In every family, the father is to the son and the son to the father, everything in the world. And so it remains until the son becomes a father, and then it will continue to be repeated as long as the repetition is needed.

When the son gets so old that it is no longer possible for human nature to have a living father, the son ceases to be a son and remains only a father to whom the son and his son are everything.

Such a father and such a son met in 1944 in the mountains of some "nonsensical" Balkan country. It was a cloudless night, and the sky was clear and full of twinkling stars until the moon was visible. They wore the uniforms of the Third Reich.

- Herman, calm down! Calm down; the rest of us will see!

- Let them see, I don't care about anything anymore. I want to pull out a living head so I can use it to watch over the home of the only son I created as you watched over me.

Herman was a tall, strong, and handsome man with blond hair cut almost to his head. His lovely fair-skinned face was adorned with a regular, small nose and blue but always ill-tempered eyes. The only thing that stood out on that face was the lips that looked pressed shut forever. This narrowness was especially evident during the time he allowed himself to be swallowed up by the present, referring to the past moments of immersion in his, one might say, obsession. His lips occupied a unique position when he was doing what he loved most: drawing and sketching various objects, even entire settlements. He could spend hours and hours like this, and it seemed that if there were no more important things, he would spend days drawing without any problems. After family, it was his second love. Because of this, he was trained as an architect but could not get a job. Occasionally he would do something professionally, but he didn't shy away from other jobs when there were any. He had to care for his family because it was above all else.

Otto was frowning and serious. He hugged his son with a lot of fatherly love, muttering into his cap pulled over his ears:

- Cursed were these mountains. What devil brings us here to perish and leave our bones unmarked?

- This night reminds me of the story of the night when I sometimes scared my son to calm him down. I told him that one day there would come a night so dark that no lights would be able to illuminate it and in which nothing would be seen no matter how hard we tried - Herman recalled the wonderful times from the past when he was with his son.

And there was a big question mark as to whether he would ever be able to hug his son again. To hug his son was that moment's most sublime thought and desire. And the realization that he could no longer be with him incredibly irritated and angered him, so he continued:

- After all the historical studies of wars that have already happened in the human past, we didn't need another one. I'm getting on my nerves! The whole human race gets on my nerves when it can be so stupid that after all the knowledge about the evil and misfortune that wars bring, wars still exist. And wars exist because we believe evil will happen to someone else, not me, who is good. I'm a good devil!

Herman and Oto only now felt all the cruelty of the war machine and that wheel that indifferently bought and carried away human destinies. People are taken to places they never expected to be. Only now, when they found themselves in that unenviable situation, did they realize all the absurdity of their going to fight in unknown lands and their wolf holes.

The problem with understanding wars has always been that those who start them never actually go to war, so they cannot fully understand all the horrors and consequences that it produces.

- The destructive ideological process resulted in my desire to expand Germany and conquer new spaces for our people because our people need comfort! For God's sake, we are Aryans! To expand, you have to take other people's spaces. You have to take away space from someone else you believe doesn't need space, nor does it belong to him - rather angrily, first of all at himself, muttered Oto half-understandably.

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Otto was a thin, tall man with a sad and slightly chosen face, and he spent his working life as an actor in a Bavarian theater. He played many essential plays in his life. He was the bearer of prominent roles but has yet to reach the peak of fame. Although he was an outstanding and dedicated actor, he never became famous enough that people would stop him on the street and ask for his autograph. But he didn't even crave it or didn't show it. Instead, he was looking for challenges, above all acting challenges. Therefore, it was possible that these inner urges were constantly in search of challenges and brought him to the situation of an ordinary warrior in a position on the crosswind between life and death.

Along with these urges of his, there was something else. While he was still young and had just started his acting profession, one day, in the basement under the theater where he worked, he found a dead newborn child with a slightly darker complexion that did not match the skin color of a German. The child was wrapped in newspaper and left or thrown between wooden partitions used to create various theatrical scenes.

Because of that event, which was engraved in his memory and he had created an image in his head that gave him the right not to consider some nations equal to him, he joined the movement to create a new world order.

In addition, with new slogans and propaganda machinery, Oto quickly agreed to be convinced that he belonged to a higher race.

- But see the devil?! See this now?! See what reality is?! Those primitives and lower races don't want to surrender their territories to us peacefully but fight to the death for them! - continued muttering Oto, and that seemed to ease his stupid situation.

- Well, that's natural, Father. Of course, they fight. How could we have been so stupid and allowed ourselves to be dragged into all this? - asked Herman.

- It may be a way for a person to deceive himself, to convince himself that what he is doing is perfectly suitable and the only right thing. Correct that your correctness so blinds you that you don't even think of the possibility that it could be incorrect - Otto was given the option closest to him.

- Maybe. But it is unfortunate. We should be honest with ourselves when honesty is not even - Herman finishes his comment and jerks his head towards the enemy positions.

At that moment, both fell silent because they were frightened by the unusual noises from their immediate vicinity. In addition to the noises, their seriousness and fear were also enhanced by unusual smells, or so it seemed to them. They then smelled the stench of sweat from the approaching enemy bodies. And while the two of them were looking for each other with their eyes, the darkness of the night was vaporized by savage howls from the enemy's throats.

The enemy was only a few paces from them and charged suddenly and savagely with all their ferocity. Those people from the opposite side, like some wild horde in a sudden torrent, rushed with their bodies, roaring with their throats the glory and fear for the enemy in the victory promised to themselves in advance. The infernal noise of the battlefield spread and disappeared, restrained in the distance by the crowns of mountain trees.

The human enemies got too close to each other, causing terrible screams in death agony. Who could manage there? One theater actor dressed as a soldier and his son, no way!

Gunfire rang out from all sides, howls and cries of courage and heroism, as well as those caused by fear and pain. Most panicked. Some started to run towards the top of the hill shouting to the others to retreat, but soon the same shooting and screaming came from that side as was coming from the immediate surroundings of Herman and Oto.

The fire spread from all sides, and soon all the trees, their crowns, and everything else in that place were engulfed in vast tongues of flame. It's like you poured gasoline over the whole area and suddenly threw a match. The flame rose to the sky, and from it, screams of fear and pain were still heard, saying clearly to all who heard them:

- This is hell!

- We are in hell!

And already, after about half an hour, the fire reduced its flaming tongues and lowered them closer to the ground. Human voices were no longer heard, and the silence of the night was pleasantly disturbed only by the gentle crackling of burnt twigs from the tree branches.

And if it were not for the sense of smell, everything would be almost idyllic in the fantastic mountain night illuminated by the flames of the fire. But the sense of smell of anyone who happened to be in that place would be attacked by the stench of charred and burnt human bodies.

Dear God, how the man stinks!

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