“Sgt. Tripp.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Accompany the Lieutenant Colonel to the truck. He’ll ride in front with me.”

“Sir.” Tripp snapped off a salute and pulled the officer forward by the arm of his waistcoat. The man reeled quickly and stepped back. The guard accompanying the Captain and the Sargent raised his carbine rifle and pointed it at the officer’s chest.

“Captain.” The Lt. Pipped. “We can be civil. My men, they won’t follow unless they’re led by me. As you-”

A loud crack thundered into the frozen morning as the guard fired his rifle in the air and Düring screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Schnell!”

The soldiers hastily hobbled down the steps and gathered behind the Lt. Col. who was quickly being led away. The group made their way towards the two-ton and clambered on board. Düring and a guard hopped in behind the men and tapped the back panel of the truck as it rolled off towards camp. The prisoners regarded Düring cautiously as he spoke to each in his native language.

“Look at you. You tired Westfrontgefagenen bastards. You think there is still a war worth fighting? You think you still owe obedience to your Lieutenant? Your Obersturmbannfuhrer? You still pledge allegiance to your Fuhrer? To Berlin? Well, my friends, as you will see, your war does not exist where we are going. And believe me, no man will ever snap a salute to you or your Lieutenant Colonel. And if I were you, I’d cover those tattoo’s up right quickly. Believe me you might be a prisoner among countrymen, but you’ll find there are still sides within the ranks.”