Bakkels looks out from the bunkhouse to the shore as a pale sun tries to peer through the fog. “Being held prisoner outside of a nazi infested castle in Finland. Not quite what I had in mind when I was called to arms. Still, it beats the bottom of the Baltic I guess.”
As he sees a rat the size of a small dog run across the bunkhouse, he thinks to himself: “Well at least the cooking will be done for us for a change. Although I doubt these jerries know how to make a decent sheperd’s pie…”
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