Frau Liemand," Paul said, giving Rommel a definitive look.
"Nice to meet you, Generalmajor," she replied, lowering her head for a moment.
"German?" Paul asked, his voice tinged with surprise.
"Frau Liemand has been helping us translate," Rommel clarified quickly, clearly trying to dismiss any assumptions.
"Well, thank you, Miss," Paul nodded, before turning his attention back to Rommel. "The troops are almost ready. We will be moving out soon."
"We will," Rommel answered.
Paul turned and walked toward Hasso, who was still waiting. Behind him, Rommel hastily said his goodbyes before catching up with Paul.
"Hey, hey," Rommel called out, grabbing Paul's shoulder.
"This is not what you think," he said, giving Paul a pressing, urgent look.
"Of course it isn't," Paul said, his voice laced with a tinge of irony.
Of course it isn't, Paul repeated to himself, this time without any irony. He knew well enough of Rommel's devotion to his wife. But I will keep this memory as a last resort, my friend.
"Oh, come on now. I am telling the truth," Rommel said, clearly noticing the underlying tone.
"And I am telling you we have to go," Paul said, pointing back in the direction from which he and Hasso had come.
Rommel sighed in defeat before falling into step with Hasso and Paul.
When the group reached the first tanks, an officer came running toward them.
"Sirs!" He saluted them. "I have to report sightings of enemy troops around ten kilometers from here. The Luftwaffe reported Belgian and French units, some light armor and infantry."
Paul widened his eyes with interest before turning toward Rommel, who was already deep in thought.
"Scouts?" they both said at the same time.
"The bigger fish are getting scared," Paul muttered. "Are they on their way here?"
"I don't know, Sir," the officer answered, looking dejected.
"Either way, they don't know our exact location if they are only this close," Rommel noted.
Heinrich nodded. "We could extract information from them," he added.
"We need to know exactly where their lines are thinning," he continued, his voice hard. "If we want to reach the coast before they can consolidate, we need more than just vague aerial reports. We need prisoners. And we need them to talk quickly."
Rommel looked at him, his brow furrowing at the mention of the coast. "Dunkirk is still a long way off, Heinrich."
"My focus is the finish line, Erwin," Paul countered. He turned to Hasso. "Establish contact with the 1st and 2nd Panzer Divisions. I want to know their progress and if they've encountered similar scouts. And Witzleben, he should finally propose the plan."
Hasso nodded, already making a mental list of the frequencies he would need to reach.
"And the prisoners?" Rommel asked, his eyes narrow.
"I will handle them," Paul replied simply, with a lack of emotion in his voice. "By the time the fuel hoses are disconnected, I want those light units engaged. I want names, unit numbers, and their retreat path. Whatever it takes."
Rommel looked at Paul skeptically.
"You know my plan. Trust me, it will be decisive," Paul said, his voice quieter now. He needed Rommel's support for what was to come.
For a moment, Rommel hesitated before finally nodding.
"Fine. I suppose it is necessary," Rommel said, agreeing at last.
Moments later, the first tanks left the little village of Dimont, which was unusually crowded with countless armored vehicles. Paul watched them leave through the window, having returned to his previous spot as rain began to pour down. The drops rattled against the primitive windowpane while Paul averted his gaze, first to Rommel, who was sitting beside him, and then to the map lying on the table they shared.
Both men studied the terrain and their movements deeply until a knock disrupted their discussion. They looked up to see Hasso entering. He carried a piece of paper and handed it over to Paul wordlessly.
Paul skimmed the text before passing it to Rommel, who waited curiously. Rommel carefully moved certain iron figures on the map while reading the positions.
"The 1st Panzer Division has made good progress too," Rommel added, shifting an icon.
"Amsterdam will fall soon, hopefully," Paul said, leaning back against the wooden chair.
Rommel only nodded, continuing to study the positions until he reached the last part of the message.
"Approved?" he asked, surprised.
"Hitler loves flashy plans. This one must have been flashy enough for him," Paul answered.
It would have happened either way, without my intervention. But this time it will be better, Paul added silently.
Soon the tanks they had sent returned. Another interruption disrupted Paul's and Rommel's planning once again as the door opened. Drops of water fell from the leather coats of the two entering officers.
"Sirs!" they saluted. "Report."
Rommel nodded.
"We have managed to defeat the lightly armored units without any major casualties. One tank had an engine failure, but there is no further damage worth mentioning," one of them began.
"What about prisoners?" Paul asked, his voice cutting through the technical details.
"They are being kept at the barn," the other officer answered.
Paul stood up and walked toward the door. "Come, Hauptmann. Let us see what they have to tell us."
"Yes, Sir," the officer replied, following Paul out of the room.
"Mund," Rommel addressed his own officer, who was still standing by. "Go with them."
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