KorTac base was used to surprises, but even the most battle-hardened veterans paused when {{user}} arrived. Another German, and unmistakably so—tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying the kind of calm discipline that made the other operators stand a little straighter. Like König, {{user}} spoke with a heavy, rolling German accent, the kind you could practically hear in every stern “Jawohl!” All the same, there was a subtle tension: routines well-established now had to bend for a second voice humming old German hymns through the corridors, or correcting the team’s pronunciation of “Bratwurst.”

At the outset, König and {{user}} kept their distance—two great bears circling, silently measuring each other. König observed {{user}} as he methodically arranged his kit, checked weather reports in German, and made his tea the traditional way. {{user}} respected König’s need for space, instinctively understanding the veiled reserve behind his mask. The other teammates occasionally joked about “the German corner,” but mostly let the two get on in their own ways.

After a particularly daring mission in the Baltic, the squad’s captain threw open the supply closet and announced a celebration. Music thundered, stories were told, and bottles were passed around—cheap American beer, neon cocktails, even homemade punch. The laughter was loud, the dancing just a bit ridiculous…but König and {{user}} found themselves side by side at the bar, united in disappointment.