"How's this pose?" Putting his hand on the statue, Wren tried to make a very righteous and awe-inspiring appearance, and opposite him, there were three or four professional photographers with cameras, these people held magnesium lights, and chose different angles that they thought were perfect to press the shutter frantically at Wren.

On the way here, he knew that the food, clothing, housing and holiday travel in Berlin would definitely not be as easy as he imagined. Sure enough, the next day, the German Propaganda Department came with a whole propaganda team and began to pack the personnel of the two car groups from head to toe.

"Look up, yes! Chin up! OK! Hands on the belt, yes," a photographer shouted as he fiddled with his camera. Wren suddenly had a feeling that if he was a big blonde beauty, this photo might feel better...... Of course, it is also a little more popular.

The only thing that made him feel a little fortunate was that the photographers were brought with them by a beautiful woman in a suit with gold-rimmed glasses. How beautiful is that woman? I heard that she is so beautiful that she has been having an affair with the Führer. The round ass, the slender waist, and the plump breasts all make people swallow and saliva. I heard that her name is Fanny, and she is really a good woman.

Being the head of state is really a blessed profession. Wren thought very seriously. I heard that the Führer's wife is more beautiful, this rumor now seems to be a bit of a boast, this Fanny in front of her is already a big beauty, how can anyone be more beautiful than her?

As he thought, he took his hand back from the fake statue, which was modeled after a statue in a square in Warsaw, Poland, and the scenery behind it was all fake, the only real thing was the tank parked behind him.

They are now in a barracks, where they will need to print and distribute army-wide propaganda posters in a few days of filming. In order to be sure, even Fanny, the head of the German Propaganda Department, took time out of her busy schedule to personally organize this important propaganda offensive. Because the nearly 10,000 casualties had reduced the enthusiasm of the domestic army to fight the war, the Führer ordered the use of a possible means to publicize the battle of Poland.

Soon, the fake photo was done. The rest can be real: the crew was called into the tank and posed in the most understandable and relaxed pose they wanted the photographer to, and at this moment they seemed to have regained their souls, so resolute that it made people feel a little distressed at first glance.

In the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city, in the midst of all those boring activities, Wren always seemed to feel that they were missing something, and at this moment, when they touched their tank, they understood. What is missing is actually very simple, that is, the partner who silently accompanied them to win victory after victory, the old friend who was mottled with bullet marks, and that was the Leopard tank.

This is a habit that is tempered before life and death, and this habit goes deep into the bone marrow in just one month and becomes a subconscious instinct. It's an indescribable feeling, like an imprint that lingers in my mind. Only the members of the chariot crew can understand each other and speak to each other.

Bruce's hand holding the champagne was high and low, although it was only a light glass bottle, but he never carried it in one hand, only André knew that it was his posture holding the cannonball, André was not old but always hunched over his neck, and only Wren knew that the height was exactly where the scope was. What Wren himself didn't know was that he always subconsciously clenched the fist of his right hand, if he needed to hold on to the armrest to keep his balance on the chariot.

And Bowman, and Clark, and Marcus...... The war has left a mark on everyone. It is like the wind blowing on its face, never opening its mouth, but it can make people feel its existence.

"I finally knew something was wrong. Fanny looked at the soldiers sitting on the tanks and said to Hugo, the photographer who had been sent by Accardo, "Get their old uniforms!"

Hugo suddenly realized, yes, it is like putting a new frame on an old photo, and what disappears in an instant is the sense of vicissitudes. These are not the guards of honour who kicked the march at the parade in the square, these are the veterans who came to Berlin on the battlefield because they had won extraordinary honors.

How to gain honor on the battlefield? The easiest way is to kill people, kill a lot of people! Kill people more efficiently than others! Kill people more calmly and with the highest efficiency than anyone else! These soldiers can be said to be the pride of the empire, and they can also be said to be a group of murderers. Then since he is a killer demon king, he can't easily change the temperament of the rest of his life, and any decoration will make this aura extremely incongruous.

By the time Wren and the others changed into their uniforms that had not yet had time to wash, they seemed to have regained their souls. The dusty black SS uniforms, the collars that were a little worn down by the throat intercom, the white salt-stained belts that were soaked with sweat, and the sleeves and plackets that were full of engine oil - this was their soul, their temperament!

These tankmen who had changed their outfits climbed onto the tanks, no longer cautiously afraid of scratching their new clothes, no longer restrained by the new armed belts, their faces were confident, with a smile on their lips, and they were old but complemented the dusty tank. It has been two days since they came to Berlin, and only now they are panzers, and only at this moment they are the gods of war of the 3rd SS Panzer Division.

"Wait a minute, you don't have to change their clothes. Fanny looked at the young and no longer young faces and said to the SS officers on the side, "Just let them in like this." ”

"Minister Fanny, is this so good? The people present are all Imperial officials, and the Führer ......" An officer bowed his head and emphasized: "I'm afraid it won't end well then......

"What are you afraid of? These are the soldiers of our empire! They are not afraid of hardships and dangers, and they face death calmly -- they are the people who should drink red wine, eat sausages and walk the red carpet in this empire!" Fanny glanced at the SS officer beside her: "The Führer is much wiser than you think! If he cares about the clothes of these excellent soldiers, he is not the man I fell in love with." ”

Gulding his saliva, the SS officer nodded his head, "I see, Minister Fanny, I'll arrange it." ”

"Arrange what? Just let them walk in like this!" Fanny smiled, "Anything goes wrong, it's mine!"

"Yes!" the officer said.

It was familiar music again, and it was a familiar venue, and Accardo walked on the thick red carpet, but his heart was thinking about the distant battlefield on the Western Front. He was promoted here the other day to be the first field marshal of the Third Reich, and today he is going to present the medals they deserve to other elites.

Along the way, he heard the officials who arrived first, and he wondered what was going on, but when he saw the soldiers from the front who were standing in a row waiting for him to hang up their medals, he finally knew why.

He straightened out the SS uniform he was wearing, and then smiled and glanced at Reinhardt Heydrich who was following him: "I am very satisfied with the soldiers you have selected for the Reich! I hope you can continue to send these excellent talents to the Reich." ”

With that, he strode forward and came to Wren and the others, and the venue was silent all of a sudden, because after all, everyone had to save some face for the Imperial Führer.

"You guys are dressed out of place today. Standing in front of the soldiers, Accardo smiled and said, "It's full of new utensils and bright red carpets. And you are wearing the dirty clothes you brought back from the battlefield. ”

He reached out and brushed Wren's wrinkled epaulettes from his shoulders, kicking up tiny dust in the bright light. All the officials and guests held their breath, as if waiting for Accardo to lash out, but only to wait for Accardo's words: "It's good that you don't fit in here." ”

"If we go to war, we can get bullets in our heads in a few minutes. Accardo pointed to his head and said, "And you are the best soldiers who can bring back victory on the battlefield." ”

He looked around the venue, and there was majesty and oppression in his eyes, which made the officials who were talking about it embarrassed to avoid their gaze: "Don't dislike the dust on these soldiers! Don't care about their filth! These people fought bravely on the battlefield for the sake of the German people! I can have today because of these faithful people, and we can cheer and laugh here because of them! You should give them the highest respect! Because they are the backbone of Germany!"

"The Empire needs you! It needs more young people who are willing to sacrifice their lives for the motherland like you! But I need you to come back from the battlefield alive! Live! Live well! Share the victory with those of us!" Accardo patted Wren's arm again before lowering his arm: "If necessary, all the people in this room will give their lives for the rise of the Empire." ”

"Hail to the heroes!" said an old man dressed in aristocratic attire, who seemed to be the most prestigious here besides the Führer.

"Monsieur Augustus is right! Salute to the heroes!" all the officers raised their glasses, and the atmosphere was enlivened at once, as if everyone in this room was going to give their lives for the Empire.

"Gentlemen. For Germany!" Accardo raised his arm and saluted. With a bang, everyone raised their arms: "Long live the Führer!"

"Long live the Führer!" and the soldiers who were waiting to be awarded the medal by Accardo also raised their arms.

Military music sounded again, the battle song of the Panzers echoed over the hall again, and Accardo, as the head of the Empire, hung the Iron Cross on the chests of these people one by one. Wren, on the other hand, replaced the Iron Cross and hung up the enviable Knight's Iron Cross.