Chapter 11
Richard let out a pained groan as he turned in his sleep. Jolted awake from the stabbing pain in his ribcage, he glanced around. It was deep into the night and only the half-moon cast the field in an eerie light.
Most of the prisoners had fallen into an exhausted sleep and nobody moved about. But the groans of pain mixed with snoring and soft weeping wouldn’t let silence settle over the camp.
He’d spent many a night out in the open during his time on the Eastern front, but never, not even cowering in the trenches, had he felt the icy hand of death as oppressively as tonight. Dozens of prisoners wouldn’t see the light of the morning as they tragically succumbed to the wounds inflicted by the ravaging Poles.
Even more would perish the next day at the hands of their torturers.
