I looked through my field glasses at the scene before me. The morning fog enveloped the French village with a peaceful stillness in the forest clearing. It wasn't even really a village, I corrected myself. There were only a handful of scattered houses, a barn and a few utility sheds. No, the "village" was probably just an extended family living in close proximity to one another, barely scraping an existence from the nearby fields.

We had been in position for almost twenty minutes at the northeastern edge of the settlement. My unit had been ordered to provide panzer support for the local Waffen-SS grupen when it attacked the village. The village was strongly suspected of harboring and supporting partisans and the SS was leading the raid to destroy it.

There had been no movement below which I thought was odd given the early time. Why was no one already working the fields? And why was there no livestock to be seen? The smoke drifting up from the chimneys had noticeably lessened since we had arrived. All of these signs indicated the residents had already fled.

They knew we were coming, I thought. Either they had been notified or they had heard us. After all, it would have been impossible for them not to recognize the heavy track sounds of the panzers and what they represented. The partisans would have taken advantage of the unintentional warning and escaped into the nearby forest. I had cautioned Sturmbannfuhrer Klaus Hegel that he was bringing the panzers too far forward but he had casually dismissed my concern.

I frankly thought the panzers were a hindrance for the operation. Besides probably also having already given away our presence, there was no room for them to maneuver in the tight terrain. The heavy forest was not conducive to their operation. The close trees prevented any clear shots or pursuit, eliminating the panzer's heavy fire power advantage.

I looked through my field glasses again, continuing to analyze the situation. I shook my head slightly at the basic errors Hegel continued to commit. There was little I could do since Hegel was the senior officer commanding the raid. The rear of the village was wide open. Hegel had not bothered to encircle the village enabling an easy escape from the rear for the partisans.

I continued to wait for Hegel's orders.

It would not be the first time I had been ordered to strike against the French partisans. They were becoming bolder and bolder with the passage of time. They, too, were waiting for the Allies to return, sooner rather than later. And when the unknown day finally arrived, the partisans would fiercely and relentlessly strike against the Germans who had been their occupiers for the last five years.

The partisans' early strikes against the Germans had been unorganized, but they had quickly brought structure and control to their operations. They did not possess the expertise of the Rat Patrol, but they were progressing rapidly.

A month ago I had been grazed on my left cheek by a partisan bullet which had left a slight scar. I had been fortunate the shooter had been a poor shot; I doubted he had been aiming for my cheek. I probably would not be so lucky in the future.

The partisans made their presence clearly known at any opportunity, but ruled the darkness when the sun set. It was then their raids were the most successful to equipment and men.

Captured German soldiers were frequently horribly tortured and mutilated before being killed. The prior week my unit had found one of our captured gefreiters hanging from a tree, dead from the loss of blood pooling underneath him. He had been emasculated, the partisans ramming his organs into his mouth. After verifying that the body was not booby-trapped, I had quietly ordered the man cut down and returned to our base for a decent burial. I was filled with disgust, but I recognized the clear promise on how the partisans would treat Germans in the future.

I didn't know who would be dealt with more harshly in the future: The Germans or the French collaborators who had willingly aligned themselves with us for various and whatever reasons. And as for the women who had eagerly taken German lovers . . . I could only shake my head as to what would happen to the numerous French women who had lain in my arms during the early days of the war when I was first posted to France.

A slight movement caught my attention. Hegel had finally became tired of waiting. He made a sign and several SS men were sent down to the village to investigate. My instinct clearly told me how the operation would end: It would end badly.

The men approached silently from the edges, running low to the ground. They broke into smaller groups, each group approaching a building. Pausing for a moment, they abruptly kicked open the doors and sprayed the interiors with machine gun fire. Each building was quickly searched and finding no partisans, the men exited almost immediately. When all the buildings had been searched, they regrouped in the center with Hegel joining them.

The barn was the only building to yield a suspect. Two SS men emerged dragging a burly man by his arms. They brought the prisoner to Hegel and threw him down in front of the Sturmbannfuhrer. The man slowly rose, brushing his clothes off and replacing his beret on his mop of greasy, black hair. He was about my height, but much larger. His too small clothes made him appear to be even bigger.

The SS men casually formed a circle around the prisoner and Hegel, their weapons at ease. Hegel suddenly needed me and waved me down join them. I ordered my men to stand firm and be watchful before briskly walking down to the village.

I saluted Hegel and waited for his order. Hegel looked over the prisoner for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing, no emotion showing on his face.

"What is his name?"

I asked the man his name. He looked at me for several seconds before responding slowly.

"Gilles Meurice."

"Ask him, Dietrich, where the partisans are hiding. Also, tell him to identify the killer and mutilator of the German soldier," Hegel ordered me.

I briskly questioned the prisoner in French, but received no answer. Instead of answering, the man gave me a slow grin and reached out and touched my medals. I hadn't expected such a response. I did not move and allowed him to touch them, his large hand surprisingly gentle against the cloth.

One of the Hegel's men struck the prisoner's head with his rifle butt sending the man sprawling again. As before, the man slowly picked himself up and brushed off his clothes as if he had all the time in the world. Several SS men began laughing at his predicament. I repeated my question to him with greater emphasis. His response puzzled me when I finally received it.

"Pretty. Brave fighting man." His voice and diction was similar to a young child's.

"Pretty?" I responded to him in French, not understanding the meaning of his response. The man brightly looked at my medals again before pointing at them.

I looked at the Frenchman and the realization struck me. I gave him a short nod in recognition and was rewarded with a wide smile from him.

The man widely moved his hands between the SS men and myself.

"You different than them."

I again gave him a nod. "Yes, I am in a different branch of the military."

"No," he corrected me. "You different in a different way. I know. I can tell. Stay different."

The man looked at me for emphasis. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen before. I found myself drawn into them, unable to turn away from him, his strong eyes seeming to reach down to my soul to touch it. There was something down deep in the man, something I didn't understand . . .

"What the devil is he saying, Dietrich?" interrupted Hegel impatiently.

"He was commenting on my medals and bravery in combat." I turned to face Hegel, finally able to break the connection I had with the Frenchman. "Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, I believe the man has a mind of a child. I seriously doubt he knows anything of value regarding the partisans. If he should have seen something by chance, if it highly unlikely he would even understand its significance or be able to convey the information accurately."

"Do you believe he is play-acting due to his capture?"

"No, I do not," I responded honestly

Hegel snorted in disgust. Hegel looked the prisoner up and down for several minutes. "Yes, as much as it pains me to admit it, I believe you are correct about him being an idiot. I can tell just by looking at him. The eyes, the shape of the head . . ."

My eyes narrowed at Hegel.

Hegel continued looking at the man, examining and analyzing him.

"You know, Dietrich? This man should not even be alive. All he is doing is taking up space and eating scarce food which could be sent to Germany for war widows and children." Hegel gave a few tsks as he began walking around the man.

I caught my breath. I immediately looked at Hegel. His diatribe was moving in a dangerous direction. I had heard it too frequently from other men like him.

"All of these feeble-minded, both the men and the women, are the same: Useless and oversexed. Sex is the only thing on their minds." Hegel continued walking around the man, looking him up and down as he would a diseased animal.

The Frenchman was oblivious to Hegel and his men. He kept trying to touch my medals, fixated on them. "Herr Sturmbannfuhrer . . ." I tried to say before Hegel cut me off.

"Swine like him were taken care of in the Third Reich. Who knows how many women he has raped and idiot children like himself he has fathered?"

I found the anger beginning to rise in me. I found Hegel's thoughts and words degrading to the man.

Hegel paused and his thoughts seemed to abruptly change. He looked around at the forest depths. "The partisans. They're out there. Waiting. Watching us right now."

"Possibly, but unlikely. We are open targets. If they had wanted to kill us, we would already be dead." I shook my head at the poor way Hegel had handled the raid. "They have already escaped deep into the forest through the area not covered in the rear. They will wait for the opportunity which will be the most advantageous to them."

"Why didn't they take him? And why didn't he run?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "The man was probably scared and hid, not knowing what to do."

Hegel shrugged his shoulders, not caring for my logic. He continued looking into the forest, mesmerized by what it contained.

"We need to send the partisans a message. We need to demonstrate the power of the Reich."

"Herr Sturmbannfuhrer," I interrupted. "I strongly . . ." before I could complete my protest, Hegel drew his service weapon and placed it against the man's temple and pulled the trigger.

My face was heavily splashed with the Frenchman's blood and brain tissue. I involuntarily took a step back before regaining my composure. The man slumped to the ground, the blood already gathering around what remained of his shattered head. My eyes locked with the arrogant eyes of the Sturmbannfuhrer.

I was shocked at the act Hegel had performed. I had seen scores of men brutally killed in combat and I had done my share of killing, but I considered the killing of the Frenchman murder. Not just the murder of a man, but the murder of a child. The killing had nothing in the least to do with warfare, but everything to do with Hegel's insatiable lust for control and power.

"You were saying, Dietrich?" Hegel said with a smug grin, oblivious to the gore splattered upon him.

"My thoughts regarding the man have now been rendered irrelevant, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer," I responded, seething. The sound of disgust was clearly evident in my voice.

"You Wehrmacht soldiers are too soft, Dietrich. It's obvious why it was a Wehrmacht soldier mutilated instead of an SS man. The SS know how to convey and demand respect."

Hegel proceeded to look out into the forest again. "Burn the village to the ground," he ordered his men in a far-away voice. "And as for this fine fellow," he came out of his trance and lightly kicked the lifeless body in front of him for emphasis, "string him up and emasculate him as his brethren did to Dietrich's man."

Hegel turned to me, the grin again reappearing on his face. "Would you care for the honor of performing the deed?" he asked me. "It will be your opportunity to extract revenge for your soldier and send a clear message to the partisans."

"No."

My voice was soft, but strong. A few of Hegel's men looked at me and laughed, misunderstanding the tone of my voice and believing me to be weak.

"I outrank you, Hauptmann Dietrich. I could order you to do it," Hegel said, a strange glint in his eye.

"And I would refuse to carry out your order, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer," I immediately replied. My strong voice carried and his men heard my blunt refusal. The SS men were no longer laughing, and were alarmed at my stance, finally understanding what was driving it.

Hegel took a step closer to me. It had now become a contest of wills between the two of us.

"I could have you shot for disobeying a direct order!" Hegel hissed to me in a low voice, angry at my disobedience.

I stepped closer to him, my face now only a few centimeters away from his. I could smell the heavy iron scent of the Frenchman's blood on Hegel.

We stared at each other, our eyes locked, neither of us backing down. "Then be done with it!" I challenged him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hegel shrugged and took a step back from me. "Suit yourself for not doing it, Dietrich. But it's not every day one has the pleasure of doing such an act upon another man. It should have be done while he was still alive to send an even stronger message."

Hegel signaled his men and they quickly dragged the heavy body away. It took them only a few minutes to hang him from a tree in the clearing, before ripping his trousers down and completing their mutilation. Other men were already in the process of destroying the village with flamethrowers. Soon all the buildings were consumed by flames.

"No hard feelings, Dietrich," Hegel said as he turned to me again. "I will see that your support today is counted toward your Anti-Partisan badge." He looked at my uniform. "You may then add it to the other ones the imbecile was admiring."

"Your effort is not necessary on my behalf." I gave him a curt salute and left, not waiting to be dismissed. I could feel the heat of the fire on my back as I slowly returned to my panzers. I took out my worn handkerchief and wiped the man's blood and tissue from my face the best I could.

I silently climbed aboard and gave the signal for the driver to depart. He looked at me wide-eyed.

"Herr Hauptmann, what happened back there?" the young man asked me. "What they did to that man was the same as what was done to . . ."

Uncharacteristically, I waved him off to silence him because I was incapable of replying.

Before we left, I took my last look at the disastrous scene. The village had almost been completely consumed and the flames were beginning to die down. I could see the mutilated Frenchman hanging, slowly swinging from the tree. He had been someone's brother, a mother's son.

And now he was dead, dead due to the Third Reich, the thousand year Reich I swore an oath of loyalty to support.