(This scene takes place just after the unit’s capture the next morning. It was deleted because I needed to shorten the novel. This did not really add to the main plot of the story.)

The morning hours pass, and shadows grow shorter as the sun climbs a cloudless sky. Our scattered groups slowly form into a rough column. Ahead is a long tent from which a row of German soldiers, now prisoners, emerge. We are about to be processed like livestock entering a stockyard. As Brian and I draw closer, I could see uniformed men sitting behind folding tables as the Germans file past. Brian pointed to the line of clerks. “Notice how they’re hunched over their paper work? They look like accountants.”

I motioned to a large square tent next to the fencing. “I wonder what that is?” All the prisoners are toting bundles as they enter the tent..

“Part of the processing, I suppose. Or maybe it’s a changing room. Those look like clothes.” He sighed, “Clean duds. That would be wonderful.”

I pay little attention to Brian’s words. Two American officers, lieutenants, perhaps, and two infantrymen with rifles are surveying the line of prisoners and coming our way. At times, they would stop, seemingly at random, to search a prisoner. While the unfortunate man is forced to empty his pickets, the riflemen would stand aside and scan other prisoners. Didn’t they know? We have no weapons. Many of us had even thrown our knives away for fear of punishment if we were caught hiding one. What could they be looking for? At they draw near, I watch in astonishment as a veteran Afrikaner removes a metal from his around his neck, giving it to his captors.

“That’s an Iron Cross!” Brian is incredulous. “He just gave it to them.”

After placing the medal in a canvas pouch, the officers saunter closer, paying little attention to…

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