Chapter 3: The War Must Go On

The train that carried the wounded also brought several officers. After a brief discussion with the regimental commander, they summoned the hero of the regiment—Albert Rudolf, a mercenary from the distant East.

"Pleased to meet you, Private Albert Rudolf!" The man speaking was a major with a thick mustache, dressed in the traditional double-breasted Prussian uniform. He exuded authority as he extended his right hand.

Albert stood at attention, saluted, and then shook the major's hand. "Major, Private Albert Rudolf reporting."

The major gestured to his aide, who promptly handed him a document from a leather briefcase.

"In recognition of your bravery during the recent engagement, Army Headquarters has awarded you the Iron Cross, Second Class. You saved the lives of 117 soldiers. You are one of the finest soldiers I've ever seen!" The major smiled warmly, his tone as casual as a boss praising an employee with a small bonus.

"Long live the Kaiser!" Albert straightened his back and shouted the anachronistic slogan. It was strange to think that even in the early 20th century, an era of technological progress, Europe still had more than one emperor.

The major wasn't finished. He glanced at the document and continued, "You've also been promoted. Your company was nearly wiped out, so Army Headquarters has ordered the promotion of experienced and capable soldiers. You meet both criteria. From now on, you are a sergeant."

Albert couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and irony. The Iron Cross, which Hitler had longed for half a year to earn, and the modest rank of sergeant had fallen into his lap after just two days of lying on the floor of a field hospital.

With the orders delivered, the major had no interest in further conversation. To him, Albert was neither a noble officer nor a direct subordinate, and thus not worth more of his time.

Being an officer had its perks. When Albert returned to the regiment, he was given a brand-new uniform and a shiny black Iron Cross pinned to his chest.

The craftsmanship of the medal was a testament to Germany's industrial prowess. It was small yet exquisitely made, designed to instill pride and honor in its wearer. Albert couldn't help but admire it. Back in his time, such a medal would have been a rare collector's item, something he could only see in photographs.

But as he thought about how he'd earned it, Albert decided it was better not to receive too many of these. After all, the process of earning one often meant your name could easily shift from the list of awardees to the list of the missing.

Still, Albert knew he wouldn't have to return to the front lines. The Austrian 16th Infantry Regiment had been pulled back, and soon the war that had left all Germans feeling humiliated would come to an abrupt end.

Originally, the situation had been slightly favorable for Germany. By 1918, after four years on the defensive, the German army was poised to launch a new offensive.

Except for the stalemate on the Western Front, Germany had achieved victories on all other fronts. Serbia, Romania, and finally Russia had succumbed to German advances. The Treaty of Brest-Litovsk with the new Soviet government had granted Germany vast swathes of Ukrainian plains.

With the Eastern Front collapsing, Germany transferred over a million troops to France, hoping to break the deadlock and force a decisive victory in the West. The "Kaiser's Battle" was about to begin.

In the spring, the Germans launched four major offensives, pushing the British and French forces back. The British were ordered to fight to the last man. On July 15, the decisive battle began near Reims. Both sides knew the outcome would determine the war's fate.

"If we succeed at Reims," said the famed German general Ludendorff, "we win the war." Allied Commander-in-Chief Marshal Foch agreed: "If we don't, we lose the war."

But the German offensive failed. Despite their apparent strength, Germany had no reserves left. The Allies, bolstered by American divisions and an endless supply of weapons and provisions from the United States, held firm.

When the train carried Hitler eastward, he was still blind and on the verge of a complete mental and physical breakdown. His eyes were swollen, his face puffed up like a balloon. The soldiers around him spoke in weak, ghostly voices. They refused food, water, and medical treatment, rejecting any help from nurses. No matter how much the doctors assured them their vision would return, the men preferred to lie still and moan, seeking relief even in death.

On the same train was another figure history would forget: Albert Rudolf, a sergeant from the Austrian 16th Infantry Regiment, a mercenary from the distant East.

"Germany is finished," Albert muttered, leaning against the train's metal wall, his rifle cradled in his arms. "The attack near Reims drained our reserves without achieving anything. America's entry has left us completely on the defensive. The Kaiser might end the war soon. It could be over this year."

"I don't want to believe it, but your strategic insights have always been accurate, Herr Rudolf," Hitler said, his eyes still bandaged. "You predicted the attack near Reims, but I still can't accept that we'll lose."

"Herr Hitler, we're still young. Even if things look bad now, we'll find a way to turn it all around," Albert said firmly.

Hitler nodded silently. After a long pause, as the train wheels clattered against the tracks, he suddenly spoke again. "Herr Rudolf, you're a very learned man. I think you're even more knowledgeable than our battalion commander."

"Thank you," Albert replied with a faint smile, gazing out at the passing plains through a crack in the train car. The First World War was over, and the next twenty years would be his stage.

In early August 1918, the British launched a surprise attack near Amiens. The German forces, caught off guard, collapsed almost without firing a shot. Though the German army retreated, their defensive positions remained intact. Hundreds of soldiers, still committed to their duty, stubbornly held their ground, refusing to yield even as their lines crumbled. These men, bound by their oaths, shed their blood to defend their positions, causing endless trouble for the advancing enemy.

However, back in Germany, the will to continue the war was fading. Strikes broke out across the country, and the home front grew increasingly restless. To hardliners like Hitler, the safe and untouched rear was filled with traitors—those who lagged behind, schemed for personal gain, feigned illness to avoid duty, or outright betrayed the nation. Among them, he included those who showed no love or respect for Germany, particularly the Jewish population, whom he blamed for undermining the efforts of those fighting desperately at the front.

As the train carried Albert and Hitler to the hospital in the small town of Basswarck in Pomerania, Hitler's personal despair seemed to overshadow his physical pain.

After weeks of treatment, Hitler's vision began to return. The inflammation in his eyes subsided, the swelling went down, and the intense pain around his eye sockets gradually lessened. Slowly, he could make out the shapes of objects around him.

The restoration of his sight brought Hitler a renewed sense of hope and rekindled his interest in current events. Yet, far away in Berlin, the heart of the empire was effectively under siege. The new chancellor urged the Kaiser to abdicate to facilitate an armistice.

One morning, as Albert brushed his teeth, the hospital in Basswarck was unusually quiet. The occasional soft groan from a wounded soldier was the only sound breaking the serene atmosphere.

Suddenly, three young men in work clothes and flat caps entered the large ward. They dragged a chair from beside a patient's bed to the center of the room, and their leader climbed onto it. Clearing his throat, he began to speak:

"Long live the Bolsheviks! Gentlemen, only the Bolsheviks can save Germany! The Kaiser must step down! He is the one responsible for this war!"

"The Kaiser is not to blame! You are the traitors!" Hitler shouted, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Hey, kid! Look at the Soviets! Look at Comrade Lenin! The Russians lost nothing by withdrawing from the war! We should believe that the Bolsheviks can lead us out of this war too!" The young man waved his fist emphatically, his words firm and persuasive.

Though the room remained silent, Hitler was momentarily speechless, unable to counter the argument.

"Have you ever been to the front?" A clear, firm voice rang out from the doorway. All eyes turned to see a tall, lean Germanic man standing there. His unshaven face gave him a rugged appearance, and his deep-set blue eyes, devoid of emotion, seemed to have witnessed too much of life and death to be stirred by anything.

"Have you ever been to the front?" Albert asked again, his gaze fixed on the three young men.