Re: Blood and Iron

Bruno returned to his office in Sarajevo, within a convoy of armored vehicles. Nobody knew the Generalfeldmarshall of the German Reich, and the man who had for the past month operated as the temporary dictator over Albania was coming back to Bosnia at this time.

After all, Bruno did not like to schedule his transportation. He would hitch a ride randomly with a unit at any given time that was headed in the direction he was going. Why did he do this? Because the more people who knew where he was, and the direction he was headed at any given time, the more potential there was for a plot to be made against him.

In fact, Bruno stepped out of the vehicle, not dressed in his own uniform, or wearing the many shiny and prestigious medals he had been granted over the years for his impeccable service, but rather in the standard issue uniform of a rank-and-file enlisted soldier.

There was no iron cross pinned to his chest, nor any embellishment on his uniform to signify a higher rank. Even his own face did not necessarily give him away, as he was a rather young- looking man for his age.

No, he stood with a rifle over his shoulder, and a helmet on his head as he smoked a cigarette in the rainy streets of Sarajevo, stepping through puddles as he marched through the cobblestone streets of the ancient and storied Balkan city.

It was a strange thing. Despite having a very famous face, people had a hard time recognizing a man in person. Even if he was standing in front of a massive billboard with his face on it, blending into the crowd was incredibly easy, and unless someone was deliberately looking for you at that moment in time, recognizing your identity was highly unlikely.

Even the soldiers walking besides Bruno, men who were beneath his command, did not fully realize who was marching alongside them. Some had suspicions, but then again, what were the odds that the Wolf of Prussia would be wearing an enlisted uniform and standing in line with the rest of the normal guys like them?

It was very easy to convince oneself that they were not seeing what they were seeing, or who they were seeing for that matter, even if their instincts were good enough to spot the man in question. No, nobody knew who Bruno was, and nobody cared. At least not until he stepped into the temporary headquarters of the Army Group's command and sat down at his desk.

In fact, he was just about to be yelled at for doing so until Bruno took off his helmet and placed it on the table in front of him, thoroughly surprising everyone within the room. His visit was most certainly not expected.

Nor did they anticipate Bruno to travel in the uniform of an enlisted soldier. But Bruno was a deeply paranoid man. The amount of people who trusted in this life could be counted on one of his two hands. And even then, there was always that natural suspicion in the back of his mind.

That nature of his, compelling him to "trust but verify" he would never allow himself to be blindly betrayed, even those he loved, and venerated above all others in this life, were from time to time investigated silently in the background to ensure that they were not secretly plotting against him.

This paranoia, which was deeply entrenched in the man's soul, appeared to have more or less paid off in the long run. It had kept him alive when the Black Hand had marked him for death, and had kept him out of harm's way from the House of Wittelsbach, who had he shown his true talent at an early age could have made a move to snuff his existence out long before he had the potential to achieve greatness.

And now, once more his paranoia proved to be correct, as recent reports from intelligence suggested that the ultra-orthodox and Serbian nationalistic paramilitaries who were one of many similar groups in the region that Bruno was currently trying to hunt down had placed a bounty on his head.