Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: TRIP (08/25/22)
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TITLE: A Bit of Bread | Previous Challenge Entry
By Arlene Baker
09/01/22 -
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The excitement of crossing the Atlantic for the first time faded as the teen approached the “prison.” It’s nothing but a fenced field. Martin gasped as he viewed thousands of disarmed German soldiers standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind bristling barbed wire.
“They have no tents, no shade … nothing!” Martin turned to the soldier sitting next to him.
“Don’t deserve nuttin’.” The chap grinned. “Ol’ Ike’s just teaching them a lesson about losers.”
Martin had followed the war eagerly in upstate New York and enlisted the day he turned 18. Uncle Sam needed him to do his part in bringing peace to Europe and he responded with the eagerness of youth.
In the weeks that followed, Martin stumbled through his duties, patrolling the grounds and guarding the gaunt men who existed in a zombie-like state with vacant eyes and dulled hearts. Martin wished himself back home. Then, the welcome news spread.
“It’s over. The war’s over!” Martin celebrated with the others. Now, prisoners would be paroled and he could serve elsewhere. Anything is better than guarding men two breaths from eternity.
Yet, the prisoners stayed. Eisenhower skirted the Geneva Convention – which demanded fair and equitable treatment of POWs – by relabeling them as DEF (Disarmed Enemy Forces). Without shelter, adequate food or water, diseases prospered and conquered.
Martin approached the mess hall cook. “Look at all this.” He waved a hand at the abundance of food for the allied troops. “Why have they almost nothing?”
The cook scowled.
“Please, can you give me some? I can’t stand to watch them die an inch at a time.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not? We have more than enough.”
“Orders.”
“From whom?” Martin gasped. “Who would order mass starvation?”
“Dunno.” A shrug. “From higher up.” He glanced away as he slipped Martin a bit of extra bread. “Careful, kid.”
Martin passed it on to a starving German a few hours later. Without warning, a superior materialized at his side.
“Soldier, you could be court-martialed for this.”
“Why?” Martin’s eyes widened. “For giving food to a starving man?”
“Not my fault,” the officer grunted. “Orders.”
“From whom?” Martin asked again.
“You wanna live through this?” The man growled. “Orders are orders. No food to the enemy.”
“Sir…” Martin’s fists clenched.
“Just shut up and serve your time, soldier. You’re here to obey orders, not question them. Next officer who sees you doing this could shoot you for disobeying.”
A few days later, Martin drew graveyard duty. He welcomed the darkness.
God, are you real? He turned his face upwards, where stars scattered across the ebony sky. How can humans do this to humans?
Recently, the military newspaper splashed pictures of German camps over many pages. Many of Martin’s comrades swore to “get even.”
Get even? Does that make it all right? Mama taught me two wrongs never make a right – but that’s what I’m living right here – in this hellhole on the Rhine of Death. Desolation. Despair.
A sudden movement brought Martin to his feet with his rifle at the ready. At the end of the barrel stared a terrified girl. Martin whispered in halting high-school-grade German to learn she had found a place to sneak in under the far fence, carrying morsels of food in her coat.
Martin drew several deep breaths before he trusted himself not to cry. He assured her of her safety and stepped away. In the weak moonlight, he spotted a number of human-sized worms, creeping in and out of camp with what little food they could bring, all knowing they faced instant death if caught. His hands trembled.
“Grandpa, are you okay?”
“Wha…what?” Martin shook his head.
“You’re shaking.” Amelia pointed to his one hand, in which rested a warm bread stick.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry.” Martin laid the bread on his plate with great care. Ran a finger down its long, soft edge. “Sorry, honey,” he repeated.
“What is it?” Amelia laced her fingers on the table. She leaned forward. “Grandpa, I want to know.”
Martin stared at his wife – mute and helpless.
“It’s time, dear.” She smiled as she patted his hand. “I’ve waited 50 years. I want to know, too. Share your pain with us. Please.”
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