Hamburg, Germany, 2300 hours, 1st Parachute division: To the respected commandment of the Airborne and Infantry Forces:

Kurt Student, Richard Heidrich, Hermann-Bernhard Ramcke:

Regretting to inform you the loss of Josef Axel Schafer, missing in action during mission over south England, reportedly around 2100 hours. Planes failed to find target, no source of evidence survival was optioned. Age: 18 years   Height: 5'8   Birthday: August 12th, 1923    Weight: 136 lbs   Sex: Male   Wife: None   Children: None   Disabilities: None   Eye color: Green  

Signed,

General Dennis Peter Muller

The letter was thrown onto the desk as a German soldier threw the pen across the room, standing up and walking away. He walked over to a window and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and putting it in his mouth. He stared out the window, looking outside as rain pattered against the window and made it hard to see the other infantries and squadrons training. His brown eyes narrowed as they looked only at the glass and saw a tired, worn face that carried sorrow as well. He had blond hair that looked grey with the rain pounding against his reflection and a tall, strong figure that stood upright as he stared.

He pressed one hand against the glass, feeling the coolness of it. Then he lowered it and brushed off his green uniform he had been in for the past few days, straightening the rank on his shoulders. He turned, walking back to his desk and picking up the letter. He read it over one more time and then placed it gently into a white envelope, writing an address onto it and sealing it. He put the letter into a pile of even more letters, too many to count. They would be sent to a factory where more people would read them and then wright more letters, only to the families of the lost soldiers.

He ran a rough, scarred hand over a thin, light colored goatee as he stared at the desk. He had thought he would be fine, writing about the deaths of soldiers caused by this war. But he had ended up writing about his brothers and his comrades and his friends. He had fought alongside some of these men. He had watched some of them die. They died as a hero. They died for Germany's future. He clenched his fist and then gripped the chair and spat his cigarette onto the ground. Heroes. What was a hero? He walked over to his shelf, looking for something strong for him to drink. Everything was already empty, he wasn't shocked.

Dennis Muller looked away from the shelf and at the doorknob as it rattled and a younger soldier walked into the room without knocking. Walking past the older soldier without a word, the younger one headed over to the pile of letters. Muller recognized the younger soldier as one from his own infantry, one of his Pilots, Dieter Schafer. He had a thin frame but a sturdy build and dark hair. Muller knew why one of his best Pilots had abandoned his crew during a rare break. News must have gotten out already.

The soldier turned to Muller, holding a ripped open letter in his shaking hands and looking down at it with his shocked hazel eyes. His clear skin reflected the few candles that lit the room, a few tiny freckles meeting the light as the Pilot opened his mouth, eyes on the letter as he read. Muller took out another cigarette, lighting it and waiting.

"Gen...General..." Muller had never seen Schafer so upset before. Tears formed in the edges of his hazel eyes as he began shaking his head. He was one of the best Pilots he had, but he was a sensitive boy with a soft heart. He was respected as well, so that's why Muller didn't yell at the soldier for barging into his room. He would have yelled at any other soldier. Not this one.

"General Muller, you can't call this a death letter. He-He is missing. There, There is hope, we can find a way, I could fly over the part where he fell, I know he's sti-" Schafers voice cracked as he lowered the letter and met Mullers serious gaze. "He isn't dead. My brother survived. I know it, sir." He finished, bringing up a hand to wipe away a tear before it fell.

General Muller sighed, looking away for a moment. "Schafer, your brother died a hero. He couldn't have survived the ocean. It was storming, and it's been several days. Thirst or hunger or sharks would have gotten to him by now even if he could have had a life raft." He stated simply. He had had to deal with other soldiers who had too much faith in their brothers, whether it was a brother by blood or a brother by heart.

Schafer shook his head, eyes determined as much as they were devastated. "I can't accept that sir. He didn-He didn't even want to be in this war. He was going to be a doctor." Schafer smiled as he thought about his little brother, shaking his head.

Muller blinked and looked away. "Son, he's in a better place now. You need to focus on your duty. What about your other brother?"

"Doesn't know yet, sir."

"You should be the one to write him the letter then. Make it more personal. But breaks almost over," Muller paused and watched Schafer hang his head, folding the letter and stuffing it in his pockets, "And, get some rest. I know it's hard." He finished.

Schafer nodded, "Yes sir." And turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Muller walked back to his desk to write more letter, his heart heavy.

Axels P.O.V.-

Axel felt wind whipping his skin as he soared through the sky, thunder and mist surrounding him and his motionless comrades as they flew to the drop site. Then, he heard noise and screams as suddenly he found himself plunging downward through darkness, he tried to scream for help but no sound could be heard. He felt himself sinking underwater, a pressure on his chest as he uselessly flailed his arms against the strength of the water that pulled him down. Then, he touched the ground of the ocean, and saw trenches and walls and torn down buildings. Soldiers ran around, looking around and pointing guns at other soldiers that shot back desperately.

Axel panicked for a moment, looking around to find some cover. Bullets flew over his head as he raced toward an abandoned building, knocking the door down and pushing it away as he entered the shelter of the house. Everything had a dark edge and was fuzzy as he tried to focus, turning a corner almost in slow motion as he saw a shape lying on the floor. His heart froze as he approached the body, recognizing the face. A single bullet hole was imprinted between his eyes as Axel stared down in horror at the still, motionless figure. Axel let out a shaky breath, looking down into his own hands and seeing a gun there, smoke rising from the tip of it, a recent shot had just taken place. Blood stained his own hands as he looked back to the body. He felt a presence behind him and he slowly turned around, seeing another familiar shape.

Freya had him at gunpoint, the gun pressed up against his chest where his heart was, her eyes cold as she stared at him. She looked unnatural, different almost. Axel stared at the gun, fear rising inside him as he lifted his eyes to hers.

"Don't do this." He said, his voice was muted in a away as he tried to protest, everything in his head was fuzzy as his green eyes begged for mercy as he stared at her, helpless. The gun in his hands had vanished. Not that he would have ever...

Freya pulled the trigger and there was an ear splitting noise.

Axel gasped awake to the crack of thunder, his heart beating and his chest rising and falling quicker than normal as he noticed he was in a cold sweat. He blinked a few times, looking around the dark room. Lightning flashed, lighting up the room for a split second as Axel took a deep breath, shaking away the nightmare.

He was in Freya's Father's room, he remembered. After eating the delicious dinner Freya had cooked, Roger had left and Freya had helped Axel upstairs to this room, showing him where he would be sleeping. He was breathing normally now and a guilty feeling fell upon him. He felt bad, sleeping in her father's room, but it was definitely better than sleeping in a pile of hay.

Axel rolled over onto his side, moving his foot carefully as he adjusted. His green eyes reflected another flash of lightning and then there was another loud explosion of thunder as the house rumbled and vibrated slightly. Axel blinked, not wanting to return to sleep after the nightmare. He sighed, pulling the blankets over his head in embarrassment as he tried to forget about the dream. It was almost funny how your mind could twist up a story and then scare you with it. The worst part was that he didn't know he was dreaming.

Axel turned his mind to the dinner. He had been shocked at how willing Roger was to keep a peace between them so far and Axel only hoped that it stayed that way. Axel actually had to admit that it wasn't so bad talking to him either. They had joked around a little too and even though Axel didn't understand everything that Roger said, he had a good time. He was happy Roger hadn't walked in swinging a hammer like the last time. They had eaten and it was the first full meal he had had since being in England thanks to Freya...

Freya. The name made him smile inside and he felt better as he thought about her. She was an interesting person and Axel had pondered her question for a while even after she had asked it. 'Do females serve?' He wondered whether or not she had thought about serving. He pictured her doing his job and training and he shook his head. Nah. Freya wouldn't fit anything like that. She was too kind and helpful to go and take the life of someone else. And she was too pretty. He didn't want her to jump into the middle of a war and hurt herself. Axel's thoughts turned to the pie incident and he felt a little warm tug inside him as he remembered how embarrassed and red she had gotten when she had almost fallen on him. He had sacrificed her piece of pie and that plate to catch her. He smiled, finding that funny.

He sat up, taking the thin blanket off of him as he sat up on his bed, swinging his legs over and just sitting there. He got a match from the matchbox Freya had set on a little table near the bed and he struck a match, setting a candle alight with a flame.

Axel watched the candlelight dance around the room, creating shadows and flickering around, little black streams of smoke rising into the air. His emerald orbs reflected the dancing flame as it swayed softly, warmth and light gifted from it. Fire was a good thing. Unless it got too big. Then it could burn someone.

He pictured the bombs he had helped set off, creating flames that danced to wildly and were too large and too bright. Most importantly, too warm. He had helped burn people. He thought about his family and brothers for a moment and he hoped they were doing well. He hoped they hadn't given up on him yet.

Axel looked down, staring at his hands. Suddenly tired again, he yawned. Blowing out the candle, he let himself think about breakfast. He was hungry again. Axel sighed, rolling back onto the bed and pulling the soft blankets over him. His bandaged head on his pillow, he closed his eyes, letting the darkness sink over him again.

He fell asleep to the thought of Freya making a cherry pie, the type of pie with the slightly burnt crust and a small cherry on top for decoration too.