Von Heidecker

The softness of his words arrived as if their eagerness could ever matter, upon repatriation they would die, of course give way to fresher blood and the banality of things like honour and the Fatherland. There would be, as a matter of consideration, the French who never had attracted glory their word for dusk was what they'd need to hear it is the time between the wolf and then, the dog. It was the pleasure of the company of self that made their final minutes what they were to be. It was a teamwork of eight Walthers, one command, their war was over then, his words did matter not.