Max watched dully as the American forces poured into Dachau. Their faces were locked in expressions of horror, anger, and disgust. Some of them were in tears. Most of the prisoners were overjoyed to be rescued from their living nightmare, but Max couldn’t bring himself to feel anything.
He had survived, despite everything. He had survived Warsaw, Auschwitz, the death march and now Dachau. He’d even managed to free several of his fellow prisoners, including his beloved Magda. He had every right to celebrate his liberation.
But he just felt empty inside. In shock, he supposed.
Following the orders of the Americans, he lined up with his fellow prisoners to be triaged by the displaced persons team. With so little medical care available and so many sick people, anyone who could stand was already low priority; but nevertheless many of them were deathly ill. Max himself was … healthy, by the low standards the situation required. He was hungry, but hunger had become the background radiation of his life. He felt disconnected from his own thin, frail body.
Nausea swept over him from god awful waves. Some of it was from the sights he saw, but it was mostly from the people around him, drenching him with their fear, terror, hunger and sickness. He was feeling it all almost first hand. He was doing his best to block it out, but there was so much. If he did go wretch, he wouldn’t be the first soldier among his platoon to do so. The stench alone was enough to churn the stomach, but god these people... They were skeletons... Walking, groaning, terrified skeletons.
Charles placed his rifle on the ground, needing it to steady himself as his head swam. It took him a moment to realize that his sargeant was calling his name, distracted as he was by all the screaming that was pouring into his head. He was saying something about those fit enough to help and Charles was only able to nod in return. The other was too busy to wait for a “yes sir,” anyway.”
Fit. Fit enough. Had he meant of the prisoners? How could he... ask that of them? Help with what exactly? He glanced around, seeing what others were doing. Oh. Alright. Help the wounded. That made sense. As best he could, with what little focus he had with the chaos of pain and misery going on around him, he mentally scanned vital signs. None of them were fit, at all. But there were a few above the current average... which wasn’t saying much. Finding one such man, Charles carefully made his way over.
<< Hello. Are you alright? >> His German was a bit choppy considering his dual concentration, but it was understandable.
