Chapter 392: The Aura

There were no more of those bright and brand-new military uniforms. What they wore were messy and ugly, but incomparably practical, tactical

There were no more of those bright and brand-new military uniforms. What they wore were messy and ugly, but incomparably practical, tactical vests. On them hung all sorts of miscellaneous items: campaign medals, hand grenades, magazines and clips. Some had bayonets hanging from their waists, while others had them hanging from their shoulders.

On their backsides hung entrenching tools and gas mask canisters. The mess kits, which they used for eating, contained spoons and other personal items. They swayed back and forth with their relatively neat steps, making a pleasant and crisp clinking sound.

More than half of the soldiers had camouflage nets on their steel helmets. A few were still wearing winter helmets with their white paint worn off, looking mottled and worn. Every dozen or so men, someone was carrying an MG42 machine gun, with an ammunition belt for the machine gun also hanging around his neck.

Several soldiers carrying Panzerfausts walked past with their heads bowed. Following them were their assistant gunners with Mauser 98K rifles, carrying an ammunition box with two spare rockets inside. The weapons of the soldiers in these formations were of varying lengths. Some were MP-44 assault rifles, some were G43 semi-automatic rifles. There were also some with scoped G43s or Mauser 98K rifles, and a portion were carrying ordinary Mauser 98K rifles.

The clothes of these soldiers were mostly old and worn. The reinforced fabric on some of the knees and elbows was already a little frayed at the edges. Some of the breast pockets were also missing their buttons, and the pocket flaps were a little curled up. There were stains and dust on their tunics, and their leather boots had not been polished for a long time, the black already looking greyish-white.

But under the brims of one after another of the steel helmets were pairs of resolute and deep-set eyes. The unique, sharp-angled eye sockets of the Germanic people gave these soldiers an astonishingly valiant aura. They were silent, not shouting slogans of “Heil Führer” like the honor guard. They just marched forward quietly, with an incomparable firmness and a chilling aura.

As the Führer on the viewing stand stood up, the officials on the crowded stands also stood up. They cheered the slogan “Heil Führer,” which attracted the attention of these soldiers. They looked up and saw the man who was surrounded in the center, saw the Führer of the Reich who appeared on the posters, who was now formally saluting them at attention.

“On the heath, there blooms a little flower, and her name is Erika! A hundred thousand little bees all fly to her, just because her heart contains sweetness, and her petals give off a charming fragrance! On the heath, there blooms a little flower, and her name is Erika!” It is unknown which soldier was the first to sing this song. The sound of the singing spread bit by bit, drowning out the one after another of “Heil Führer.”

“In my homeland lives a lovely maiden, and her name is Erika! She is my dearest, good girl, my lucky Erika! When the purple heather blooms, please send her this song of mine. On the heath, there blooms a little flower, and her name is Erika.” More and more people in the square began to hum this song, which made the originally oppressive atmosphere, due to the smell of blood, become lively.

These were living soldiers. They lived for themselves, fought bravely for their most beloved relatives. They had struggled in the muddy trenches, had fought in the rain of bullets. They had gone to the battlefield because of a word from the Führer. They had faced death calmly because of an oath they had made.

“Tell my father I love him; tell the Führer I did my best.” This was a true portrayal of countless German soldiers. They were worthy of their oath of loyalty to the Führer and to the motherland. To make their nation more glorious and brilliant, they did not hesitate to jump into hell to be the devils and villains of another country’s nation.

Now they were not shouting “Heil Führer,” nor were they loudly singing military songs or battle songs. Instead, they were humming a playful song, facing the Führer’s tribute with the calmness of having survived a catastrophe. Compared to the time of their departure, they had lost their heroic spirit and excitement and had gained a bit more calmness and composure.

“This is the capital on which I can stand here with such arrogance! And also everything that I have painstakingly managed for fifteen years!” Akado said with a proud look on his face, listening to the singing. “It was they who beat you until you were crying for your mothers and begging for peace on your knees. It was they who, with a hundred victories, have made Germany stand once again at the pinnacle of the world’s great powers!”

He paused and, without waiting for Pétain beside him to speak, continued on his own, “Don’t talk about your 400 million francs a day. Even if you were to give me a mountain of gold and silver, I would not exchange these elite soldiers! If you are not convinced, we can tear up the treaty and fight again. My Third Reich is ready at any time! If you don’t give it, I will take it.”

Hearing this, Brauchitsch’s eyes lit up, and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. And Pétain on the side put away the bit of arrogance he had originally had and, while taking out his handkerchief to wipe his face, said repeatedly, “I wouldn’t dare, I wouldn’t dare.”

“The little flower that blooms by my little hut, her name is Erika! Whether at dawn or at dusk, she surrounds me, Erika! A soft sound comes from the flowers, do you remember the beautiful maiden? The maiden who weeps and waits for your return, her name is Erika…” The sound of the singing echoed in the sky, as if to mock their opponents, as if to long for a beautiful tomorrow.

These troops were being withdrawn from the new Franco-German border to the Eastern Front. The cost was being borne by the new French government. They were naturally the most elite grenadier units of Germany, every one of them a veteran of a hundred battles. Their passage through Paris was a special treat given to them by the army for a unit rotation. After this makeup Paris parade, every one of them would have a day’s holiday to visit and tour the city of Paris, and the new French government would pay for them to buy their favorite souvenirs.

The slightly gangster-like tone in Akado’s words just now had made the military-born Brauchitsch feel very refreshed. He secretly rejoiced that although the Führer had been away from the army for some years, he had really retained the heroic aura of his time in the army.

The sentence “If you don’t give it, I will take it,” was spoken with incomparable calmness, yet it exhausted the essence of great power diplomacy. This slightly blatant sentence had made even Brauchitsch, as a Field Marshal of the Reich, feel a little ecstatic. Why is the Führer speaking so tough? Isn’t it because he has an army of a million as his backing?

As the infantry passed, what followed past the rostrum was the elite armored force of Germany. The Tiger tank, as a secret weapon of the German army, was making its first public appearance this time. But this appearance had left a deep impression on the various reporters who were watching the ceremony, as well as on the Führer himself.

The lead Tiger tank was actually covered in shell marks. The white hollow number “113” on the side of the turret was a little hard to see clearly. The commander, with his upper body exposed, looked to be just a half-grown child. The light freckles on his face made him look like the big boy from next door.

He wore his German officer’s peaked cap crookedly, a faint smile on his face. His military uniform was dirty and looked a bit sloppy. The originally pink piping on his collar for the armored troops had already turned a deep red from the excessively thick oil stains.

But among the people watching the ceremony, there were naturally those who knew what they were looking at. An expert immediately recognized the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves hanging on the lead officer’s collar. One had to know that even though Germany had swallowed Europe and had swept through six countries, the number of Knight’s Crosses with Oak Leaves awarded was not large. Little did they know that what Brauchitsch wore on his collar was only two more swords than that of the tank commander.

“Don’t be surprised, Mr. Pétain. I know you are astonished,” Akado said with a smile, explaining to Pétain. “I know that you and de Gaulle, who has fled to Britain, are playing a game of betting on both sides. But do you see the commander of that tank? He is the one who took on more than twenty of your French tanks with a single tank in the Battle of the Pass. I can make de Gaulle lose once, and I can make him lose a second time! As for you, you had better put away those little thoughts and make me feel that you still have some use… and the greater the better.”

Pétain looked in shock at the young tank commander, at the seemingly countless white combat record rings on the barrel of that tank, at the 113 symbol that was rumored in the French army to represent death, at that terrifying Tiger tank, and was speechless for a long time.

At this very moment, Rein, below the viewing stand, pressed his throat communicator and said, “Let the Führer see and forever remember us aces! Three, two, one!”

With his order, the entire tank formation, with the sound of grinding machinery, all the tank turrets began to turn rapidly. Amidst the screams of many noble ladies and celebrities, they slowly aimed the barrels of their tank guns at the rostrum.

Akado still did not move. He raised his hand high and saluted Rein, while Rein just looked up at the man in the distance who had changed his life, the man who was the Führer of the Reich. The world between the two of them seemed to have stopped, so quiet and slow that it was fascinating.

The image of dozens of tank cannons with their dark muzzles pointing at the rostrum, while the Führer stood at attention and saluted these tanks, was accurately recorded by the Führer’s personal photographer, Hugo, and became one of the most classic parade photos of the Third Reich, to be forever recorded in the annals of history.

In the future, countless scholars who studied the German armored forces would mention this photo. A famous military expert had lamented, “An army that dares to point its cannons at its leader, and a Führer who dares to face a myriad of muzzles… a truly perfect match.”

“This is telling me that they are eager for battle,” Akado said with a full smile on his face to the Field Marshal von Brauchitsch beside him, after these tanks had passed the rostrum and had disappeared at the end of the road. “Sort out the documents of the various levels of training units. You take the lead in drawing up a more reasonable plan!”

“Yes, sir!” Brauchitsch replied with a nod.

“Well? Are you satisfied now?” Akado asked, after having assigned the task, with another smile to the new French Prime Minister, Pétain. “If you still don’t have confidence, we can go to Brest in a month and take a look at the Imperial Navy’s High Seas Fleet…”

“No need!” Pétain sighed and said with some dejection. “From this day on, the Franco-German alliance is as solid as a rock!”