Author's Note: I Did the conversation in Italics, though they are speaking German to one another :) It would be too long for me to translate! Please leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing!

February 5th, 1945

Buchenwald Concentration Camp

My face was still healing from the beating I got two days before, all from the infamous Captain whom I was still trying to digest myself really. It hurt to breathe sometimes since he got me good not he nose from that one strike, and my eye was still a bit swollen and blue around the lid. The others felt bad for me, and Anthony himself was still trying to get better though they were still expecting him to go out and work with the others in our barracks. He had to, and we had to let him go when we wanted to protect him from the soldiers who were inching to strike him again for making that radio without their blessing.

The men were once again off to work to where they were sending them and I was stuck back at the camp, once again waiting for if they needed someone to mend another soldier. At this point I was more bitter at them than grateful, maybe one of those days they'll just shoot me dead and get it over it.

Goddamnit, what was I thinking?

It was very cold that day, heavy snow falling but not enough to have me hide in the barracks as I grabbed my jacket, throwing it on and then walking along the fenced off area where they kept us. We had a small area in the front of our barrack where we can stand and relax, which was nice on their part. I needed to walk around, to move my feet and not sweet on what I was thinking about there in those walls that I knew were already stained with enough blood to make me sick. I already felt sick after I was struck across the face, not that I was expecting to be treated differently than the others in my barracks, but it was still a shock for me.

Out there in the cold I thought I was alone, seeing the white snow touch the tops of the buildings to brighten the gray colors and give it some kind of purity. It was still eery and quiet, too quiet for me to drink it in when I saw something moving on my left, looking over in that direction now and seeing something hunch overcoming in my direction now, on the other side of the fence. I froze there, my arms around my middle and stayed still thinking that I was being tricked into something with my own mind since I was once again too tired to think of reality.

But it was a person, a person about my height and almost thinner than me which was not possible at this point, but they too looked cold and tied there as they were shuffling closer to me. I saw no hair on the head, almost shaved bald now and their eyes were looking right at now as I finally heard something from them,

"Are you a prisoner too?" He asked in his German tone now, but it was so hesitant and careful in how he said it like he was treading on ice. He sounded like he was trying to be kind for me, and from how he looked compared to the officers and men. I finally saw his face and how he looked, having a freeze there for a moment since I knew who he was. He was a prisoner there, on the other side of the fence and was just there for who knows what. I saw him huddling over himself in the snow, barely a jacket on over his own prison clothes that looked like pajamas with gray and white stripes and a small cap on his shaven head. He was covering someone on his chest, having me wonder what it was when I finally addressed him.

"I am. I'm a nurse," I explained to him in my own German now, seeing him sigh and look at me up and down. Was he trying to read me then and there on how I looked and how I looked a bit healthier than he did? I had to face it, he was a mere skeleton in front of me and it almost made me want to weep from seeing him in such a state.

"I didn't think they would take in female prisoners or war," He said to me in a comment.

"Neither did I," I added, seeing him smile widely and have me see the white teeth there that too looked stained from his time there in the prison, "How long have you been here?"

"Almost a year now," he replied to me, "And you?"

"Since Last December," I answered.

"And yet you look like death," He explained now, having me sigh too and see that he was trying to see how I was doing there in the camp from just looking at my face. it was surreal that I was having a regular conversation with a prisoner there like we were talking out on the street. But we had a barbered wire fence there to separate us, the both of us in thin clothing that wouldn't be close to being called clothes, and we both were prisoners at this sick game of war.

"Are you German?" He asked me in curiosity.

"American," I replied, seeing him cock an eyebrow at me.

"You sound like a German," He countered back at me with a curious tone to his voice.

"My mother was German, she taught me the language when I was young," I explained to the man.

"And your father?" He wondered to me.

"Russian, the both of them immigrated to American when they were children," I replied, seeing him pause for a moment then and I looked at him in wonder as to what was on his mind and then a shutter of cold wind came through, his arm slipped from whatever he was hiding from me and I saw part of something stitched into his jacket there, a dull yellow contrasted to the gray and white. I looked down at him, seeing that he took looked too and then I realized how it was clicking in my head, almost like I was seeing a nightmare over and over again within my brain and I was not going to escape it.

The Star of David.

"You're a Jew," I said in almost a hushed statement, as hushed as the wind coming through the area now and the men looked back at me in almost a calm manner now. It was like he was used to it now, but yet I wasn't since it was like I was being slapped across the face with the horrors and the truth of this war. Was this really happening? Were Jews being sent to camps? But for what? What did they do and why were they?

"Did you not know?" He asked me in almost a bitter way now, thinking that I was a soldier and I had to know something about it, anything about it. Did he think that was rest of the world knew of the Jews and were try to help them and save them? How could we have known? Whoever did this, they knew to keep this dirt and away from the eyes of the world. I shook my head now, seeing the sadness there on his face and he then looked down at the symbol there over his heart like a burden more than a privilege.

"Why are they doing this?" I had to ask him that infamous question now since I felt like it was something that was needed to be said. I had to ask it, I had to know why this was only happening to the Jews and no one else.

"There are others in here," He said to me, "Not just Jews. Gypsies, radicals, amputated, those they don't like."

"The Germans?" I asked him, still wondering why this was going on and why they were there in the first place. But I heard the siren, the same siren I heard over and over again now on their side of the camp and I knew it was meant for them to go onto role call or go to their own workplaces. He started to walk way from me now, having me frustrated as to why eh was not telling me what I wanted to hear. But then again he was going to to be shot if he wasn't there in time, but I asked him once more.

"Why?" I called out to him, seeing him look over his shoulder at me before saying one word and then disappearing into the snowy fog and having me look my sight with him, The one word, in German and it was thick and laced with pain and uncertainty now as I stood there against the wired fence and felt more confused than ever with my busted face and broken heart.

Unerwünschte

May 13th, 1945

Berchtesgaden, Germany

"Miss Kozloff, we wanted to have a discussion with you in regards to your treatment as a P.O.W. with the Germans," I was sitting in a room with a bunch of officers, looking right at me and looking at me up and down in their own dress greens and older years written all over their faces. I could see how they were involved with the war, but how they wanted to talk to me, I would never know. But there I was, in my combat nurse uniform that they provided for me and still rethinking of my time behind those fences and within that Goddamn room and that operating table.

"If word gets out of you being a P.O.W., you would be the first in Army record history as a female Prisoner of War," The one man said to me in almost a gruff, having me look over at him now and see him stare right back at me with the serious there written all over this face. I was sitting so still in my chair they provided for me, my hands folded on the table and seeing the paper there in front of my fingers, my eyes wanting to look down and see what they wrote about me, or what they wanted me to sign. I knew they were not going to take this lightly, but I could tell too that this was different because I was a female in a male driven army world.

"Because of the situation at hand, and for other P.O.W's involved with the war and to help conceal the identity of those who helped with your escape and others, we wrote out this document for you to read and sign if you consent," I finally looked down, seeing the typed document in front of me and I leaned over a bit to read it line by line. AS I read it, seeing how formal it was, I was slowly starting to panic and my eyes were getting big in both misunderstanding and disbelief. They wanted me to do what?

"Sir," I said, gasping out loud in the room now as I found my voice again after reading the document, "You're requesting that I….not say a word about my time in the camp?"

"Yes."

It was like I was slammed in the face all over again, the gun hitting me hard and breaking my nose this time. Then it was like I was on the operation table myself, someone over me covering my mouth from crying out as they were cutting into me. I was being cut out from this, the one thing that I knew was going be the death of me. Now, they didn't want me to talk about it.

The U.S. Army wanted me to keep my mouth shut.

"We are not going to risk having an uproar and a scandal of the events that happened to any of our P.O.W's. As required by our law, you must give no account of your experience in books, newspapers, periodicals or in broadcasts or in lectures." He explained to me, having me look down at the paper once more and see it printed there, They didn't want the stories to let out for the world to know, but ti didn't sound or seem right. It was like they were going to suffocate me then and there. How was I to go on with this nightmare when they were trying to silence me?

"Do you understand, Nurse Sergeant Kozloff?"

Where was the silver lining in this now?

I sat there along the balcony that was outside of my apartment now, deep in the night and hearing nothing around me but the rattling of my brain as to what happened that day. I had to sign my voice away, admitting defeat in knowing that I was never allowed to talk about the camps to anyone, or publish it on paper. Ever.

Where was the hope in all of it, it was all sweated away again like I was back in the camp itself and thinking that hope was going to carry me out of it. But in reality, hope was dead after all. I had to realize that the mere things I thought I could hold onto with a tight fist will too fade in due time. It wasn't that I thought of publishing my journal for others to see and understand, but it was the principle of the whole thing: them telling me to be in silence. If I knew one thing about humanity, it was that being in silence was one of the most devastating things for a human to do or humanity in general.

And they were asking me to do that.

"Georgie? Are you awake?" I heard within the apartment, having me look behind me and see a flicker of light moving over my way. It wasn't Joe, it was someone else with a kidney tone of voice and a lovely look on his face. I gave him a sad smile.

Webster.

"Hello David," I said to him now seeing him grin down at me. He was always so kind, kind and a bit on the innocent side with his intelligence and love for books and knowledge. No wonder Joe would butt heads with him on constant rotations.

"May I join you?" He asked me politely, having me give him a nod and seeing him sit down next to me on the balcony floor crisscrossing his legs as my own were through the bars and hanging off the edge, the both of us sitting there for a moment or two in the silence.

"Joe is sleeping, but he wanted me to check up on you before he went to sleep," Webster explained to me, having me look at him in confusion now since it was off that both Joe and Webster were never really buddy-buddy enough to carry messages to one another.

"Is he alright?" I asked him, seeing him look at me with a bit of hesitance now as he shifted a bit next to me.

"I went with him on a small mission, along with Sisk. He was ordered to find and kill a German officer that was hiding out," He explained to me as I shifted over to him a bit more in concern now to hear that Joe had to that himself, "The Officer used to be in charge of one of the camps that were liberated."

"Jesus," I muttered out in the air. Did Joe go through that? Was he alright with it?

"It's safe to say Joe was a bit sore about it, almost killing the guy with his bare hands if it wasn't for Sisk shooting him," Webster went on with the story, having me cringe a bit to think of how that happened and how Joe was feeling and going through with it. Joe was never that ought when it comes to something as personal as his race and others who died from it. He wasn't tough when it came to me.

"He tried to make me shot him when the officer was running away from us, yelled at me to do it," Webster admitted to me now, looking away from me off to the landscape of the town in front of us since we were a bit high up in the air, "But I couldn't do it. There wasn't anything within me that wanted to kill him, thank God for Sisk. I'm glad Joe never did it."

"I'm glad too," I responded to him, seeing him look back at now with a kindness in his eyes.

"I reminded him of you when he was about to kill the man," He said, having me freeze as he mentioned me, "He was about to, so close to killing him then and there. But I mentioned you, I told him that you wouldn't want him to do it, that you didn't want him to be a monster."

"Web…" I trailed off, not knowing what else to say to him and feeling a tear in my eye.

"He stopped as soon as I said your name, Georgie. He was going to kill him for you, for what happened to you and how you almost died in the camp. This was revenge, but I knew you would never want him to do that for you. You want something better for him, much better than that." Webster admitted to me, having me smiled weakly at him and feeling a bit a burst of warmth from what I heard from him. The warmth was because of his need to protect his friend from morphing into something that was not human, to stop him from being a murderer. Webster still cared for Joe when Joe was not the best at showing it back in return.

I leaned my head on his shoulder next to me, feeling webster press his cheek against my head and we sat there in silence and the warmth of the night sky coming through to calm us.

"Thank you, David," I said his first name now, feeling him press into me a bit more as a sign of acknowledgment. I loved David's heart, it was bursting of warmth and sincerity when things were dark and not so pure.

"He saw you going into that meeting with the officers today," Webster said to me softly, having me feel his mouth move against my hair now as we were watching the mountain tops, "I think that's what set him off wrongly when we were going up there to find the officer."

"They wanted to talk to me about my time in the camp, or lack thereof," I explained roughly, feeling Webster move away from me now to have me look at him and see his face lace in confusion and wrinkled in wonder.

"What do you mean?" he asked me, having me bit the inside of my cheek with what I was about to tell him in hopes that it would not be in vain.

"They made me sign a document, saying….I can't publish my time in the camp," I explained to him calmly, seeing the confusion there on his face slowly morph into shock and hurt there like he got his own heart broken.

"What does that even mean?" He asked in a shocked but hushed manner, "They don't want you to write it down and publish it at all? Not one thing."

"Nothing at all," I said in defeat.

"How could they do that? That doesn't even sound morally right!" Webster said in a bitter kind of anger.

"Apparently all of the P.O.W.'s are to sign it, some kind of protection or other bullshit," I explained, seeing him shake his head now as I placed my hand on his arm, "I'm asking you to please not tell Joe anything right now about this?"

"You want me to keep it quiet from him?" Webster asked in disbelief.

"Please," I almost begged him, since thinking about that talk in itself was going to be a headache as it was and Joe was going to be more pissed off about it. He was already trying not to be angry about what happened to me in the camp, but this could send him off the deep end. I had to find the right time to tell him but now was not it.

"Fine," Webster replied to me, seeing the desperation in my eyes now as I asked him and almost grip his arm into making a mark there on his skin though his jacket. I sighed in relief and we both looked ahead again at the mountains, my head going back on his shoulder and his cheek against my head again.

"I just wanna go home, Web." I admitted to him almost pathetically. He smiled against my head there.

"So does all of Easy Company, Kozloff."