Re: Blood and Iron

Chapter 652: Qualification Day

The echo of gunfire erupted across the grounds of the Tyrolean palace.

Automatic fire, precise, controlled bursts.

Something no other noble estate would expect to hear on a quiet Tuesday evening. But here, it was routine.

Bruno, having lived his entire life as a soldier, never let his edge dull.

He drilled constantly, in firearms, explosives, battlefield medicine, small unit tactics, even mock war games.

He kept up his martial arts. Still sparred. Still practiced with the blade.

After how his last life ended, he never allowed complacency. Not again.

These days, he was always armed.

Even beneath his suits and uniforms, he wore body armor, 360-degree torso protection.

Sleek, slim-fitting. Cutting-edge tech, a blend of aramid fibers and ceramic composites, an innovation drawn from fragments of memory, lessons from a world long gone.

The armor vanished beneath his combat fatigues. The new BDU cut. The modern Blumentarn camouflage, which had replaced the aging Splinter pattern among most German servicemen.

Bruno adjusted his stance, sighted in, and put several accurate 8mm kurz rounds into the target’s chest.

Then, he hit the retrieval button. The silhouette wheeled back toward him, revealing tight shot placement across center mass. He smirked.

With practiced hands, he ejected the empty magazine, racked the charging handle back five times to check for any malfunctions, and inspected the chamber.

Clear.

He set the weapon down on the table, removed his ear and eye protection, and exhaled.

Beside him stood his grandson, Erich, arms crossed, expression mildly disdainful.

“Beginner’s luck…”

Bruno chuckled, tossing the paper target to him.

“You think so? Sure, the furniture’s changed. The trigger’s crisper. Ergonomics are better. But the soul of this rifle is the same I helped design decades ago.”

He trailed off, staring toward the distant Alps.

“Hell… before this thing was even officially adopted, I carried the prototype. You should’ve seen the look on those French pieces of—”

He stopped.

Something shifted behind his eyes. A memory clicked into place.

Marie-Adélaïde.

He hadn’t thought of her in years.

She had come seeking security as France collapsed into civil war.

The Kaiser offered it, and in doing so, annexed a land that had once been part of Germany.

Bruno had been the blade that made it happen.

She had given him her heart. And he had broken it.

Her fate remained a quiet ache. The official story was clean: Bruno the liberator, savior of Luxembourg. The truth… only a few had known.

Erich noticed the shift. That look. He’d seen it too often in his own reflection.

“Sir… there’s more to the story, isn’t there? Did you lose someone during the siege?”

Bruno turned to him, half-smiling, half-bitter.

“I did. But not in the way you think. You wouldn’t understand.”

He sighed, brushing the thought away with a wave of his hand, gaze lingering toward the northwest horizon.

“Now load that damn rifle. You’ve got two hours before sundown, and you still need to qualify on three weapons, Oberstleutnant.”

Erich stiffened and saluted.

“Jawohl.”

He picked up the rifle, slammed a fresh magazine home, and began firing. First in semi-auto, controlled pairs. Then short bursts on full auto.

After the first mag, he sighed, muttering as he reloaded.

“You’re really going to make me do all of this, aren’t you?”

Bruno smirked, clapped him on the back hard enough to knock his stance off.

“You’re damn right I am, boy. You’re a soldier of the Reich, and my grandson. That means you’re held to the highest standard. And one day, that’ll save your life. So get shooting. Miss a single round and I’m dragging your ass into the pit tonight.”

Erich didn’t argue. He slowed his breathing. Centered his focus. Every shot now hit either center mass or the head.

Bruno might be aging, but he was still fearsome enough that Erich had no desire to find out how hard the old man could still punch.

By the time they finished, Erich had passed all qualifications to maintain his status as an airborne officer.

That night, the kitchen staff prepared a massive meal. His wife, mother, and grandmother helped with the cooking.

The dining hall was alive with soft chatter, the clinking of cutlery, and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off polished oak and silver.

The long table was filled end to end with plates of roast venison, seasonal vegetables, and fresh bread baked by the kitchen staff that morning.

Children laughed at the far end, his youngest grandsons daring each other to try the horseradish, and the older ones spoke quietly of school, of training, of the world beyond Tyrol.

Bruno sat at the head of the table, his plate modest, his appetite dulled not by age, but by thought.

Heidi sat to his right, elegantly carving a slice of meat for their granddaughter with the same quiet grace she had always possessed.

Their children and grandchildren filled the room like branches from a tree that had grown strong, against all odds.

The conversation drifted past him in waves, familiar voices speaking of fencing tournaments, school essays, and Erich’s sore shoulder from training.

Bruno smiled faintly, offered the occasional quip or nod, but his thoughts wandered.

To a palace much smaller than this one.

To a woman with snow-pale skin and sorrowful eyes.

Marie-Adélaïde.

He had not thought of her in years, yet something in the gunpowder air of the range, or perhaps in Erich’s question, had stirred it loose.

He wondered, not for the first time, if she had found peace in this timeline.

If her end had been gentler. If perhaps she had married someone who saw her heart, not just her crown.

Or if, like so many ghosts of that cruel era, her fate had been sealed the moment the Reich came knocking.

He shook the thought away, forcing a smile as one of the children shouted his name.

“Grandpapa! You’re not eating!”

Bruno chuckled, reaching for his fork.

“Just lost in thought, little one. Nothing to worry about.”