>>96538899
The first soldier began to speak this time, stumbling over himself as he flipped through his notebook to search for words.
“What are you of saying?” asked the second.
“I told them of my home in the city, of our many books and our new electrical lights.”
“They do not seem for being impressed.” chuckled the second soldier.
“Tell them of my mountains, of old fortresses by my sea and my tile-brick roof.” he continued.
“Your tiled roof?” asked the first soldier.
“It being very expensive” replied the second.
The translation commenced again. This time, even the second Arkodamode glanced over.
Each soldier responded in turn, the second Arkodamode went first.
“Mountains are good. Holy, safe.” piped the first soldier.
“Their gunner wants to know how expensive the tiles were.” he translated.
The first Arkodamode did not speak. He held his helmet in his hands, looking into the many holes of the faceplate. He turned around and placed it back on, and would not face the group again.
The spring-gunner grinned cruelly at the Austrians.
“Panthalas.” stated the second Arkodamode.
“Fortresses by my sea.” whispered the first.
The saltwater of Atlantis ran down his cheeks.