Forging Paths at the Berlin War Academy
Berlin War Academy, October 1910. Autumn.
I had become the new artillery company commander of the 16th Bavarian Reserve Regiment. My rank was lieutenant. It had taken just a year and eight months since my commissioning as a second lieutenant for me to earn that promotion.
This isn't the end.
My goal wasn't merely to eliminate Hitler. I aimed to lead the German Empire to victory. World War I was inevitable, but my true target was World War II. Before the second great war erupted, I had to seize Germany's baton of command. To achieve that, I needed to rack up military achievements and build a foundation of support among the German people. This time around, things had to be different. That's why I decided to try something new—something I hadn't attempted in previous loops.
"Lieutenant Lucas von Falkenrain, sir. I've brought the books you requested."
"Good work, adjutant. I'll buy you a drink later. Carry on."
"But... sir, if I may be so bold, could you tell me why you needed these books?"
"For study, of course. I'm planning to enroll in the Berlin War Academy."
This new attempt was enrolling in the Berlin War Academy—the elite school attended by luminaries like Manstein and Guderian, a crucial hub for learning the arts of war. Of course, with 1914 marking the outbreak of World War I, time was excruciatingly tight. Even if I studied like a madman and managed to get in after just two years, classes wouldn't start until 1913. That left me with only one year to prepare.
In truth, there wasn't much to learn in a single year. The tactics, strategies, and doctrines of this era weren't exactly advanced; skipping it might even be more beneficial. But the real value wasn't in the "learning"—it was in becoming a "Berlin War Academy graduate." Just attending put me in the same lineage as seniors like Manstein and Guderian. When I eventually grasped Germany's command staff, it could prove invaluable. Especially Manstein—his genius had been seared into my memory from previous loops. Everything with him proceeded like clockwork. If things didn't, he'd lose his temper. In the second loop, we'd meshed so well. The sooner I built rapport with him, the bigger the snowball effect.
And it didn't stop there. As a scion of a traditional Junker family, simply entering the Berlin War Academy would boost my reputation and honor in noble society. That's the kind of clique the Junkers were.
"Adjutant, you're sharp yourself. Care to study with me?"
"I'll pass, sir. I prefer hands-on work over books."
"Fair enough."
With that, my adjutant handed over the books, saluted, and departed. He was a sergeant, a year older than me, but no academy graduate or Junker. I, on the other hand, had leveraged my Junker status for ample backing, landing me this company command at such a young age. I had to milk it for all it was worth. At the very least, a Junker elite outshone a rootless upstart like Hitler.
I had to become the hero of the German people.
The difficulty was incomparable to entering the Grosserichsfeld Cadet Training Corps. That was the Berlin War Academy—a military institution that openly toyed with entrance exams to select only the elite of the elite. Even with my experiences from the first and second loops, plus a lifetime in modern South Korea, admission was no cakewalk.
Still, by studying like a demon as usual, I enrolled as a first-year in 1914.
Time is too damn short.
Classes began in March 1914, by which point Europe teetered on the brink of war's inferno. The entire continent was a powder keg—one stray spark away from catastrophe.
"Lieutenant Falkenrain. Quite young to be enrolling here. What are your ambitions?"
I was jotting down future plans in my notebook, juggling my packed schedule, when the professor called my name mid-lecture. With classes just starting and no one else buried in notes, I'd stood out.
"Thank you for asking, Professor. My ambition is the revival of the nation."
"Of course it is. But what do you hope to take from this academy? Tell your classmates."
"I'll learn how to survive. How to protect our fatherland from this brutal world."
"Fine answer, Falkenrain. Take your seat."
Clap, clap, clap.
"As you all know, Prussian military science is an ancient and honorable discipline. Today's lecture covers..."
The Berlin War Academy's teaching style felt worlds apart from the Grosserichsfeld Cadet Training Corps. It fostered creativity in tactics and strategy—a place for forging new ideas rather than rote basics. The atmosphere was relatively free; students could pursue subjects of interest. A true "university." Compared to modern South Korea, freedom was scant, but versus cadet training, it felt like liberation.
And that freedom was precious to me.
"What's this?"
"The Falkenrain family recently acquired a vineyard. They say the wine from it is exquisite—please, try some, Professor."
"Hahaha. Look here, Lieutenant. Accepting this won't bump your grades."
"If grades were my aim, I'd have offered the finest imports from France's Brittany region. No ulterior motives, sir."
"Hahaha! You jest well too!"
With so much on my plate, freedom was paramount. I had to exploit it to methodically achieve my goals. When building rapport, start with small gifts or shared interests. My Junker background and Europe's noble culture made it easy. I approached professors, seniors, and peers with common ground, adding light gifts or invitations to forge bonds swiftly.
The key: never overdo the gifts. Excess screamed bribery or ulterior motives. Something light—sincere but not overly so. My knack for that sweet spot, honed from previous loops and modern Korean life, was razor-sharp. I could instinctively build favor.
Shared interests? International affairs and politics worked best. But politics was touchy, so geopolitics took center stage.
"Since you brought it up, Lieutenant Falkenrain—what's your read on Europe's situation?"
"If I may, what's the intent behind the question?"
"Italy. Austria-Hungary. Russia and France. What do you see for them? How long will Bismarck's balance hold?"
"I'm no expert in international affairs, so I hesitate to speculate boldly, but if I may offer a view: it will shatter. Soon."
"Elaborate."
"The Austria-Hungary dual monarchy. Division will erupt there. Something will blow up."
"Haven't their southern brethren resolved tensions via the Great Compromise?"
"More like buried them. And the Balkans—Bulgaria, Serbia, the newly independent Greece. Who knows what alliances they'll form? If Austria-Hungary gets dragged into that vortex, a major war could erupt soon."
The professor sipped his wine and nodded. As this era's top elite intellectual, he sensed the ominous undercurrents too.
"I wouldn't phrase it as neatly, but I share your hunch about the Balkans. You've got a keen eye."
"You're too kind."
"And this wine—truly superb. No flattery. Embarrassing to admit, but I was a wine philistine before. Sweet meant good. Not anymore."
"I'm honored."
"Bring more next time. Until then, Lieutenant Lucas von Falkenrain."
That was the pattern: small gifts and measured geopolitical talk. Blended right, it was a cheat code for bonds in this era's Germany. By May 1914, applying it universally had spread my name far and wide—no one at the academy was unaware.
Naturally, it reached Erich von Manstein and Heinz Guderian too. Germany's premier strategists, both in the academy's staff course since 1913—a year ahead, making them my seniors. But seniority didn't bar friendship.
Our first encounter was at a university social. Having synced with them in the second loop, I recognized their youthful faces instantly. In a rented beer hall, amid students swaying to soft records, I spotted Manstein dancing with his fiancée and Guderian clapping along with his drink.
Their reckless youth.