Rudolf, who had moved over to the row of sinks to shave, grinned with the memory. That was a fine day, he remembered while he shaved his face, careful not to cut the deep cleft in his chin. He closed his eyes, remembering the sensation of her, but the feeling passed quickly when he splashed his face with water.
Unwittingly, he whistled the boogie again while putting on a clean pair of denim pants and shirt plainly stenciled with large letters on the front and back of each garment identifying him as a prisoner of war. Once dressed, he stood patiently in strict formation with his fellow prisoners on the dusty field of the compound watching the apathetic guards as they performed the evening head count. He stood proudly knowing one day soon the Third Reich would soon kick the asses of such a slipshod bunch.
When he stepped into the mess hall, the irritating American song returned; it stuck in his mind like a scratched record. Rudolf tried to focus on the faustball match that evening, but his thoughts—triggered by the song—returned to that time more than a year ago when U-893 prowled the eastern coastline. He remembered the joy he felt then that the indolent Americans did not have the slightest hint the U-boat lurked silently in their midst, hidden under the sea, homing in on their radio programs, and waiting patiently for the chance to annihilate their ships. But his happiness did not last; Rudolf’s life changed forever in one horrible moment when an American plane sighted the U-boat. Bombs were dropped before it could make it into the murky depths. Rudolf escaped with half of the crew only to be picked up by an American destroyer.
The smell of meatloaf engulfed his nostrils and he deliberately stowed away the wretched memory of the sinking of U-893. He was incredibly hungry, more so than usual, but Rudolf wriggled his nose in distaste. How he longed for curried sausage, or a good fried schnitzel, wondering if he would ever taste good German food again.
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