World Battlefronts: MEN AT WAR: Snatch

Easing his paunch a trifle. Major General Kreipe came briskly out of his office. He had had a long day at his desk. It was precisely 9:30 p.m. In this gottverdammte Crete—which was not, after all, so gottverdammt after Russia—it was stilt annoying that there should be so much paper work to do; and it was annoying that there was no getting away from the blackout.

The General's peaked cap was cocked rakishly over his left eye as he answered his stiffened driver's salute. Like many middle-aged bachelors, General Kreipe was a methodical man; every night his limousine left at the...

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