c3: The War Must Go On

Accompanying the trains that carried away the wounded were several officers. After a brief discussion with the commander of Akado’s regiment, they summoned the hero of the unit—a “mercenary” whose soul came from the distant East, but who was now, in body and fact, the German soldier Akado.

“A pleasure to meet you, Private Akado!” The man who approached was a Major with a thick mustache, dressed in a traditional double-breasted Prussian military uniform that gave him an air of authority. As he spoke, he extended his right hand.

Akado snapped to attention and saluted. After properly observing military protocol, he finally reached out and shook the important man’s hand. “Major, sir. Private Akado reporting.”

The Major gestured to his aide-de-camp or guard behind him, who pulled a document from a folder and respectfully handed it to the Major.

“In recognition of your heroic performance in the recent operation, the Corps Headquarters hereby awards you the Iron Cross, Second Class. Thank you for saving the lives of one hundred and seventeen soldiers. You are the finest soldier I have ever seen!” The Major smiled warmly, showing Akado his amiable side, much like a company boss telling a high-performing employee he’s getting a two-hundred-dollar bonus.

“Long live the Kaiser!” Akado straightened his back and shouted a slogan that felt deeply anachronistic. Who would have thought that even in the early 20th century, an age of technological progress, one could find more than one emperor on the continent of Europe, the very backbone of the world?

The Major, however, was not finished with the conversation. Holding the document, he continued, “Furthermore, you have been promoted. Your company was almost entirely wiped out, and Corps Headquarters has ordered the promotion of experienced and capable soldiers on the spot. Your record is sound, and your abilities are excellent. Therefore, from this moment on, you are a Sergeant.”

Akado didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The Iron Cross and the humble rank of Sergeant—things Hitler had dreamed of for half a year—he had obtained with ease after just two days of lying on the floor next to a hospital bed.

After reading the orders, the Major clearly had no intention of wasting more words. Given his status, he had no desire to chat with someone who was neither an aristocratic officer nor his direct superior.

Being an officer did have its perks. When Akado returned from the regimental headquarters, he was wearing a brand-new uniform, with an enviable black Iron Cross pinned to his chest.

This was a testament to Germany’s enviable industrial prowess. The medal was small and exquisitely crafted, bestowing a profound sense of honor and pride upon its wearer. On the way back, Akado fiddled with the medal countless times. In his previous life, this was a rare item that was impossible to find for his collection; in China, you could only see pictures of it, and finding an authentic one was next to impossible.

Still, thinking about how he had gotten it, Akado felt it was better to earn fewer of these things. After all, in the process of being awarded one, your name could mysteriously shift from the list of recipients to the list of the missing.

But he didn’t need to be overly cautious. Akado knew that he would not have to return to the front lines to fight for his life. Not long after the Austrian 16th Infantry Corps was pulled from the front, the First World War—a source of deep frustration for all Germans—would come to a hasty end.

Initially, the situation had been slightly advantageous for Germany. With the arrival of 1918, the German army, which had been on the defensive for four years, prepared to launch another offensive.

Except for the stalemate on the Western Front, the German army had been victorious on all other fronts. Serbia, Romania, and finally Russia had surrendered in the face of the German advance. The treaty signed with the new Soviet regime had granted Germany the vast plains of Ukraine.

With the enemy on the Eastern Front collapsing, the German army transferred over a million men to France, seeking to break the stalemate with a decisive battle on the Western Front. The “Kaiserschlacht” (Emperor’s Battle) was about to begin.

In the spring, the German forces launched four major offensives, forcing the British and French to retreat successively. With their backs against the wall, the British forces were ordered to fight to the last man. On July 15, the decisive battle began near the city of Rheims. Both sides understood that this battle would determine the outcome of the war.

“If my attack at Rheims succeeds,” said the famous German general Ludendorff, “we will have won this war.” The Allied Supreme Commander, Marshal Foch, agreed with this assessment, stating, “If the German attack at Rheims succeeds, we will have lost this war.”

The result was that the German offensive failed. The seemingly invincible German army had no more reserves. The Allied forces, on the other hand, were not only strengthened by American divisions but also received a continuous stream of weapons and supplies from the United States.

As the train carried Hitler eastward, he was still blind and on the verge of a complete mental and physical collapse. His eyes were swollen and red, and his face was puffed up like a ball. The voices of the soldiers around him were ghostly and feeble, terrifyingly weak. When nurses came to care for them, they often flew into a rage and refused treatment. They wouldn’t eat or drink, nor would they allow anyone to treat their inflamed eyes. No matter how many times doctors told them their vision could be restored, it was no use. All they wanted was to lie motionless and groan, to find relief from their suffering, even if it meant through death.

On that same train leaving the front was a minor figure unrecorded by history: a Sergeant from the 3rd Company of an Austrian infantry regiment, the mercenary from the distant land of China, Akado.

“Germany is finished. The attack near Rheims exhausted our reserves without making any real progress. America’s entry has put us completely on the back foot. His Majesty the Kaiser will probably end the war soon,” Akado said quietly, leaning against the steel wall of the train car, clutching his rifle. “The war could be over this year.”

“Although I hate to admit it, Mr. Akado, your strategic insight has always been accurate. You predicted the attack near Rheims, and it happened just as you said. But I still refuse to believe we will be defeated,” Hitler said despondently, his eyes covered in gauze.

“Mr. Hitler, we are still young,” Akado said in a firm tone. “We may be at a disadvantage now, but we will get everything back.”

Hitler nodded without speaking. A long time passed, accompanied by the clatter of the train wheels hitting the rail joints. Suddenly, Hitler spoke again: “Mr. Akado, you are truly a man of great learning. I feel you are more knowledgeable than even our battalion commander.”

“Thank you,” Akado smiled, then looked out at the distant plains through a crack in the wall. The First World War was over. The next twenty years would be his stage.

In early August 1918, the British army launched a surprise attack near Amiens, and the German lines collapsed almost without a fight. The German army retreated, but their positions remained. Yet, those willing to fulfill their military duty were numbered only in the hundreds. German soldiers verified their oaths with their own blood, unwilling to retreat a single step, stubbornly and tenaciously holding their shattered positions and creating all sorts of trouble for their opponents.

But back home in Germany, the will to continue the war was fading. Strikes were breaking out one after another. In the eyes of die-hards like Hitler, it was the safe, unmolested home front—with its slackers, profiteers, malingerers, and traitors, along with the Jews who felt neither love nor respect for the German fatherland—that had betrayed the front-line soldiers in their most desperate hour.

As the train carried Akado and Hitler to the hospital in the small town of Pasewalk in Pomerania, Hitler’s own disappointment completely overshadowed his physical pain.

After several weeks of treatment, Hitler’s sight returned. The keratitis subsided, the swelling in his eyes went down, and the sharp pain began to ease. Slowly, he could make out the shapes of things around him.

The return of his vision brought Hitler hope and reignited his interest in current events. However, Berlin, the heart of the distant Empire, was now effectively under siege. The new chancellor was urging the Kaiser to abdicate in order to sign an armistice.

One morning, Akado was brushing his teeth. The Pasewalk hospital was quiet, with only the occasional soft groan from a soldier. Everything seemed peaceful and serene.

Three young men in work clothes and garrison caps walked into the large ward for the wounded. They found a conspicuous spot, pulled a chair from beside a soldier’s bed into the middle of the aisle, and the leader of the group jumped onto it. He cleared his throat and began to give a speech: “Long live the Bolsheviks! Gentlemen! Only the Bolsheviks can save our Germany! The Kaiser must step down! He is the main culprit of this war!”

“His Majesty the Kaiser is no culprit! You are the ones who are a bunch of treacherous rebels!” Hitler retorted loudly, his eyes red with fury.

“Hey, kid! Look at the Soviets! Look at Comrade Lenin! The Russians withdrew from the war without losing anything! We should believe that the Bolsheviks can lead us out of the threat of war too!” the young leader yelled, waving his fist with conviction.

His argument was logical and persuasive. While everyone else remained silent, a furious Hitler was stunned into silence, unable to form a rebuttal.

“Have you ever been to the front?” A voice, crisp and firm, rang out from the doorway. All eyes were drawn to it. A tall German stood there, somewhat thin, but with a sparse stubble that gave him a rugged look.

A pair of deep-set, sky-blue eyes stared at the three young men in the center of the hall, devoid of any emotion. They were the eyes of a man who had looked upon life and death, and so, held no more ripples.

“Have you ever been to the front?” Akado asked again when the three men didn’t answer.