Snow crunched under James' bare feet as he waded through the snowy forest. A few miles back he passed a sign that read STALAG 13 P.O.W CAMP, so he hoped he was going in the right direction.
The wind nipped up the sleeves of his long coat which made him hug the folds tighter to him. German winter… nothing could have prepared him for how cold it would be. It wasn't even this cold in France this time of year. Winter there had always had a kind of homey and cozy element to it. The snow fell every few days and coated the streets and rooftops. Nothing unbearable. In Germany, however, the snow fell heavy and hard for days on end as if trying to freeze one into place.
The wind picked up again, hitting James square in the face and almost knocking him down. How much weight had he lost since the ghettos?
He pushed on despite the wind's aggression. He kept on muttering to himself that Stalag 13 was just up ahead. He'd see the gate soon enough.
James' feet felt like bricks with every step he took. Dread snaked up his back as he realized frostbite was setting in. The only thing that kept him from crying was that he feared the cold would freeze the tears on his face. He blinked back the waterworks and felt the intense flash of light pass through the slits in his eyes.
His heart beat faster. Warm, glowing light. He slowed his pace until he came to a stop to look in the direction where he saw the light. Minutes that felt like hours ticked.
Soft, yellow light flashed through the trees and leaves yet again. That light stayed for roughly five minutes before swinging on to another part of the forest.
Search lights. Undoubtedly search lights. The reach was much too far for the average flashlight and as the light came back round to rest, James knew. Stalag 13 was just a few yards away.
As the light made its rounds, James quickly ambled towards it. He made sure to not go into the light but rather to stay around the edge. He followed the light as much as he dared for getting caught meant firing squad.
James craned his neck to look at the source of the light. Through the barbed wire fence he saw a guard tower in a corner of the camp. Three others with similar search lights swiveled in their respective areas. What little else he could make out were a few barracks, a dog shed, and a longer building he assumed was a mess hall or office. Though no signage told him this was Stalag 13. At least none that he could see in such dim lighting.
A lump grew in his throat as the dread started to snake around his chest and constrict. Sure, he had found a POW camp. But it could be any POW camp. While they were all very much spaced out, it could have been possible to go the wrong way and end up at another one.
The sounds of the firing squad and dogs rang in his ears, yet James shook his head and repeated to himself that this was Stalag 13.
James continued to follow the light until he was behind a set of barracks. The faintest bit of light seeped through the cracks of a boarded window. Someone had to be up then. Electricity, wood, and candles were highly rationed.
The barbed wire made the fence impossible to climb, and the frozen ground would be even more impossible to dig under. He stumbled forward, thinking maybe he could get someone's attention when his foot slipped on a rock.
"Jesus Christ," he grunted, landing on his knees. The warm trickle of blood alerted him that his foot had been cut. Nothing he could do. It just added to the many at this point. That wasn't what caught his attention, however. No, it was the rock itself that interested him.
James staggered to his feet and felt around him until his numb hand landed on something hard. He pressed more into it and determined it was indeed a rock. His fingers found their way around the rock, and he prepared himself to throw it.
Winding up as best he could, the young man launched the rock in the direction of the barrack. The rock swiftly fell at his feet. He cursed softly under his breath before leaning down and picking the rock up again. This time he mustered as much energy as he could before launching the rock. Instead of hitting the barrack, it bounced off the fence with a slight rattle. This didn't seem to alert the guards though.
The snow began to fall harder and James bent down to find another rock. The wind picked up more and sent him to his knees. He scraped his hand on something hard and sharp again. Another rock. James grasped it with his bloody palm and threw it at the barracks out of anger. The force of it sent him flying forward as well. Along with the soft thump of his body hitting the snow came the soft, wooden thunk of the rock hitting the barrack.
James' soft, blue eyes looked up the barrack. The light flicked for a moment before going out.
The muscles in his neck gave out only seconds after his will. The cold, unforgiving snow started to cover him. By morning's light he would be buried.