SS-Sturmanbannführer Ludwig Beilschmidt of the Waffen-SS straightened the collar of his uniform jacket as he jogged quickly down the steps of the hotel where he was staying. Passing a mirror at the bottom of the staircase, he stopped to glance at his reflection and adjust his cap. The glint of the silver totenkopf just above the bill of the cap, for some reason, made Ludwig pause. He stared at the thing, then slowly, his eyes panned down to his collar, his ranks, his jacket. Then at himself as a whole. Something was wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on what exactly that was though.

The question was why. After all, despite being drafted into the SS by force, Ludwig had everything going for him. He was climbing the ranks hand-over-fist. He was thought well of by both his superiors and his men. He had a beautiful fianceé back home in Berlin. So the question remained. What was off?

Before he could properly contemplate the answer, someone from behind him called out his name.

"Ludwig!"

Ludwig turned around to find himself face-to-face with a man with platinum blond hair that shimmered in the light, striking pink-tinted eyes that were the distinct mark of an albino, and an electric smile that was currently spread from one ear to the other.

It was his elder brother, Gilbert.

Ludwig smiled widely, something he hadn't done in what felt like forever.

"Bruder," he laughed as he moved to embrace his brother. Gilbert beat him to it, his arms wrapping around Ludwig's torso so tightly, Ludwig thought his chest was locked in a vice.

But he didn't care.

He threw his arms around Gilbert in return, his fingers grasping at Gilbert's jacket, hair, anything.

"How long has it been?" Ludwig asked. He pressed his cheek against GIlbert's ear and closed his eyes tightly, attempting to hold back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

"Much too long," Gilbert replied. His voice broke ever so slightly on the work long.

"Understatement of the century," Ludwig laughed.

It truly was.

Over a year had passed since the two brothers had seen the other last. Their different SS infantry units had separated them, and any communication between the two quickly became impossible.

So they waited. And prayed.

That was all they could do.

They just prayed that they would see each other again, and not with the other in a pine box.

Now their prayers had been answered, and at this point, neither of the brothers could contain their tears of joy and relief. Frankly, neither of them wanted to.

Gilbert and Ludwig remained in the embrace for a few more moments before slowly drawing back so they could see the other's face.

"How've you been holding up?" Ludwig asked, his grin wide.

"Not half bad, actually," Gilbert replied, his grin even wider. "It's been rough, though. Lost good men." His grin faded quickly, as did Ludwig's.

"Haven't we all?" Ludwig remarked. "How many?"

"Since last month alone, thirty-seven."
"Forty-three."

Gilbert nodded solemnly. He glanced at the ground quickly, then cleared his throat before meeting Ludwig's eyes again.

"The price of war, huh?"

Ludwig's eyes softened, and his lips spread into a sad smile. "Come on, GIlbert," he clapped his brother on the back. "Let your little bruder buy you a drink."

Gilbert grasped Ludwig around the shoulders and pulled him toward the door of the hotel.

"You can't get it in my hand fast enough."

Two beers and four shots of whiskey for each of them later, the two brothers sat at the bar together, talking about everything that had happened in the past year. The clock behind the bartender read one o'clock in the morning.

Ludwig nudged Gilvert in the arm and pointed to the clock. "I've got a meeting in the morning. How about one more round and we'll call it a night?"

"I'm not nearly drunk enough, but alright," Gilbert sighed. He signaled the bartender to fill their shot glasses once more. Once he did so, Gilbert raised his glass. Ludwig followed suit.

Gilbert toasted, his voice wavering slightly. "To our fallen brothers."
"To our fallen brothers."

They tossed the whiskey back and slammed the glasses down in unison.

"Alright, let's get our of here," Gilbert muttered as he pushed his stool back.

"Right behind you, buddy," Ludwig replied.

The two got up, grabbed their caps, and left the bar.

Gilbert made sure to slam the door behind him.

When Ludwig awoke the next morning, the sun had just started to creep over the horizon and into the hotel room through the open window. Ludwig groaned and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He sat up and smiled when he glanced over to his right to see Gilbert still asleep on the couch, mouth open, hair in a mess, his uniform in a heap on the floor. Ludwig could just barely hear Gilbert's snore.

He flopped back down on the pillows with a sigh.

His brother was alive and asleep on the couch in his hotel room only ten feet away. They went drinking last night.

His brother was alive.

Ludwig closed his eyes and smiled softly.

With his brother home, he was whole again.

Yes, life was good.

Ludwig's alarm went off ten minutes later, the shrill beeping waking him up with a start. He hadn't even realized that he'd fallen back to sleep.

He slammed his fist onto the alarm clock on the bedside table, but missed the snooze button. With a muttered curse, he hit it again, significantly harder this time, and the beeping subsided.

Ludwig sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced to the couch and snickered. Gilbert was still asleep, and dead to the world.

Perfect.

Sliding his legs out from under the bed sheets, Ludwig got to his bare feet and began to tiptoe across the carpeted floor toward the sleeping Gilbert. He picked up a spare pillow as he passed the foot of the bed.

Standing over Gilbert and barely able to contain his giggles, Ludwig raised the pillow high above his head.

"Rise and shine, bruder!" Ludwig yelled as he brought the pillow down as hard as he could on Gilbert's face.

Gilbert then proceeded to scream, as Ludwig would put it, 'just like a little girl'.

"You dummkopf!" Gilbert roared, before he jumped off of the couch and tackled Ludwig to the ground, where he then proceeded to beat him nearly senseless with the pillow. By now, Ludwig was in stitches and crying tears of laughter.

After a few moments, Gilbert stopped and fell backwards onto the floor next to Ludwig.

"You know, I would have figured that you would have grown up by now," Gilbert laughed.

Ludwig scoffed. "Like you haven't either?"

GIlbert threw his hands up in mock surrender. "You did have to learn it from somewhere, didn't you?" He pushed himself up to his feet and walked over to where his SS uniform lay on the floor, ruffling Ludwig's hair as he passed.

While Gilbert was pulling his trousers on, Ludwig sat up and turned to face him.

"Hey," he said, a note of seriousness in his voice.

Gilbert looked over his shoulder at him.

"It's good to have you back."

Gilbert smiled and zipped up his trousers. "It's good to be back, little bruder. It is very good to be back."

Ludwig fiddled with the bridge of his reading glasses as he sat in the meeting later on that morning. Gilbert had already recounted for their superiors the most recent positions of his men and the enemy, along with what his men needed. It was the usual. Food, ammunition, medical supplies. It's what everyone asked for, every time, without fail. His superiors were becoming increasingly hard pressed to deliver, however. Supplies were running low, as was morale. Men were frustrated about being unable to travel to Normandy in a 'timely manner', due to railway lines being sabotaged and constant fighting against the French Resistance, giving them no rest. Ludwig knew that a few men in particular were even beginning to question whether the war was even worth fighting anymore, but he would never mention this. He too was beginning to question the validity of this fight, but only in his own private thoughts.

A knock sounded on the door at one end of the conference room. Ludwig didn't look up. It was common for messengers to interrupt meetings, but it was usually nothing that concerned him.

"Come in," the officer conducting the meeting, Adolf Diekmann, barked.

A messenger walked in quickly. In his hand was a yellow telegraph paper. His face was ashen. "This just came in, sir." He handed the telegraph to Diekmann, then left. His hand was shaking.

Diekmann watched the messenger leave, then opened the telegraph and read it to himself, his eyes urgently skimming the words. By the bottom of the page, his face had become beet red with fury. He balled the telegraph up in his fist and clenched his jaw. The crinkling of the paper sounded as loud as a gunshot in the silent conference room.

By now, Ludwig was paying attention. He set his glasses down on the table in front of him and sat up a touch straighter in his chair. All eyes were on Deikmann.

After a moment, Deikmann began to speak. His voice shook with rage.

"Kämpfe has been captured and executed by French Resistance." That was all he said.

Ludwig could feel the blood drain from his face. Helmut Kämpfe, commander of the III. Battalion, 4th SS Panzer Grenadier Regiment Der Führer, 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich, dead. He couldn't believe it.

And judging from the looks on everyone else's faces, neither could they. Eyebrows were furrowed, mouths were agape, teeth were clenched. From out of the corner of his eye, Ludwig could see Gilbert put his head in his hands.

"That's it," Diekmann shouted as he pushed his chair back from the table violently and lurched to his feet. "This is the last straw! I am sick of dealing with these French dogs!" He pounded his fist on the table after every word. "All of you, listen to me! Gather your men. We are going to repay them for this. Today!"

Deikmann stormed out of the room, all the while shouting orders and obscenities. When the door slammed shut, no one moved for a full five seconds.

Gilbert was the first to stand. When he spoke, his voice was sad. "Well, you heard him. Gather everyone together and be ready for God-knows-what."

Everyone else stood and filed out of the conference room in silence until it was only Ludwig and Gilbert remaining.

Gilbert hung his head and whispered, "God forgive us for what is about to happen, whatever it is."

Ludwig said nothing as he slowly got to his feet and left the room. Orders were orders. He had to go gather his men.