“Because he was small and thin, a twelve-year-old boy weighing sixty pounds, he was able to conceal himself from sight behind the trunk of a tree. He waited all afternoon and through the night, his feet frozen in ice-socks that had formed inside the boots he had taken off a camp-mate “who was not so lucky” which was how he’d put it. My father felt lucky, and in the context of the moment he was lucky, to be hiding behind a tree trunk in the freezing snow for hours as tens of thousands of skeleton...s marched along the nearby road. These skeletons who were his comrades and whom he had abandoned with the certainty that at the end of the road would be more death. Alone in the German countryside, with the last of the thunderous footsteps receding up the frozen road, he finally stepped away from the tree. “I was hot with fear,” he said. The fear warmed him as he headed into the woods in the opposite direction from which they had just marched over three days. He ignored his frozen feet, hoping his fear would radiate into them and also warm them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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