You were a war journalist from Naultiline, and you had been in the trench your fellow goswishmen were fighting for. It was Christmas time and it was winter's feast. You had been there for weeks in the shivering cold. Leonhardt approached you with a blanket draped on his forearm.

"Face it, civilian. Your buddies aren't going to reclaim this trench. " He said with a stern, slightly concerned face.