Battle of the Rhine

The closer to the end of the war, the more tormented it feels.Every day brought new news that the Allies and the Soviets had joined forces on the Elbe, and even the French had entered Switzerland, not to mention the meeting of General George Patton's Third Army and the Ukrainian army.The end of Hitler is coming, everyone says so.As far as Michael was concerned, he just wanted to go home quickly.Not that he missed his days in Arizona so much, he just wanted to get some sleep.

More and more Wehrmacht troops surrendered, sometimes hundreds of prisoners.Michael inspected the collars, sleeves, pockets and boots of the captives, registering their basic information.Quincy's trousers were changed back, and Tim ripped off a pair of trousers from somewhere, maybe from a dead body.Quincy was lying in the sun in those trousers.The captives were all lying in the sun, doing nothing, their expressions calm and numb.They must have their own sources, Michael heard such a message, from a Wehrmacht veteran.Michael offered him a cigarette, and he looked at him that way, with fear behind those beaded eyes.

"Suck it, smoke it, it's not poisonous," Michael said, "No—problem—"

The veteran took a sip, his hands shaking violently. "Little German" Oliver acted as an interpreter, "Why did you give him cigarettes? He thought you were going to shoot him—there's a saying that Americans give you a cigarette and send you on your way when you're done smoking."

"Then why don't I save this cigarette?"

"It's called 'humanitarianism.'"

Fuck his humanitarianism.The captives were as numerous as ants before the rain, lying densely all over the hillside.Military doctors found the wounded among them and bandaged them.Michael prayed more than once, hoping that Hitler would surrender quickly.The war was so tiresome, he wrote to Mary, "I distribute bread to the captives every day...there seems to be no end to it."

Fortunately, he is an optimist who is good at discovering the joys in life.He practiced that vomit-like pronunciation of German letters every day, and he soon got the shape.Tim did find a German girl with brown hair and beautiful eyes.He swaggered through the city with the girl in his arms, and some whistled. "It took me a week's worth of chocolate," Tim shared the experience. "You saved a lot, right? You can get two."

"I don't want it," Michael said, flipping through the newspaper, "I just don't like chocolate."

"Then you might as well give it to me."

"No."

"You fucking keep it and don't eat it—"

"I keep it useful."

Michael left two cigarettes, half a pack of coffee and chocolate every day.He sometimes gave hard-working German captives a small bar of chocolate, purely out of Christian conscience.He is religious and familiar with the Bible.But Michael can't demand himself completely according to the standards of the believers.Sometimes he felt that wrong, even evil, thoughts would come into his head.For another example, a true Christian shouldn't take a gun to kill people, but he used a shotgun to shoot barn mice when he was a child... "Okay, we have to think about it." Michael is good at comforting himself, "If I If you don’t make some mistakes, isn’t that a saint?”

In the evening Michael had eaten and counted the stocks of coffee and chocolate.He counted two cigarettes, a cup of coffee, and a whole bar of chocolate, pocketed them in his arms, grabbed his gun, and strolled around the camp.The captives were sharing a small amount of butter, and one guy looked like he was dying with his arms dangling and blood all over his face.Michael watched him for a few moments, then moved on, and soon he spotted his target: Quincy sitting on the ground, silently breaking bread, a blanket over his lap.

"Hi." Michael said, the first batch of captives were already familiar with him, and they would nod when they saw him.Quincy is the only one who treats Americans like air and seems to be trying to maintain his dignity as a German soldier.Michael thought it was funny, he hadn't seen much of a college student, and maybe all college students were like that, as Tim said, with their nostrils up and their chins up high, majestic.

"Quinnessy."

According to regulations, the prisoners whose names were called had to stand up and answer "Yes".Quincy stood up, still clutching a small piece of black bread.

"sit down."

Quincy sat back and continued to break the piece of bread expressionlessly.

Michael developed a fascination with college students.He liked people who could read, and Mary was good at it.She ordered pictorial magazines and weaved lace tablecloths according to the patterns in them.Mary once said that she wanted to go to higher education and become a female teacher or something.But her father strongly objected. Mary had no money, so she could only marry, weave tablecloths, and take care of the children when they had children.

"College students won't come here with us." "Big Girl" said, "They'll live in big houses, be lawyers, be judges, anyway, they won't sleep in the mud, with guns under their heads."

"I wonder what college students study," Michael said. "I guess they study math."

"Are you good at math?"

"I only count the income from the granary."

"Then you're an old-fashioned fool."

"Almost." Michael shrugged. "In our place, no math is needed."

"Big Girl" claims he will never leave New York for the rest of his life.Of course, in New York you probably need to know a little math.Quincy might count, he's a college student.Michael visited him a few more times, digging holes in the mud or just sitting in the sun with a blank expression.The regimental captain also felt a headache for the swarm of prisoners of war.In a few days, he said, they'd send this batch of fascist junk to a prisoner-of-war camp and be completely relieved.As for whether the prisoners of war were shot or sent home, that depended on God's will.

But "a few more days" never came.Tim's a different German chick, and here he thrives on chocolate and bread.Michael went to see Quincy whenever he had something to do, and it was amazing how, in all this mess, he still maintained a certain cleanliness—his chin was always clean, and he didn't have much stubble.

"Quinnessy," Michael said, holding the gun, "come out."

This isn't the first time he's called Quinnessy out.Quincy did well when he dug the hole and didn't slack off.Michael gave him a small bar of chocolate, and sometimes a small half-pack of coffee.Tim taunts Michael, "A complete waste", "You should go to fucking seminary, be a priest..."

"Fuck you," Michael said, "but I'll think about it. We're too small for a priest."

"If I die, you will preside over the funeral."

"no problem."