American Hessian

By Richard M. Brauer

Franz Bauer is a farmers son living on family land in Hesse Kassel when he is forced into the Prussian Army. He becomes a soldier, hired out to the British to fight American revolutionaries in the War of 1776. Trained under brutal conditions, Franz learns the art of warfare using the musket and bayonet and is taught discipline by a sadistic senior sergeant.

Training completed, Franzs company joins the Hessian Second Division and sails on a troop ship for the American Colonies. He makes unexpected friends with a British Marine private and a Navy Lieutenant. Once arrived at their intended destination, Franz sees his first action in the battle of White Plains, New Jersey Colony, where he experiences the savagery of war.

Things eventually turn sour for Franz and friends as they are unjustly accused of crimes and tortured for British political gain. Not only must he face injustice, but Franz must also face capture. There is a decision to be made: does he continue to serve the British who forced him to fight or does he use his well-honed skills to help the revolutionaries find freedom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532024689

Richard M. Brauer

Richard M. Brauer was born and raised in Boise, Idaho. He served twenty-two years in the Military Intelligence Corp of the United States Army. After retiring from the military, he spent twenty years at the Boeing Company in Seattle, Washington. Richard and his wife, Barbara, now live in Kenai, Arkansas, with his son and daughter-in-law.

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Copyright © 2017 Richard M. Brauer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-2469-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2468-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017911295

iUniverse rev. date: 07/19/2017

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

THE PRUSSIAN

PRINCIPALITY OF HESSE

KASSEL, EUROPE, 1776.

T he morning sun brought perspiration to Franz’s brow as he hoed the rows of turnip seedlings, chopped weeds and loosened the rich soil around the young plants. The broad-shouldered youth appraised the field with a farmer’s eye. The spring rains had come early, guaranteeing a bountiful harvest and the farm debt to the moneylenders would be paid off at the next harvest.

At a distant sound, he turned to look toward the Prince Friedrich highway. A column of men trudged along the dusty road followed by a horse drawn cart. Because the travelers were still a distance away, he resumed his task, humming a tune.

Franz had been gradually assuming more responsibilities until he was managing the farm and his father helping when he felt like it. Wounded in a war, the elder Bauer had a lame leg, and in the last year it had become harder for the old man to work the farm. Herr Bauer was proud of the way his son had taken over and the two farm hands had started coming to Franz for daily assignments.

The tramping of feet was nearer. He paused to look again at the column of men. Soldiers armed with muskets, tipped with spike bayonets that twinkled in the sunlight, flanked a line of prisoners in chains. Franz had seen men under guard escorted along the Prince’s highway before. His father had said they were conscripts for the army. Do not be concerned because we are farmers and our prince has ordered the military not to touch the farm families.

He picked a stone up and tossed it into a drain ditch while dreaming of his betrothed, beautiful Helga, living on the neighboring farm. Last fall, Franz had helped Helga’s father dig a new well. The old farmer had been impressed with the young man’s good nature and ability to do the backbreaking work of digging a man-sized hole in the rocky earth to reach below water level then lining the hole with large stones.

The two elder farmers had gotten together over steins of beer in the village tavern and discussed the future of their families. After consultation with the wives, they had decided their two children were a good match and his father had promised Franz could marry when he turned nineteen.

At the October fest, Franz had gotten to dance with Helga. Such a beautiful girl and to be his wife was wonderful beyond words. Helga was an only child and after the marriage, the two farms would be worked as one. Combined, the farms would make Franz the largest tenant farmer in the valley.

The hired hands were repairing a dike built to hold back floodwaters from a low-lying pasture. Franz meant to check on their progress, but he delayed, leaning on his hoe, curious about the strangers on the road. After a moment, he turned back to his labors.

As the column drew closer, a tall sergeant marching alongside the file of soldiers glanced over at the young man in the field. He threw up his hand, bringing the formation to a halt and stared at the farmer. The thick eyebrows rose in surprise as his dark eyes took in the breadth of the shoulders and height of the body promising to be a big man in a few more years.

Halt the formation! he called to his second-in-command, a scarfaced corporal. I see a possible volunteer.

He’s a farmer, my sergeant the corporal warned.

Only as long as he stands in that field, his superior said with a grin.

Sergeant Wracke was a thirty-year veteran soldier of the Hessian army who knew his Prince forbade the army recruiters from conscripting farmers. However, recruits were needed and the generals paid a bounty for the ‘volunteers’ needed to fill the ranks, turning a deaf ear to complaints from the local farmers when an able-bodied victim was scooped up by an over-zealous pressgang.

The sergeant left the road, crossing the field toward the youth, being careful not to step on the young plants. He silently walked closer to his prey.

Hello, my young farmer! came the friendly hail.

Though startled by the soldier coming up behind him, Franz was not particularly concerned by the sudden appearance.

Good day to you, Sir. Franz nodded politely, admired the man’s blue uniform coat, white belts crossed his broad chest and circled a thick waist. White trousers, knee high black boots, and a peaked helmet made for a handsome figure. With his thick mustache and blond hair queued with a black ribbon, the soldier looked quite dashing, even with a layer of dust covering his boots and trouser legs.

My men are in need of drinking water. Is it safe to drink from yonder river?

No, Sir. Franz shook his head. I fear it is fouled from the city Schlitz some twenty kilometers up the Fulda.

Is there nowhere a parched traveler can obtain a drink of clean water closer than yon village? The sergeant peered hopefully at Franz.

Oh, yes Sir. I’m sure my father would not mind if you and your men drank from our spring.

Ah, such a bright and hospitable young man. The big man grinned broadly and raised his eyebrows in comic question. And where might this fount of God’s own cool wine be found?

Franz turned and pointed toward a hillside. Where you see the grove of trees at the foot of that hill.

Wracke took a step closer and swung his cudgel, the heavy knob striking Franz behind the ear, dropping him instantly.

Private Koenig! the sergeant shouted and bent over Franz, turning him face down. Get over here! We have a new recruit who needs carried to the cart!

A soldier hurried across the field, carrying manacles. The sergeant pulled the limp arms back and snapped the irons around Franz’s wrists.

By God, I believe we have a real find here, he chortled, twisting a locking bolt tight. Look at those shoulders! These wrists are so big they just fit in the irons! A real find! We’ll get extra for this one. Quick now, help me carry him to the cart. We have to be gone before our young bull is missed.

Carrying the unconscious youth to the cart, they heaved him onto a pile of equipment. The sergeant started the group trotting down the road.

The recruits are near exhaustion, Sergeant, Koenig called, hurrying along behind his leader. They can’t stand this pace for long.

We’ll stop on the other side of the village to water the louts, Wracke answered. We must be away from here. Drop back and help push them along. Give a taste of the whip to any who can’t keep up.

CHAPTER 1

F ranz opened blurred eyes and stared at the side of the cart box. Slowly, head pounding, he tried to sit up, discovering his wrists were fastened behind his back. The swaying cart rumbled as the horse pulled it down the cobblestone road.

The soldier leading the horse glanced back and saw Franz’s head. He called out to his sergeant and pulled the horse to a halt. Coming alongside the cart, the soldier gripped Franz’s ankles and yanked him to the edge of the box. Twisting the boy’s arms to one side, he unscrewed one of the manacles, pulled the unresisting arms to the front and fastened the iron back on the wrist.

Stand up, pig farmer! the soldier snarled, jerking him upright and slapping the youth’s face.

Here now, a voice reproved. Let the poor lad get his legs under him. He’ll be right as rain in a moment. The sergeant gripped Franz by the shoulder. Won’t you, my fine young farmer?

My head hurts. Franz blinked through tears of pain and panic. Sergeant, what has happened? Why am I in chains?

Why, my dear young farmer, Wracke said with a grin. You have volunteered for the Prince’s army. You shall become a grenadier. A proud soldier of Hesse Kassel performing brave deeds and becoming a hero or a martyr as luck may have it. He laughed coarsely and turned as the grinning Koenig joined them. See that our new recruit is properly informed of the few rules he must keep in his dumb head. The big man turned away toward the head of the column.

Sergeant Wracke! I’m the son of a farmer! You can’t take me away from my father’s farm. My Prince doesn’t allow impressments of his farming folk.

Lad, Private Koenig said, you best shut your mouth and listen. You are to be enlisted in the Prince’s army. Don’t make trouble or you’ll be disciplined. By that, I mean you will feel the whip. Take a look at that fellow at the end of the prisoner chain.

Franz caught sight of a man wearing a shirt covered with blotches of dark stain across the shoulders and back.

He got five lashes last night. Koenig shoved Franz around the cart and horse toward the line of prisoners.

No! Franz cried, trying to run past Koenig.

Slipping the slung musket off his shoulder, the soldier hit the youth on the back of the head. Franz collapsed on the road.

Don’t kill him! Wracke called, running back along the line of men. God damn it! We need this one!

No. Just softening him up a bit. Private Koenig leaned over the limp body, feeling for a pulse. He’ll be out for a while.

Load him back in the cart, the sergeant turned toward the head of the column. We’ll give him extra training tonight when we camp.

Franz groaned as he regained consciousness, gazing at the soldiers and prisoners sitting around a fire over which a large pot was suspended. He hung by his arms, spread eagled across the high cartwheel with wrists tied to the rim and a rope looping his neck, pressing his head against the spokes. The axle hub dug painfully into the small of his back. His ankles had been left free and he stood to take some of the pressure off his numbed arms.

Ah, our stubborn recruit has returned to the land of the living. Wracke rose slowly to his feet. Too late for the evening meal, I fear. But, you would not have been allowed to eat anyway.

What’s happening? Franz rasped, voice made hoarse by the rope pressing against his throat.

Why, your training has started. Sergeant Wracke leaned closer. You are receiving your first lesson in discipline. Tonight, you’ll enjoy the comfort of the wheel. Tomorrow we start again, and if you behave, you will be allowed to march along with the other recruits. If, on the other hand, you prove stubborn, we may have to resort to other tried and true methods of convincing you of the foolishness of resisting our efforts to turn you into a grenadier.

I’m a farmer! Franz pleaded. My father needs me to run the farm. He is crippled and can’t do the work by himself. Prince Friedrich specifically forbids the impressment of farmers!

Don’t tell me what your prince forbids! Wracke slapped him across the mouth. I will not listen to a pig farmer dictate what I may do or not do! He punched Franz in the stomach, slapped him across both cheeks and started to strike the sagging body again when Private Koenig stayed his arm.

Sergeant! he reminded his leader. Let’s not lose a good bit of money! You said yourself this lad is a real find.

The sergeant pulled against the restraining arm for a moment then relaxed and chuckled. You’re right. I’ve no patience with a recruit who doesn’t know his place.

Why don’t you go finish your supper? Koenig urged. I can see to this little problem for you.

Right you are, Private. Wracke turned toward the fire. He can have water but no food.

Koenig seized a handful of Franz’s blond hair and jerked his head up. Glaring into the dazed eyes, he said in an undertone. You had best keep a civil tongue in your head, pig farmer! I’ve seen Wracke kill men for less than what you said. Now, shut up! Do as you’re told like a good dumb-head and you may live. Kick up a fuss and he will break you. He let the head drop and stalked away to the fire.

All night Franz hung from the wheel. His arms and legs took enough body weight to keep him from hanging himself but by morning he was in agony. The blood had drained from his arms, numbing them and the rope around his neck kept the small of his back pressed against the axle hub. Cramped muscles screamed for relief and his hands had turned black from lack of circulation.

After the sergeant had roused the soldiers at daybreak, he came stomping over to stand in front of the youth.

Good morning, pig farmer, Wracke said genially. How are we feeling this morning?

Help, Franz mumbled.

Eh? What’s that you say? The sergeant cupped a hand to his ear and leaned closer. Do you desire something, my pig farmer?

Please, cut me down, Franz gasped.

Oh! You want to get off the wheel? Wracke grinned broadly as he watched the youth nod. Well, I think we can manage that, but first we must come to an understanding. I don’t want to hear anymore about your prince. Next, I want to hear only ‘yes, my sergeant’ and ‘no, my sergeant’ from your stupid mouth. Lastly, if you misbehave in any way, I will have you whipped. Do we have an understanding?

Yes, Franz gasped, trying to nod.

What? Wracke leaned closer. I don’t believe I heard you correctly.

Yes, my Sergeant.

Yes, Sergeant who?

Yes, my Sergeant Wracke.

Good! Such a fine young recruit! Sergeant Wracke said. Private Koenig! Cut this man down and give him the morning ration.

When Koenig cut Franz’s ropes, the youth fell full length on the ground. Koenig dragged the limp body over by the fire. For long minutes Franz’s arms and hands stung as blood flowed back to starved muscles. When he sat up, one of the prisoners thrust a cup of water into his hands. After drinking, Franz was somewhat recovered and sat by the fire, sipping a cup of soup. One of the prisoners shoved a chunk of hard bread at him and patted his shoulder.

We’ve all been through what they have done to you, he whispered.

Where are they taking us?

I don’t know. It’s better not to ask questions. The youth glanced fearfully toward the soldiers. I don’t know anymore than you do. He sank back on his heels and stared into the fire.

The sergeant gave orders to load the cart, put out the fire and assemble on the road. Private Koenig took Franz by the arm, led him to the end of the line of prisoners and shackled him to a chain running common to the group. At a word from Wracke the procession set off at a steady walk. Dust rose in a cloud around the line of men as they trudged along, closely watched by the half dozen soldiers surrounding them.

Do you know where we’re going? Franz whispered to the prisoner chained ahead of him.

A bayonet stabbed the air in front of his nose. No talking!

At noon, a halt was called and the prisoners were allowed to get off the road, take care of bodily functions and sit under a grove of trees to eat the hard bread thrust at them. Franz sat against a tree munching a crust he had soaked in a cup of water. He gazed down the road in the direction they had come, wondering if his father knew what had happened to him. Would the villagers come looking for him? His father might go to the Prince and beg him to intervene for the family.

Can you hear me? a voice whispered from behind the tree.

Yes, Franz answered quietly. Who are you?

My name is Karl Shubert. Do you know what they are going to do with us?

My name is Franz Bauer. We’re to be soldiers in the Prince’s army.

My God. I’m too young, a muffled sob broke the voice.

How old are you? Franz asked.

I’ll be fifteen next month.

Fifteen? Does Sergeant Wracke know? Did you tell him?

Yes, the voice choked and sobbed. He said I was too big to be that young.

Silence! a voice barked followed by a slap and a yelp. Shut up! You say another word and I’ll cut your tongue out! A soldier came around the tree and glared at Franz. You keep your mouth shut, recruit! He swung his bayoneted musket toward Franz. Else, I’ll stick you like a pig, I will. Snickering, he placed the point against Franz’s neck.

Private!

The soldier jumped away from Franz and whirled to face Sergeant Wracke.

Yes, my Sergeant! He stood to attention.

On Guard! The big sergeant spread his legs and planted fists on each hip.

Please, my Sergeant, the soldier pleaded. I meant no harm. Just trying to keep these recruits quiet.

On Guard, damn you! Sergeant Wracke lifted an arm and pointed at the trembling man. The soldier swung his musket up to chest height, seized it with both hands and pointed the bayonet at the sergeant.

Thrust! the sergeant commanded.

Please sir, the soldier begged.

Thrust or feel the whip! Sergeant Wracke grinned at the terrified man. Thrust!

The soldier drew a breath and screaming, rushed at the sergeant, thrusting his bayonet forward. Sergeant Wracke waited until the blade was within inches of his chest, lifted a hand in a flashing arc and knocked the bayoneted musket to one side. Reaching out with the other hand, he grabbed the arm of the soldier, tripped him and threw the man heavily to the ground. The sergeant scooped up the musket, swung it in an arc and brought the bayonet down, pressed against the prone man’s chest.

Worthless fool! Where is your training? he snarled. I should skewer you like the pig you are! He reached down, snatched hold of the uniform and yanked the soldier to his feet. Shoving the musket into trembling hands, he swung around and glared at the watching soldiers. These are recruits! he shouted. Future soldiers for the Prussian army! Right now they are the lowest form of human being. Pig manure! But, he held a finger in the air, one day most of these lowly recruits will be with you as comrades in arms. Remember that! He stood scowling for a moment, then laughed. Also, each one represents a piece of silver. These recruits are your drinking money. The soldiers laughed as the sergeant turned away.

Lucky bastard, Koenig remarked to another soldier. The last time he gave bayonet drill the fool got his cheek laid open to the bone.

Sergeant Wracke dipped a cup of water from the barrel on the cart and walked a short distance away to sit against a tree. The soldiers resumed their watchful stance and the prisoners sat silent.

A young man was walking along the road toward the group. Franz glanced at the soldiers and saw they were aware of the approaching stranger. Sergeant Wracke drained his cup, wiped fingers on dusty trousers and stood up. He stepped out into the road and waited for the stranger to come closer.

From the corner of his eye, Franz saw Karl Shubert step around the tree.

Run! Shubert shouted. Press Gang! Run for your life!

The stranger stopped, stood watching the sergeant for a moment, then spun and sprinted back along the road. A soldier started to pursue the fleeing figure but Sergeant Wracke called him back.

No use, he shook his head. That one runs like a deer. He turned to Shubert, who had shouted the warning. You, my fine young fool, have earned yourself a night on the wheel.

As the sun touched the mountains, the prisoners left the road and were led to a rickety dock built out from the riverbank. Two soldiers, guarding a barge moored to a piling, hailed Sergeant Wracke with grins and catcalls.

What a motley flock of pigeons you’ve snared, my Sergeant, a squat, scar-faced soldier called as he stepped off the dock and came to meet the column.

Look again, Private Swartz, Wracke replied as he turned to watch the column assemble in front of the dock.

My God, Sergeant. He caught sight of Franz. Where did you find that one?

Hoeing turnips, the sergeant chuckled then added, good sized for a young one, eh?

Easily as big as you, Swartz studied Franz. He makes up for these other runts. Hoeing turnips? He’s a farmer?

Let’s just say he’s a big lad and will make a fine soldier, eh? Besides, he’ll bring us extra silver. We’ll stay the night here and go down river at first light. The big man pulled his uniform coat off and sat down on a piling. Help Private Koenig with the rations and prisoners.

The private had started off to help unload the cart when Wracke called to him; One of the recruits will be on the wheel tonight. Check with Koenig. He knows which one.

Franz watched as the two soldiers seized Karl Shubert who had shouted the warning to the stranger on the road. They dragged the protesting boy to the cart and spread his arms, lashing his wrists to the high wheel rim. Swartz seemed to take particular pleasure in stretching the arms of the sobbing prisoner as tight as he could. The neck rope was drawn until the boy choked and gagged. Koenig insisted the rope be loosened a little and Swartz grudgingly complied. Before Swartz left the youth to his misery, he drove a knee into the Shubert’s groin. Swartz stood snickering for a moment, watching the suffering he had caused, then turned away to help unload the cart.

Private Koenig hefted a heavy box out of the cart and balanced it on the sideboard. The harnessed horse took a step forward, pulling the cart out from under the box. Hartz lost his grip and the box fell with a loud crash as iron manacles spilled out onto the ground. The spooked horse jumped forward, and the cart rolled several feet along the river bank, forcing Karl Shubert to bend double as the wheel turned. The wheel slipped over the edge of the bank, the cart tilted, hung for a moment, and began to slide off into the river. As the cart tilted, the prisoner screamed with pain and terror, the turning wheel twisting his legs over his head. The cart hit the water with a loud splash. The horse staggered against the pull of the cart and dug its hooves in to keep from being dragged into the river. The soldiers came running, soothed the horse and laid hold of the Cart, helping pull it back onto dry land.

Franz saw the cart wheel sink into the water with Shubert trapped on the bottom side. Running to the river, he jumped into waist deep water and grabbed the sideboard. He heaved, lifting the end of the cart, trying to turn the wheel to get the prisoner out of the water. The soldiers hauled on the horse and cart, trying to pull both back up the bank. The wheels of the cart slowly rolled out of the water onto dry land. Franz climbed up the bank and knelt beside the limp body of the boy lashed to the cartwheel. He gently lifted the soaked head and looked into staring eyes.

His neck is broken, Franz said quietly.

My God! What a bunch of damn fools! Wracke raged as he stood looking at the dead man. What the hell is the matter with you men? Can’t you even unload a cart without killing off our investment?

Investment? Franz shouted as he leaped to his feet, reaching out with manacled hands and seizing Wracke by the shirtfront. That’s all that poor boy was to you? An investment? You should be hanged for murder, you God damn idiot!

Hefting his musket, Private Swartz drove the musket butt into Franz’s lower back, dropping him at Sergeant Wracke’s feet.

Bit of a temper in that one, Wracke commented as he brushed mud off his uniform. Private Swartz, see he’s chained to a tree for the night. He paused then added, do not, I say, do not harm him. A little discomfort is acceptable but I don’t want to lose any more recruits. The big sergeant stood looking at the soldier for a moment. You have a thirst for blood and a need to cause pain, don’t you?

I did not act without orders, my sergeant. Swartz grinned at him.

Don’t trifle with me, Swartz, Wracke warned. I have broken better men than you.

I’ll carry out your orders, my sergeant. Swartz ducked his head and put a thumb to his helmet in salute.

The blow to the kidneys had made Franz sick with pain. It was some time later before he could focus on his surroundings. His arms had been pulled around a tree and manacles fastened on his wrists, forcing him to sit with his chest against the trunk. The rigid position soon made his muscles ache. He turned his head, looking at the campsite. The prisoners were lying together with two guards standing over them. The rest of the soldiers lay wrapped in blankets around a small fire several yards away. Sergeant Wracke sat against a tree, head on chest, apparently asleep. Franz twisted his head to the other side of the tree and saw Private Koenig lying on the ground, head pillowed on a rucksack.

Have a nice rest, dumb-head? Koenig asked softly.

Someday I shall kill you, Franz mumbled from a dry throat.

Koenig got to his feet, picked up a water bottle and leaned over him.

Here. He held the bottle to Franz’s lips. Drink.

Franz sucked at the bottleneck. Good, he whispered between gulps.

Now listen to me, pig farmer. Koenig leaned closer. You keep on trying to resist and pretty soon our pig-eyed, fat sergeant is going to decide to cut his losses. You are nothing but a handful of silver to him. Do you understand? If you don’t behave, he’ll kill you. It’s that simple. From now on, keep your mouth shut and follow orders like a good little dog.

Why did you give me water?

You needed a drink.

Why are you telling me these things?

You’re going to become a grenadier in the Prince’s army and we will quite likely serve together. Koenig shook his head. When we march into battle I want the enemy in front of me. I don’t fancy a bayonet in the back. Now I’m going to unchain you from around the tree and then tether your manacles to the tree. There are still several hours for you to get a little sleep. The soldier released Franz then ran a chain around the tree and back to the irons. Tossing him a blanket, Koenig went back to where he had been lying.

Where is the boy? Franz asked.

What?

The dead boy that was chained to the wheel.

Gone! Koenig whispered harshly. Now go to sleep!

Franz lay listening to the murmur of the river and restless sleep of the prisoners. A small sound drew his attention to the far side of the camp. A guard stepped quietly from behind a tree and crossed the camp, cradling his musket and walking on the balls of his feet. The moonlight glinted off the bayonet when the soldier turned and slowly paced back under the trees, disappearing in the shadows.

"My God," Franz sighed miserably. How did this happen to me? Yesterday morning I said goodbye to my Mama and Papa, went to hoe a field of turnips and now all is changed. Did anyone see these bastards take me? What will my Papa do? There will be a search and Papa will go to the village for help. They watch too closely for me to escape. I must be patient. A time will come when I can get away. Papa would say to be patient and do as they say. He would say, ‘rest and wait. A time will come and you must be ready.’

CHAPTER 2

A t daybreak, under cloudy skies, the guards passed out a half loaf of rye bread for each prisoner. A bucket of water was filled from a barrel and set within reach of the prisoners. While two guards kept watch, their comrades cooked breakfast over an open fire. The sergeant allowed his soldiers a cup each from a small keg of schnapps. Camp was broken and the prisoners ordered onto the barge.