Published at 2nd of January 2026 7:38 am

Chapter 807: Christmas Eve V: The Other Side

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The sun had barely cleared the horizon when the last organized resistance on Guam ended.

It did not end with a final stand, nor a dramatic charge, nor any act that would later be elevated into legend.

It ended the way most wars ended once superiority had been established, quietly, unevenly, and without ceremony.

A radio crackled, a platoon surrendered, a battery went silent. Somewhere inland, a frightened officer burned documents in a steel drum and fled into the jungle, hoping anonymity might succeed where arms had failed.

Six hours.

That was all it had taken from the first landings to effective control of the island.

Generaloberst Josef "Sepp" Dietrich stood on the balcony of the former American naval headquarters, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the harbor below.

Smoke long since swallowed by the sea, along with the wrecks of ships that had never left their moorings.

Back in the Fatherland it was Christmas Eve, and he was here on this island far away from home, providing cleanup to an operation that lasted less than half a day.

Weeks later, he had little else to do, but stand in the setting sun and wish for home.

Dietrich did not indulge in sentimentality. He had learned long ago that nostalgia was a luxury afforded to men without command.

Still, the knowledge lingered at the back of his mind, that while families gathered in warm halls across the Fatherland, he stood on a captured shore at the edge of the world.

He knew Bruno would be in Tyrol. He could picture it easily enough: the old man seated comfortably, glass in hand, surrounded by children and grandchildren who had grown up beneath the peace his victories had purchased.

Dietrich did not resent that. He accepted it.

Bruno had served as a field commander well past an era where it was safe to do so. And well above the Rank where he should have ceased.

He was a living legend. A man who led men into battle during the Great War. And Dietrich knew that Bruno would still be out there today if it weren’t for the Kaiser demanded he sit back at a desk and command the war from afar.

This was no longer the age where knights, and Kings rode into battle. Daring danger and glory alike.

No, this was an era where a stray artillery shell, or a well plotted ambush could end a Monarch, or a General before he ever knew what hit him. Just as what had happened to Patton in Algiers.

Nobody would ever ask Bruno to risk his life in the field. Not to today. Even to men like Dietrich, Bruno’s life was worth too much to ever conceive of such a thing.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he had missed out by not serving beneath Bruno’s command earlier in life and witnessing the stories. To see the truth of them and perhaps understand what had been embellished over the years; and what had not been.

Behind him, boots echoed against polished tile.

"Generaloberst," a young officer said, snapping to attention. "Your aide, as ordered."

Dietrich turned slowly. The officer was young, but not green, mid-twenties, perhaps, with the posture of a man who had already learned when to speak and when to wait. His uniform bore the dust of the morning’s work, not the creases of parade.

"At ease," Dietrich said. "Walk with me."

They moved along the balcony, past shattered windows hastily boarded over, toward the shaded edge overlooking the inner harbor.

"How long has it been since the last engagement?" Dietrich asked.

"Nearly a week, sir. A company-sized element attempted to withdraw toward the southern hills. They were intercepted and disarmed. No shots fired."

Dietrich nodded once.

"And casualties?"

"Minimal on our side. Largely from the initial landings and a handful of poorly coordinated counterattacks. Enemy losses... light, considering. Most surrendered once communications collapsed."

"Good," Dietrich said. "Then we have accomplished what we came to do."

The aide hesitated, then ventured, "Sir... the speed of the operation, six hours, it will be noted. Everything we have been doing since does not qualify."

Dietrich allowed himself a thin, humorless smile.

"Yes. It will be misunderstood."

They stopped at the railing. Below them, German engineers were already at work. Cranes swung into position.

Piers were being cleared, repaired, reinforced. Field kitchens steamed. Medical stations were being established in the shade. The island was not being occupied, it was being absorbed.

"This was never about heroics," Dietrich continued. "The Americans believed distance was defense. They believed the Pacific was a moat."

He gestured toward the open sea.

"They forgot that moats only work if you guard the walls."

The aide nodded, scribbling notes he would likely never need to read again.

"Orders have already gone out," the aide said. "Airfields secured. Anti-air emplacements redeployed. Naval assets are en route."

"Good. Guam is not a trophy. It is a hinge."

Dietrich leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the railing.

"Six hours to take the island," he said quietly. "Weeks to make it unassailable. Years to make it irrelevant to contest."

The aide frowned faintly. "Irrelevant, sir?"

Dietrich turned his head just enough to meet the young man’s eyes.

"Once fortified, Guam ceases to be a target. It becomes a fact. A permanent reminder that the Pacific is no longer uncontested."

They resumed walking.

"Some in Berlin," Dietrich said, "will ask why we stop here."

The aide looked up. "Stop, sir?"

"Hawaii," Dietrich said plainly.

The word lingered between them.

"We are closer now than any hostile power has been in generations. A staging ground. A stepping stone. The temptation will be strong."

He paused at a doorway leading back inside the command center.

"But we will not advance."

The aide hesitated. "May I ask why, sir?"

Dietrich regarded him for a long moment, measuring not rank, but temperament.

"Because movement is not always progress," he said. "And because war is not won by doing everything you can, but by doing only what you must."

They entered the command room. Maps covered the walls, Guam, the Marianas, the central Pacific. Red and blue markers had already been replaced by clean overlays, zones of control updated, threat rings recalculated.

"Hawaii will remain American," Dietrich continued, voice even. "For now. For as long as it serves us better as a threat than as a conquest. For as long as The United States persists... perhaps."

The aide frowned. "A threat, sir?"

Dietrich tapped the map, just west of the Hawaiian chain.

"From Guam, we can project presence. From Guam, we can remind them, every day, that distance is no longer safety."

He straightened.

"An invasion forces unity. A looming possibility forces doubt."

The aide absorbed this in silence.

"America is already fractured," Dietrich went on. "Internally, politically, and culturally. The Pacific Command exists to defend against something that has not happened in decades. Now they must stare west and ask themselves if it will."

He allowed himself another thin smile.

"That uncertainty is worth more than any island."

A runner entered, saluted sharply, and handed Dietrich a report. He scanned it quickly.

"Cleanup operations proceeding ahead of schedule," Dietrich said. "Civil infrastructure intact. Minimal sabotage."

"Sir," the aide said carefully, "some of the officers have expressed... surprise at the restraint."

Dietrich folded the report and handed it back.

"Restraint is not mercy," he said. "It is efficiency."

He turned back toward the balcony.

"By showing restraint in our invasion, here, we have prevented an escalation by the locals into something far more dangerous, and long term. Dietrich continued. "We have avoided another Philippines...."

"And we will remain," the aide said.

"Yes," Dietrich replied. "We will remain. We will remain in Guam for as long as the Reich needs us to. That could be a year, that could be ten years, that could even be a hundred years."

Outside, the Reich flag was already raised over the harbor, no ceremony, no anthem, just the stainless banner of the Fatherland flying gracefully, and triumphantly in the wind.

"Generaloberst," the aide said, after a moment. "If I may... what comes next?"

Dietrich watched the flag settle into the breeze.

"Now?" he said. "Now we make this place boring."

The aide blinked.

"Boring?"

"Predictable," Dietrich clarified. "Secure. Uneventful. A place where nothing happens because nothing can happen."

He turned away from the window.

"History remembers battles," he said. "But empires are built in the weeks after."

They walked back toward the planning table, where officers were already coordinating schedules, rotations, supply chains.

As evening settled over the harbor, lights flickered on along the docks. Work continued without urgency. Ships were unloaded. Patrols rotated. Reports were filed and signed.

Guam no longer felt like a battlefield. It felt like a responsibility.

Dietrich approved of that.

"Six hours to take Guam," Dietrich said one last time, almost to himself. "And the Pacific has not felt this small in a century."

He placed his hand flat on the map.

"Let them look west," he said. "Let them wonder."

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