It's a warm evening. Gilbert finished his daily duties and is walking slowly back to his accommodation. He cracks his neck feeling tension drain away.
Today was not bad. His shift, at the temporary garrison, with Hans and Martin comprised of cleaning the equipment. They're what he would deem as 'good kids', serious and hardworking. Like his younger brother. Like Ludwig.
They tried to wrangle from him a promise that he'll attend their next drinking outing. To make the invitation more appealing, Hans recounted their exploits in the next village. Said exploits are measured in beers and vodkas and songs. His eyes are gleaming from behind his spectacles. He smiles while mentioning that he met a girl, Gilbert nods approvingly.
Children like Hans should spend their summers drinking. Children like Hans should spend their summers dancing and singing. Children like Hans should spend their summers falling in love.
He tries not to think about Ludwig.
On the corner of the market square, he detours to the bakery. The baker's wife greets him from behind the counter with "Hello" and "How's work?" . While she's packing the bread he bough, she hums a tune he's sure he heard from Feliks. She doesn't notice when Gilbert never replies.
Gilbert just stands there and racks his mind for the right answer. The low key, mundane interaction throws him off. The familiarity feels alien. How long has it been since the last time he was asked this? There is no forceful politeness nor underlying tension in the woman's tone. Just genuine expression of interest.
For the first time in months he feels as if he's standing before another human not as a soldier, not as a german but as himself. To this woman he belongs in this town just as much as the next customer. He belongs here. He is one of them. The realisation brings a rush of excitement and bitterness in equal measures.