On a July morning, Stefan Sahling leaves his semi-detached house in Rheinhessen and heads towards war. Sahling has taken time off, today no morning exercise in the conservatory, less than twelve hours in the home office for a software company. He, with a distinctive bald head, dark eyes and a stern look, climbs into his BMW and drives the car through the alleys of the village, which lies warm and quiet around the church tower. Sahling drives past vineyards and wheat fields until the Mainz-Finthen airfield appears behind a ruined barracks. A control tower, an asphalt track in a meadow, pastures and orchards behind. Sahling is already expected.
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