"Verdammte Rekruten können kein verdammtes Messer halten, Scheiße!" Is the jumble of german words you hear as you’re doing paperwork. König’s loud footsteps and grumbling fills the medical office as he sits himself on a cot. "Hi Colonel." You hum, standing from your desk to tend to him. "You think they’d know by now, hah? What’s the english term— they’re.. dumbasses." He groaned. You couldn’t help but chuckle while you look over the cut in his shoulder.