“The closest I can explain it is that the Germans view Russians in the way that some Americans view negroes, if not worse,” Ramsey said. “The Russians don’t have any love for the Germans, either.”

“The last I heard before I ended up here was that the Russians were pressing in on Germany from the Eastern Front,” Whitlock said. “Some of the worst fighting is taking place there.”

“When it comes time to surrender, you can bet the Krauts are going to go looking for the nearest American,” Ramsey said.

To pass the time, the officers discussed the end game of the war, debating how it would play out. When they weren’t talking strategy, they told the same stories involving either women or copious amounts of alcohol—sometimes both—over and over again.

Whitlock became so bored after a few days that he couldn’t imagine the plight of those who had been held for months and months.

Fortunately for him, the war was progressing at a faster pace. They soon heard artillery in the distance. Because the sound was coming from the east, they assumed it must be the Russians. The German guards began to look nervous.

Two weeks after Whitlock’s arrival in the camp, they woke up to find that the Germans had fled. Sometime during the night, their captors had quietly unlocked the doors of the barracks, which were normally barred. The gates of the Stalag were open. One by one, the POWs wandered into the empty silent yard, feeling a little dazed.

The Germans had not freed the Russian prisoners, however. They were left to kick out the windows and crawl from the barracks once they had figured out that the Germans were gone.

Some of the prisoners of all nationalities immediately fled. Whitlock wasn’t so sure that was the best option. This part of Germany was about to become a battleground between whatever Wehrmacht forces remained and the oncoming Russians. Caught in the middle, unarmed prisoners wouldn’t stand a chance. Also, the Germans had left behind food and water, so there was no real reason to leave the Stalag. By mid-day, the prisoners sat around in quiet groups, trying to figure out their situation. Some thought it best to wait for Allied troops to appear.

Their decision was soon made for them. Like a sight out of another time and place, a horde of Russian Cossacks came into view. To the Americans’ amazement, they rode horses. The Russians wore wool hats and had machine guns slung over their shoulders. For the most part, they seemed a jovial bunch. They rode into the camp, horses and all, greeting the prisoners with cheerful shouts.

Then the rest of the Russian army arrived. Whitlock thought that the word “rabble” was the best way to describe them. They were a motley bunch, wearing bits and pieces of uniforms mixed with captured civilian clothes. Outlandishly, some wore silk evening jackets. Only the officers wore real uniforms, though theirs were disheveled from long months of living rough in the field. Whitlock was not particularly worried because the Russians were their Allies. They greeted the prisoners pleasantly and offered them food from their captured stocks.

The mood changed quickly, however, when a trio of trucks and Jeeps arrived. Oddly enough, these were American vehicles, but with Russian markings. The Russians who got out wore neat uniforms, some of which even looked tailored. The other Russians eyes them anxiously. As Whitlock was soon to find out, these were the dreaded NKVD political officers, come to make sure that good Soviet values were upheld. At gunpoint, they herded the Americans back into the barracks.

“For your own protection,” said one of the Soviet officers, who spoke English.

Then he locked the doors.

CHAPTER 9

For the next three days, Whitlock and the other Americans were in a kind of limbo. The Russians kept them locked inside the barracks. At first, it was possible to believe that the Russians were simply trying to maintain some order. It made sense that they did not want or need former POWs wandering around a combat zone. But what Whitlock and the others witnessed began to change their minds.

Through the window of the barracks, they saw the Russians let all the French go. The French marched out like a kind of rabble, still squabbling among themselves, but at least they were free. Whitlock began to regret not getting out of the camp at the first opportunity, as some of the other officers had done. There hadn’t been much concern then about the Russians, who were supposed to be their allies, after all.

Next, they saw the enlisted Americans and British being released. It was only the officers who were still being held.

“What I would like to know, is what the hell is going on?” Ramsey asked, giving voice to the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“I studied French in high school, but a fat lot of good it did me,” MacDonald said. “What I should have studied was Russian.”