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It was late 1944 when the new prisoners arrived. The train pulled into Percy station on a cold arctic morning. No one was there to witness these tired dozen or so souls as they listlessly gazed out at the station. The train crept to a halt and the soldiers continued to stare. Obersturmbannfuhrer Hans Friedrich Zimmer wiped the frost from the window. Like his comrades aboard the train, his right arm revealed the twin lightning bolt tattoo of the SS. In civilian life, like Pierce, Zimmer held the title of doctor, only his medical, while Pierce’s honorary. Also, like Pierce, he had a spent a great deal of time in both Northern Egypt and the Sumer Valley. His skin was a bit grey. His face curiously speckled with an orange bloom not unlike rosacea. He coughed deeply as he stood and called out to his men.

“Achtung!”

The men stood instantly as one and snapped to attention. Like Zimmer, they too were rheumy and strangely complected. Some coughed while others spat orange phlegm onto the train car’s floor. The Lt Col. strode forward and walked down the steps and onto the station’s platform. At the same time, Edgar Düring, accompanying the camp’s commander, hopped up the stairs and into the train car. Düring, fluent in English, had become a trusted camp interpreter, speaking on behalf of his fellow prisoners. A staunch Leftists and hinted at Communist, Düring would have had no empathy for the plight of his Schutzstaffeln comrades.

“Hans Zimmer, SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer, that’s Lieutenant Colonel to you and your…” Loren waved him off. “I surrender my men to your staff.” He saluted a cold Captain Loren, who regarded him curiously and studied the man’s face. Both hands were stuffed in his coat pocket, his cap tipped to one side. The two men stared for a moment and Loren turned to one of the men accompanying him.