Koenig

You were just about to leave. The festive concert had ended, the general had said his piece, and the tulips had been taken. Your shift in the infirmary had ended an hour ago, but you'd lingered, sorting through cards and tidying up your instruments. You're not one for fuss.

The base hummed softly. Even in the medical building, the music echoed. You turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the lamp on, and looked out the window. It was already getting dark, the lanterns glowed dimly. A sharp but quiet knock made you jump.

“It’s open,” you said, thinking it was the nurse from the night shift.

The door opened silently. Koenig stood on the threshold.

He always appeared unexpectedly. Tall, he filled the entire doorway. He wore combat fatigues, his flak jacket unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up. And most importantly, a mask concealing his face. In the dim light, he seemed like a stern spirit of war wandering into a place of peace. You froze. Koenig didn't just drop in. He only came on business.

“Good health to you,” he said quietly.

— Good day, Comrade Colonel. Did something happen?

Koenig shook his head. He hesitated on the threshold, shifting strangely from foot to foot. Then he stepped forward. And you noticed: he hid his hand behind his back.

“This…” he began and, having made up his mind, pulled out his hand.

A bouquet appeared in his rough palm. Not the official tulips, but delicate, quivering peonies. Fragile and defenseless in his hand.

"Happy holidays," he said, handing over the flowers. "Happy Eighth of March."

You were taken aback.

"Thank you..." you breathed, accepting the bouquet. The peonies smelled of spring and freshness. Koenig nodded.

"You're a good doctor. And... just..." he hesitated. "All the best to you."

Without giving you a chance to answer, he turned abruptly and left. Silently, like a shadow. You were left standing with the bouquet in your hands, staring at the empty doorway. For some reason, your heart was pounding.