A German officer watches over his outpost during the Great War.
He’s polishing his handgun when one of his soldiers below sounds the alarm.
Down he rushes, gun in hand, to see a battle going on between his men and the British.
He joins his men, and the fight seems to go on for hours.
The gunfire only stops when out of the sky comes an artillery shell, destroying the building and knocking the officer unconscious.
The German finally is awakened, hurt but alive, by screams and cries for help.
He picks himself up and rushes to help, and before him lays a single living man, crushed underneath the debris of the roof.
He moves to help the young Brit, using the rest of his strength to pull him out of the rubble.
The man’s legs are crushed, and his stomach filled with large splinters.
“You’re bleeding out, my friend,” the officer sighs, slumping down next to him.
“Zere is nothing I can do to help you. All I can do is keep you company in your last moments.”
The Brit shakily sighs, breathing heavily as he looks over himself, giving the German a nod.
The older man looks up towards the starry sky and speaks: “Ze stars will calm you.”
They both find themselves looking at the stars, and time passes.
Eventually, they see a streak of light across the night sky.
“A shooting star,” the young man says with a weak smile.
The German just laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ah, forgive me. Zere is a saying in Deustchland:
‘You vill always find ze best jokes in ze comets.’”