Continued...

The norse version of it anyway. Might as well, he thought. At least it would spare him more of this drudgery. The days were short in Harz during the winter, and with the air transports grounded, there was little for him to do. He looked at the man sitting across the table from him, reading something on a tablet. The other man looked up and broke into a smile.

“Hans, my friend, you have to learn patience. “

He glanced at the window again as another White Lancer Gepard drove outside, followed by an APC from his own unit.

“Patience, Jacek? Like that time we had to rescue your men from that screw-up at Bielefeld? I believe you were very grateful for our hot blood back then, nicht wahr?”

He knew the other man didn’t exactly like being reminded of that particular event and was looking forward to a boredom-relieving argument, but all he got instead was an easy smile on the face of his counterpart.

“Ah yes, that. But whose delays caused us to be stuck here?”

Krieger clenched his jaw, knowing the other man was right – at least partially. But he wouldn’t be deterred that easily.

“Are you saying my men are worse than yours?” he asked in a mockingly menacing manner.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying”, replied the other man, the amused expression never leaving his face.

“Well now, what do you say to a little friendly competition?"

The other man considered for a moment, then nodded.

“Fine. I’ll bite. That PLM nest we’re about to clean up. If we bag more hippies than you do, we get ten crates of the best whiskey from that stash your people got their hands on a few months ago. The one they refuse to share. If you win...”

He paused, considering.

“...you can get a few crates of that beer you liked so much from our stores. After all, the brewery that made it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Krieger grinned wolfishly. The game was afoot. It was time to tell his men.