I was straddled across my desk chair, and I rested my chin on my hands on the back of the chair, ready to listen to his story.He snorted. "Yeah. What ... hairball that date turned out to be." He shook his head at the memory."What's the matter? Didn't get lucky?" I probably shouldn't have said it, but he deserved anything that was coming down the tube at him.He gave a short, humorless bray of derisive laughter. "Not with what's-her-face." Angelina," I reminded him."Yeah. Angelina. Big tits, high. ’ Who could get along together well enough to kick our asses.”He took a deeper drink of his coffee and bourbon before continuing.“The things I’d been taught to believe did not stand up to the face of reality. Then we’d go home to the compound. And the men would drink and have their way with the slaves and talk about how much they hated everyone but each other. Maybe after the war, the first generation were elite SS troops. After decades of nothing to do but drink and rape and hate in the. More

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