You are walking in a long staggered line along the hedgerows of Falaise.
You glance over your shoulder and notice a young, recently recruited Private, who, having slung his Mauser over his shoulder proceeds to pull his ration bag from behind his back and open it, pulling a small shiny tin from inside. .
"Sho-ka-kola!" He says happily to the soldiers surrounding him.
You've been watching these events intently, remembering the last time you had eaten that bitter sweet chocolate, all those years ago in training.
You raise your right hand to halt the column, and all the men behind you wearily go to knee as you begin walking towards the new recruit. As you approach the young man he notices your eyes fixed on the round tin and he quickly shoves it deep within his pocket. You stop short of him and hold out your hand, "ihr Sho-ka-kola" you say softly under your breath. .
He smiles weakly and with trembling hands pulls the treat from his pocket. You snatch it from him, half expecting him to cram it into his mouth. You place the tin within your tunic pocket, and as you walk back to the front of the line he slowly realises he isn't getting it back.
You stop suddenly and raise your hand for the second time in as many minutes, on becoming aware of an ominous, distant clanging, which you have heard all too many times in the last few days.
"Abteilung, Loss!" you shout and scramble into the ditch by the side of the road, the rest of your unit obeys abandoning the open road for the safety of the ditches and hedgerows.
You point and motion to the new recruit, from whom you took the sho-ka-kola from earlier, he quickly rushes up to you, "Ja, Scharfuhrer".
You pull his gear and belt off and hand him your MP-40 and an extra magazine that you place in the hip-pocket of his new, clean Kombie. You then instruct him to cautiously scout along the road side and return with news of what dangers lay ahead.
But you know deep down, that you would probably never see him alive again.
