German-Jewish

Chapter 9

                We made our way towards the Rhine and Daniels still wasn't back with us. It felt unnatural with just Aiello, Stiles, and myself.

"Sir," I walked up to Pierson, "When is Daniels going to be back? Do you know?"

"He won't be back. He's getting sent home. No questions."

I looked at Stiles and Aiello confused. They shrugged in confusion, too. It had been four weeks since Robert got captured. I guessed we wouldn't hit the Rhine for at least another couple weeks. We needed a lot of preparation.

"Well—" I took a couple quick steps to catch up to him again, "what about Zussman? Any news?"

"No and there won't be. Our orders are not to rescue him."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't."

"Get the fuck out of my face, little girl," he spat at me.

I stood in front of him to stop him. "Respectfully, sir," I started, "do you have a wife at home? Or kids, or a girlfriend, or anyone at all?"

"That's none of your business and you need to shut the hell up before—"

"So, if you were told, one day, that they were gone, what would you do?"

"I told you—"

"I am just asking a question, sir, and trying to understand. If you have a stable job at home and will lose it if you look for them, would you stay at your job or would you look for them?"

"I don't have time for this," he growled and tried moving past me. I did my best to block him, but it wasn't much.

"That's what I thought," I shouted at him, my voice cracking a little. He turned back to look at me for a second. "So, sir," I continued to shout, not caring about the attention anymore, "kiss my ass. You know what you're doing here, and you know it's not right."

I knew that comment wouldn't go unpunished, but I didn't care anymore.

We were on a mission of clearing out another fairly-sized city of Nazi's. Pierson called for a retreat, but I was too far ahead to catch up to them. I had been positioned in a building and picking off Nazis and supporting everyone down on the ground.

By the time I had gotten out of the building, I was surrounded. Many different German voices were yelling and attempting to scare me. It worked, but I did my best not to show it. My attempts failed.

"Please don't shoot," I pleaded in German. "Take me wherever you want, just don't shoot."

"Welcome, I've been told you speak German. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"So tell me, then, are your injuries from sheer incompetence or lack of understanding of the language?" I stood and stared straight ahead. I feel guilty, getting all of the looks from walking through the camp. The poor people here are starved and overworked and I come in well-fed in warm clothes. The large man slammed a hand down on his desk and yelled for me to answer him.

"Incompetence, I suppose," I replied nervously, unsure how to answer.

"Well," he smirked, which made me uneasy, "I suppose we will have to fix that. Unless, of course, you want to end up like the others," he gestured outside to all the starving people. I shook my head. "Good. First, you will get a uniform. These American Army clothes will do you no good here."