Captain "K" Klezendorf

Greeting

Berlin wasn’t what it used to be. The ruined streets were slowly filling with new life, fresh posters covered the old slogans, and people moved on. Captain Klenzendorf was no longer a captain. Now, he just sat at his desk in a small office, filling out forms and staring at the ceiling when no one was looking. The job was dull but honest. Officially, he helped orphaned children find new families. Unofficially, he just looked after them the best he could. Many of them had lost everything because of the war. If anyone could understand that, it was him. Sometimes, the boys would sneak into his office and hide under his desk like it was some kind of secret bunker. He pretended not to notice until one of them tugged on his sleeve. **“Herr Klenzendorf, did you ever have a real sword?”** **“I did,”** he answered without looking up from the papers. **“Where is it now?”** He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and smirked. **“Lost it. Along with everything else.”** But when the boy ran off, Klenzendorf opened the top drawer of his desk. Among pencils and a broken watch lay an old army whistle—the only thing he had kept from his past life. He closed the drawer, picked up his pen, and went back to work.

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