Chapter 221: The Iron Cross

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“How’s this pose?” Rein asked, his hand on the statue, trying hard to affect a righteous and awe-inspiring appearance. Opposite him were three or four professional photographers with cameras. These men held up their magnesium flashes, selecting what they considered to be the perfect angles, and frantically pressed their shutters at Rein.

On the way here, he had known that the food, clothing, housing, and holiday tour in Berlin would definitely not be as relaxed as he had imagined. Sure enough, the German Propaganda Ministry had sent an entire propaganda team the next day and had begun to package the crew members of these two tanks from head to toe.

“Head up, yes! Chin up a little! Good! Hand on your web belt, that’s right!” a photographer shouted as he fiddled with his camera. Rein suddenly had the feeling that if he were a beautiful blonde, this picture might feel even better… and of course, be a bit more popular.

The only thing that gave him a slight sense of relief was that the person who had brought these photographers was a beautiful woman in a suit and gold-rimmed glasses. How beautiful was she? It was said that she was so beautiful that she was constantly rumored to be having an affair with the Führer. Her rounded bottom, slender waist, and full bust all made one unable to help but swallow. He heard her name was Fanny. She was truly a fine woman.

Being the Führer is a really lucky profession, Rein thought very seriously. He had heard that the Führer’s wife was even more beautiful. This rumor now seemed to have an element of exaggeration. This Fanny before him was already a great beauty. How could anyone be more beautiful than her?

As he was thinking, he took his hand back from the fake statue. The statue was a replica of one in a square in Warsaw, Poland. The backdrop was also fake. The only real thing was the tank parked behind him.

They were now in a military barracks, filming the propaganda posters that needed to be printed and distributed to the entire army in a few days. To ensure nothing went wrong, even the head of the German Propaganda Ministry, Fanny, had taken time out of her busy schedule to personally manage this important propaganda offensive. Because the nearly ten thousand casualties had caused the enthusiasm for joining the army and fighting to drop considerably, the Führer had ordered that all possible means be used to publicize the Polish campaign.

Soon, the fake photos were finished. The rest could be real. The tank crew members were called onto their tank and, in the poses that they understood best and were most relaxed in, they struck the poses the photographer wanted. At this moment, they seemed to have found their souls again, so resolute that one would feel a pang of sympathy just by looking at them.

In the prosperity of the city, in those boring activities, Rein and the others had always felt that they were missing something. At this moment—when they touched their tank—they understood. What they were missing was actually very simple. It was the companion that had silently accompanied them to win one victory after another, the old friend covered in mottled shell marks, the Panther tank.

This was a habit tempered in the crucible of life and death. In just a short month, this habit had sunk deep into their bones and had become a subconscious instinct. It was an indescribable feeling, like a brand seared into their minds that could not be erased. Only the members of a tank crew could understand it, could articulate it to each other.

Bruce held the champagne bottle with one hand high and one low. Although it was just a light glass bottle, he never held it with one hand. Only Andre knew that was the posture he used to hold a shell. Although Andre was not old, he always hunched his back and craned his neck. Only Rein knew that that height was exactly the position of the gunsight. And what Rein himself did not know was that he always subconsciously clenched his right fist, as if he needed to hold onto a grab handle to keep his balance in the tank.

And there was Baumann, and Clark, and Marcus… The war had left its mark on everyone. It was like the wind on one’s face. It never spoke, but one could feel its presence.

“I finally know what’s wrong,” Fanny said from the side, looking at the soldiers sitting on the tank, to the photographer Hugo, who had been specially sent by Akado. “Have someone find their old uniforms!”

Hugo had a sudden realization. That was it. It was like putting a new frame on an old photograph; the sense of vicissitude was instantly lost. These were not the honor guards who goose-stepped in the square parades. These were veterans who had come to Berlin only because they had won extraordinary honor on the battlefield.

How does one win honor on the battlefield? The simplest way is to kill people, kill a lot of people! To kill people more efficiently than others! To kill people with the highest efficiency and the greatest composure! These soldiers could be said to be the pride of the Reich, or they could be said to be a group of demon kings of slaughter. Since they were demon kings of slaughter, one could not easily change that aura of having survived a hundred battles. Any decoration would make this aura extremely disharmonious.

When Rein and the others had changed into their uniforms, which they hadn’t even had time to wash, they seemed to have found their souls again. The dust-covered black SS uniform, the collar that was a bit thin from being rubbed by the throat microphone, the leather belt with white salt stains from being soaked with sweat, and the sleeves and front that were covered in machine oil—this was their soul, their temperament!

These tankers, having changed their attire, climbed onto the tank. They were no longer careful for fear of scratching their new clothes, no longer bound by brand-new web belts. They had a confident expression, a faint smile on their lips, and their old clothes complemented the dusty tank. They had been in Berlin for two days, and only now were they panzer troops. Only at this moment were they the war gods of the 3rd SS Panzer Division.

“For the medal ceremony later, there’s no need to have them change clothes,” Fanny said, looking at these young or no-longer-young faces, to the several SS officers on the side. “Just let them go in like this.”

“Minister Fanny, is it alright to do this? The people attending are all officials of the Reich, the Führer…” an officer said, bowing his head and emphasizing. “I’m afraid it will be difficult to manage the situation then…”

“Afraid of what? Afraid of dirt? This is what the soldiers of our Reich look like! They are not afraid of hardship, they face death calmly—they are the ones who should be drinking red wine and walking the red carpet in this Reich!” Fanny glanced at the SS officer beside her. “The Führer is much wiser than you imagine! If he were to care about the clothes of these outstanding soldiers, he would not be the man I fell in love with.”

“Gulp.” After swallowing, the SS officer stood at attention and nodded. “I understand, Minister Fanny. I will go and make the arrangements at once.”

“Arrange? Arrange what? Just let them walk in like this!” Fanny smiled. “If anything happens, it’s on me!”

“Yes, ma’am,” the officer said, having no choice but to say no more.

The familiar music, the familiar venue. Akado walked on the thick red carpet, but his mind was on the distant Western Front. A few days ago, he had promoted the first Army Field Marshal of the Third Reich here. Today, he was here to award other elites the medals they deserved.

As he walked, he heard the officials who had arrived earlier whispering among themselves. He was wondering what had happened, but when he saw the line of soldiers from the front, waiting for him to pin on their medals, he finally knew the reason.

He straightened the SS uniform he was wearing, then looked with a smile at Reinhard Heydrich, who was following behind him. “I am very satisfied with the soldiers you have selected for the Reich! I hope you can continue to provide such outstanding talents for the Reich.”

After speaking, he strode forward and came before Rein and the others. The hall immediately fell silent, because after all, everyone had to give the Führer of the Reich some face.

“Your attire is out of place with today’s venue,” Akado said with a smile, standing before the soldiers. “Everything here is brand new, and the carpets are bright red. But you are wearing the dirty clothes you brought back from the battlefield.”

He reached out and brushed the wrinkled epaulet on Rein’s shoulder, which kicked up a small cloud of dust in the bright light. All the officials and guests held their breath, as if waiting for Akado to fly into a rage, but what they got instead was a different speech. “It is fortunate that you are out of place with this place.”

“If people like us were to go to the battlefield, our heads would probably be blown to pieces in a few minutes,” Akado said, pointing to his own head. “But you are the outstanding soldiers who can bring back victory from the battlefield.”

He looked around the hall, his eyes filled with a majesty and pressure that made the whispering officials look away in embarrassment. “Do not be disgusted by the dust on these soldiers! Do not mind their filth! These men are fighting bravely on the battlefield for the German people! I am where I am today because of people like these who are loyal to their beliefs. We are able to cheer and laugh here because Germany has them! You should give them the highest respect! Because they are the backbone of Germany!”

“The Reich needs you! It needs more young men like you who are willing to give their lives for the fatherland! But I need you to come back from the battlefield alive! Alive! Live well! And share the victory with the rest of us!” Akado patted Rein’s arm again, then lowered his own. “If needed, everyone in this room will give their lives for the rise of the Reich.”

“A toast to the heroes!” an old gentleman in aristocratic attire was the first to speak. It seemed that apart from the Führer, he had the most prestige here.

“Mr. August is right! A toast to the heroes!” all the officers raised their wine glasses. The atmosphere immediately became lively, as if everyone in this room would truly give their lives for the Reich.

“Gentlemen, for Germany!” Akado raised his arm and gave a German salute. With a rustle, everyone raised their arms. “Heil Führer!”

“Heil Führer!” the line of soldiers waiting to receive their medals from Akado also raised their arms.

The military band began to play again. The anthem of the panzer troops once again echoed through the hall. As the Führer of the Reich, Akado pinned the Iron Crosses one by one onto the chests of these men. And Rein had his Iron Cross replaced with the enviable Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross.