Re: Blood and Iron - Chapter 854: Resignation
Chapter 854: Resignation
The maglev slid across the German countryside in absolute silence, save for the faint hum of electromagnetic resonance beneath the rails.
Bruno sat alone in his compartment, hands folded atop his sword, eyes fixed upon the passing landscape as Berlin’s skyline gradually rose in the distance.
Once, such technology would have seemed fantastical. Now it was mundane, another instrument of order, efficiency, and inevitability. Much like the Reich itself.
The train decelerated smoothly as it entered the capital. Berlin had changed more in four years than it had in the previous four decades.
Its streets were broader, and cleaner. Its skyline was taller, yet restrained. Neo-baroque towers of stone and steel rose in dignified symmetry, adorned with banners bearing the black, white, and red of the Empire.
No garish excess, no revolutionary decay. This was not a city celebrating chaos; it was a city celebrating victory.
Bruno stepped onto the platform moments before the parade was set to begin.
An honor guard awaited him, snapping to attention the instant he appeared. Officers saluted. No cheers followed; those were reserved for the streets above.
Here, beneath the city’s lights, there were only discipline and reverence.
He nodded once and continued forward.
Above ground, Berlin had become something altogether different.
The Unter den Linden had been transformed into a ceremonial artery stretching from the Brandenburg Gate to the Imperial Palace.
Grandstands rose along the avenue, draped in imperial colors. The banners of the federated states and protectorates hung in measured sequence, each given its proper place.
There was no frenzy in the crowd, no hysteria, nor any chants. Instead, there was silence, deep, deliberate, and profound.
The people of the Reich did not scream their gratitude. They stood for it, waving the Reichsbanner in hands as they waited to honor their courageous and triumphant soldiers.
The parade began with the measured thunder of boots against stone.
First came the infantry, veterans of the French and Sicilian campaigns. Their ranks thinned but remained unbroken.
The faces of the young men who marched were hardened by years of war, their eyes forward, and posture immaculate.
Their uniforms bore scars of service: campaign bands, clasps, and decorations earned not by survival alone, but by endurance.
Behind them marched the armored formations. Steel beasts rolled forward in perfect alignment, engines humming with restrained power.
Airborne units followed, Fallschirm-Panzergrenadiere, helmets tucked beneath arms, their presence alone enough to silence even the most restless spectator.
Then came the banners… Captured standards, coalition flags, and insignia of defeated regimes. They were carried low, not in mockery, but as a statement of finality.
The war was over.
Bruno stood on the reviewing dais beside Kaiser Wilhelm II.
The Kaiser had aged.
Not dramatically, but noticeably. His posture remained upright, his uniform immaculate, but the fire in his eyes had tempered into something colder. Wiser, the weight of rulership sat visibly upon him now.
As Bruno approached, Wilhelm turned and regarded him not as a subject, but as an equal.
“You arrived just in time,” the Kaiser said quietly.
Bruno inclined his head. “I would not have missed this.”
Wilhelm’s gaze lingered on the medals Bruno wore, the clasps, the oak leaves, the swords. It was not a uniform littered with unnecessary or gratuitous decorations, but one cleanly and efficiently organized to emphasize courage and valor in the line of duty.
“Nor should you,” he replied.
The parade reached its apex as the final formations passed. The drums fell silent. The avenue stood still.
An aide stepped forward and announced in a clear and measured voice the final ceremonial act.
The presentation of honors.
The crowd did not erupt. They leaned forward.
The Kaiser stepped toward Bruno, holding a small velvet case in his gloved hands.
Inside lay a clasp.
Not ornate, not excessive.
Gilded in gold, enameled in Prussian blue and black, bearing the imperial eagle of the House of Hohenzollern, wings spread, crown above, sword and scepter crossed beneath.
A historical demarcation.
Wilhelm spoke clearly, so that all might hear.
“Bruno von Zehntner,” he began, “you were awarded the Grand Cross of the Pour le Mérite with Oak Leaves and Swords for a decisive command that led to victory during the Great War.”
A pause.
“Today, in recognition of a second war concluded under your direction, one no less total, no less perilous, I award you this clasp, marking not greater valor… but twice decisive command in defense of the German Reich and its people.”
The clasp was affixed carefully, reverently, to the ribbon suspension of the order.
A symbol not of repetition, but of history dividing itself into eras.
The crowd finally reacted, not with cheers, but with a unified salute. Thousands of arms rose as one.
Bruno stepped forward to the lectern. He did not need notes, nor did he need to raise his voice. For years he had pondered what words he would speak. How he would inform the public of this day that had finally come.
By now it was instinct, and when he spoke, the realm listened.
“Sons of Prussia, daughters of Austria, heirs of the Reich, my brothers and sisters…” he began, his tone calm, measured, and final. “Today, you stand victorious.”
A pause.
“Victory is a strange thing. It is loud to those who chase it, and silent to those who endure it.”
He scanned the crowd, not the banners, not the dignitaries, but the faces.
“You have given your sons, your husbands, and your brothers. You have worked while others fought. You have endured shortages, losses, and years of uncertainty. And yet, you remained stalwart and defiant against a world of enemies twice in one century.”
Another pause.
“That is more than any sovereign has the right to ask of you. And yet you honored the call all the same. Our enemies have conspired against us. They sought to overthrow the very nature of our lives, and supplant it with the chaos they so brazenly called liberty. And we answered chaos with discipline. That is why we have emerged victorious this day, because the Reich stood united when others fractured.”
His eyes lifted briefly toward the Imperial Palace.
“In this life of mine, I have known nothing but service and duty to the Reich. I have fought in seven wars…. I have commanded men in fields where maps meant nothing and survival meant less. And I tell you this plainly: there is no glory in war worth seeking.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“There is only duty,” Bruno continued. “And duty, once fulfilled, must be laid down.”
He straightened.
“Today, I lay down my sword… not in defeat, but in completion.”
Silence.
“I do so knowing the Reich is secure, its foundations strong, and its people vigilant. I can rest now certain that the future of our great nation is guarded by men who will never again need me to stand where I once stood.”
Bruno turned, saluted the Kaiser, then the people.
“If you will accept it, I hereby formally tender my resignation in fulfillment of a lifetime spent in service.”
The crowd did not cheer; they stood.
And for the first time in generations, the German Reich did not look toward war.
But forward, toward a peace guarded vigilantly.
