Berlin, April 2, 1939
The training camp didn't sleep. Not even at night. The lights stayed on, engines rumbled, commands whispered again and again like a military mantra. But it wasn't routine noise.
It was the murmur of a machine sharpening its blades.
Helmut had been sitting in front of the receiver for hours. The new radio model included automatic filters and longer range, but he preferred the old passive listening channel. Dirtier. But more honest.
—"Anything new?" Ernst asked, stepping in with a steaming mug.
—"Yes. But it's not written yet," Helmut replied, eyes still locked on the frequencies.
In recent nights, he'd heard things that didn't come from High Command, but weren't civilian chatter either. Broken conversations, key phrases: "eastern situation," "land bridge," "August strike." And one word that kept repeating:
Danzig.
When Falk reviewed the day's reports, he said nothing. He just underlined a name in the general orders: SS-Brigadeführer Dietrich, direct commander of the Leibstandarte, who had arrived in Berlin that very day.
—"Here to give us his blessing?" Konrad asked with a dry smirk.
—"Here to see up close what he's sending into hell," Falk answered, tone flat, humorless.
At day's end, gathered around the new Panzer IV, the conversation was short.
—"We have confirmation," Falk said. "No war yet. But High Command orders 'maximum readiness for eastern movement between mid-August and early September.'"
—"And if there's no war?" Lukas asked.
Falk looked at him for a moment.
—"Then we keep the tanks clean. But no one trains at night to keep tanks clean."
Helmut, paler than usual, stepped forward holding a sheet.
—"I intercepted this an hour ago. Unofficial channel, but military encryption. Read the last line."
Falk read it.
"Combat units will act without retreat in the event of conflict with the Republic of Poland. Coordination with Volksdeutsche groups will be a priority. Danzig will be German. Without negotiation."
For the first time in weeks, no one said a word.