Chapter 149: A Prince’s Lament
Bruno regaled the Kaiser about his journey to Russia, and his exploits to crush Marxism before it ever really had the chance to take a foothold in this world. He had in the past explained in summary his actions in the region, and, of course, Wilhelm had the means to learn the gritty details himself.
But there were certain facets of the story that were rather hard to believe, even if they came from the man himself. Let alone from third party observers. When Bruno spoke of his time in the Trenches outside Tsaritsyn, and how he had personally dealt the death blow to dozens, if not hundreds, of the Red Army's villainous scum. The Kaiser gazed at Bruno in disbelief. Granted, the two men were halfway through a bottle of 40% alcohol by the time Bruno got to this point, and were thus sufficiently intoxicated to marvel at the story. And it was perhaps because of this the Kaiser made a rather unexpected remark, one that Bruno found slightly unnerving.
"The way you speak of it, war, I mean... It sounds almost as if you miss it. Do you miss war, Bruno? Is peace really such a dreadful prospect for you?"
The Kaiser was smoking a rather extravagant cigar while drinking his alcohol. As for Bruno, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Lifting a single device out of the package, before lighting it aflame and taking a long drag.
Such a question suddenly spurred the need for some nicotine. And it was only after taking another swig of his distilled spirits and a second drag from the cigarette where Bruno became dreadfully honest with the Kaiser.
"Yes, and no... As you can tell, I have spent my entire adult life around soldiers. The way they speak, the way they act, the way they cope with the stress of the job. All of it has long since become second nature to me. I do not fear the prospect of peace, nor do I find it something to dread. I just have a hard time adjusting to it is all.
In war, things are simple, very much so. Win and kill the enemy. That is, it. Even at my position, though the different components of how I achieve this goal become much more complicated than that of a standard enlisted soldier. The objective at the end of the day is the same. Kill the enemy, and emerge victorious.
Simple enough, right? But once you return home from such a simple, blunt, and frankly liberating experience. Now you have to find a way to conduct yourself in society, a society where rules, regulations, and general courtesy are entirely different from how they are when you are out there in the trenches.
I might admit to a gruesome act to my troops, and they will laugh with me, or share a drink of celebration of what I have done. But here, among civilized people, people who could never understand the nature of my work. I mean, in theory, yes, but in practice no. Then I make one snide remark about blowing the brains out of some murderous piece of shit, and you see how they act.
They recoil in shock, their eyes go wide, their pupils become the size of pine needles, and they ultimately resort to uncomfortable silence. You were right, by the way, without my wife to cover for me in these instances. I do believe most people would believe the war had driven me mad,"