Friedrich watched as General Rommel paced back and forth across the room, his boots echoing in the dim light. Sweat was beginning to form on the general’s forehead, and the normally composed man now seemed gripped by worry and impatience. Friedrich couldn't help but wonder at the change. The Ghost Division had exceeded all expectations from the OKW, penetrating about 200 kilometers into France with little resistance. Victory had followed them everywhere. Rommel had been decisive throughout the advance, never once showing doubt. Yet the man before him now, restlessly pacing the room, was a stark contrast to the confident leader of just days ago.
“Sir...” Friedrich began, but a knock at the door interrupted him. Rommel marched over, his face tightening with a mix of anger and worry. Friedrich stood up, following the general closely. As the door swung open, a slim girl in a white cloak over her Wehrmacht uniform stood in the doorway.
“Arturia!” Rommel’s voice exploded through the command center as he grabbed her by both arms, his frustration clear. “I told you not to go near the fighting! Why didn’t you follow my orders?! This isn’t one of your little games—this is war! You could have been killed!”
Friedrich noticed traces of blood on her cloak. Rommel’s concern and anger were clear, but Arturia stood composed. “You’re too reckless, Art. We had to pause our advance just to make sure you were safe. You almost gave the major general a heart attack!” Friedrich barked; his voice filled with concern. He noticed a flicker of regret pass through her previously steady demeanor.
“Major is right, Arturia.” Rommel added with concerned. “When I heard you dragged Leon to into warzone, I was desperately trying to contact his tank! You….”
“I… I’m sorry, Uncle,” Arturia interrupted, her voice quieter. “I just wanted to see the fighting a little closer. I can’t understand the situation just from radio reports. That’s why I went. And that area had been reported cleared an hour before. I thought it was safe.” Shame clouded her thoughts. She knew she had slowed down the division's advance, the very thing even the Allies hadn’t managed to do. “I didn’t think there would be enemy leftovers there. I… I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Next time?!” Rommel’s shout made her flinch. “You’re not an army officer, Arturia! Imagine how your mother and father would react if anything happened to you! And you’re royal blood—do you want to see headlines about Kaiser’s blood being spilled by the Allies? Imagine the propaganda value of such a disaster for them!”
Arturia couldn’t meet Rommel’s eyes. She knew her mistake all too well. If not for her father’s friendship with Rommel, she wouldn’t even be standing there. She had begged Rommel to let her participate in the campaign, under the guise of being a reporter, knowing full well she wasn’t part of the military. She also knew that Hitler would never allow it, so she used her father’s connection with Rommel and pleaded her case.
She had promised him she would stay away from the war zones, and yet she had broken that very promise, and now found herself in trouble. Her dream of becoming a strategist, like her great-grandfather Bismarck, seemed to be slipping further out of reach. This had been her only chance to experience the battlefield—a realm few women ever entered. And she had ruined it. If the soldier who destroyed their tank hadn’t been Lukas, the situation could have turned out far worse.
Rommel looked down at the girl in front of him, seeing the guilt that now weighed heavily on her. He sighed deeply. Arturia had been fascinated by warfare since she was a child, always clinging to him, begging for stories of his campaigns whenever he visited her family’s estate. Despite her young age, her intellect and ability to learn was astonishing. Her father, Duke Karl Friederike, was a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm, who had abdicated the throne in 1918. The two had been close friends at the military academy—Rommel went on to become an officer, while Karl pursued politics.
When Germany surrendered at the end of the Great War, Karl had been one of the few royalists to openly protest, outraged by the defeat. Sometimes, Rommel wondered if Arturia’s obsession with warfare was truly her own passion or if it was her father’s lingering will to avenge the victors of that war. Was she fighting her own battle, or was she unknowingly carrying the weight of her father’s ambition? Rommel won’t be able to find out answers to those question easily. Honestly, he wanted her to lead a normal life like any other girls considering her bloodline which can be a problem in the Third Reich of Hitler.
Rommel’s hand rested gently on Arturia’s shoulder, his voice softening with concern. "Listen to me, Arturia. Go home. Take some time to think about what it is you truly want," he said, his words heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. "France has collapsed, the Brits are alone and trapped. The war, for all intents and purposes, is over. There may be no more battles for the Wehrmacht to fight. Even if you manage to join the army, you’ll find yourself stuck behind a desk, far from the frontlines you dream of. There’s no glory in that—no real challenge."
He paused, watching for a reaction, but Arturia remained still, her eye facing downwards. Rommel knew what she was thinking, but whether she would heed his advice was another question entirely.
"You're smart, Arturia. Your mind could help build the future in ways more meaningful than the battlefield. This war will end, and the Reich will need bright minds like yours to shape the fatherland’s future. But not in the way you imagine."
Arturia looked up to him. “What if it doesn’t. You know I can be a useful asset to Wehrmacht and Fuhrer. You don’t need to worry about my safety Uncle. It’s not like I will just take up rifle and fight in the battlefield. I’m gonna be a commander like you. I…”
“Commander without any real experience?” Friedrich who was observing the conversation interrupted her. “The war is not a chess game you play Art. Your soldiers’ lives depend on you decision. You can’t just be a commander because you want to.” Friedrich really couldn’t understand this girl who craze over war. He had seen many good men died in following the orders with blind eyes. Even the battle-hardened officers like him made many mistake in wartime.
“Then, I will learn.” Arturia’s words are decisive. “Uncle told me that all human beings tend to mistakes. We just have to learn from them. Major Friedrich, I swear. I won’t let both you and Uncle down. Please let me join Military academy.” Her voice was desperate and pleading.
Rommel shook his head, frustration seeping through his voice. “Arturia, even if you could, the Führer won’t approve this. No woman has ever commanded in the history of the German army. This is insanity!”
“No, Uncle,” Arturia replied firmly, her gaze unwavering. “The Führer will accept me. He knows my value better than anyone. I am not just a girl—Kaiser’s blood runs through my veins. Even if I don’t hold a high command, I can still serve as a symbol, a morale booster for the troops. A royal leading the Reich’s army would be the perfect propaganda tool for the Führer, who wants to restore the legacy of the old Reich.” She stood her ground, resolute, showing no signs of backing down.
Rommel sighed, feeling as though winning a conversation with her was harder than the battles he had fought. As stubborn as she was, her words carried undeniable truth. A descendant of the Kaiser in the ranks of the Wehrmacht would be a powerful symbol for the soldiers—a morale booster like no other. But Arturia wasn’t a man, and she was still so young. Every commander in the Wehrmacht had earned their position through trials of blood and sweat, proving themselves in battle. Arturia had no such experience, and Rommel wasn’t sure how she would perform when faced with the reality of war.
“Fine, Arturia," Rommel said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I’ll think about it. But for now, go back home. This isn’t a light matter. I want you to think carefully and discuss it with your father." He paused, his gaze softening for a moment. "I’ll come see you again after France surrenders. We’ll continue this conversation then."
He couldn’t let her ambition distract him from the war that still raged. For now, he would focus on winning the battle at hand. Persuading her could wait until the Allies had fallen.
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Arturia stepped back, her expression calm as she raised her hand in a salute. "Heil Hitler," she said, her voice steady. The gesture seemed odd to Friedrich, who watched the scene unfold with a hint of unease. A descendant of the Kaiser giving the Nazi salute—it felt like a contradiction in history. He’d heard whispers that even the former Kaiser Wilhelm had despised Hitler’s new Germany.
Friedrich couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, imagining the old man rolling in his grave at the sight of his own bloodline working her way into the armed forces of the Third Reich.
As Arturia walked out of the room, Rommel slumped back into his chair, the weight of their conversation clearly taking a toll on him. His usual energy and determination seemed drained, and for a moment, he looked like a man far older than his years. Friedrich, sensing the general’s exhaustion, rose from his seat quietly, intending to leave the room and give Rommel some much-needed space.
But before he could reach the door, Rommel gestured for him to stay.
“It’s alright, Major,” Rommel said, his voice unusually soft, tired but still commanding. “No need for formalities.”
Friedrich hesitated, then returned to his seat, his eyes watching the general intently.
Rommel leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped together as if in deep thought. “Tell me, what do you think about Arturia?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice. It wasn’t the usual Rommel, whose questions were sharp, direct, and calculated. This felt more personal, more uncertain.
“Well sir,” Friedrich began, his tone candid, “I’d say she has some real nerve. The way she talks, the way she acts—it’s more like an immature brat who doesn’t know the responsibilities and horrors of war yet. I think she’s kinda detached from reality.”
He paused for a moment, gauging Rommel’s reaction, but the general’s expression remained neutral.
“I can feel her enthusiasm, but that’s all. We’ve never seen her fight in real life. Being outstanding in war games with maps doesn’t mean she’ll be perfect in the field.” Friedrich leaned forward slightly. “She hasn’t faced the real chaos, the confusion, or the unpredictability of actual combat. And I fear that when she does, it could be overwhelming.”
Rommel sighed, acknowledging the weight of Friedrich’s words. “You’re right, Friedrich. Arturia’s talent shines in war games and simulations, but that’s a far cry from the chaos of a real battlefield. It’s too uncertain to send her into the field without experience.”
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead in frustration as he contemplated the situation. “But I can’t deny that what she said holds some truth as well,” Rommel continued. “Having royalty in the Wehrmacht’s command structure—it would be a powerful morale booster and propaganda tool. The symbol of a Kaiser’s descendant leading troops under the Reich... it could inspire soldiers in ways few other things could.”
Rommel's gaze drifted to the window, where the fading light of day mirrored his own conflicted thoughts. “But is that enough reason to risk her? To push her into a role she may not be ready for, just because of her bloodline?”
He shook his head, wrestling with the options. “This war doesn’t leave much room for mistakes, Friedrich. And if Arturia falters… it could be disastrous for more than just her.”
Friedrich sensed Rommel's hesitation and, after a moment of thought, a solution sparked in his mind. “May I suggest an idea, sir?” he called out, catching Rommel's attention. The general glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Go on.”
“How about creating a special position within this division just for her? Something that allows you to keep a close eye on her while also giving her practical experience. You could ask the Führer for permission—perhaps a title like Secondary Major, where she can be under my supervision. I’ll teach her how things work, give her responsibilities that don’t endanger anyone, and you’ll be able to monitor her progress directly.”
Rommel leaned forward, intrigued but cautious. Friedrich continued, “This way, we can test her in the field, but in a controlled environment. She’ll learn the reality of war without the risk of leading troops unprepared. It’s a compromise, sir—one that may just satisfy both her ambition and your concerns.”
Rommel sat back, considering the idea.
"That’s a brilliant idea, Friedrich," Rommel said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Fine. As soon as we get back to Berlin, I’ll take this up with the Führer. I’m sure he’ll like the idea as well."
Rommel’s energy had returned, and Friedrich could see the weight lift from his shoulders. This was a solution that might just work—a way to harness Arturia's ambition without putting her or others in unnecessary danger.
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Leon stood outside the room, his nerves on edge as he listened to the faint sounds of the conversation inside. He knew all too well that both he and Arturia were in trouble. Rommel had explicitly ordered him to stay away from the frontlines, but how could he refuse Arturia when she pressured him? Ever since they were kids, she had always used her status as the duke’s daughter to get her way, and Leon had found himself bending to her will more times than he could count.
Leon shook his head, a mix of frustration and resignation flooding him. He was grateful for his time in the UK—without it, he wouldn’t have met Lukas, and things could have ended far worse for both him and Arturia.
Studying in the UK had been more than just an escape from Arturia's constant demands; it had connected him with people outside the rigid structure of the Reich, and Lukas was one of them. Now, though they stood on opposite sides of the war, their bond had saved him.
Through the door, he could hear muffled voices, and there was no mistaking the tone—Arturia was being lectured, as usual. He sighed. It was only a matter of time before Rommel turned his attention to him. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he mentally prepared for the reprimand he knew was coming.
But he wasn’t called in. A moment later, the door opened, and Arturia stepped out, looking just as composed as when she had gone in—unflinched and unmoved. Leon had to admire her ability to remain calm, even after what was surely a stern lecture. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel sorry for General Rommel. Mentoring someone as stubborn and willful as Arturia had to be exhausting.
Arturia glanced at Leon with her usual cold expression, giving him a subtle gesture that it was time to leave. Without saying a word, Leon fell in step beside her, walking through the dimly lit corridors. As they moved through the command center, he wondered what Rommel had told her—and what it would mean for them both.
“Hey, Art,” Leon called out to her as they walked. “Is your wound still hurting?” he asked, noticing the dried blood on her cloak that she hadn’t bothered to clean.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Arturia replied in her usual calm tone. “The bleeding’s stopped. It was just a scratch. Our medics are trained professionals, you know? I don’t even feel the slightest pain now.” She spoke with an air of indifference, as if the wound was just a trivial detail in her day.
“So, what did the general say? Did he agree to let you join the military academy?” Leon asked curiously, already suspecting the answer. He knew Rommel well enough to believe there was no way the general would go against tradition and let Arturia enter the academy.
Arturia’s expression remained unfazed, and she responded with her usual confident, almost bossy tone, “He will. I know he will.”
Leon raised an eyebrow. "You sound sure of that."
“Uncle knows what’s best to do,” she continued, her tone filled with certainty. “He understands that I’m not like the others, and he’ll find a way to make it happen.”
Leon glanced at her, letting out a slight sigh. He was only 19, barely old enough to serve in the military. Arturia, two years younger, was even further from the typical enlistment age. Despite her fascination with military tactics and war, Leon knew her better than anyone—even better than Rommel. Arturia was particular, almost fastidious. He couldn’t picture her enduring the hardships of military life, not with how she demanded control over every detail of her environment.
“You sure about this, Art?” he asked, his voice low but serious. “There’s no going back, you know?”
Arturia chuckled, her teasing tone light as she smiled—a rare sight for anyone other than Leon. “Oh, look at this. Old Leon, worrying about me,” she said, her voice dripping with mock drama. “I’m tearing up.” She wiped a nonexistent tear from her eye, laughing softly.
For anyone else, it would have been a bizarre scene. Arturia was always so cold, so distant, rarely showing emotion beyond her usual icy demeanor. But here, with Leon, the real Arturia slipped through the cracks.
“Ok, ok, Art, you win,” Leon said, throwing his hands up in surrender, though his expression remained serious. “But seriously, could you at least pretend to show some worry or doubt? You’re treating this whole thing like it’s nothing.”
She smirked, shaking her head. “Worry is for those who aren’t prepared, Leon. I’ve thought this through.”
Leon let out soft snorts. “You always say that, and it’s always me who has to clean up your mess.”
“Hey! This time is different. I’m making this one right. No need to remind me of those past traumas, okay?”
"Sure, Ice Queen. But don’t forget—you still owe me for my tank. I want a shiny new Panzer IV, by the way."
The hallway echoed with faint laughter from Arturia and Leon, a stark contrast to the distant sounds of explosions.