Major Ziegler sat at the café and sipped his coffee, admiring the village and reminiscing of days long passed. Small towns thrived wherever they were, and they always would, bonded by people who worked hard and believed in their community. He was convinced this hamlet would return to what it once was, as soon as all the refugees came home. The German army had moved on, ready to fight the next battle. But the occupation force would remain, imposing fees and taxes, rules, and regulations, squeezing the local economy so they could take what wasn’t theirs.
When he saw Bayer’s stocky frame crossing the square, he ordered another coffee. “Sit, Sergeant,” he called as he approached. “I’ve ordered you an espresso.”
Bayer sat at the oval table. He rearranged his chair to better see the square. “I
