Mecklinger looked disapprovingly at Bittenfeld, drinking his tea in silence.
“It was mostly your fault.”
Bittenfeld's anger, ever burning, was just about doused.
He didn't want to lose his place in the Neue Reich just because of some internal scuffle, he would much rather face death on the battlefield thank you very much.
He cringed at the thought of bowing his head to that sinister, always plotting fox.
It was probably the most shameful thing he'd have to do in his whole life, even more than facing the Kaiser after Fahrenheit's death.
Mecklinger knew that Bittenfeld was probably going through some idiotic exaggerations of the task he had to complete, so he caught his friend's attention with some well placed coughing.
“You're turning this into more of an issue than it has to be, honestly. Stop being such a baby and go apologize to our revered Chief Minister of Military Affairs.” He gave him a wry grin.
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