The sentry stood on the top of the old sone wall of Graz. Below, a few hundred metres in front of him, the french campfires brunt with a never diminishing glow. He sighed, it had been a long day, and it would most certainly be a long night aswell.
He was very deep in thought, but whatever he was thinking, he thought extremely hard, so hard that he didn´t saw a small, darkish shadow creep up the wall and slip up behind him.
It was a pleasant night, the stars were shining, and the sentry felt a sharp sting in the back of his neck, convulsions rocked his body, and strange sights flashed past in front of his eyes.
It was a lovely night to die.
)
