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laughter, looking at each other and shaking with fresh gales. I gasped, “Maybe we are long-lost brothers?” I shouted and collapsed again in mirth. I had not laughed in many years, and it felt so incredibly good. If I were to die at that moment, I would still have my laughter to transport me to who knows where.
    After we had subsided, we two sat side by side against the wall. I was a bit taller than Hans. He was shorter but not quite as thin. His uniform trousers, worn through at the knees, were barely long enough to cover his ankles. I wore a pair of raggedy striped pants and a shirt that had once been a guard’s waistcoat; shoes for both of us came from gassed and dead prisoners.
    After a minute Hans asked me, “Where are your people from? Before coming to Germany, I mean.”
    I shrugged, “Someplace in Russia, my Grandpapa told us. I don’t remember where. And yours?”
    Now he shrugged, “Here. I mean Germany, as far as I know. Our family name many generations ago was Rothenberg, but somehow it got shortened to Rothberg.” We both mulled that over.
    Then, in a note of seriousness, he told me that the Commandant had left in the middle of the night in his auto, using the last of the petrol. Hans called the Commandant a coward and said, “There are only seven guards left to guard the prisoners.” He buried his face in a crooked elbow “I don’t know what will become of us.”
    “Why, what do you mean?” I asked.
    “Granski, the Polish guard, now fancies himself Commandant. He wants us to kill all of the prisoners and run away so no one can tell what we did here.” He sniffled and said, “But I have nowhere to go. My family was killed in an air raid. There are barely one-hundred of you prisoners left but I cannot let him kill all of you.” He turned a haggard face to me, “What am I to do, Herschel? I have never killed anyone.” His agony was plain to see.
    I gasped, “You can’t let him do that, Hans. These men are walking dead now.” Most of the prisoners had been in the camp for years. The ones who are left had rheumatism, severe arthritis, tuberculosis, scurvy or a myriad of other ailments and diseases. I weighed just fifty kilos. We discussed ways to protect the other prisoners. Finally I demanded, “Who of the other guards are left?”
    In an strained voice Hans replied, “Just me; Jurgen the cook; Helmut; Karl, the boy who came just last week from Hamburg; Riger; and, of course, Granski.”
    I thought for a moment, “Listen, Hans, this is what you must do.” I grabbed him by a sleeve and thrust my face close. “Go into town tonight.” I whispered. “ Then when you get back, tell Granski that the British or Americans have parachuted into the forest near town and will be here by morning. That may make him leave during the night.”
    “But then what will we do, Herschel?” Hans was near tears.
    Shrugging, defeated, I put my arm around the older boy and pulled him close and whispered, “We will wait. The war will end soon, no? The Allies are nearby. The planes pass every night and the bombs are close to us. It can’t be long now.” I scrambled to my feet, pulling Hans up. “Now take me back to the barracks and go to town quickly.” I knew I was taking a chance giving a guard orders, but by this time, Hans and I were more comrades than guard and prisoner; Hans and Herschel Rothberg.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 5 - Hans’ Story
     
    I had come to this remote camp as a young boy. I had been protected by family and had belonged to a group of fellow boys much like the Boy Scouts; the Hitler Youth. I enjoyed my time with the other fellows, even when we were ordered to beat and round up Jews. I was told that the Jews were stupid, a sub-human species. They were also depicted as clever, money manipulators and, we were told they made items of gold and jewels stolen from our good German people. I had some trouble believing the claim that Jews were stupid; yet clever, and that they controlled