Dietrich stared up at the star-studded night sky.
Twelve men lost today. Twelve more letters he'd have to write to grieving families who'd never see their brother or uncle or son again. Twelve more weights on his already heavy conscience.
At times like these, times when the Rat Patrol had once again taken everything – or nearly everything – from him, the only way to occupy his mind was the stars. He knew astronomy, could point out the different constellations, but it wasn't the scientific side to the stars that gripped his mind.
Space. Vast, empty, cold. A yawning void. But not black, like so many people thought.
No, it was all different colours, shade upon shade, light on dark. Picking out the different textures, depths, and patterns gave him something to do in the night hours when he couldn't sleep. When his mind refused to shut down, instead choosing to replay all the day's failures...and then more. It was better then turning to endless rounds of beer and other alcohol like so many men in his unit had done.
There was no harm in the sky. In that way, it was the very opposite of this senseless, tiring war.