Again dark thought began to absorb me.
I couldn’t draw it out any longer.
I came to the conclusion that in a few minutes, I would almost certainly be the holder of a military confirmation card. And then pale ass.
There were only nine of us left at the very end.
To the end, I hoped, fervently prayed in my head, that maybe something unexpected would happen at the last moment. Some earthquake. Some bombardment. World War 3.
Any other horrible disaster which would unexpectedly and brutally interrupt the work of the commission.
But it was too late, I was already half undressed.
Everybody was there.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The chairman, of course, sat in the middle of the long table. He was maybe even intelligent looking enough.
But not the chairman nor anyone else there could know of Chu Berry, Bix Beiderbecke or even Woody Herman, whose name might remind them only of Herman Goering.
It was obvious the last group was not the day’s finest.
Two were decidedly round-shouldered if not even lightly hunchbacked.
The next had a pathologically shorter, much thinner and less muscular right arm.
The fourth, I remembered well, circling the orangeade stand with a suspicious and strange face. He had thick-rimmed glasses.
The next two by measure were the most normal, the shorter one with at least an impressively sized organ.
The seventh, normal too, except for his lazy right eye, permanently shut.
After that Karl, obviously.
And, sadly, me.
In their village they were invalids, but here they were very normal soldiers, thank you vry much.
The hunchbacks were assigned to Panzer tank service. The army would straighten them out.
The next one, with the smaller right arm, was not so lucky, or was luckier. How could he defend his homeland with that arm? He was dismissed.
An eye problem, not so much of an issue.
-Easier with this eye to aim to kill the Anglo-American imperialists, the nasty major noted.
And then Karl.
The dark thoughts had already won.
