Published at 26th of December 2025 7:33 am

Chapter 799: Christmas Miracle

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The war had been waging since 1938, and now, as the winter of 1941 crept toward its end and Christmas Day approached, Erich found himself once more far from home, in a jungle that felt more like another planet than any corner of the German Reich.

Three years... Three years without his wife, without his children, without the warmth of his mother’s embrace or the dry wit of his father.

Three years since he last heard his grandmother’s voice, a woman who had practically raised him.

He had seen his grandfather only once, and even that had been a meeting of duty, not affection.

Long ago, when he was but a youth, he had dismissed the man’s warning, that the soldier’s road was long, brutal, and unforgiving. Back then, he had thought himself too stubborn to be broken.

But Spain had bled the boy out of him, Dunkirk had carved the man from what remained. And now, in the steaming rot of Mindanao’s southern outskirts, surrounded by mosquitoes, damp earth, and roots that seemed eager to strangle the living, Erich wondered if this path had been worth the cost.

Somewhere, in the comforts of Tyrol, his brothers were probably sitting near a fire, drinking hot cocoa and Eierlikor. But here in the jungle the only warmth was fever.

The crack of a man clearing his throat tore him back to the present.

Erich blinked the memories away and focused on the long table before him, where the representatives of the Philippine Transitionary Council sat wilted like men who had aged ten years in two.

They looked hollow, drained, the lines in their faces carved deeper by starvation, fear, and the slow collapse of their world.

At the head of their delegation sat President Manuel L. Quezon, back straight despite everything. His dignity had not yet surrendered, even if his armies had.

As a full colonel of the Reichsheer, Erich had earned the right to sit at the table during the ceasefire negotiations. A right he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted.

Generaloberst Josef "Sepp" Dietrich rested his folded hands before him, eyes sharp, posture perfect, a man who exuded command through sheer presence.

He spoke first.

"Before we begin these dreadful negotiations, I offer you all a final courtesy," Josef said, voice soft yet carrying enough weight to freeze the room.

"If there is anything, anything at all, you wish to confess, reveal, or clarify before we proceed, now is the time. Cooperation might earn leniency. Silence will not."

A quiet dread settled across the Filipino delegation. Eyes dropped, hands tightened, and Manuel looked to his left, then right, searching for answers among men who would not meet his gaze.

Finally, he sighed.

"Generaloberst... I fear I have shared all that can be shared."

Josef mirrored the sigh, though his carried none of the other man’s exhaustion, only performance.

"A pity," he said with a tone that made Erich’s skin crawl. "I had hoped for more. But very well."

He adjusted his gloves, lifted his chin slightly, and allowed the silence to deepen... dense, suffocating, charged.

Erich felt the temperature in the room drop. Even the cicadas outside seemed to sense the shift.

Josef leaned forward.

"Under such circumstances," he said, holding every eye captive, "I suppose I have no choice but to..."

The room stopped breathing.

"...withdraw our forces completely."

The words detonated more powerfully than artillery.

Heads shot up, chairs scraped, and even Erich’s pulse stumbled. Life flooded back into the Filipino delegates; shock first, then disbelief, then something desperate and trembling.

Manuel himself blinked in astonishment, nearly stammering as he searched for clarity.

"I... I don’t understand. You’re withdrawing?"

Josef clicked his tongue, a gentle scolding.

"Not immediately," he said. "We must ensure the Americans cannot reclaim these islands while we prepare to sail for Guam. But within a year? Yes. The Reich will withdraw entirely."

He leaned back with a sly smile.

"As we said from the beginning, we never intended to permanently occupy your lands. If you had cooperated from the start, all this grisly business could have ended far sooner."

Erich nearly groaned. he knew the plan, his grandfather’s plan. It was rather simple when one thought about it.

Kick the Americans out of the Pacific, punish those who resisted, reshape the region, and then leave.

But after all the bloodshed, after all the nights spent fighting in rain, after burying friends in soil that devoured the dead without ceremony... It still felt like a punch to the ribs.

Manuel swallowed.

"I presume... there are conditions?"

Josef’s smirk sharpened.

"Of course. The German Reich requires that the Philippines pay restitution to the families of those who fell fighting for your ’independence.’ You will compensate the Reich, Japan, and Thailand for their service in liberating these islands."

Manuel almost grimaced at the audacity.

Liberation? Is that what they were calling the last two years of devastation?

Still, he knew Germany’s record. Mittelafrika, the Carolines, Samoa, Tahiti, Berlin kept its colonization promises when it suited them. And Manuel knew defeat when he saw it.

He drew a steady breath.

"If we agree to cease hostilities and pay this... remuneration... then I must know the figure. What exactly are you demanding?"

Josef rose, prompting Erich and the other German officers to follow.

"That, Mr. President, is a matter for the bureaucrats in Berlin," Josef said smoothly. "We shall provide the number soon. Until then, you will refrain from any hostile action. Consider this ceasefire binding."

Though phrased as a request, his eyes made it a command.

Manuel broke under the pressure.

"...Yes."

Josef’s smile widened.

"Good."

He turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving only the echo of boots and the faint scent of cigar smoke.

Erich and the others followed, waiting until they were well out of earshot before anyone dared speak.

Josef broke the silence with a relieved exhale.

"Well, that went rather well, didn’t it?"

The officers exchanged silent chuckles, tension bleeding away.

Then Erich muttered, half amused, half exasperated:

"It is a true Christmas miracle, isn’t it?"

This time the laughter was greater.

But when Josef’s back was turned, Erich let his smile fade.

All he could think of were the graves scattered across Luzon, Palawan, and Mindanao.

German graves, Thai graves, Even Japanese men who had fought and died beside him during the final days of the war.

He remembered their banter, joking about beer and women in broken German under the sweltering night.

All for a land they would abandon in a year.

Erich exhaled a long, weary breath, one that felt torn from the bottom of his lungs.

"Two years," he whispered to himself. "Two years of hell... for someone else’s freedom."

A freedom that wasn’t his, a war he didn’t choose, and a victory that tasted like ash.

He walked on through the humid night, boots sinking into soft earth, the cicadas humming like distant artillery.

Ahead of him marched men who would never know another Christmas at home.

And behind him, in that dim room, sat the ghosts of a nation that had gambled everything and lost everything in the span of months.

Erich lit a cigarette, hands steady despite the tremor in his heart.

The ember glowed bright in the darkness.

"A miracle," he murmured. "Some goddamn miracle."

---

The moment the Germans were out of sight and the doors to the hall shut, the facade of dignity Manuel L. Quezon had worn cracked like old paint.

He sank into his chair, head in his hands, exhaustion rolling off him in waves.

Around the table, his remaining advisors hovered like men awaiting a verdict.

Foreign Minister Vargas was first to speak, voice strained.

"Well... President Quezon, are we truly considering this? Letting the Reich withdraw on their terms and saddling ourselves with restitution payments we cannot possibly afford?"

General Santos slammed his fist onto the polished wood.

"It’s extortion, sir! They burn our villages, destroy our infrastructure, kill our people, and now they want us to pay them for it?!"

A murmur of bitter agreement rippled around the room.

Quezon lifted his gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, but sharp.

"You think I don’t know that, Arsenio?" he said quietly. "You think I haven’t counted every grave dug since this war began?"

Silence.

The humidity pressed in, thick and suffocating. Outside, a distant mortar thumped, the dying heartbeat of a war nearly finished.

Finance Minister Laurel cleared his throat.

"Mr. President... the German general was right about one thing. We cannot repel them. Not now. Not with the Americans gone."

His tone held no admiration, only resignation.

One advisor spat the word:

"Cowards. They left us to die."

Quezon didn’t disagree.

He rose slowly, pacing to the window. Outside, the jungle shimmered under the dying afternoon light, green, wild, indifferent to whatever nation claimed it.

"We chose the Americans," Quezon said. "Chose to trust their promises. Chose to believe they would deliver us our freedom if we bled for them."

He paused, jaw tightening, the bitterness rising like bile.

"And all the while," he whispered, "the men we fought, the men we killed, and who killed us, were the only ones who ever intended to leave us free in the end."

General Santos looked away. No one corrected him. No one could.Quezon turned back to them, voice steadier.

"The Germans are brutal, yes. Arrogant, yes. But they keep their word when it suits them. Mittelafrika, Polynesia... every territory they promised to free, they eventually did."

"And what if this time is different?" Vargas asked. "What if they make us a puppet forever?"

"Then better a puppet with a country," Quezon said, "than a patriot with a grave."

The words hung heavy.

Laurel exhaled. "So... we accept?"

Quezon sat again, old beyond his years.

"We will negotiate. We will pay. We will rebuild."

He looked at the doorway through which Josef Dietrich had vanished.

"And when the Reich leaves... we will pray the Americans never return."

He folded his hands.

"Prepare the documents. Tomorrow, we bow. One last time."

And no one argued.

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