God, how long have I’ve been sitting on this crate? I know the answer is only 47 minutes but it feels like it’s already winter. The Kommandant hasn’t given us orders for so long. Might as well get some sleep. As my consciousness slowly slips away, a loud and stern voice orders us to our feet. It was the Kommandant and he was staring at us as if we were slaves that were caught resting. As we snapped to attention, the Kommandant yelled at us as well as the rest of the platoon to head into town and round up the civilians. I figured that it would be nice to get some beer from the local general store along the way. Dietritch Hoebermann, a friend I had made in the Heer, had begun to suspect that a damned partisan was among the townsfolk. As we headed into the town, I had noticed faint music coming from the platoon radio. Strange, I didn’t recognize what was being sung but I figured that Kommandant was a man of music, after all, he is the direct descendant of Boch or at least if the rumors were true. Nevertheless, we soon gathered the local population into a nearby field, however I had wondered why the children were brought as well, there can’t be any spies among mere children. As we organized them into a line, I had heard the radio with the strange music once more. It was louder and it sounded as if it was sung by a young girl. I’ve heard a Japanese diplomat speak a few times and some of the words felt familiar. It must be nice to be able to sing one of your country’s songs. Day… hop… bright…… As the townsfolk lined up, I had noticed that we weren’t searching for identification or weapon, the Kommandant had also ordered the platoon to draw our weapons. We were both wrong. The Kommandant had been standing next to the platoon radio as he ordered for us to fire upon the civilians. I felt the blood drain away from my face as I soon came to the realization that had also appeared in Dietritch’s mind. We had heard of the many “ethnic cleansing” of other units but I had never thought that it would be us. A Feldwebel walked over and assured us that it would be for the betterment of mankind as a part of the Fuhrer’s plan to clean the world. We raised our rifles, hands still shaking, as the radio had been increasing in volume. The singing of a certain little girl had done little to drown out the sound of dozens of rifles killing 46 Ukrainian villagers as their bodies had gone down one by one. The blood had soon flooded the ditch that had laid along the side of the road. However, the sound of Panzers rolling by did not seem to hide the singing as it still rings in my ears 79 years later. I cannot bear with it any longer as the memories of Dietritch’s life slowly fading away is constantly haunted by that damned singing. I raise a Mauser, one of the few remaining symbols of my service to the Reich, to my temple as I hold a picture of my friend and an Iron Cross, if only his life had not been traded with a piece of tin. I remember my long lost friend one last time as I work my finger around the trigger. A tear rolls down my face as I know that even death will not save me from that damned singing. A small pop rings out, barely being noticed by the Argentinian villagers as they laugh and dance to a song that would be known as Step…