Even viewed in full colour, it was almost a black and white photograph. The dark grave had been sunk deeply into the snow-covered earth. The black-robed priest stood outlined against the grey sky. The cross of ashes was drawn on the white shroud. Ebony covers enclosed the white pages of the missal.
White clouds of breath hung in the air around those that were still living. Black bands encircled the arms of nearly all of the assembled men, guard and prisoner.
The crosses marking the other fallen prisoners had been weathered grey, sapped of their colour by the unrelenting elements.
The lone voice of the priest carried faintly over to the men standing in the compound. "Pater noster," they heard him begin, "qui est in caelis…"
The prayer was picked, whispered by the men in every language.
"…geheiligt werde dien Name, dein Reich kommen…"
"...que votre volonté soit faite, sur la terre..."
"... as on earth. Give us this day..."
"...ons dagelijksch brood..."
"...i odpuść nam naze winy..."
"...as we forgive those..."
"...qui ont nos offensés..."
"...und führe uns nicht in Versuchung..."
"...sed libere nos a malo..."
Then, after it all, concluded by one word common to them all: "Amen."