"Uh, yes." He'd prefer to be addressed by his rank or his surname, but he was only a lieutenant, he couldn't exactly demand to be addressed respectfully, so he let it slide. He was alarmed by the enthusiasm with which Vargas shook his hand, as if he was trying to dislocate his arm from his its socket.

He frowned at the Italian's question. He didn't really have a prepared response for this question, though he was sure it was one he'd encounter a lot for the duration of the War... and even for years afterwards. The superiors at the camp all knew his situation and reasons not to fight from his paperwork, and the other guards had been reserved and tactful enough to ignore the issue. Vargas clearly was neither reserved nor tactful. He didn't owe this man, who was essentially a stranger at this point, any kind of explanation for not being at the front, but telling him so would make him come across as cold. It wasn't that he wanted to be rude and distant, but his reason for not fighting was embarrassing.
"Because I can't fight." he replied flatly, hopefully in a tone that didn't beg any further questions. He didn't want to get into a conversation about this, and would rather he be left alone in peace for the rest of his shift, as grateful as he was for the meal.

Couldn't fight? Feliciano gave a knowing look. He couldn't fight either, although he had a feeling that Ludwig had meant something different then 'fighting scares me'. "Lucky. You get to stay off the front lines!" Yup, that was lucky in Feliciano's eyes. He didn't want to be on the front lines, and getting 'trapped' at the camp was working out pretty good for him.

Needless to say, he was also highly oblivious of the fact that Ludwig wasn't enjoying his company. Why would someone not enjoy it? When he was on shift those few short times, he'd always loved having someone visiting him.

For a brief moment, Ludwig thought he might have found someone in the same predicament as him, someone prevented from fighting by unfortunate medical problems, somebody who wouldn't think of him as weak for his condition. That stupid idea was of course shattered by the Italian's response.
"This isn't lucky!" He replied bitterly "I'd much rather be on the front line, fighting for the Fatherland. To consider not being able to fight a piece of luck is cowardly!" He was getting the impression that Vargas might be a conscientious objector, a coward. By the sounds of it, he could fight just fine. "What about you, then? You're not fighting either." He folded his arms, straightening back to stand at his full height. Perhaps if he continued to come across as severe, he could scare the nuisance into leaving him alone.