Lightning Sky by R.C. George

Author:R.C. George
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2019-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

Dave listened to his new friends share their stories until the day darkened. The sun had failed to dry the dampness in their clothes, so the men left them hanging on the wire and trudged back to their barracks. As usual, flies covered the walls. Everyone started to think about food.

“The Germans are bringing in some soup tonight,” one of the Limeys said. Sure enough, the door eventually swung open and in walked a guard carrying a rusty, round bucket. When not filled with food for the prisoners, Dave learned, the container functioned as a garbage can for the guards.

Dave leaned over to survey the slop and saw large chunks of meat floating beneath at least two inches of golden grease. A frugal dusting of barley, no more than a pinch or two, spotted the surface of the stew. When the tin bowls were filled and the stew was divvied up, one of the Brits extinguished the lantern on the table. Dave thought it was odd, but his hunger overcame his curiosity and he joined the others for the feast. Dave poked his finger into the bowl. He could feel the cold layer of slime and the large chunks of meat surrounded with rice. Before long, Dave realized why the prisoners ate in the dark. The rice was wiggling.

The stench of the barracks disguised the smell of the soup. Dave lifted the liquid to his nose and inhaled a putrid waft of spoiled flesh. He walked into the hallway, borrowed the light of the one dim bulb, and stared down at his bowl. It was filled with rotten horsemeat from casualties of an earlier Allied strafe, along with maggots. Dave instantly lost his appetite, as did the other Americans who couldn’t force a single swallow. But three days later, their hunger returned with such ferocity that they were glad to darken the lantern and scarf down the black and blue meat. I’m probably going to eat worse, Dave thought. I might as well get used to it. After a while, the slop didn’t taste so bad. Even the plump, squirmy maggots became tolerable to chew.

Every morning was the same. Dave would be pulled from his barracks to line up with the Serbs in the quadrangle. Greek women and children would be stripped of their clothes and shot by the callous Nazi firing squads. Sacks of lye, too many to count, would be thrown over their bodies to aid the digestion of the trench. Never in his twenty years of life had Dave seen evil come so sharply into focus. There was only one thing at Pavlos Melas that promised to keep him sane.

After dinner each night, Dave would go to the window in his room and gaze out over the city of Salonika. Perched on the third floor of the building, he was high enough to see a generous panorama of the area. His unobstructed eyes traced the ancient streets as they stretched down the hill to the docks, and beyond to the harbor.

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