"Seven U-boats. Is that a price you are willing to pay?"
Raeder's voice cut through the room, sharp with barely contained anger.
"Thousands of tons of ships sunk, even destroyers." Dönitz countered without flinching. "It is necessary."
"It is equal savagery." Raeder shook his head. "A battle with no victors. Only corpses and those fortunate enough to remain. This strategy is obviously not feasible."
"What exactly are you suggesting, Reichsmarschall?" Dönitz asked, his tone carrying a deliberate edge.
Paul said nothing. His eyes moved between the two men with quiet precision.
Both had insisted on coming. Both had brought him the very same report. Yet they had arrived at entirely different conclusions.
Finally Dönitz turned toward Paul.
"Our U-boat doctrine is working. The Americans have lost heavily in the Atlantic. Soon they will not dare to enter our hunting grounds." He balled his fists at his sides.
Raeder shook his head again, this time with greater force.
"We are bleeding too. Such casualties are not acceptable."
"Yet we need the Atlantic."
Paul's voice stopped both men instantly.
He rose slowly from his chair. His fingers touched the Iron Cross at his collar briefly as he stood. He had worn it since the day he took it. Not as a symbol of battle. But as a reminder of the moment he had ended the most hated man of the century.
"There are two paths forward. Supremacy or scorched water. We either own the Atlantic completely, or we make it a place no one dares to enter. Sink enough of their ships and they will not cross it."
Dönitz nodded.
"Scorched water it is then," Raeder said quietly, the anger in his voice giving way to something heavier. Resignation, perhaps.
"For now we simply do not have the means for supremacy." Paul turned toward Raeder, his voice carrying no apology. "You will have to understand this."
Raeder held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Paul continued.
"Our priority is Africa. The supply routes across the Mediterranean are the lifeline of the entire southern campaign. Cut them and the remaining British, French and American positions in North Africa collapse."
Dönitz straightened visibly, a quiet pride settling across his features.
Paul watched Dönitz for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he gave a single nod to both men.
They rose, saluted. Dönitz crisp and satisfied. Raeder slower, his hand dropping almost before the gesture was complete. He turned and left without another word.
Dönitz followed shortly after.
The room was empty.
"Hah..."
Paul smiled. He already knew what came next.
One hour later, a plane lifted from Berlin's military airfield, flanked by four fighters flying in tight escort formation. Their engines cut through the cold morning air in a steady, purposeful roar.
The destination was southern Germany.
Black Forest Lodge, Private Airstrip
Paul's head appeared in the doorway of the transport plane. He paused there for a moment, taking in his surroundings.
The plane had landed in the middle of a vast, ancient forest. The runway was small but modern, a precise strip of asphalt carved out of the trees. Tall pines pressed in on both sides, their tops barely moving in the still morning air.
He stepped down the stairs unhurried, adjusting the grey suit jacket across his shoulders before placing his hat atop his head. No uniform today.
"My Führer."
Paul took the outstretched hand and shook it.
"Walk with me, Braun."
He placed his hands behind his back and moved forward without waiting. Werner von Braun fell into step beside him, and the two men walked alone across the long strip of asphalt, their footsteps quiet against the silence of the forest. Almost lonely.
Almost.
A single figure trailed far behind them, clad in a black uniform, moving without sound. A Ghost. Though this one carried more responsibility than most.
Gustaf kept his distance, catching only fragments of the conversation as it drifted back toward him on the still air. He did not try to hear more.
It was his first day back.
He had returned from Russia by ship weeks ago, but Paul had granted him leave, along with the others who had participated in the operation. Extraordinary work, the order had read.
But today he was back. Standing in a forest in southern Germany, watching Paul ocne more.
"Some things never change, do they," Gustaf whispered to himself-
The group continued forward, reaching the grounds of the Lodge itself. What from the outside appeared as a modest hunting retreat revealed itself as something else entirely. Massive halls. Underground bunker systems extending deep beneath the forest floor.
"Herr Lehmann visited us," Braun said quietly as they walked. "Right before..." He stopped himself, letting the sentence dissolve into the sound of their footsteps.
Paul nodded. He did not pursue it further. Instead he simply listened.
Braun led him through the halls and production sites. Rockets. Experimental gases. Engines that did not yet exist anywhere else in the world. Weapons that most men could not yet imagine needing.
This could be considered the pinnacle of my work, Paul thought, moving slowly through the displays.
In the far corner of one hall stood the Messerschmitt Me 262, its turbine engines gleaming under the artificial light. Unlike anything the current world had produced. The basis for it had begun as a small, inconspicuous blueprint pinned to a drafting table years ago.
Many of the technologies here had begun that way. Inconspicuous blueprints.
Most of them bore a small signature at the bottom.
Two initials.
P. J.
Paul smiled lightly, as they made their way to the last station.
"Did Herr Lehmann visit this place too?"
Braun nodded hesitatnly.
"Yes, I belive he met Herr Einstein and Herr Heisenberg."
They stood before a heavy metal door. A yellow symbol marked its center, three interlocking triangles that meant nothing to most men and everything to the few who understood what lay beyond it.
"I will speak with them as well. About Project Prometheus."
Braun nodded and pulled the door open, gesturing inside.
"Heisenberg and his team are already waiting. Please."
Paul stepped through, past two guards armed with submachine guns who straightened without being told. The door sealed behind him with a sound like a vault closing.
It was cold inside. Noticeably colder than the halls they had walked through. The air carried something metallic.
The room was large and functional. No decoration. No windows. Banks of equipment lined the walls, dials and gauges. In the center stood a long table covered in papers, calculations, diagrams. And around it, a group of men in white coats who had stopped talking the moment the door opened.
At the head of the table stood Werner Heisenberg.
He was younger than Paul had imagined. Sharp eyes behind round glasses.
Paul stopped at the opposite end of the table.
For a moment neither man spoke.
"Herr Heisenberg," Paul said finally, his voice calm and unhurried. "Tell me where you are."
Heisenberg glanced briefly at his colleagues, then back at Paul.
"We are close," Heisenberg said carefully.
"Depends on how you define close."
The voice came from the far end of the room, dry and unhurried. It belonged to a figure sitting rather than standing, a newspaper held open before him, thick curls of white hair escaping in every direction.
Heisenberg clenched his jaw.
"I told you—" he began, the hiss barely contained.
Paul raised one hand.
"I wish to speak with you." He looked past Heisenberg toward the figure at the far end. "Herr Einstein."
A pause. Then the newspaper lowered, revealing a thin beard and a pair of eyes that had seen through better men than most.
"Is that so."
The two men disappeared into the side room just like that, without ceremony, without explanation, leaving Heisenberg and the rest of the team standing around their table in sudden, bewildered silence.
Inside the side room, Einstein gestured toward the sofa across from him.
Einstein settled onto the opposite sofa, crossing his legs.
"What an honour," Einstein said, "to speak with the Führer alone."
Paul did not respond. He simply waited.
"I know you refuse to help," he began finally. "I know you refuse to work with Heisenberg."
"Will you force me now?" Einstein asked. His eyes moved to Paul's for a fraction of a second before drifting elsewhere, as if sustained eye contact with this man required more energy than he wished to spend.
Paul shook his head.
"They are close. But not quite there. If you were to help them, they would finish in weeks. We could—"
"Destroy the world?" Einstein interjected.
His eyes found Paul's again. This time they held.
"Is that what you want, Paul Jaeger?"
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