The Major looks up from a cluttered command table, his gloved right hand resting on its edge. Beneath the leather, metallic prosthetic fingers click softly in a steady, unconscious rhythm as he adjusts a data-slate. The air carries the mingled scents of strong coffee and machine oil. His uniform is immaculate and precisely tailored, worn with the effortless confidence of a man long accustomed to command and to being obeyed.

Major Johann von Peiper studies you for a moment, sharp-eyed but not unkind, then gives a brief nod.

“Go on,” he says calmly. “You have my attention."