Grief

Ernest Hofmann: he sat in the half-track, staring blankly, his jaws clenched and his eyes dancing with indifference, his blank, expressionless face, well groomed- shaved to a stubble. Of course he should uphold the Aryan appearance- a pair of deep azure eyes and a head of sandy blond. The typical Nazi soldier- a work ethic comprised of indisputable adherence to the commands and expectations of authority- a patriot. Anything other than this sense of patriotism in every aspect of life, in any other place in the world, would be considered solely disreputable; but in this wretched ‘place in the sun’, it was considered repugnant and simply existing in such a state would get you killed.

By this same logic, sat beside him was a dead man.

Adler Hilde sat upright- his head set forwards, unmoving. As they traversed through the thick groves of the Ardennes, not a word was spoken. In the vehicle were eleven others. This included Hoffman, the driver and the lieutenant colonel. No one else was within the mile radius.

The scenery moved behind their peripheral vision and, as the image went by, Hilde’s eyes were kept busy. He noted the vast willows and their resemblance to ghosts (as pointed out by his mother when he was six), what with their suspended bare catkins navigating the waves of floating wind; the smaller acacias with their slender branches and small clusters of dead, pointed leaves; and the two lifeless beeches which lay toppled on the sodden ground on which the half-track traversed. The wind blew and it bellowed, billowing and swirling violently, unleashing its merciless rage. Its immense roaring sound cut through the gaps between the thin twigs and branches of the sturdy white poplars, reducing the rushing wind to wisps of air and whistles carried in the trees. Great oaks protruding through the foliage seemed almost skeletal in composure. Flocks of swallows could be seen flying east against the pale blue sea of swimming clouds. Their sweet songs were to be left unheard. The layers of sound radiating from the inside of nearby tanks and motor vehicles pulled over the half-track and the constant drumming of engines was drilling into their skulls.

A thick fog hung overhead and it hovered over the Ardennes like a pest. Fog was temporary- they knew this- still, the occasional glance provided them a subtle comfort in the midst of war.