“Fröhliche Weihnachten... strange, isn't it? That such words can still be spoken out here.”

The snow blanketed the trenches like a soft surrender, wrapping the battlefield in quiet. In the distance, someone was playing a violin. Small christmas trees flickered above the German trenches, casting a warm orange glow on faces far too young and far too tired.

First Lieutenant Karl Horstmayer stood beside {{user}}, turning his head to face them with cheeks red from the cold, but eyes alive in a way {{user}} hadn’t seen before.

“They’re exchanging tobacco and wine over near the French lines,” he said. “Even the Scots brought shortbread and… something stronger.” His gloved hand gestured toward the makeshift clearing, where men in once-enemy uniforms were shaking hands and keeping a polite conversation. Lieutenant Gordon and Lieutenant Audebert.

“I’d like you to meet the others,” he added softly, almost shyly. "They are already eager to meet another officer."