Otto.
Propaganda is, by necessity, a lie. A distortion of the truth to shape beliefs and change actions. This CPI piece is an example. A nameless menace rises out of a desolate waste of poison and dust. The rising spike of his Pickelhaube is the mark which names the menace. His hands are stained with blood. A terrified woman shields her babe with her own body. A grim picture. How about the truth of this picture, as seen through my eyes. His name is Otto. He is, or was, a farmboy, from a little village forty miles outside cologne, where his family has lived since before they kept written records. Otto is seventeen. He joined to protect his homeland against foreign powers who have Germany hemmed in on both sides. He has been fighting for a year. He used to cry himself to sleep every night, but it has been months since he was last able to cry. His best friend died in his arms, but the tears wouldn't come. And now it is his time. The battle has passed on, but it does so without Otto. He has ...