We arrived in Hurtgen Forest about 5 days ago.

Mein Fuhrer required 40 men to drive the

Kuagummifresers, or the Kuags as we call them, away. The men managed to hold them off,
but the heat from the other side was getting to their heads. Our fellow Kamerads fell onto the
ground, their helmets symbolizing something that is eventually going to die in the ground.

Barbed wires were lined and propped up but they deemed us useless since the Kuags
penetrated our defence. My platoon and I made a run for it. Makarov, Slovensky, Morowitz,
and myself. We were a platoon commanded by Lieutenant Aiden or we called him
Augenklappe; his iconic eye-patch, which made the headlines in the newspaper five years ago
when he saved the innocent natives in Guatemala and lost his eye to a Carver. The same man
cowered under the tommies of the Kuags. Aiden commanded us to take cover behind trees
and step away from the battlefield and we did so.

The path led to the mountains where Germans were stationed in their camps. It was a long
way to the German base. We got off the grubby, wet path into the woods. Makarov took a hit
in the knees. The bullet scraped it but his knee was bleeding and he required immediate first-
aid. Slovensky went to support him. ‘I will kill the bastards’, said he. ‘Calm now, Barchen’,
Slovensky rubbed his back and comforted him. No one knew what was going on between
them except us. I remember the two of them sneaking off in the middle of the night from their
bunk beds, a small square packet in Makarov’s hand during the army training camp.

It was going to be nightfall soon. I looked over my watch. 5:30PM. In a few hours, darkness
will fall upon us as the moon awakens. We reloaded the guns and sat down for a few minutes.
I set myself on a bed of green, replenishing my energy and examining my surroundings using
all my senses. The air smelled odd. The tang of mud and metal, now had turned into a
pungent odour of rotten flesh and sewers. The air was filled with green particles that seemed
not to bother us. We paid no attention to it. We focused on the more important part. Makarov
was bleeding out. ‘You got any on ya?’, I asked Morowitz, who was an alcoholic always
carried a bottle of rum with him. I poured some on Makarov’s wound while listening to
Walter Braunfels on repeat in my head, cutting out the sounds of Makarov’s shrieks as the
alcohol cleaned the wound of the bacteria.

However, we knew it wouldn’t last. Before everything we needed a place to set up camp. The
green particles from earlier turned to green fog as we walked away from the fighting. As we
walked, we saw ruins. An old cabin. The fog was dense around the cabin which was peculiar.
We approached the cabin slowly, looking around for threats or traps. There seemed to be
none. We stepped onto the porch and the wooden stairs made loud creaking noise which was
eerie. I glanced at my watch. 8:30PM. It was nightfall. Dinnertime. We scrounged for
supplies. Whatever we could find. Two bottles of water, half a loaf of bread, some milk, a
drawing book and some alcohol. I fed Makarov some bread and gave him some milk. There
was a cot in one of the rooms. I carried him to the room. I noticed the greenish grains that
made up this fog, gather little by little onto Makarov’s wound. ‘Should be nothing. I’m fine,
brother. Tell Slovensky to stop worrying so much. I just need some rest’, Makarov reassured
confidently. He closed his eyes and dozed off.

I went outside with the rest of the men. They started a little fire and ate bread and aged milk.
Morowitz drank his alcohol, Aiden played his little harmonica, Slovensky kept his hand on
his knee, biting the greasy nails on his other hand. ‘Calm down, Slovensky. He’ll be fine’, I
handed him a bottle of beer. ‘How would you understand? Is Martha injured right now?
Huh?’ he snapped. ‘Relax. I’m trying to lighten the mood, sucker. Cool off with a cold one’, I
insisted. ‘Right. I’m sorry’, he took the bottle and drank, still cautiously. ‘So how is it going
between you two’ I asked. ‘It’s going well. See, I have a ring but I’m not sure-’ the
conversation was cut short when we heard a loud thud in the room Makarov was resting in.
We crept slowly with our weapons equipped.