Chương 4: Second Week in Camp

The second week at Camp Wilhelm brought a new level of intensity.

By now, Max's body was adapting to the relentless grind, his muscles aching less each morning, though fatigue never left him.

Each day seemed like a test, one designed to strip them down further, only to build them up into something new, something harder.

Rumors had begun to circulate through the camp about tensions with Serbia and Austria, and everyone knew something big was coming.

But as soldiers-in-training, the recruits could do nothing but keep pushing forward, focusing on the drills and routines that left them too tired to think much beyond the next meal or the next exercise.

Each morning began with a two-mile run around the perimeter, just like the first week, but this time Weber upped the stakes. "Three miles today," he announced at dawn, his voice as flat as ever.

The groans were audible, but Weber ignored them. "And no one stops until you all finish together. You fall behind, you get extra laps. Understood?"

The recruits exchanged glances, and Max nodded with a determined look.

Over the past week, he had found himself instinctively helping others who struggled, pushing them to keep up, covering for them when Weber wasn't looking.

It hadn't gone unnoticed, and though Weber hadn't said a word of praise, Max sensed that he was watching him more closely.

As they ran, the pack now felt like a second skin to Max, heavy but bearable.

The pace was punishing, and within minutes, Otto was falling behind, his face red with effort.

Max slowed just enough to run beside him, giving him a quick nod. "Come on, Otto. You've got this. Just keep your rhythm."

Otto gave a small, grateful smile and managed to keep going, his steps matching Max's.

Weber's voice cut through the air, sharp as ever. "Good, Müller. You like leading? Then make sure everyone finishes together. You think you're a hero, helping them up? Prove it."

Max said nothing, just kept his focus on the men around him, pushing them forward as best he could.

By the time they finished, everyone was winded, but they'd made it as a group, just like Weber demanded.

After the run, Weber called Max forward, his face expressionless as he addressed the entire group. "You men need a leader, someone who can pull you together and stop you from falling apart the minute things get tough. Müller, you've been doing just that. From now on, you're acting squad leader."

Max felt a surge of pride, mixed with a flash of anxiety.

He hadn't expected this, but he could sense that Weber had been testing him all along.

Weber continued, his gaze on the other recruits. "Make no mistake: this isn't about power. It's about responsibility. Müller's job isn't to give orders, it's to get you all through every single drill, every march, every challenge I throw at you. And if he fails, you all fail. Understood?"

The recruits nodded, casting Max a mix of approving and wary glances.

Karl gave him a quick slap on the shoulder. "Looks like you're in charge now, Max."

Max managed a smile, but he could feel the weight of the role settling on his shoulders.

Leading the men wasn't going to be easy, but if it helped them all survive, he was ready for it.

The second week also brought an upgrade in weapons training.

By now, the recruits could strip and reassemble their rifles in their sleep.

Weber had drilled it into them, and Max's hands moved with a practiced ease over the Gewehr 98, each piece falling into place with precision.

But now, Weber introduced them to bayonet training and hand-to-hand combat, skills meant to prepare them for the brutal, close-quarters fighting that everyone knew would come.

The recruits lined up, each man holding his rifle with a bayonet attached.

Weber paced in front of them, a dark look in his eyes. "This isn't some noble duel. This is the last line of defense. You hesitate, you die. Out there, the enemy isn't a target on a shooting range. It's another man who wants to kill you, and you don't get a second chance. Understood?"

The men nodded.

Weber demonstrated the proper technique, showing them how to lunge, how to twist the bayonet for maximum effect, his voice cold and clinical.

He made them practice in pairs, taking turns lunging and dodging, pushing each other to be faster, sharper, more ruthless.

As Max sparred with Karl, they kept their faces straight,

"Can you believe this?" Karl muttered, panting as he dodged a thrust. "It's starting to feel real, isn't it?"

Max nodded, not sure what to say.

The mess hall was one of the few places where the recruits could let down their guard, if only slightly.

Meals were quick, quiet affairs, with the men wolfing down their rations thick, bland stew, hard bread, and weak coffee.

On the 14th day, as they huddled over their bowls, Otto piped up, his voice laced with nervous laughter. "Anyone else think this whole thing could still blow over? Maybe we won't end up at war after all."

Karl snorted, giving him a skeptical look. "Wishful thinking, Otto. Haven't you been listening? They're saying Austria's going after Serbia any day now."

Reinhardt, who usually kept to himself, leaned in. "It's all politics. Half of us don't even know why we're here." He glanced at Max, a slight smile on his face. "You got into this for glory, Müller?"

Max shook his head, smiling a bit. "Glory was a good excuse to get out of the village. But I don't think that's what we're going to find here."

Karl laughed. "Glory? Try blisters, Otto. Try every bone in your body aching. This is all we're in for."

Despite the tension, laughter broke out.

They exchanged stories about home, old German jokes, and Reinhardt told a joke about the Kaiser's mustache that had the men covering their mouths, trying not to laugh too loudly in case Weber walked by.

The moment didn't last long.

Soon, Weber's voice cut through the mess hall, calling them back out to the training ground.

The afternoon brought new challenges. Weber had them march in formation, practicing complex maneuvers, and Max found himself responsible for keeping everyone in line.

Weber's eyes followed him, watching every move, every command.

If Max faltered, the whole group would be punished.

At one point, when a recruit stumbled, Weber barked, "What is this, a dance? You think the enemy's going to wait while you find your footing?"

The men shared a nervous glance, but Weber surprised them by letting a faint smile cross his face. "Maybe you should learn to dance if you're going to be that clumsy."

The recruits laughed, the unexpected joke catching them off guard.

But the moment of humor was brief. Weber's face hardened instantly, and he shouted, "You think that was funny? Drop down, all of you. Fifty push-ups, now!"

The laughter died, replaced by groans, but they obeyed, dropping to the ground and pushing themselves through the drill.

By the time they finished, their arms were shaking, but Weber's expression was unreadable, almost as if he was testing their ability to switch from laughter to focus in an instant.