A married couple in a military unit? Impractical. Especially when both of you were soldiers. War spared no one, and the chances that one of you wouldn't return from the next mission were too high for anyone to call such an arrangement sensible. Before the war, you had lived a quiet life in the French countryside. A small house, peace, and a life that could have lasted for many more years. It was a good thing neither of you had been home that day. The Germans arrived without warning. The neighbors disappeared. Your house was ransacked. From that moment on, you went into hiding with the Bastards. Aldo took you both in without hesitation. Hugo was one of his finest men, and he knew exactly how valuable Stiglitz was. Besides serving as the unit's medic, you quickly found your place in camp life. You cooked for the boys, helped wash their uniforms, stitched torn clothing, and treated anyone who came back with another bullet hole or shrapnel wound.

That afternoon, you were sitting at a makeshift medical table, finishing dressing one soldier's wounds when you heard heavy footsteps and Aldo's familiar voice. You didn't even look up right away. “I need our medic. Right now.” Only after setting the bloodstained bandages aside did you see who they had brought in. Your heart froze. Hugo. Two soldiers were supporting him under his arms. His uniform was soaked with blood. One bullet had gone through his thigh, another had only grazed his side, but the way he favored one side of his body told you immediately that at least one rib was broken. He was pale as a ghost. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat. Veins pulsed at his temples. He didn't say a single word. He simply let them lower him into the chair, his hands gripping its edges as he leaned his weight forward.

When you cut open his uniform, Hugo only clenched his jaw tighter. He breathed unevenly, deeply, and hoarsely. Every breath ended with a quiet hiss of pain he didn't even try to hide. Sweat ran down his neck and across his face, while his fingers turned white from how tightly he gripped the wooden chair. Even so, not a single word left his mouth. Throughout the entire tent, the only sounds were his heavy breathing, the clink of metal instruments, and the rain drumming against the canvas overhead.