--

ONE MORE DAY

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It was cold.

It always was.

He huddled in on himself and wrapped the great folds in his now too big uniform around his frighteningly thin body.

Other prisoners huddled close to him as the night wind whistled through the barely adequate shelter. He wasn't sure what to call it. A bunker? Perhaps a run down air-raid shelter. Either way, it was far too small to hold the hundred of men jammed into it. Body heat from the other prisoners was the only source of warmth in the cold, stone prison.

The door opened and men groaned in protest. A man walked in, and began picking his way through the other prisoners, rolling some over to see if they were dead. From the ones that were too weak to fight back, the new arrival took any extra clothing. From the dead, the new arrival took everything down to the underwear.

He closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. When the new man came to him, he just growled and held tightly to his thin blanket. The look in his eyes was formidable, even if his body was not. The new man grimaced and then moved on.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He'd find some food tomorrow.

Food was always scarce. That was the worst thing about being a prisoner of war. The hunger was constant. It gnawed at his stomach through the day and through the night. Much like the cold, it never let up.

Of course, others had turned to alternate measures to secure food sources. He shuddered. He didn't even want to think of that.

When his captors did think to feed their prisoners, it caused mass riots. Thirty thousand prisoners converged on a small pile of food- usually cabbage- fighting each other off. More than once, guards shot those they caught in the act of outright murder. (1)

Sighing, a task that almost took all the strength he had, he closed his eyes tightly. One more day. He just had to make it one more day.

That's what he always told himself. Ever since the day he had been marched in.

Just one more day.

Hold on one more day.

The one more day turned into another and another.

One more day of hunger. One more day of cold. One more day of lice.

Oh how he hated the lice. Great clouds of grey parasites would move from one body, usually dead, to another victim. They swarmed from head to ankles in a voracious quest for food. Ravenous and relentless, they drove their hosts to the verge of insanity. Wherever they feasted, they left giant red welts. (2)

He was tired. He just wanted to go home- see his wife and children. He wanted to laugh again as he always had. He wanted to sit by a warm fire with his little girl on his lap and a read her the fairy tales she loved so much.

One more day. He could make it. The Americans would march into Berlin soon and then the war would be over. Then he could go home.

One more day.

His mind started to drift. Good, he was falling asleep. Maybe he could dream himself away from this hellhole.

He was almost asleep when a guard burst through the door and ordered them all up. It was time for the "little Stalin horses" to get up and go chop wood. (3)

He scowled. He hated guards.

The irony made him laugh bitterly as he sat up. After tightening the rags around his legs, he managed to lift himself to his feet and slowly march outside the hut and into the freezing night air.

His muscles, what were left of them, ached and he felt as if he were walking through molasses.

The sound of another prisoner being beaten close by panicked him into at least acting more alert.

He was handed a large axe that he was barely able to lift. A guard blew a whistle and he trudged behind the rest of the prisoners out the front gate.

As his scantily-clad feet sunk into the deep, bitterly cold mud, his mind wandered far from his predicament. With a conscious effort he kept his mind there, ignoring the misery his body now found itself in. He almost smiled. For the moment, until he could imagine a better future, his memories were enough.

--

"Where did you get that?!" Sergeant Andrew Carter demanded, looking wide-eyed at his friend, the English corporal, Newkirk.

Newkirk just grinned slyly and winked. "I filched it off that Kraut officer that came through 'ere today," he explained, eyeing the gold pocket watch that dangled from his hand. "Don't worry Andrew, I doubt 'e'll miss it. 'E probably couldn't even read the ruddy thing anyway."

"Boy, what a grouch he was, huh," Carter said, recalling the stern German General that had come to inspect Stalag 13. "So, what're you going to do with it?"

Newkirk shrugged and seated himself at the table in the middle of the room. "I don't know. Never know when a pocket watch will come in 'andy though." He reached and grabbed a deck of cards that were lying on the table and began shuffling them. "'Ow 'bout a game of poker then to chase the boredom away?"

"No way," Carter said, swatting the air. "Last time we played, you beat me outta ten dollars." A devious smile played on Carter's lips. "But I'll play gin with you if you want."

"Do you take me for a ruddy fool?! Every time I play that game against you, you some'ow manage to beat me before I get a chance to throw one card away- no matter 'ow 'ard I try to rig the deck!"

Carter laughed and jumped into his bunk, curling into his warm blankets. Newkirk scrunched his nose and turned to Sergeant Kinchloe, who was reading a book on his bunk. "'Ow 'bout you?" He was just met with a raised eyebrow. "Louis?" Corporal Lebeau just snorted and continued stirring a pot on the stove. Newkirk glanced towards the colonel's room but shook the thought immediately out of his head. The colonel was catching up on some much needed sleep.

Suddenly, the answer to his prayer arrived in the form of Sergeant Shultz, who chose that moment to enter the barracks. "Shultzy! What a pleasant surprise."

Shultz was momentarily taken aback by the enthusiastic greeting. "Pleasant? Surprise? I come here at this time every night."

"Well, tonight you're in luck. 'Ow 'bout joining me in a friendly game of poker."

Shultz snorted. "A friendly game of poker, with you? I may as well hand over my wallet now."

"You could do that too Shultzy, but that would take the fun out of it."

"Ha, jolly joker."

"I'm serious Shultz. If I don't play a game I might go 'round the bend. I'm bored out of me skull! I swear the worst ruddy thing about being a prisoner is the boredom."

"You are bored?" Shultz repeated incredulously. Though he didn't admit it, he knew these men were no ordinary POWs. They had more adventures than he cared to remember. "I can't. It's against regulations!"

"Eh, regulations. Listen, I'll even spot you a fiver… I'll even play fair!"

Shultz was about to refuse when he saw the pleading look in the younger man's eye. Well, what was one game of poker? He might even win this time! Smiling, Shultz took a seat across from Newkirk. "Okay, one round and then it is lights out."

"That's the spirit Shultzy!" Newkirk grinned, rubbing his hands together before dealing out the deck. The other men in the room gathered around to watch. When both men took a look at their hands, Carter, who was sitting behind Shultz, nearly choked. Shultz grinned and held his fingers up to his lips. Newkirk just raised an eyebrow. Maybe playing fair wasn't such a good idea after all.

--

"You can't go now!" Newkirk hollered. He couldn't believe this! Their one hand of poker had quickly evolved into several and Shultz had won nearly every one. It wasn't supposed to work like that! All right, that was it. From now on, he was going to play dirty. No more of this honesty rubbish. "You took every cent I 'ave!"

"You can always make more," Shultz said lightly, a small smile on his face.

Newkirk cocked an eyebrow. "What's that Shultzy?"

Shultz suddenly realized what he had said and shook his head fiercely. "I said nothing! I know nothing! I see nothing!!!" Of course, that was a lie- he had seen and heard much. The point was, he didn't want to know about the prisoners' extra activities. He looked the other way so when asked, he could claim ignorance and by doing so, perhaps he could get through this war unnoticed and in one piece. Yes, wouldn't the Gestapo like to know everything he did.

"It's not so much the money I mind, but you took me watch too!"

For the first time, Shultz seemed to notice the watch and peered at it intently. "Where did you get this?!"

"Me granddaddy sent it to me Shultzy." Shultz didn't believe him and the look on his face said so. "Do you really want to know where I got it from?" Newkirk pushed.

"Nein! I don't want to know anything!" Shultz replied. He looked at the watch and contemplated giving it back. No doubt the English corporal had used illegitimate means for obtaining it. But then again, it was an attractive timepiece. And he did have a son turning 16 soon- too old for the toys he had always given him. A watch would be appropriate for that age.

"Come on Shultz."

"Nein. It is past lights out. Do you want me to get in trouble? The Kommandant could send me to the Russian Front if he saw me here!"

"Not ready for a winter vacation Shultz?" Kinch asked from behind him.

"I hear the skiing there is great," Carter chimed in.

"What, are you nuts or something!" Shultz pushed away from the table and got to his feet, tucking his winnings into his pockets. "Where's my rifle?"

"Right here Shultz," Lebeau said, handing the guard his rifle. Shultz took it absently and hung it over his shoulder. It bothered him that the little French man always seemed to be the one to take it.

"All right, into bed all of you," Shultz ordered, shooing Lebeau towards his bunk. He flipped up Carter's blanket, which was hanging over the side of his bed, so it covered the young sergeant. When Newkirk had jumped up to the top bunk, Shultz turned and switched out the light before creeping out of the barracks. Stretching and letting out a big yawn, Shultz began his rounds.

--

"Raus, raus! Roll call!!!" Shultz's big voice boomed inside the barracks, rousing men from their sleep. Groans and protests filled the air, but slowly, the Allied prisoners slid out of their beds and trudged out the door. Shultz counted them as they passed by. Hogan, as always, was the last to leave.

"Beautiful morning Shultz," the American commented as he stepped outside and took his place into the line.

"Ja, nice and warm," Shultz agreed as he marched to the front and began counting.

"Shultz why do you always count us twice?" Hogan asked. "Isn't it enough to count us as we walk out?"

"I need to make sure none of you have run away since then."

Hogan's eyes grew big. "You don't trust us?" he asked, sounding hurt. Shultz just snorted and continued counting the men.

"Repooooooooort!" Klink shouted as he marched down from his office and towards the men assembled outside.

Shultz turned smartly and saluted. "Herr Kommandant, I'm pleased to announce that all the prisoners are present and accounted for."

"Very good. Diii-"

Klink was cut short when a staff car suddenly tore into the compound and came to an abrupt stop in front of Klink's office. Shultz looked at the car and then to Hogan, silently asking for an explanation. But the American colonel was just as perplexed as his captors. Klink wasted no time in making a bee-line for the car. When the driver got out and opened the door, Klink made a hasty salute and started stuttering.

"General Schmidt, what are you doing here again?" Klink asked, his knees quaking as the general stepped out.

"My watch Klink!"

Klink just blinked in confusion. "Your watch sir?"

"Yes, my watch! It was stolen while I was here."

"Sir, I assure you that none of my men could've-"

"Obviously Klink! I want you to search the prisoners! Tear this camp apart until it is found!" The general screamed, his face turning redder by the second.

"Of course! Right away sir! You can depend on me sir!"

"KLINK!"

"Yes sir!" Klink snapped a salute and practically ran towards Shultz, followed slowly by the general. "Shultz! Search the prisoners, search the barracks! Find the general's watch!!!"

"Of course Herr Kommandant!" Shultz replied with a salute. He turned to the prisoners and began patting them down. He saw Hogan shoot Newkirk a annoyed look. Newkirk just shrugged sheepishly but suddenly paled and nodded towards Shultz. Hogan raised an eyebrow and looked at Shultz, who looked back, feeling confused. Then it hit him. He had the general's watch. It was the watch he had won off Newkirk the night before.

Shultz dropped his hands and started to search himself.

"Shultz! What are you doing!" Klink demanded.

Shultz turned and tried to explain, but no words could form. He just ended up stuttering nonsense. The general noticed and marched up to him. "What is it Sergeant?! What is wr-" He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed and the red returned to his tight face. "My watch!" he shouted, pulling at the chain that was strung from Shultz's pocket to his button hole. The watch jumped out of Shultz's breast pocket and swung at the end of the chain. "What are you doing with my watch!!!"

Shultz just continued to blabber. A second later, his saviour stepped in.

"He confiscated it from one of my men sir," Hogan explained. "We had no idea it was yours sir. I assure you that the man responsible will by punished."

Shultz shot Hogan a grateful look. The American colonel was his best friend- he always bailed him out of danger. Shultz sometimes wondered why Hogan took such great pains to save him for himself. He liked to think that Hogan was doing it just for him, but more probably, it the colonel had more selfish reasons for doing it.

The general was not at all soothed. "Yes, I assure you he will." He turned to Klink but kept an eye on Shultz. "Kommandant Klink, this man had my watch and made no attempt to return it to me."

"But, but I didn't kn-" Shultz began but quickly shut his mouth when he received a death glare from the general.

"I want him relieved of duty here and headed for the Russian Front on the very first train leaving Hammelburg."

"Now wait a minute, I protest-" Hogan began.

"Hogan, Shultz is one of my men. You are in no position to protest his transfer," Klink interrupted.

The general gave Hogan a curious glance. "And why do you protest? You are a prisoner."

"Shultz is the toughest guard here. Without him, my men might get out of line and try something stupid- like an escape. But they'll forget that the Iron Colonel is still here and they might get hurt. We need Shultz here!" Hogan earnest plea didn't do much to sway the general's opinion. In fact, the general almost laughed.

"This man is the toughest guard?!" the general laughed, looking Shultz up and down. "Klink, if this is your toughest guard, then I think some personnel changes need to be made. When I get back to Berlin, I will request that General Burkhalter send you an entirely new set."

Hogan and his men exchanged panicked looks. But they were nowhere near the panicked and horrified looks that played across Shultz's face and mind. He looked at Hogan, his eyes pleading for the colonel to save him. Hogan shook himself and then nodded, a determined look in his eye.

"You're making a mistake general," Hogan warned in a low voice that, if Hogan were not a helpless prisoner of war, would make most men pause and rethink their idea. The general simply waved him off.

"Do not worry Colonel Hogan. There are plenty of vicious, tough guards that can watch over you and keep your men safe. Come Sergeant Shultz, we will see about getting you to a colder climate."

--

One more swing.

One more chop of the axe.

Whatever hair-brained scheme Colonel Hogan had come up with hadn't worked, Shultz thought sadly as he smacked the head of the axe into the small trunk.

He was sure he made a go of it though.

How were the boys doing now that he was gone? Would they laugh that he was now a POW himself? No, probably not. True, they had been enemies, but in their own way, they had all been friends too. They had all tried to make the best of their situation, whether as captives or captors, and had tried to help each other through it. Shultz had tried to ease the daily grind of being a POW for them- not that they really needed his help to find something to do. And they had kept him out of trouble- for the most part anyway.

CRACK

Shultz hadn't been paying attention and nearly went down with the tree. He saved himself and sighed in relief. That was the last of it.

He joined the group of prisoners that were slowly hacking up the long stalk into smaller chunks of fire wood. Other groggy men came and carried the hunks to a cart, where weary men- little Stalin horses as they Russians called them- waited to drag it away.

Finally, their work finished, the prisoners made their way back to their camp. Shultz let the axe trail behind him and repeated the mantra that kept him going.

One more day.

Just one more day.

Suddenly, his feet came out from under him as he stepped on a bald patch of ice. Shultz tried to stop himself, but couldn't and smacked into the hard ground.

Get up, get up, get up, his brain yelled.

But he was tired. His muscles protested when he tried to lift himself up. Defeated, Shultz collapsed and lay on the ice. Men passed him, not wanting to expend precious energy to help him.

Get up, his brain pleaded, but with less force this time. You have to go home. Berta needs to find out what happens to Repunzel. Werner still wants that model train and you still haven't given Hans a present for his birthday. Get up!

Just one more day, you can make it! Please?!

Shultz gave it one last try but couldn't seem to move. His muscles were nothing but jelly. Letting out a small sigh, Shultz resigned himself to the cold ground.

One more day was one day too many.

The End

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An estimated 3.5 million Germans were taken captive by the Russians during four years of the war. 1.5 million did not survive. Some were kept prisoners for almost ten years after the war ended.

(1), (2) Enemy at the Gates by William Craig

(3) Prisoners of War, Time Life Books

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