Shawn: Grandpa is Getting Senile
Shawn ventured into the room at the foot of the bed, the antisceptic smell filling his nose with a sterilized odor of the room. Grandpa was pushed up against the corner of the room, face lost in the shadows, difficult to see, though Shawn could make out the features: hollowed eyes looked back from a sunken face, jaw fixed and serious, heavy wrinkles above Grandpa's bushy brow.
"OK." Grandpa stated, using the word as a shield, wielding it as if Shawn might be trying to trick him.
"I don't have it." he stated defiantly. "Those Krout-Wehrmachts took it off of us a few days ago. We've been fighting a rear-guard action for the last week, and a few of them made it through the breach, took it right from us. Since I don't have it, you'll have to find someone else that knows where it is. That or you can ask the Furher himself. Those bastards probably gave it to him by now. But I don't care, I'd rather take care of my boys and get back home. This mission's been a failure from day one."