Captured?
Bock had never imagined this day would come, much less that his first stint as a prisoner of war would come with the luxury of freedom.
He followed his friend Captain Karl out of the military tent.
"Fresh air."
Bock breathed it in greedily as he surveyed his surroundings.
It was daytime, and the sun hung in the sky, casting dappled light through the gaps in the camp. Judging by its intensity, it was probably close to noon. He recalled when the fighting had begun-that had been near noon as well.
So I was unconscious for a whole day?
Bock's gaze swept over his surroundings. This was a makeshift camp enclosed by wooden fences, with twenty or so people moving freely inside. There were no guards outside the fence, so it lacked the oppressive atmosphere of a prisoner-of-war camp.
The camp held a few simple tents and wooden huts, and a stream ran alongside it. Beneath an awning beside the icy water, where a little thin snow still drifted, three large pots bubbled away. Whatever was cooking smelled delicious amid the billowing steam.
Karl led Bock over to the pots. A man dressed in white, wearing a strange cylindrical hat and stirring an iron pot with a large ladle, glanced up at them. He said nothing, but his look and expression were unmistakable.
What do you want?
"A bowl, please... My friend here only just woke up. He hasn't eaten yet."
The cook said nothing. He simply took the bowl and spoon from Karl and tossed them toward the stream, leaving a prisoner squatting there to wash them.
Then he turned, grabbed a handful of what looked like mixed grains and dehydrated vegetables from a basket beside him, and threw it into the bubbling pot. Steam rose as the