Published at 2nd of March 2026 7:32 am

Chapter 887: National Defense

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Erich’s first few months as a member of the General Staff were far less volatile than he thought they would be. The German Army had undergone a monumental reshuffling in the months following the Great War.

Millions of German servicemen retired practically overnight upon returning home. And this included veteran NCOs, officers, and even generals.

But few in the public paid attention to this massive shift, as they were too focused on the return of their loved ones and the official retirement of the Reichsmarschall.

When Bruno laid down the sword, he made one last official act as the Reichsmarschall, and that was to retire the position until a day when it was needed once more, and there was am a capable of shouldering its burdens.

Erich was now a Generalmajor, which meant that he was given operational authority over division-sized units. And unlike his father who had served in the Army his entire life. Erich was technically a general in the Luftstreitkräfte.

After all, the Fallschirm-Panzergrenadiere operated under the authority of the Luftstreitkräfte and not the Heer.

During the war he had commanded first a battalion, then a brigade. And now he commanded the entire division that his brigade had once been the spearhead of.

Many units were retired outright, and others were shifted and reshuffled. But the Falke Brigade had kept its name and lineage completely intact. It was the same for all other legendary units that had earned a fierce and honorable reputation for themselves on the field of battle during the war.

Just like the 8th Army that Bruno had once commanded during the Weltkrieg in decades prior. So too now did the 3rd Fallschirm-Panzergrenadiere Division "Falke" retain the lineage of Erich’s command, and his moniker to beat.

Most of his job had been reorganizing his division into a force specializing in airborne and air assault operations, utilizing the same tactics deployed during the Great War.

At the same time, he had to become more familiar with the new equipment that was being produced, and the replacement of the old equipment that was being refurbished and sold off to Germany’s allies across the globe.

The Reichsheer now had a new operational focus: national defense. A simply enough goal, one that every nation before them has had. But what that meant in doctrine wasn’t large staged campaigns on foreign borders.

Rather, a large emphasis on internal border security, counter-terrorism, and counter-espionage. Germany retained only a small but elite offensive force. One that was designed to swiftly and precisely eliminate a hostile nation’s capacity to wage war against them.

This often meant a layered strategy of deploying special forces behind enemy lines in advance to sponsor internal revolt, decapitate enemy leadership, and sabotage their means of production.

While Fallschirm-Panzergrenadieres would drop from the sky and provide heavy firepower in country to obliterate the enemy’s ability to wage war before it can mobilize its forces. In other words, their new objectives with war weren’t to seize ground and hold it. But to dismantle the very things that made a nation function and leave it in anarchy.

These weren’t wars of conquest, but punitive expeditions designed to punish those who dared test the Reich’s bottom line.

Destabilization, not conquest or intervention. It was Erich’s job to figure out how to best align his new division with the operational reality.

And so he sat there in his office, drafting reports, jotting down thoughts, and shifting equipment in and out of units.

He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t realize how many hours had passed him by. Nor the fact that the sun had long since begun to set.

No, it was not until a knock on his office door alerted him to this fact that he realized it was almost time to go home for the day.

The man entering the room was Erich’s adjutant, a fresh-faced graduate from the academy. A man better suited to paperwork than to combat. And his lack of medals proved that.

The man handed Erich a folder, but Erich didn’t even need to read its contents to surmise what it was about. Because the adjutant’s expression said it all the same.

"Let me guess... we are given orders to prepare for mobilization? Just who the hell decided to piss on our feet and call it rain?"

The adjutant responded exactly how Erich thought he would.

"Sir... Generalfeldmarschall Hermann Goring has requested that the 3rd Fallschirm-Panzergrenadiere Division remain on standby for possible deployment to the Swiss Border...."

The Swiss Border? Erich chuckled and tossed the folder onto the nearby stack of papers going out to be shredded. He then looked the adjutant in the eye, with a confident but stoic gaze.

"You can tell Goring he will have my men on standby if he needs them. But whatever is happening in Switzerland won’t threaten to spoil within our borders. And if he asks why that is the case, then tell him I said to consult with the KMA about what they know regarding ongoing happenings across the border."

The adjutant looked at Erich as if he were about to protest, but Erich sent him on his way with a short wave and his attention being taken back to the last document he had to sign for the day.

"Go on now... It is best not to keep Goring waiting...."

The adjutant raised one finger in silence and then shifted it to a proper salute before leaving Erich’s office.

The door clicked shut behind the adjutant, leaving Erich alone with the steady ticking of the wall clock and the distant hum of generators outside the headquarters building.

Standby... He disliked the word.

During the war, mobilization had meant clarity. Orders were precise; objectives were defined. You moved, you struck, and you completed the objective.

Now mobilization meant posture deterrence. Pressure applied without visible force.

The Reichsheer had been reshaped into a blade kept sheathed but always sharpened. The enemy was no longer an army massing across open plains.

It was instability, ideology, terror cells, financial collapse, border agitation. And any number of other small-scale problems they had to worry about on any given day.

War had become preemptive arithmetic. Erich understood the necessity of it; he even respected it.

But part of him, the part of him that had led men into France, the Philippines and behind enemy lines in North America, sometimes wondered whether his generation would ever be tested openly again.

Or if their greatest victories would remain unseen. He folded his gloves neatly on the desk and rose from his chair.

If Switzerland required action, it would not be because Bern had surprised Berlin.

---

Instead of heading directly to the motor pool exit, Erich diverted through the adjacent operations wing.

The division’s airborne assault simulation hall was still active despite the hour. Floodlights cast sharp white beams across suspended mock airframes and modular urban terrain blocks arranged beneath them.

A group of officers clustered around a projected topographic model, not of Swiss valleys, but of a hypothetical industrial corridor. Rail junctions highlighted in amber. Power substations in red. Communication hubs blinking faintly.

"Objective is paralysis within seventy-two hours," one captain was explaining. "Not territorial control."

Erich paused long enough to listen. A logistics officer adjusted the simulation timeline. Fuel consumption curves shifted. Civilian evacuation estimates recalibrated.

There were no arrows pushing forward across maps, nor any colored blocks claiming territory.

Only nodes, points of failure, infrastructure collapse models, and priority targets needing neutralized. This was the new doctrine.

Fallschirm-Panzergrenadiere no longer trained to occupy cities. They trained to unmake them.

Air assault teams rehearsed rapid insertion onto strategic assets. Engineers practiced disabling, not destroying. Intelligence liaison officers fed satellite overlays into targeting matrices.

It was a war of interruption, clean, precise, contained, and civil. If war could ever be called such a thing.

Erich allowed himself a small nod before moving on. His division would never again march for glory. It would only strike for silence.

As he reached the outer corridor, a field telephone mounted to the wall rang sharply. Erich stopped and lifted the receiver.

"Generalmajor."

There was no need for an introduction.

"Erich," came Goring’s measured voice. "I trust you have received the notice."

"I did."

"And?"

"Did you not receive my message? My men are ready. Though I suspect they won’t be required."

Erich replied evenly.

"You sound confident."

Goring did not sound the least bit pleased when he said this. But Erich once more responded the same.

"I am."

Erich could practically hear Goring roll his eyes when he spoke next.

"You’re certain Swiss instability won’t spill north?"

Erich looked through the corridor window toward the darkening sky over the airfield.

"If it does," he said calmly, "it will be because someone intended it to."

Silence lingered.

Goring understood.

"Very well," the Generalfeldmarschall replied. "Remain on standby."

Erich replaced the receiver without further comment.

Switzerland was not a battlefield for the Reischeer to play in. It was a hunting ground.

And hunting grounds did not require divisions.

They required wolves.

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