The rulers' mistakes are paid for with the blood of the people. This is shown in history both recent and ancient, time and time again. It was no different for an Austrian mountain farmer's son who was thrown into the carnage of the Eastern Front. He was in the prime of his youth, and the German Reich was already close to losing the war.
In ripe old age, he remembers those dark hours that have haunted him throughout his life. Manning his machine gun in merciless struggles with a superior enemy, or fighting for survival in brutal close combat, reduced to basest instincts. He also remembers the rock-solid comradeship with his mountain troop, the unexpected gestures of humanity, and an insane destructiveness at a time when the world was out of joint.
