Defiance by A.L. Sowards

Author:A.L. Sowards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: immigration, military, prisoner, war, novel, world war ii, faith, fiction, clean
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2017-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

My nerves went from alert to panicked. I’d heard a thing or two about Nazi interrogations. I couldn’t handle torture, not today.

“Ley, calm down,” Winterton whispered. “According to the Geneva Conventions, all we have to tell them is our name, rank, and serial number. They might ask a few other questions, but they aren’t going to spend much time talking to privates.”

I took a deep breath and nodded. It was the army, not the Gestapo. They’d probably ask the type of questions we asked our prisoners: what unit we were from, how long we’d been there, what our plans were, maybe a few questions on morale. All I had to do was play the part of a confused replacement. It wouldn’t involve much acting. If I was lucky, it would only last a minute or two.

The guards rounded up a few prisoners at a time and sent them into a hallway. I watched Samson and Koslow go and come back, and by then, Winterton and I had been ordered to our feet.

As we passed Samson, he whispered to us, “Say ya just got here and don’t know anything.”

We waited in line in the hallway. I wasn’t sure if I should act meek and harmless or if I should let my contempt show. When one of the guards pushed me into a smaller classroom and I glanced at the officer sitting behind a desk, I made my decision. I was a prisoner, but I was still a soldier. I wouldn’t grovel to a Nazi, no matter what his rank.

“What unit were you with?” The officer’s English was better than Bastien’s. That surprised me a little, but it made sense. The Germans were organized. They’d make sure an interrogator could understand his prisoner.

“I only arrived a few days before the fighting started. I don’t remember.”

The officer raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. Maybe what had worked for Samson wasn’t going to work for me. “Where were you captured?”

“In Luxembourg, I think.”

“Where in Luxembourg?”

“Just some house out in the country.”

He wrote something on his paper. “Was it a house with a barn out back?”

“Yeah.” I doubted that would tell him much. Most of the houses out in the countryside had barns nearby.

“How many were you captured with?”

“I’m not sure.”

He gave me that unimpressed look again. “You’re not sure?”

“There were wounded in the basement. I don’t know how many.”

“Your name?”

I hesitated before answering. I didn’t want them to know I was born in Germany. It was one thing to be an enemy soldier; it might be something else to be a former countryman now fighting for the other side. But I still had my dog tags on, and it seemed unwise to lie when he could yank on the chain and check what I told him. Ley was a German last name, but it was an English last name too. “Private Ley.”

“And you’re wounded?”

I glanced at my arm. “Yeah.”

“How?”

“Piece of shrapnel.”

“Where are you from, Private Ley?”

“Virginia.”

“Born there?” His blue eyes stared right at me.

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