Gravedigger of the Empire

"Phew!" Kahn blew a breath, clearing the dust off the desk, and looked around the not-so-large office.

There was an old typewriter on the table. He reached out and pressed the keys, only to find that two letters couldn't be pressed at all.

I walked back to the office door, hung my military uniform jacket on the clothes rack there, and then the door was pushed open.

"I retrieved your documents, as well as the keys to the filing cabinet, drawers, and room key for this house..." Fred said as he entered the room, throwing the items he was carrying onto the table.

A large bunch of keys and a small notebook. Kahn picked them up and opened them, seeing his own black and white photo with a stamped seal in the corner.

This was a chaotic era, with defeated Germany being relentlessly tormented by the Treaty of Versailles.

The war reparations owed have left the country's economy in grave danger, and the collapsing social structure is rife with unease and chaos.

The military was also undergoing a massive transformation at this time, with millions of conscripts awaiting demobilization and personnel changes so chaotic that they were astonishing.

Every moment, countless soldiers are disarmed and sent home. Under such circumstances, it is not an easy thing to go against the tide and get promoted.

"Thank you!" Kahn quickly nodded his thanks, then reached into his pocket and realized he was still penniless.

It seems that offering the other person a cigarette won't work.

Seeing Kahn's predicament, Fred smiled, took half a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and placed it on Kahn's desk: "The distribution of supplies for this week is over. You'll get your share next week, Lieutenant Kahn."

"That's great, we can do it together then," Kahn said, trying to express his goodwill.

"It looks alright here." Lieutenant Fred walked to the window, glanced outside, and then, pouting, turned to Kahn: "Why did you try to hang yourself?"

"You really have a knack for getting to the bottom of things..." Kahn sneered inwardly.

Without making a sound, he grabbed the half-pack of cigarettes from the table, took one out and handed it to the other person, then took another out and put it in his own mouth. Only then did he reply in a muffled voice, "I've thought about it for a whole day and night, but I just can't remember what I did back then."

Fred nodded, no longer dwelling on the matter.

He took a box of matches out of his pocket and lit the cigarette.

Kahn leaned over and, using the burning half-match from the other man, lit his own cigarette.

He didn't smoke in his previous life, but the soul in this life of Kahn learned to smoke while in school.

He took a deep breath, and the spicy flavor rushed into his lungs, churning in his chest, making him almost think that his soul had left his body again.

As if in a self-rescue attempt, his respiratory system instinctively began to react, and he couldn't help but start coughing violently: "Cough! Cough cough cough!"

Raising an eyebrow, Fred didn't mock him. Instead, he explained, "The rations are of such poor quality that they're practically the same as burning leaves."

Germany is currently facing a severe shortage of all supplies, including its military. Aside from munitions awaiting dismantling, everything else is scarce.

The canteen only served cheap, dark bread to fill our stomachs; it was so hard it could stop a bullet. The vegetable soup had hardly any leaves in it, and the taste was practically inedible.

Even so, conditions in the army were relatively comfortable. Outside, a few hundred thousand marks wouldn't buy a loaf of bread like that anymore.

The two chatted for a few more minutes. Fred was very talkative and, without realizing it, recounted all the interesting things that had happened in his department recently.

Judging from his practiced manner, Kahn knew that the other person was definitely a gossip.

Such people are well-informed, adept at navigating social situations, and get along well with everyone.

He seems enthusiastic and is willing to help with many things... but he's not someone you can get too close to.

Having made up his mind, Kahn kept him company, chatting idly.

After finishing his cigarette, Lieutenant Fred left, thoughtfully leaving his matches for Kahn as he went.

With a crisp click of the door, Kahn's office finally returned to silence.

Picking up the identification card on the table again, Kahn carefully examined the rank on it: "Second Lieutenant Kahn Miles, Special Operations Division, Military Investigations Bureau".

In this historical context, second lieutenant was not a particularly high military rank in Germany.

The Treaty of Versailles severely limited the total number of German troops, but the newly appointed Commander-in-Chief of the German Army, Siegfried, did everything he could to preserve the elite of the German army. He mostly dismissed untrained soldiers, keeping only officers.

The large number of officers in the army preserved the core of the German armed forces, but also made second lieutenants somewhat commonplace.

Lieutenant Colonel McConnell did not immediately assign any work to Kahn. He considerately gave Kahn, who had suddenly committed suicide for unknown reasons, some private time to deal with his own life problems.

But he's about to get busy. Lieutenant Colonel McConnell can't afford to keep someone idle; he'll definitely have to work.

Thinking of this, a smile appeared on his lips: the work that took him ten or even dozens of days to figure out in his previous life, he could now do with unparalleled skill.

The Military Investigation Bureau he now works for sounds mysterious, but in reality, it's just an agency that works in cooperation with the British and French oversight committees.

He was responsible for verifying the munitions left over from World War I with relevant personnel in Britain and France, and cooperating in their destruction.

Of course, it looks simple, but there are too many problems in actual operation.

First of all, the accounts will never match up and will never be able to be investigated.

No one can guarantee that after a world war, hundreds of thousands of bullets and thousands of rifles will still be stored in warehouses without any problems.

Therefore, this job was less about taking inventory of the warehouse and clarifying the quantities, and more about "getting the British and French to "acknowledge" that the quantities were correct.

Having been given a second chance at life, Kahn is now full of confidence in this job. If he could handle them once, he can handle them a second time.

Kahn walked to the broken mirror in the room, raised his chin, and carefully examined himself.

A face with sharp angles, a high nose, broad shoulders, and a head of dark yellow hair.

This military uniform, however, wasn't as crisp and form-fitting as it was in the movies he was familiar with; it made him look like a security guard downstairs.

"Alright... now it's my turn to start this grand drama." He said softly to himself in the mirror.