章 8: Ceremony
31st August 1914
The air was cold as Max and the other recruits lined up on the parade ground.
The ceremony was set to begin shortly, and the recruits stood shoulder to shoulder, chins up, uniforms freshly pressed, each of them trying to look a little more polished than usual.
They had grown used to their training gear, rough and worn-in, but today, they'd been given freshly issued tunics and polished boots.
Everyone looked as close to perfect as they could manage, though the stiffness of the new uniforms made a few men shift uncomfortably.
Karl nudged Otto, muttering, "If I sneeze, I'm pretty sure this whole uniform will crack."
Otto grinned. "You've never looked sharper, Karl. Almost didn't recognize you without mud on your face."
Reinhardt leaned over, grinning. "Enjoy it while it lasts. In a day, we'll be back to looking like we crawled out of a trench."
Weber stepped up, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. "If you can stand still for five minutes, maybe you'll look like soldiers instead of fidgeting schoolboys."
The recruits straightened, trying to keep their composure as Weber inspected them.
He walked down the line, adjusting collars, smoothing out tunics, and grumbling under his breath.
"You call that standing at attention, Otto?" Weber muttered, pulling Otto's tunic straight. "What are you, a sack of potatoes?"
Otto mumbled, "No, sir. Trying my best, sir."
Weber shot him a look. "Trying is what got you this far, Otto. But we're not celebrating 'trying' today. Today, we recognize those who've made it. So if you can manage to stand still without breaking anything, that'd be an improvement."
Colonel Werner, the head of Camp Wilhelm, finally appeared at the front of the formation, his uniform spotless, every button polished to a mirror-like shine.
He was flanked by senior officers, and as he approached, the recruits fell silent, sensing the formality of the moment.
Werner's voice cut through the cold morning air, carrying across the assembly. "Men of Camp Wilhelm, today marks the end of your time as recruits. You came here as civilians, but through hard work, discipline, and resilience, you have earned the title of soldiers of the Imperial German Army."
Werner continued, his tone solemn.
"We are a nation united by a common cause. You are no longer here for yourselves. You represent the strength of Germany, and from today, you wear the ranks of soldiers who will serve with honor, discipline, and unity."
An officer stepped forward with a tray, lined with small metal insignias, each representing a rank earned by the recruits.
The men watched intently, a mixture of pride and nervousness in their faces.
Weber called the names one by one, and each man stepped forward to receive his rank. "Reinhardt, Otto - Private. Karl Fischer - Private. Step forward."
Karl's chest puffed out slightly as he accepted the insignia, shaking Captain Werner's hand.
When he returned to the line, he leaned toward Otto, his voice barely a whisper. "Look at me, Otto. Private Fischer. Doesn't it just sound impressive?"
Otto snorted, trying not to laugh. "Yeah, Karl, you're really scaring the enemy now."
When Weber called, "Max Müller - Gefreiter," a few men exchanged glances.
Max had been their quiet leader, and it wasn't a surprise to anyone that he was being promoted.
Max stepped forward, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders as Captain Werner extended his hand.
"Gefreiter Müller," Werner said, his voice firm, "you've shown leadership and commitment. The men around you will look to you in difficult moments. Carry that responsibility with pride."
Max shook Werner's hand, feeling the firm grip, the steady gaze. "Yes, sir."
Werner handed him the single chevron insignia, a symbol of his new rank, and as
Max returned to his place in formation, he caught the proud smiles of his comrades.
Karl gave him a playful nudge. "Well, look at you, Gefreiter Müller. Hope you remember us little people."
Max chuckled under his breath. "Don't get used to calling me that. I'm still the same Max who helped pull you out of the mud last week."
Weber kept calling names, each man stepping forward to receive his rank.
The ceremony was simple but formal, each handshake, each exchange a moment of acknowledgment.
The men returned to the line with quiet smiles, each insignia a mark of how far they had come.
When the last man had received his rank, Werner stepped back, surveying the group. "Remember, these ranks are earned, not given. Wear them with pride, and remember what they represent. You're not just soldiers of the Imperial Army. You're brothers, united by duty."
The men responded with a sharp "Yes, sir," their voices echoing in unison.
It was a small gesture, but the intensity in their voices spoke volumes.
Weber glanced at them, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Congratulations, men. But don't think those insignias mean you're invincible. The enemy doesn't care what rank you wear. Your training and discipline will keep you alive, not the chevrons on your uniform."
Karl muttered to Otto, "There he goes, bringing us back down to earth."
Otto smirked. "Wouldn't be Weber if he didn't."
Weber's gaze zeroed in on them. "Is something funny, gentlemen?"
They snapped to attention, Otto clearing his throat. "No, sir. Not at all, sir."
Weber raised an eyebrow. "Good. Because out there, distractions will get you killed. Remember that."
Max couldn't help but smile to himself, catching the eye of a few others.
Weber's words might be harsh, but there was no mistaking his pride.
Captain Werner concluded the ceremony with a final salute. "You are soldiers of the 112th Infantry Regiment. Wear that title with honor, and let your actions reflect the strength of our nation. I am proud to have each of you represent Germany."
The men returned the salute, standing a little taller, a little prouder.
Max felt the weight of the moment, realizing that this was more than just a ceremony.
It was a rite of passage, a mark of their commitment.
As the officers walked away, Weber gathered his group, his face softer than usual. "You've come a long way. I'm proud of each one of you. But remember, this is only the beginning. Tomorrow, we march. Those insignias you wear? They're a symbol. But they're only as strong as the men behind them."
Karl couldn't resist. "Does that mean we're finally soldiers, Sergeant?"
Weber shot him a look, but his lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "You're getting there, Karl. Just don't start thinking you know everything. You're still the same men I had to drag out of the mud."
Otto elbowed Max. "Well, Gefreiter Müller, what's the first order?"
Max grinned. "First order? Keep quiet and keep your head down. Sound familiar?"
The men laughed, the sound easing the tension in the air.
They had faced Weber's training, passed through the trials of Camp Wilhelm, and earned their ranks.
Now, they were ready to face whatever lay ahead.
As they left the parade ground, Karl shook his head. "Well, there it is, boys. We're official. I've got an insignia and everything."
Reinhardt rolled his eyes. "Let's just hope it brings us a bit more luck than it does attention."
Max looked around at his friends, their faces familiar, their expressions determined.
They'd shared this journey from the beginning, and now they were soldiers, marked by the insignias on their uniforms, bonded by the experiences they'd endured.
Weber called after them, his voice firm but with a rare hint of warmth. "Enjoy today, men. Tomorrow, you start the real journey."
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