"Yes," the middle-aged officer replied, "because we're fishing."
"You've told me the movements of your senior officers, aren't you afraid I'll know you're going to war again?"
"That's not really a concern, we're not going to let you communicate with the outside world — at least not in the short term, and these are public messages, because we're fishing."
"Alright, go ahead and reel the lines in," Siegfried had no wish to continue. He turned back to the bed, thrown himself down heavily, "I'll wait for your good news."
This rude act infuriated the other rebel soldiers present. The one-legged young officer clutched his crutch, walking to the bedside, his wooden prosthetic leg thudding against the ground.
"Get up!" the young officer shouted angrily, "you're speaking with Jeska!"
"Get lost," Siegfried didn't even raise an eyelid. He turned to lie on his side, finding a more comfortable position, "Don't make me break your good leg too."
