Battle of the Rhine

Counting the "inventory" of prisoners is a good job.In times of war, any treaty is shit.Tim finally got his trophy, a beautiful dagger. "You know about concentration camps, don't you?" He proudly gestured with his dagger, "They just gave the guard a bullet. If you want me to say, we should do the same."

"Well...but they are the National Defense Forces." Michael held a notebook to record the basic information of the prisoners of war, "Should they be shot? We will go to a military court."

"No one is going to shoot us for the sake of shooting Nazis."

"Oh, come on, come on, there's a lot of work to do. I just want to end this damn war and go home..."

"Miss your wife?" Jack Williams, smoking a cigarette, "didn't you, Mike?"

"Fuck you!" Michael said. "Well, I miss my wife, can't I?"

The soldiers let out good-natured laughter.Michael had known Mary Jean Anderson since primary school, and the two had once fought over a piece of eraser.Michael had his nose broken by Mary, a belligerent blond girl.Then they somehow became friends.In rural Arizona, people get married early.You have nothing to do, graduate high school, get a job, become a farmer, and get married.Michael married Mary at the age of 19, remembering the broken nose during church oaths, but as the years passed, Mary took on a "girly look".She has long hair and is good at housework.She was very kind to Michael and wrote many letters.Now a letter is tucked in his inner breast pocket with the latest picture of Mary—she goes to work in a factory, assembles airplanes, and wears those overalls like the Mary who would break a boy's nose for a rubber ? Joan Anderson.

Michael began to order the prisoners to fill in the blanks of the books with information such as name, age, and military rank.The silent German filled out one by one, clutching the short end of his pencil.Michael counted the heads, one, two... Then he saw the young lieutenant, the second lieutenant, and he quickly judged that it should be that the damn fascists made the collar badges particularly complicated.Tim once swears that Hitler was a eunuch, so he often chose the beautiful boys in the army to satisfy his desires.Michael thought it was bullshit, but it was true that the Wehrmacht field gray uniform looked like that.

"You," he nodded, and it was the second lieutenant's turn, "write it here."

The second lieutenant grasped the tip of the pencil and wrote the letters with difficulty.In the distance, "Big Girl" raised his gun and kept yawning. "What's this? Carl," Michael said, tilting his head, "Carl—how do you pronounce this?"

"Hans," said Tim, "Kans are called Hans."

"Fuck you, I've studied." Michael raised his eyes and slowed down his speech. "This," he pointed at the strange surname with his finger, "how do you pronounce it?"

The second lieutenant named Karl was motionless, holding the end of a pencil, his back straight as a statue.This uncooperative attitude immediately brought a whip, which slapped loudly on his calf. "Well," said Michael, "maybe he's dumb."

"Call him a fascist," Tim said. "They're gonna get shot anyway, so what the hell!"

The captives lined up behind Karl addressed Michael's doubts. "Quincy," repeated slowly, a weary veteran with a charred sleeve, pointing at the letters, "Quincy."

"That's fine," Michael said. "Carl Quincy. Next."

Carl Quincy was twenty-three years old, and he had climbed to the rank of second lieutenant at such a young age that Michael figured he must have some skills.But at dinner in the evening, Oliver Bowman—the guy who spoke German because his grandfather was from Germany, so they called him "Little German"—brought a few messages, including Carl Quincy , "Little fish and shrimp," "Little German" said regretfully, "just graduated from college! The fascists have no one left, so he was promoted. He hasn't fought a few battles."

"So pissed and surrendered," said Louie Walker, tearing open the can, "huh? Pants... You see, 'Big Girl' likes men to piss!"

"I fucking like men taking off their pants." "Big Girl" said angrily, "Take off yours when you're full."

They happily ate the canned food, while the captives sat aside and ate their share in silence.Tim thought it was a waste, and began to talk about Malmedy.Who does not know the tragedy of Malmedy? More than 80 American prisoners were shot, a lavish effort by the SS. "...shoot them," Tim said sharply, "or bury them alive."

"Let's talk about something else." "Little German guy" lacked interest, "Didn't you hear that some brothers from the 52nd Division were interrogated a few days ago? Because they shot a few prisoners without trial—hey, you guys Do you have any more money? I can get some change and coax some women. Germany is full of single women now, and they like biscuits. You can get one for a pack of biscuits..."

"I still have some money," Louis said, "but there are still biscuits in the hell?"

"It's enough to save what you have in your mouth," said "Big Girl." "German women are not bad looking."

"What does it matter to you that you look good, you don't like fucking pussy asses."

There was another burst of laughter.Michael dug the minced meat from the corners of the can and stuffed it into his mouth.When in France, some guys like to mess with French women.Fighting is too boring, who said, "the head is hung on the waist of the trousers", so the soldiers are keen to liberate the waist of the trousers.When they go to a place, as long as they can fix it, they will definitely ask around for brothels.Michael went out for a walk once, and slipped away without spending a dime.Tim called him a jerk, and he replied, "Okay, the girls are so sad, I can't help it." It was true, and on the other hand, he was thinking about Mary.He had sworn to God when he got married that he would never betray her.

"Go?" Tim poked Michael, "You dare not sleep with whores, and you are also afraid of German girls?"

"Scared," Michael said, picking at the bottom of the can, "Mary Jean Anderson is going to break my head—"

"Henpecked soft bones." Tim dismissively.

Say what anyone says, Michael sticks to his guns.He finished the can and idly polished the Luger.Carl Quincy sat obliquely in front of him, the lower half of his face illuminated by the faint firelight.Michael took a few glances at Quincy and felt that there was something different about him.It was only when he polished Ruger to a shiny finish that he looked down at his fingers that he realized that Quincy was wearing a wedding ring during the day, which was very similar to his style.But now the German Ensign's hands were bare, and the wedding ring was gone.