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The Story Of The Camp

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The camp was lively with shouts of laughter and partying. The Nazis were celebration news that had come in earlier. B regiment had seized a major town in the western region of Poland. But one soldier guarding the east edge of the camp wasn 't feeling the mood. He was stuck on guard duty while he could have been down the hill, drinking the night away with his comrades. The commander just had to pick him for patrols. The 38 year old soldier sat on a large boulder. He was dressed in a camouflage coat, dark grey pants, and black combat boots. His bowl shaped helmet lay in the gravel next to him, along with a standard issue M 1 Gorand strung across his back. He put one hand up to his chest and fingered a sliver dog tag. The soldier had picked it up as a souvenir from a fallen American in a battle just a few days before. He closed his blue eyes and chuckled, thinking of the Allied forces fleeing as they beheld the true might of the Axis powers. His laughter halted as he opened his eyes to reveal dark trees all around him. This wasn’t right. He had been at the edge of the forest, not in it. Especially not as far in to not be able to see the edge. The soldier swung his rifle off his back and quickly shouldered it out of panic after the howl of a wolf echoed through the woods. But wolves weren’t native to Germany. Something definitely was wrong. A heavy breath filled the frightened man’s ears. He quickly turned, rifle aimed, but his jaw dropped as his eyes fell on

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