Bullfrog, North Dakota

July 1944

Leaning up against the house, facing hundreds of acres of maturing wheat, sixteen-year-old Rebecca Carter's jaw tightened against the stale gum in her mouth. Her young niece and nephew were sitting on the stairs, watching the going-ons curiously. In front of the aging barn, her father, mother, and sister were talking to a group of men. Most of the men were young and some had the wide-eyed expression of a deer caught in headlights. Maybe it was their first time on a farm. Or maybe they were just surprised at the treatment they were receiving. Treatment that was far too good for them.

With a snort, Rebecca pushed herself straight and marched into the house. Her younger sister, Mary, had her nose pressed up against the window, watching the new arrivals curiously.

"This is stupid," Rebecca growled as she slammed the door shut behind her.

"We do need the help," Mary replied timidly.

"Hey! I do my part, don't I? And in a year or two Tommy will be old enough to drive the tractor."

"That doesn't help us this season though," Mary said. "We're lucky we got all that planted as it is."

"Well if Dad expects me to work alongside them, he's got another thing coming," Rebecca growled. "Count me out. I'll stay in the house with all you womenfolk." Mary winced and turned her gaze back to the yard. Rebecca snorted and marched off. "You know, maybe if you weren't so 'delicate', we wouldn't need these jokers."

Rebecca stomped up each step as she went up the stairs. When she reached the top, her oldest sister, Peggy, poked her head out of one of the rooms, looking ready to kill.

"Rebecca," she said through gritted teeth, "I swear if you wake up the baby I will murder you. Stop that!"

Rebecca rolled her eyes and ignored her as she went into the room she shared with Mary and her niece. Peggy and her children had moved in a few months ago. Her husband had been drafted, leaving her alone with her children. Mom and Dad had insisted she come home. Ever since she had been a pain in the butt.

Turning her attention back to the real problem of the day, Rebecca searched her desk drawer to find a pad of paper. Sitting down, she grabbed a pencil and started to scribble out a letter.

Dear Andy,

How are you, hope all is well, yada yada yada. Oh, and I hope that your friend Peter is over his cold.

You're never going to believe this. Mom and Dad have gone insane. Absolutely crazy.

You know that the harvest is coming up. We've been hurting for labor for a while now, but that's no excuse! You're probably wondering what I'm talking about. Well, hold onto your hat. We now have German POWs working on the farm. They arrived today from the nearby prison camp. Can you believe that?! If it wasn't for the stupid Germans starting this stupid war, we wouldn't need them. And, you know, I don't really have a problem with putting them to work because they might as well do something to make up for everything they've put us through, but we have to pay for the privilege. Pay these lowlife Nazis. And we have to feed them, too! Can you believe that?!

I remember you telling me that you're always hungry and cold and tired (okay, I read between the lines. Don't deny it's true). And then here's the Army telling us that we have to give the Germans a certain quality and quantity of food. I mean, the Army supplies it, but still! My friend Sally's father works at the prison camp and she told me that the Germans have a canteen there where they can buy cigarettes and candy and all sorts of goodies. Here you are counting the days until the next Red Cross package comes and these guys are living it up! They probably have it better here than they did over there. And there's no doubt they're living like kings compared to you!

I'm really mad about this whole thing. I know you're probably sick at the thought of these goons spending time with your family, eating food at your house, maybe even riding your horse (I'll die before I let any of them have the privilege!).

If it were up to me, I would have them all in chains and I might even bring out the horse whip. Sally told me that the folks in Winterfield (where the prison camp is) wanted to have all them shot but the army said they would prosecute anyone trying to hurt the POWS. They said something about 'if we treat them well, they'll treat our guys well'. What planet are they living on? Have they even been paying attention? I tell you, Andy, it burns me up!

Apparently, there's nothing I can do to change Dad's mind about the whole thing, so I'm stuck with looking at these Germans' stupid faces every day until the harvest is over. I'm sure Mary and Julia will be nice to them but don't worry, I'll defend your honor. I'm going to be as nasty as I can get away with. I'll spit in their drinks and take a few (mostly harmless) shots with my slingshot. Maybe I'll 'accidentally' hit a foul ball right into their stupid heads. Maybe I can arrange an accident with the thresher. Either way, I'll give them the treatment they deserve! Let me know if there's anything else I can do to make them miserable.

I love you and I miss you and I wish you were here instead of these stupid creeps.

Love,

Rebecca

Satisfied, Rebecca rummaged around for an envelope. She sealed the letter and went down the stairs as quietly as she could. Peggy might have been a pain, but Rebecca wasn't a monster.

Mary was still at the window when Rebecca came through the kitchen. "Going into town to send off a letter," Rebecca announced.

"Oh, I have one too. Just a second." Mary scurried out of the kitchen and Rebecca could hear her gentle footfalls on the stairs. A moment later, she returned with her letter and handed it off.

"Okey doke, I'm off." And with that, she went out the back door. She wend her way past her niblings, who, despite their small size, managed to take up the entirety of the stairs. She gave the group of Germans a wide berth, shooting them dirty looks. As she passed, she heard Julia acting as a translator, repeating what her father was saying in German and answering any questions the German prisoners had. Rebecca almost wished she had volunteered for the job just so she could mess with them, but the thought of actually talking to them gave her the willies.

The cows greeted her with a few moos as she walked past them to the horses. She gave Buttercup a fond little pat before heading towards her own horse, Thunderbolt. He was a beautiful black stallion with a fiery spirit. Rebecca fitted him with a saddle and led him out of the barn. She caught the attention of a few of the prisoners as she mounted her horse. With a smirk, she urged Thunderbolt forward, right towards the crowd. A few prisoners squawked and dove out of the way of the big horse, but Rebecca swerved right before she reached them and galloped off. "Going to town!" she called over her shoulder. She saw Mom shake her head sadly and the look in Dad's eye told her there would be some discussion about her behaviour later.

"Worth it."

Rebecca hated housework. But, true to her word, she stubbornly refused to work out in the fields as long as they were there. Rebecca was determined her father would crack before she did. So far, he wasn't budging which meant that, at the moment, she was now stuck at the table, trying to patch a hole in a shirt.

Mary was sitting beside her, darning a sock, happy as a clam.

"Oh hell," Rebecca muttered after she poked herself for the tenth time. "Stupid piece of horse hockey."

"Rebecca," Mom warned. Rebecca looked up to see Mom pointedly gazing at her niblings who were colouring across the table from her. Rebecca rolled her eyes and focused back on her tediously dull chore.

"I've got the mail," Julia announced from the front door.

"Anything from Andy?" Mom asked. When Julia entered the kitchen she gave her mom a skeptical look.

"Mom. It's Andy. He writes almost as much as he talks."

Mom looked relieved and Rebecca didn't blame her for the anxiety. When Andy had first been shot down, they hadn't heard from him for months on end. It had affected Mom deeply and despite the deluge of letters they had received since she still lived in fear something would happen that would prevent him from writing again.

"One for you," Julia announced as she set down a letter for Rebecca. "And here's one for you, Mary. And, look, he sent one for each of you." She gave her niece and nephew each a letter. "He even wrote one to Joseph. What a goof. One for you, Ma, and one for you, Peggy. One for me and two for Dad."

"It's a good thing we keep sending him paper and envelopes," Mary remarked. "He probably uses more than the whole Army!"

They all had a good chuckle over that. Mom and Peggy stopped doing the dishes and retreated to the living room. Julia went over and helped the children with theirs. Mary set down her darning, but instead of reading her letter, she got up and went to the refrigerator.

"Not going to read yours?" Rebecca asked.

Mary shook her head. "It's about time I started on lunch for everyone."

Rebecca's response to that was to blow a raspberry. Then she, too, set down her mending and opened her letter.

Rebecca,

You're right, I do feel sick, but not for the reason you think. What makes me sick- well, disappointed- is your attitude. You know, sometimes I think you're so worried about being tough that you forget to have a heart.

The toughest person I know is probably Newkirk. He's taken pretty much everything life can throw at him and he's got good reason to have a chip on his shoulder. But (as much as he might try to hide it) he's a really good guy and there are a thousand little ways he shows he cares about you. He'll be the first to split his rations with a newcomer and he'll defend his friends to his last breath. He even sewed a little doll for one of the guard's daughter for her birthday. He has a ton of other sewing to do, but he still managed to find the time to do something nice for his enemy.

LeBeau is pretty tough, too. Boy, I hate it when I get on his bad side. He's like a little hurricane. But he's always taking care of us. He cooks and cleans and when we're sick, you couldn't find a better nurse. He's even got a soft spot for Schultz and Langenscheidt.

Being tough doesn't mean a thing unless you're also kind. It's that balance that earns you respect. Without it, you're just a jerk.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, you're in danger of straying into jerk territory.

I want you to forget how I've been treated (or how you've imagined I've been treated. I think you read too many pulp novels.) Imagine how you would want me to be treated and then treat the POWs working on the farm the same way. It doesn't matter if the Germans reciprocate or not. It's not their humanity you need to worry about. It's yours. How you treat these guys is going to determine the type of person you'll become. And I really hope you can become the kind of person that people love and respect.

I can almost guarantee you that those guys are scared. They're far from their home and their families and they don't really know what's going to happen to them. And even if they're well-fed and paid, they're still prisoners without their freedom. Heck, under the Nazis, they've never had freedom. Not really. And I bet that none of them asked for this war. They were probably drafted or if they joined up they did so for the same reasons I did- to protect their home and family. They didn't start this war, even if they were fighting it.

I'm not saying you have to be their best friend. I am saying you need to be a little compassionate. I know you can do that if you try. You're pretty stubborn when you put your mind to something. So for my sake (but mostly yours), please try.

You're a good kid, Beckers, but you still need a big brother lecture every once in a while. Take this reprimand like a man, knowing that I'm only telling you this because I love you.

Andy

Rebecca furrowed her brow as she finished the letter. She hated it when Andy got serious. He rarely did, so this was obviously important. It was a tough pill to swallow and Rebecca hated feeling guilty.

"Julia, do you think I'm a jerk?" From across the table, Julia looked up from helping her niece and just arched an eyebrow. Rebecca's cheeks burned. "Never mind." She got up and joined Mary at the counter. "Here, I'll take this out."

Mary looked nervous. "Ummm… I don't think…"

"It's okay. I want…" Rebecca grunted in frustration. She didn't want to do it and Mary would know it was a lie as soon as it left her mouth. "Andy told me to," she confessed.

"Oh… Okay." Mary loaded the food and glasses into a large basket and handed it off to Rebecca. "I've got the lemonade."

Rebecca rested the basket on her hip and held out her hand. "I got it. Fork it over." Mary passed her the pitcher and hurried to open the door for her. Rebecca could already see the men emerging from the field, looking hot and sweaty from their labours. Her dad stopped short and looked surprised to see her as she made her way down the steps. She went to him first.

"Lunch time," she announced.

Dad rubbed his hands on his jeans and then grabbed a sandwich from the pile. "Thanks," he drawled, looking at her suspiciously. Rebecca forced a smile and turned to the gathering prisoners. "Time to eat," she said in German. Her German, which she had learned from her newly immigrated school friends as a child, was somewhat rusty. She had refused to speak it since the war had started. Whether they understood her, or just saw the food, she didn't know, but they all helped themselves to sandwiches and fruit. Then they went off in separate directions to eat- some to the porch, others to the steps, and a few more to patches of grass.

Rebecca bent to the side and dropped the mostly empty basket to the ground. Then she grabbed a glass and filled it with lemonade and proceeded to hand it to the closest prisoners. As she made her way among the workers, she was met with polite 'danke's and one or two 'thank-you's. When she reached the last prisoner, she stopped and stood awkwardly after handing him his drink.

"My name is Rebecca."

The young man smiled. "The girl with the horse, right?" he answered in English. "You gave us quite the little scare. My father would call you a 'jolly joker'. I'm Hans."

Rebecca gave him a tight smile. It was a small step. Like Andy said, she didn't have to be their friend. But she could be civil. She wasn't sure she could ever see them as anything but the enemy, but she would try, for Andy's sake. After all, if he could see the Germans as human, she could too.

"Tell me about yourself, Hans."

End

Thanks for joining me on The Home Front. I realize these were all OCs and that can be hard to engage with, but I hope you got some insight into our boys as well by looking at them through their families.

Cheers