Johann boarded a bus that would bring him to the Entlassungslager Friedland. Now that he truly and irrevocably was out of danger, his limbs began to shake.
Entlassungslager Friedland. The fifty-mile trip from the border to the camp was lined with tens of thousands waving of and smiling people. Every time the bus passed through a village, it had to slow down, because people jumped the vehicle to throw flowers through the windows and sneak a peek at the returned prisoners. Women held onto the windowpanes, intent on touching the hand of one of the men inside.
Johann’s eyes widened more with every minute. What happened here had been beyond his wildest imaginings. Apparently half of the Germans were up on their feet to celebrate – him. Suddenly he didn’t feel like the condemned prisoner he’d
