Re: Blood and Iron - Chapter 422 - 422: The Consequences of Heroism
Bruno may have rushed through the breach of the besieged palace of Luxembourg, but he was no fool. He did so because he was intimately aware of its layout—not from frequent visits, but from one significant experience.
The original estate had been renovated during the Great War due to the damage Leon and his men had inflicted, followed by the devastation of Hindenburg’s Folly. The French Army, in a drunken act of celebration, had razed the entire palace to the ground. Bruno, out of both loyalty and strategic foresight, helped finance its reconstruction—alongside much of the city itself.
Many sections of Luxembourg had been rebuilt with tactical defense in mind: chokepoints, kill zones, reinforced structures. All of it designed in case a small force ever needed to hold out during a siege.
Because of this, Bruno knew the entryway allowed space for two men side by side—no more. He also knew there were elevated 360-degree positions from which Luxembourgish gendarmes could rain fire on invaders. And from the sheer volume of blood staining the walls and floors, it was clear the French brigands had taken a beating long before the Werwolf Brigade arrived.
He had no doubt hundreds of French had died overnight, cut down by the determined local defenders.
Naturally, Bruno’s men followed him through the breach—not as quickly, but with no less urgency. They swept the halls, clearing them room by room with cold, efficient silence.
What unnerved the men most wasn’t the blood. It was Bruno.
He moved like one of them. Too smoothly. His transitions were perfect. His signals crisp. He knew every whisper, every phrase, every protocol they’d learned in brutal training camps. He cleared corners like a man who had done this a thousand times.
And yet, they all knew him as a commander, a man of rank—a desk general, someone who should’ve been buried in maps and reports. When one considered the combat training he had received during his younger years? It was specifically tailored for an older style of warfare. It made no sense….
Yet, Bruno was here and now, moving like someone trained for a war that hadn’t been invented yet. The contradiction gnawed at the edge of their thoughts, but they had no time to dwell on it. They moved like ghosts through the bloodstained estate—until they found their first living hostiles.
A small group of brigands huddled on the ground, weapons discarded, shaking in terror. Bruno raised his rifle, ready to take them captive—until a bullet whizzed just past him and his men. Immediately, they dropped behind cover. But they didn’t panic. They didn’t spray. These weren’t conscripts.
These were professionals, forged in fire and honed to lethal instinct. They began searching for the shooter, scanning the building with trained eyes.
Bruno was about to peek and return fire when he heard someone shout at him in Luxembourgish:
“Your mother’s a stuttering whore with a fat arse!”
Bruno broke into laughter—not because the insult was clever, but because of how absurd the situation was. Trigger-happy gendarmes, apparently unable to recognize their allies, had nearly shot him out of pure panic.
He shouted back in perfect Luxembourgish:
“I’d watch my tongue if I were you, friend. Her Grace has been trying to become my mistress for years. If she hears you insulted my mother, she’ll have you horrifically disciplined.”
The man, thinking it was a slight against the Grand Duchess, was about to fire again when his commanding officer slapped him across the face.
“Idiot! I told you the Germans had arrived! You’re shooting at the Wolf of Prussia, you damned fool!”
The soldier dropped his weapon in horror and hid behind cover.
Bruno motioned to his men to ease up, and they moved in less aggressively, apprehending the remaining brigands with efficiency.
Bruno turned to the gendarme commander and offered a dry correction:
“Actually, it’s the Wolf of Tyrol now. Long story short—I’ve been promoted again. My home’s in the Alps, not Berlin these days.
Anyway, I’m amazed you’re still holding out. That was a hell of a lot of men and firepower. How is Her Royal Grace—and her family?”
The commander stood tall and saluted, his tone stiff and formal.
“I didn’t think His Royal Highness would personally lead the charge. The Grand Duchess will be… more excited than is in her best interest when she hears the news.
She’s fine, sir. My best men are guarding her and the royal family in the bunker.
We owe you our lives once again. Would you like to see her now?”
Bruno looked over at a nearby radio operator—a different one than before—and gave him a simple nod. That was all the confirmation needed. Cleanup operations began immediately, and preparations were made for a battalion to remain behind, defending Luxembourg’s border until a permanent solution could be implemented—at Bruno’s expense.
He turned back to the commander, loosening his grip on his rifle and letting the modern two-point sling hold it tight to his body.
“Please. Lead the way, Captain.”
Throughout the remainder of the night, the Werwolf Brigade hunted down every surviving brigand. Interrogations were brutal. The guilty were imprisoned. And when the time came, judgment would be passed—not by the Germans, but by the very woman they had tried to overthrow.
As for the Grand Duchess of Luxembourg—she was stunned to see that Bruno had come personally to rescue her. And in that moment, her affections only deepened.
A fact Bruno found nothing short of annoying.
He had tried to let the woman down gently, with diplomacy and distance. But she was relentlessly thick-headed in matters of romance. Still, he had made a promise:
“If danger comes to your door, I’ll come through it to save you.”
And he had fulfilled that promise to the letter.
Now came the consequences. But that was a matter for another time, a time when the dawn had replaced the dusk, and the palace had been cleansed from the sins of those who dared defile its grace.
