Constantinople had been reclaimed by Christendom, and as Bruno promised, every non-Christian citizen within the city was granted safe passage east of the Bosphorus into Muslim lands. But even some of those regions were not safe to settle as the Hellenic Army, by its own might began marching into Ionia, Cyprus, and the Dodecanese islands.
Stopping just west of Lydia, lands once colonized by the Greeks during classical antiquity were once more in their hands for the first time since the fall of the Byzantine Empire. A civilization which technically claimed their origin from the Eastern Roman Empire. In practicality was more of a Greek state by its end.
Though that debate could be left to the historians. More importantly, as Bruno had said, the reclamation of Constantinople had been the nail in the coffin of the Ottoman Empire.
No matter what resistance the scattered remnants of the Turkish Army could muster, Anatolia fell as quickly as Ionia, and by the fall of 1915, there was no land safe for the Officers who still bore the banner of their fallen Empire.
Talaat Pasha was nowhere to be found, with rumors of him committing suicide after shamelessly fleeing from the city of Constantinople before its fate had truly been decided circulating across the Mediterranean.
As for the last Sultan, Mehmed VI, he and his family were captured by Russian Soldiers trying to flee into Qajar Iran, which was neutral at this point in time, and one of the few nations in this world currently not under the colonization of one of the great European powers.
Considering the current Domain of Iran was under the rule of a Turkic Dynasty, such loose historical ties could reasonably be used in a time of crisis for the Sultan to gain a haven until an army could be raised to restore his rule.
Or so was the thought process of the Royal Guard. But whether the intelligence of Central Powers was several steps ahead of the Sultan’s protectors, or the man simply had been cursed by the heavens. He and his convoy fell into Russian Hands long before they were able to cross beyond the boundaries of Anatolia and into the lands of Persia.
Because of this, the third peace treaty would be signed since the outbreak of the war. First was Serbia, second was Bulgaria, and finally was the Ottoman Empire. But these were discussions that involved more than just the disputes between the Greeks and the Turks.
As Bruno had promised, the Leaders of the Arab Revolt would be present at these peace talks to pick apart the lands east of the Bosphorus as they saw fit. And no doubt the Greeks would butt heads with several of these men as they fought to maintain their hold over historical ties to Ionia, Cyprus, and the Dodecanese.
And while Bruno’s presence was requested at these peace talks, as he had been the man to bring the Ottoman Empire to its knees and reclaim Constantinople. He had several months of peace before then.
It was with this in mind that the Kaiser called Bruno home to Berlin to serve his temporary leave from the Armed Forces of the German Reich. For nearly a year straight, the man had been at war, pushing the front in the Balkan Theatre ever forward and to victory.
His name was legendary among those who had served beneath his command, and there were many awards to be given. Army after army was either routed or obliterated upon making contact with the German 8th Army.
No man had stood against the tide of German steel which crashed itself upon them, and the man who had orchestrated this highly mobile and destructive form of warfare, which rivaled the awesome power of the heavens would naturally be appropriately awarded for his efforts.
Because of this, Bruno took the first train after securing his foothold in Constantinople back to Berlin. A long and delightful journey, as the weary warrior could not remember the last time he had gone to such an extent without hearing the sound of machine guns ripping through flesh, or artillery blasting men into bits.
But unlike the past, there was no shaking of Bruno’s hands as he entered the peaceful world once more, nor an incessant need to drink and smoke away his internal agony. Whatever trauma that had accompanied his early days of battle within this life had been washed away with the cold, hard, sobering truth that he simply could no longer care.
The memories of what he had seen, and done, of what he had commanded men to do, the vision of battle, the smells of burning flesh, and bleeding wounds, and the sounds of the damned screaming and crying out in their last moments. It was all so vivid, and fresh, and for so long that he was simply accustomed to the horrors of war, as one would be breathing.
There was no trauma, nor nostalgia as some might comment, there was simply apathy. War, peace, followed by a war again, and afterwards more peace.
It was a cycle that Bruno had been engaging in since his adult life began, and after spending enough time in the trenches a man was either broken by what he had seen and done, twisted into a monster who thought fondly of his sins, or simply no longer cared about the blood which stained his hands.
In his past life, there was a saying Bruno had heard quite often by his father… “I could not be compelled to care” a concept Bruno had never truly understood until this moment as he sat on a train, in his uniform, drinking from a cup of coffee, while staring out across the war-torn landscape of the Balkans which passed him by.
Because of this, Bruno had found himself oddly enough, smiling, for the first time in as long as he could remember. It wasn’t the wicked smile of a monster, nor the bitter smile of a man defeated, rather it was a hopeful smile, a smile that expressed his desire to see his beloved wife, and cherished children again. As it had been far too long since his family had been properly united.