All It Takes

June 6, 1944 12 P.M.

                   Here's the next chapter!  I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to comment, and vote.  :)
--------------------

There was a tap on his leg that jolted him out of his sleep, his body jumping in place as he opened his eyes.  He almost smiled, expecting to see Turner with a medic.  Instead, there was a Nazi, his gun aimed at Mitch's head, eyes cold and hard. 

"Lassen Sie Ihre Waffe fallen," he said simply, though the language made him sound slightly annoyed.  When Mitch didn't move a muscle, the German motioned with a nod to Mitch's lap where the gun lay.  Mitch nodded, understanding, and showed his hands as he placed the gun out of reach.  Next, the German motioned for Mitch to stand, taking a step back as Mitch stood to full height, hands still raised.  

There was another rumble of his voice as the other man spoke, his voice gruff, but somehow kind as he kicked Mitch's weapon away, and took yet another step back.  The gun rose back into place, and the soldier watched as another German materialized and patted Mitch down, taking grenades, and other supplies that he wouldn't need as a prisoner.  The word came slowly to him, sinking in with a cruelty as cold as the German's eyes, but somehow he didn't feel terror.

While they weren't altogether kind, their guns pointed at him, and their eyes leaving a lot to be desired, they didn't hit him, nor did they yell.  It felt like this was an everyday occurrence, as common as the police stopping a car on the side of the road, and asking for a license.  It didn't feel like he was a prisoner of war, but like he was being arrested for petty theft. 

The soldier searching him stood, and walked out of the thin line of trees, stopping at a truck where he placed Mitch's supplies.  In front of him, the other German watched him carefully, his gun pointed unflinchingly at Mitch's face.  He didn't say a word, probably because it wouldn't be understood, but somehow that worried him more than the gun did.  When his comrade returned there was a moment as they stared at him, or more so at his leg, trying to come to some unknown conclusion.  If it were him, he would have shot himself, he was too much trouble to lift, and sadly, he knew it. 

When one of the soldiers came closer he raised his hands, in a surrender they all knew was already in effect.  Mitch closed his eyes, resigning himself to the cold metal of the gun as he waited for it to happen. 

Instead of the gun meeting his forehead though, there was a painful poke at his leg as if someone were inspecting it.  Slowly Mitch opened his eyes and found the German soldier kneeled in front of him, his eyes focused on the gauze wrapped ankle.  There were some words traded between the two soldiers before the one in front of him looked up and met Mitch's eyes, questioning him with every second they lingered.