You Are Germany!
In truth, I had little experience with speeches. Even during World War II, I was the sort who drafted operations from the safety of the rear lines, not the one exhorting assembled soldiers. Of course, that didn't mean I'd never spoken in public. During my second attempt, circumstances forced me into it several times, and each occasion I merely recited rote phrases, pretending to inspire. But this third attempt had to be different. At the very least, better than the second. From now on, speeches would be inseparable from me. I would become the speech, and the speech would become me. If I intended to replace Hitler, I had to make his oratory my own. I had to infuse it with my emotions. Not scripted words, but my words.
I stood before the ranks of soldiers and closed my eyes for a moment. Memories from the first and second attempts flashed vividly. War is brutal. There's no romance in it. Herz, my classmate from the Grosserichsfeld Cadet Training Corps. I couldn't save him in the end. Soon, he'd fall on the Eastern Front. Manstein. Despite giving his all, he lost command at the last. He placed a hand on my shoulder, wished me luck, and departed quietly, forlornly. Everyone I cherished had left me. Germany—not one I loved, but one I'd grown attached to—was reduced to utter ruin by the Soviet armies.
I opened my eyes. Somehow, I was back at the threshold of that hell. Before me stood soldiers who hadn't even properly washed their muddied uniforms after the battle. Even this scene felt like a luxury to me. I set down the whistle and opened my mouth.
"Today, you might die."
It was the truth.
"War is no romance."
Truth.
"You will never become war heroes."
Truth again. But truth wasn't the end.
"Everyone dies. We know the hour and day we were born, but not the hour and day we'll die."
I stepped down quietly from the crate serving as my podium. Then, deliberately, I walked straight into the ranks of assembled troops.
"Like you, I don't know when or how I'll die. I might perish in this battle. Even if I survive it, I could drop dead tomorrow."
"..."
"The same goes for all of you. Tomorrow? Sometime? Who knows. Let me ask you this: If you don't know when you'll die, what's wrong with it being tomorrow?"
Sorry, but I didn't want to die. I had no desire to plunge into a fourth attempt without accomplishing anything.
"Are you afraid of dying? Is dying right now so terrifying? You will die! Even without this war! You can't escape it! It's our shared fate. Born as men, we must endure it as men. It's the destiny we all bear."
As I spoke, I stopped before a soldier whose eyes burned particularly dark. Hitler Youth. Compared to the boy soldiers I'd seen before, this one was robust. Far too valuable to lose to despair after one battle. I clapped his shoulder.
"So I dare say this: Death holds no importance for us. Are you afraid of death itself? Or of dying without achieving anything?"
I turned the question back on them. It wasn't death they feared. It was something beyond death.
"Don't think you'll die in this battle. That doesn't mean you'll survive tomorrow. What matters is this: You are soldiers of Germany. War has come. You are the German army. The vanguard of the great Kingdom of Bavaria!"
With that, I kicked the ground. Dust rose lightly. Then I wandered among them, clapping shoulders here and there.
"I say it again! You are the German army! War has come! Your nation demands one thing of you. And I demand one thing!"
Their eyes followed me. The ranks weren't in rigid attention.
"War is no romance! You're no knights returning with heroic tales! You're just soldiers of the Kingdom of Bavaria and the German Empire! They say if you can't avoid it, enjoy it. I demand one thing of you: Make it yours! The ground you stand on is Germany! Where you go is Germany! You are Germany! Germany is you! You are Germany itself!"
I emphasized it with exaggerated gestures, just like Hitler. Their gazes clung stubbornly. I reveled in it.
"Once more! So what if you die today? This fight will become yours—what's to fear in a death you must face someday anyway? You are Germany! The blood you shed soaks this land, and that makes it Germany! Fight for Germany! Not for yourself! Fight for the new destiny unfolding in this place! Fight for Germany's destiny! Not your personal heroics, but Germany's legend! Make it yours! Make it Germany's!"
I bellowed it raw, pounding my chest. Then I raised my rifle skyward.
"Fight for Germany!"
Snap! The soldiers thrust their rifles high.
The speech, haphazard as it was, had landed well.
August 20th. Having successfully defended the Battle of Lorraine, the German army launched its counterattack. The first Battle of Lorraine had ended in German victory. But the real trouble lay ahead.
Fortunately, our company wasn't at the vanguard. We'd been relegated to the follow-up echelon due to incomplete reinforcements. We advanced by filling in behind the spearhead units that cleared the way. Honestly, it was disappointing. I'd thought earning more battle honors here would help, but it wasn't to be.
That disappointment soon turned to despair.
"French counterattack!"
"What?! What kind of insane suicide tactic is this?!"
In the Vosges Mountains, German and French forces clashed fiercely, the fight devolving into chaotic melee. The French employed a mad tactic: some retreating, others advancing. Mad in the worst way. It made artillery fire tricky, scattering troops into infantry skirmishes.
One French infantry detachment approached our company. We identified and fired. Right near the Vosges Mountains, as expected.
"Company commander! The enemy is surrendering!"
After brief combat, we accepted their surrender. About 300 strong—not a huge force. But for my first merit after becoming 11th Company commander, it wasn't bad. Excluding around 70 dead, we secured some 230 prisoners, bound and sent to headquarters.
"20th Corps..."
This scene was familiar too. I'd seen it last time. No one but France's famed general Foch would pull such reckless charges. His 20th Corps was surely launching sporadic assaults to buy time for the French retreat.
"Men, set aside the joy of victory for now. We advance immediately."
I chose to press on. The "mission-type command" system existed even then, granting company commanders some battlefield autonomy. I could act as needed. I decided to merge the 11th Company from the rear into the front lines.
"Assemble at Morhange at once. We'll establish defensive plans there."
We set up a defensive line in the frontline area of Morhange. Trenches weren't main yet, but I had them dug, using the earth to build sandbag barricades. Machine guns were emplaced, and we waited for the French 20th Corps.
"Hoo..."
Could a single company stop the French 20th Corps? Obviously not. But a routing French force—how hard could their attack be? Besides, Morhange wasn't just us; other units were deployed too.
"Enemy assault!"
As predicted, part of Foch's 20th Corps struck Morhange. Lacking artillery, they charged with infantry to retake it. We'd prepped trenches and machine guns—we fired back.
Machine-gun crossfire. A venerable anti-charge defense proven since the Russo-Japanese War.
The machine guns from Morhange heights packed more punch than imagined. Unlike the original timeline, this border battle saw the Morhange defenders repel all counterattacks. Huddled in trenches, pouring machine-gun fire, we racked up massive kills in short order. Foch's 20th Corps effort fizzled.
Meanwhile, Germans driving deeper from the Vosges amplified the gains. The French managed a defensive line to blunt the offensive, but the border battle victory was unequivocally Germany's.
For my merits and participation, I received the Iron Cross, Second Class.