You’re in a Ukrainian village. It is 1942. We are on a patrol. They are both 17, and are friends. They were patrolling a village their unit had played, and making sure nobody left.

It was a normal day, the two were not expecting anything indifferent. Maybe they’d disperse a few civilians, but otherwise everything was normal. Hans was kicking his feet in the dirt, humming his new favorite song, which was a German song he heard on his radio. “Obs stürmt oder schneit..” he smiled slightly.