Their were many similarities between the Major and their long departed Fuher , the main thing though was charisma. Both men had so much of the stuff they might as well sold it in bottles .
But where their leader had used it to inspire the German peoples grand superiority , the Major used it to rally his troops. To convince them that this war was a magnificent thing , that peace talks and treaties were meaningless in the battlefields , that as beautiful as the country side was it was never prettier then when burnt and blackened from bombing strikes and the rivers choked and overflowing with corpses .
And by God they believed him.
At the end of his first speech the men were hooked , they looked ready to march into the very fires of Hell itself just to simply gain a taste of what the Major had described to them , to peer through the mans viewpoint for a fraction of a second .
He would stand their in his crisp white suit , silvery hair combed neatly and his thick spectacles glittering slightly in the morning sun , looking more like some sort of odd accountant then the leader of one of the most powerful military factions in the entire German army . Max would then begin speaking his eyes alit from the sheer joy of describing the mayhem and carnage that was their latest conquest (or at least the latest conquest the German army had attained) and a smile would appear on his face while his arms raised in a manner reminiscent of a conductor , the merry song of war being brought to ever higher levels.
And they listened…and watched, no other movement, nary a breath. Pure silence from over One thousand soldiers.
It was quite disturbing , especially considering half of the men here had (from his personal observations ) as much brain power and imagination as your average cockroach.
He was enthralled too though , his fingers twitching and aching , wanting to grasp his tools and create masterpieces that may not be outwardly pretty ; but showed more competency and bloodshed on the battle field then even the most frenzied berserker.
The fevered grip of inspiration never left , he endlessly sparked with ideas. Bric-a-brac to begin with. Blades , organ transplants. The sort of thing the insane dreamt of and sane mean could only fathom.
This was what attracted the Majors attention.
"You do beautiful work" muttered the Major once looking upon a shattered failure, the hulking frame having succumbed to the bodies natural rejection of things that were…less then natural (so to speak) .
He had beamed all day , the reason why seemed to escape him. Perhaps it was pride , perhaps awe . Maybe a combination ?
It needn't of mattered though because soon enough he returned , asking of 'A small favour' a more animalistic soldier apparently. Less berserker but more cunning , he could do that .
Maybe a wolf ?