Forward Command Post — Egypt, January 2, 1942
The command tent was half-buried in sand, as if the desert itself were trying to swallow it. Inside, maps were held down with stones—and the coffee, with resignation.
SS-Hauptsturmführer Albrecht stepped in without needing to announce himself. Captain Hoffner, liaison officer of the Afrika Korps, looked up and offered a tired smile.
—Punctual as a Swiss watch… out of batteries —he joked.
—Unlike some of these maps —Albrecht replied, pointing to the one before them—. This one says we have flanks. Reality says we have holes.
They both sat. The atmosphere was serious, but not tense. Hoffner was the kind who knew when to speak like an officer—and when to speak like a man.
**
—We've got British movement east of Bir el Abd —Hoffner said—. Not sure if it's buildup or bait.
—And the center?
—Quiet. Too quiet. Like they're waiting for us to blink first.
Albrecht nodded.
—And you want us to blink?
—I don't want to. I need to.—The Leibstandarte doesn't just hold. It pushes. And Ritter's shown he can do it without coming apart at the seams.
**
Albrecht looked down for a moment. Then answered:
—Falk doesn't ask for much. But he remembers everything.—If he saves our necks again, someone better remember that when this is over.
Hoffner raised his cup of coffee.
—To what he hasn't done yet.
—And to what he already has —Albrecht finished.
They clinked their cups—not in a toast,but in mutual respect.
**
On the table, the lines moved again.But the men drawing them already knew:the front doesn't begin on a map.It begins with the decisions that don't need applause.