Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 298: There is no one left to say no.

General Walther von Brauchitsch arrived at Army High Command just after 7:00 a.m.

A junior officer opened the door for him without a word.

Inside, the hallways were strangely silent.

There were no congratulations.

No flowers.

No formal welcome.

Just papers left on desks.

Brauchitsch didn’t expect a celebration.

He was stepping into another man’s shadow, and everyone knew it.

His new office was neat, clean, already stripped of Fritsch’s presence.

The desk was cleared.

The chair felt stiff.

Someone had already replaced the framed print on the far wall.

It was a map of Germany.

He stood at the window for a moment, hands behind his back.

There was no joy in the appointment.

No pride.

He hadn’t asked for it.

But he hadn’t refused, either.

Keitel arrived twenty minutes later, crisp and cheerful in that strange way he always carried.

"Walther," he said warmly, closing the door behind him. "I trust the morning finds you well."

Brauchitsch nodded. "You’ve had a busy night, I hear."

Keitel smiled. "Adjustments are always turbulent. But things are in order now. Hitler has signed the decrees. The War Ministry is dissolved. The High Command of the Wehrmacht now exists under his authority. And you, my friend, will lead the Army under him."

Brauchitsch didn’t sit. "What about Fritsch?"

Keitel’s smile faltered slightly. "No further action. Officially. No trial. No charges. But... the stain remains."

"It was a lie."

"Truth is less relevant than obedience," Keitel said gently. "You know how this works."

Brauchitsch looked at him. "Then tell me. Does it still work for men like us?"

Keitel didn’t answer.

Across the city, in a dim interrogation room, General Werner von Fritsch sat under a single bulb.

The man across from him wore plain clothes.

No insignia.

No name.

"We’ve reviewed the statements," the man said. "The witness in question has a history of fraud. The dates do not align. There is no evidence."

Fritsch didn’t speak.

The man scratched his head. "That said... the Führer has decided not to reinstate you."

Fritsch finally looked up. "Then why am I here?"

"To confirm your compliance."

He gave a tired laugh. "Do I strike you as someone plotting a coup from a basement?"

"You’ve served this nation for decades. You know how things work. You’ve lost command, but you have not lost your life. That, General, is what you should understand as mercy."

Fritsch stood. "Mercy would have been telling the truth."

Back at the High Command, Brauchitsch was handed a stack of papers by his adjutant.

Officer transfers.

New regulations.

A speech to be delivered to division heads by the weekend.

He read through it in silence.

The language was careful no politics, just "streamlining," "modernizing," "ensuring alignment."

He looked up at the adjutant. "Did Fritsch leave a note?"

"No, sir."

"No personal effects?"

"None we found."

"He was here for over three years."

"Yes, sir. But it’s as if he vanished."

Later that day, Brauchitsch walked the halls of the Army headquarters alone.

He nodded to a few officers.

Some returned it.

Some didn’t.

He heard whispers behind a door.

"If they can do that to Fritsch, no one’s safe."

"Brauchitsch will just follow orders."

"He always did."

He didn’t stop walking.

He just kept his eyes forward.

That night, Hitler sat in his study.

Maps were spread on the table.

Himmler and Goering entered without knocking.

"Keitel has everything under control," Goering reported. "The Army will not resist."

"They never did," Hitler said.

"Some officers are unsettled," Himmler added. "But they’ll stay quiet."

Hitler stared at the map. "Good."

Goering stepped closer. "Brauchitsch is more flexible than Fritsch. Less of a spine."

"Less of a conscience," Himmler said.

"That’s what we need," Hitler replied.

"Shall we make the reorganization public?"

"No," Hitler said. "Not yet. Let it settle in private. The headlines can come later."

In a small apartment outside Berlin, Fritsch sat at his kitchen table.

The curtains were drawn.

A single lamp glowed.

The room was quiet.

He wrote a letter not to the government, not to the press.

To a friend.

A colonel he had served with in the Reichswehr years ago.

"I am not bitter," he wrote. "But I am not blind. I see now what kind of Germany they are building. And I fear for those who believe they can shape it without being consumed by it."

He folded the letter, sealed it, and tucked it inside a book of poetry by Heine.

At Army barracks in Dresden, junior officers gathered in their lounge.

The fireplace was lit, but the room felt cold.

One of them said quietly, "You hear they used a known criminal to accuse Fritsch?"

Another nodded. "No court. No statement. Just gone."

"Are we supposed to trust command now?"

"Trust has nothing to do with it," said a third. "Obedience is the only currency left."

They fell into silence.

In Munich, at a café frequented by veterans, an old sergeant stared into his coffee.

"He fought for the Kaiser. For the Republic. And this is how they thank him."

The man beside him shrugged. "This is not the Kaiser’s army anymore."

"No," the old man muttered. "It’s something else entirely."

Back in Berlin, Keitel met Brauchitsch once more, this time in the newly designated OKW headquarters.

Keitel handed him a typed speech.

"You’ll address senior staff Friday," he said. "The message is unity. Discipline. Forward momentum."

Brauchitsch skimmed it. "You wrote this?"

"The Führer did."

He handed the paper back. "I’ll write my own."

Keitel gave a stiff smile. "Careful, Walther. Words build or bury."

"I know."

Friday came.

The officers gathered in a hall still lined with the old Reichsheer insignia.

Brauchitsch took the podium.

Cameras were banned.

No press.

Just uniforms, medals, and silence.

He didn’t speak long.

"I assume many of you have questions. Some of you have doubts. I do too. But we serve something larger than comfort, larger than fear. We serve the army or what remains of it."

He paused.

"The duty of a soldier is not only obedience. It is judgment. Honor is not issued. It is kept. And history is less patient than command."

No one clapped.

But no one left.

That night, Hitler stood at his window.

He turned to Keitel.

"They’ll fall in line?"

"They already have."

"No more generals telling me what cannot be done. No more lectures. No more philosophy. Just execution."

"Yes, mein Führer."

Hitler looked out again.

"There is no one left to say no."