Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, East-West Border, Hagenow, Summer 1983

Gustav von Roth stared out over the large expanse of land he had grown used to seeing in his decade in service - he was in fact approaching his fifteenth year now, and the situation had never been so tense. The way the officers carried themselves, the feverish need to ensure that the men were constantly ready for action - even more so than usual. It was rather exciting. But he could not deny the unspeakably heavy feeling in his chest, as if at any moment now he would hear the sounds of men on the march and the barrage of bullets which would either send him to his grave or do so sooner rather than later. War was inevitable. He knew that. He could see it in the way everyone moved, the sweating officers, the dry-lipped recruits, his own heart which would not stop beating.

He stared out over the one kilometre wide border, committing it to memory for the thousandth time. Soon - and he knew that for certain - he would be marching across this very border, and there were men - and indeed, women, for he had heard that in the west they allowed women in the army too. An awfully communist thing to do, to allow the brave revolutionary women to fight. But whether it was true or not, he would soon know.

"Regiment! Action Right!" the voice of the commanding officer reached him and he felt himself, almost subconsciously, move with the rest of the patrol, turning right and continuing along the border, going back to base at Hagenow. Who knew, perhaps tonight would be the last night spent in the headquarters, perhaps tomorrow they would be sleeping on unwelcoming foreign earth with no comfort but the dreadful silence between one barrage of fire and the next, or the relief between the landing of one rocket and the next, hoping that it would land anywhere, anywhere, but near you.

Though the fresher recruits were terrified of the commanding officers, Gustav's relationship with them was rather peculiar. He wouldn't have said that there was an easy friendship between him and most of the commanders, but there was definitely a certain degree of informality between them, seeing as most of them had either been recruits with him or had joined later and been under his wing for a while. He had never seen himself as the leader and had avoided promotion like the plague. But who knew, perhaps if the promised war started, he would not be able to avoid it much longer. As they slowly made it back to base, he could not help but notice the grim-faced young medic - nineteen or twenty at the most - who was marching beside him. He remembered having a brief conversation with the brown-haired lad before, but could not remember what his name was.

It wasn't long before they were back in the relative safety of Hagenow, and they were relieved for the night.