All of the prisoners kept their eyes facing resolutely forward, refusing to spare so much as a sideways glance at the flag that stood for everything that they were fighting against. They stood quietly alongside the guards, marking their respects together, but not a single prisoner would look at the flag.
Most of the guards were watching the crimson flag abashedly, but a few could not bring themselves to look at the flag they served. Those guards, like the prisoners, instead had their eyes on the honour guard as they stood, waiting patiently for some sign from the kommandant's quarters.
The door to the kommandant's quarters had been swung open to allow the honour guard to pass through. As one, the eight airmen had taken their first steps toward the open door. They were ready to do a final service for one of their own. They were ready to bear him away into eternity.
Prisoners and guards alike followed the slow progress of the honour guard with their eyes. Yet, they had to remain standing at attention; they could not all make the journey as members of the honour guard. Instead, they had to wait for the guard to reappear.
The sound of booted feet on the hard snow echoed throughout the camp as the guard marched. The sound was dampened by the heavy clouds, but it still rang out clearly enough that no one could fail to hear it.
Then, the sound of footsteps disappeared pair by pair into the carpet on the kommandant's quarters.
Silence again descended on the camp as the final set of airmen entered the kommandant's quarters. After a moment of quiet, there came a soft chorus of commands in half a dozen different languages. With the clicking of hundreds of boots, the men rested.