The old man looked up at the heartless soldier. “Will they live?” he asked.
“For a time,” the soldier replied.
“Then so be it,” the defeated man muttered soulfully. He looked at the cringing women. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say.
The ten crying and protesting women were hustled off to the assembly area where they were promptly identified, stripped and marked. They joined their sisters.
One hundred and sixty-two young women sat crouched, naked in the scorching noonday sun. The time for selection had come. Stoner had them stand and face him. The girls were drawn into five lines. Quickly, Stoner went down each line. He examined the proffered breasts, felt the muscled thighs, fondled their sexes. These women had no doubt as to what their future held. ‘Hostage’ was a euphemism for slave.
