Brothers Beyond Blood by Don Kafrissen

springs past.” I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. Three long years since the train dropped us in the town and the trucks brought us to this camp. I wondered if any of my friends, my classmates, or my family were still alive.
    A soldier strode up and said something to the officer, whom he called Colonel. He turned to me and introduced himself as Sergeant Heinrich Small. He spoke excellent German, though he wore an American army uniform. “I am the Colonel’s interpreter. The Colonel would like me to tell you how sorry he is and ask you to please come back and speak to your fellow, um, men, so we will tell you what is about to happen.” He gestured for me to follow him.
    I did. What else was there to do?
    We walked back to the kitchen area, where the prisoners were now milling about. I shouted for them to listen to me.
    I again explained how these men were Americans. “They will give us food. Doctors will treat us and help make us better.” I also told them, with help from Mr. Small, how the war was not over yet and that we were advised to stay in this camp until it was safe to travel to our homes or wherever we wanted to go. Some of the soldiers would stay with us.
    It sounded like a very good plan.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 9 - Hans’ Story
     
    After about one hour an officer came into our barracks and spoke to the soldiers. A tall boy with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth motioned for us to stand. Then another soldier told us to put our hands on top of our heads. He showed us what he wanted and then shoved us in a line against a wall. I felt so scared that they were going to shoot us that my hands started shaking and I think I started to cry. Helmut stood up from the table where the sergeant interpreter was questioning him. He began shouting, “Don’t shoot us! Please don’t shoot us!”
    The soldiers were nervous and cocked their rifles. They yelled back but we didn’t know what they said. Now Karl joined Helmut. They both waved their arms and walked toward the soldiers.
    The interpreter jumped up and stepped between the two groups, “Stop, stop!” he told the soldiers. Then he turned and faced us. “Wait, we are not going to shoot you. These men have been ordered to search you for weapons and then take you outside to feed you. That is all.”
    We looked at each other, and I said, “Do we have your word that you will not shoot us, sir? Your word as an officer?”
    “Yes, yes, you have my word. Just don’t give us a reason to shoot you.”
    Once again, we put our hands on our heads and lined up. One of the soldiers patted us down and emptied our pockets. Wallets, pictures, a few coins and not much else piled on the table.
    “Where is your ammunition?” the interpreter asked.
    “We were not issued any, sir,” Karl said. “There is a box in the Commandant’s office. It wasn’t necessary, except for hunting in the forest.”
    “You hunted them in the forest? You sick bastards.” The interpreter turned to one of the soldiers, a corporal, I think and said something. It could not have been something good because the corporal’s eyes narrowed and his face grew hard. I saw his trigger finger twitch. He motioned us outside. What had Karl said?
    We were ordered to sit on the edge of our porch and keep our hands in our laps. Across the compound we could see three trucks that had just pulled in. I counted ten wheels on the front one. It was piled high with boxes and several soldiers unloaded it. The next was a smaller one heaped with uniforms, weapons, ammunition and duffle bags. The last vehicle had huge red crosses painted on it. I supposed it was an ambulance. Three people unloaded boxes from the rear and carried them to the vacant Commandant’s office. All the vehicles looked battle-worn but the boxes of supplies looked new or at least unused. The war had come to Kefferstadt.
    The prisoners were herded back behind the fence that separated their compound from the entry