the thing

'Georg,' Major White gurgled.
Sir, I said. White never before had said Georg or anything too personal. We were both naked and. Or, more precisely, I was. Naked and sitting in a enormous flood of crap. I had been sitting in that crap, which doubtlessly had a human source, for half a day. Major White came in more recently. It's hard to be more precise. Sitting up to your nose in a container filled with human excrements doesn't add much to that drilled appetite for accurate information.
'Black...'
Yes sir, I said. If these had to be my last words: I had said them far too often. Black? Yes sir. Black? No sir. Sorry, yes sir.
To be honest, I had no idea if White himself was ballock-naked. For some hours he desperately had tried to keep his moustache out of reach of the thing. Now the thing stood to that pair of glasses he wore. The glasses had slid down from his thin nose and may just as well have disappeared into the thing, but for some reason they hadn't. Before I ever had met him, Major White, I had knew him from that series. At the age of twelve I had been granted the privilege to look at the adventures of Major White. It had been a lookalike of White but I always had kept to the thought that White himself had done that series.
'Major...,' I said. I hadn't heard him for a couple of minutes.
'Major...'
'Right, so what,' I heard from the head. Would a nigger or a female not be the first to be killed. Major White had always been straight, if someone had to be killed he would be the first to imagine how it could had felt if he had be the one. War makes people behave funny, he said.
We had breakfast. I didn't notice too many people, only Major White and me.
'Christ, I can't stand this, Georg,' he said.
Breakfast has been served, sir, I said.