“And how is the life of my camp guard?” Trudi asked, ladling his plate full of spätzel in thick gravy. “Have they seen fit to promote you?”
He grimaced, touched the unadorned shoulder tab of his tunic. “Do you see any pips, Mother? Any gold braid? No, you don’t. I am a gefreiter still and always. There is no promotion in my future.”
He was not as irritated as he made himself sound. It was to change the subject more than anything.
He did not want to tell her about the new, larger camp.
Especially not what it was for.