“Your Wound Is Infected…” — German POW Broke Down When American Surgeon Cleaned His Shrapnel Injury
The intake nurse at the American prisoner of war processing center in France sees the boy stumble off the transport truck and notices something wrong immediately.
He is holding his jaw with both hands and blood is seeping through his fingers when the guard orders him to state his name and unit.
The boy opens his mouth and the nurse realizes there are almost no teeth left.
The entire lower half of his face is swollen to twice its normal size and the smell of infection is so strong that the nurse steps back.
The boy is 21 years old and according to the tag pin to his filthy uniform, he has been in transit for 9 days.
But the wound is older than that and the truth of what happened to him is written in the shattered bone and torn tissue that used to be his mouth.
The boy’s name is Werner Muller and he is cataloged as prisoner number 8,412.
The year is 1945 and the war in Europe is collapsing so fast that the Allied processing camps are overwhelmed with German prisoners arriving by the thousands every week.
Wernern is processed at a forward holding area near the French German border, a converted warehouse with chainlink fencing and rows of muddy tents.
The intake process is supposed to take 15 minutes.
Photograph identification check, medical screening, then assignment to a larger camp.
But when Wernern steps forward for his medical screening, the American medic stops writing mid-sentence and stares.
The medic calls over the camp doctor, a captain from Ohio who has been working 18-hour shifts for 3 weeks straight.
The doctor crouches in front of Wernern and asks him to open his mouth.
Wernern obeys, and the doctor sees a crater where the lower teeth should be.
The gums are black and swollen.
The tongue is lacerated in multiple places and there are fragments of metal embedded in the soft tissue.
The doctor asks Wernern when the injury happened, but Wernern can barely form words.
His speech is slurred and wet, and every syllable causes visible pain.
The doctor writes a note on Werner’s intake card.
Urgent dental and surgical evaluation, possible sepsis, do not send to general population.
The guard standing nearby reads the note over the doctor’s shoulder and asks if the prisoner is contagious.
The doctor shakes his head and explains that the infection is localized, but that without treatment, it will spread into the bloodstream and kill him within a week.
The guard shrugs and says there are a hundred more prisoners waiting outside.
The doctor ignores him and tells the medic to move Wernern to the medical tent immediately.
Wernern is moved to a medical tent on the edge of the camp where prisoners with serious injuries are kept separate from the general population.
The tent smells like disinfectant and gang green and there are 12 Cs arranged in two rows.
Wernern is given the cot nearest the entrance and a nurse brings him water and tells him not to swallow anything solid.
The nurse is a lieutenant from Pennsylvania named Margaret Chen, and she has been working in field hospitals since the Normandy landings.
She has seen burns, amputations, and shrapnel wounds, but Wernern’s injury is among the worst facial traumas she has encountered.
She asks Wernern what happened, and Wernern manages to say one word: grenade.
Lieutenant Chen writes it down in Wernern’s medical file and leaves to find the doctor.
Wernern lies on the cot staring at the canvas ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that his entire mouth feels like it is on fire.
The pain is constant and sharp, radiating from his jaw into his ears and neck.
He can taste blood and something metallic, and he knows it is the shrapnel still embedded in his gums.
The other prisoners in the tent are curious about Wernner, but none of them speak to him.
One man has a bandage wrapped around his chest and is breathing in short labored gasps.
Another has a stump where his left leg used to be and he stares at the wall with empty eyes.
We are in the medical tent at the processing center near the French German border in late March 1945.
Now we go back to how Wernern received his injury in Belgium 2 weeks earlier.
The story comes out in pieces over the next two days because Wernern can only speak for a few minutes at a time before the pain becomes unbearable.
He was a panzer grenadier, an infantryman assigned to an armored division that was retreating through Belgium in early March 1945.
His unit was part of the Vermach’s desperate attempt to hold the line against the advancing American forces, but the line was collapsing faster than anyone expected.
Wernern’s company had been reduced from 120 men to 37, and morale was non-existent.
Wernern’s unit was caught in an ambush by American forces near a village called Hufoli, a small cluster of stone buildings that had been bombed into rubble.
The Americans had set up machine gun positions in the ruins, and they opened fire as soon as Werner’s column entered the village.
The Germans scattered, taking cover wherever they could find it.
Wernern dove into a bombed out building, a former bakery with half the roof missing and walls pockmarked by bullets.
He crouched behind a pile of broken bricks, and tried to steady his breathing.
The air was filled with the sound of gunfire, explosions, and men screaming.
An American soldier threw a grenade through the window, and Wernern saw it land 3 m away.
It was a standard fragmentation grenade, olive green with a corrugated surface, and it rolled across the floor toward him.
Wernern turned his head and dropped flat, but the grenade detonated before he could cover his face.
The blast wave hit him directly, and the concussion knocked him unconscious.
When he woke up, his mouth was full of blood and broken teeth, and his ears were ringing so loudly that he could not hear his own screams.
He tried to stand, but his legs would not obey.
He lay on the floor choking on blood and waited for someone to find him.
Wernern’s unit retreated without him because they assumed he was dead.
The fighting in Hufali lasted another two hours, and by the time the shooting stopped, the Americans had taken control of the village.
Wernern spent two days hiding in the rubble, drinking rainwater that pulled in the shattered foundation and spitting out pieces of teeth and bone.
He was too weak to move, and the pain in his mouth made it impossible to think clearly.
On the first night, he heard footsteps outside the building and froze, terrified that an American patrol would find him and shoot him on site.
But the footsteps moved on and Wernern remained hidden.
On the second day, Wernern’s fever spiked and he began to hallucinate.
He saw his mother standing in the doorway of the bakery calling his name.
He saw his younger sister, Greta, offering him a piece of bread.
He saw his father who had died in a mining accident when Werner was 12, telling him to get up and keep fighting.
Wernern reached out to touch them, but they vanished and he was alone again in the ruins.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, and he was not sure if he was awake or dreaming when a French civilian found him on the third day.
The civilian was an elderly man named Henry who alerted the American forces and a patrol arrived within the hour.
The Americans took Wernern into custody as a prisoner of war and he was loaded onto a truck with 30 other wounded German soldiers.
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The truck drove for 9 days through a supply route that stopped at four different holding camps before reaching the processing center where Wernern is now.
The journey was a nightmare of pain, hunger, and fear.
The truck had no suspension, and every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony through Wernern’s jaw.
The other prisoners were packed so tightly that there was no room to lie down, and Wernern had to sit upright with his back against the side of the truck.
The guards provided water twice a day, but no food because most of the prisoners were too injured or sick to eat.
During those nine days, Wernern received no medical treatment beyond a bandage and a canteen of water.
The wound in his mouth festered, and by the third day, the infection had spread into his jaw and throat.
His fever climbed, and he began to lose track of time.
He remembered stopping at a holding camp somewhere in Luxembourg where the prisoners were unloaded and counted.
Wernern tried to tell the guards that he needed medical help, but his speech was so slurred that they did not understand him.
They loaded him back onto the truck and the journey continued.
On the seventh day, one of the prisoners on the truck died.
He was a middle-aged sergeant with a chest wound and he stopped breathing in the middle of the night.
The guards dragged the corpse off the truck and left it by the side of the road.
Wernern watched through half-closed eyes, and he wondered if he would be next.
We are now back in the medical tent at the processing center.
The camp doctor examines Wernern on the morning of his third day in the medical tent.
The doctor brings a portable light and a set of dental tools, and he tells Werner that the examination will hurt, but that it is necessary.
Wernern nods and the doctor begins.
The lower jaw is fractured in two places and several fragments of shrapnel are still embedded in the gum tissue.
The blast also caused severe soft tissue damage to the inside of the mouth, including lacerations to the tongue, cheeks, and roof of the mouth.
The doctor counts what is left.
Wernern has five teeth remaining in his lower jaw and nine in his upper jaw.
The rest are either shattered or missing entirely.
The doctor uses a small mirror to examine the inside of Wernern’s mouth, and he sees that the tongue is split in two places, and the soft pallet is torn.
The shrapnel fragments are visible as dark metallic specks embedded in the pink and black tissue.
The doctor makes notes in Wernern’s file and tells Lieutenant Chen to prepare a surgical kit.
He explains to Wernern that the shrapnel must be removed and that the fractured jaw must be stabilized or the infection will continue to spread.
The infection is the immediate concern.
The doctor explains to Wernern that untreated oral infections can spread to the bloodstream and cause sepsis which is often fatal.
Wernern already has a fever of 39° C and his lymph nodes are swollen to the size of walnuts.
The doctor prescribes sulfa drugs, a relatively new antibiotic that has been saving lives in field hospitals across Europe.
Lieutenant Chen administers the first dose orally, mixing the powder with water and helping Wernern drink it through a straw.
The liquid burns as it goes down and Wernern gags and nearly vomits, but he keeps it down and the doctor tells him that he will receive another dose in 6 hours.
The doctor also begins a course of wound cleaning that involves irrigating Wernern’s mouth with saline solution twice a day.
The process is agonizing and Wernern has to grip the sides of the cot to keep from thrashing.
Wernern is one of approximately 11 million German military personnel who became prisoners of war during World War II.
Of those 11 million, roughly 3 million were held by the Western Allies, including the United States, Britain, and France.
The rest were captured by the Soviet Union, where conditions were far worse, and the mortality rate among prisoners exceeded 30%.
American prisoner of war camps in Europe, processed an average of 15,000 new prisoners per day during the final months of the war in 1945.
Medical resources were overwhelmed and many prisoners with non-life-threatening injuries received little or no treatment.
Priority was given to Allied personnel and German prisoners were treated only when time and resources allowed.
Oral and facial injuries from grenades and artillery were extremely common during the war.
A standard fragmentation grenade detonates with a blast pressure of approximately 300 kilopascals.
enough to fracture bone and tear tissue at close range.
The explosion also produces shrapnel fragments that travel at speeds exceeding 1,000 m/ second.
These fragments can penetrate flesh, lodge, and bone, and cause catastrophic injuries, even if the victim is not in the immediate blast radius.
Survival from a grenade blast at close range depends on distance, angle, and whether the victim was wearing protective gear.
Wernern was not wearing a helmet, and the grenade detonated within 3 m.
He survived because he turned his head at the last second, which meant the blast hit the side of his face rather than his eyes or brain.
But the cost was his teeth, part of his jaw, and nearly his life.
The medical treatment of prisoners of war in American camps in 1945 varied widely depending on location and available resources.
Large base hospitals in France and England had operating rooms, X-ray machines, and trained surgeons.
Field hospitals and processing centers like the one where Wernern is being treated had minimal equipment and were designed for emergency stabilization rather than comprehensive care.
Sulfa drugs which the doctor prescribed for Wernern were introduced in the early 1940s and revolutionized the treatment of bacterial infections.
Before sulfa drugs, infections like worers would have been almost certainly fatal.
With sulfa drugs, the survival rate for infected wounds increased to over 70%, assuming the drugs were administered in time.
On the fourth day, Wernern’s condition worsens.
His fever climbs to 40° C, and he begins to drift in and out of consciousness.
Lieutenant Chen checks on him every 2 hours, taking his pulse and monitoring his breathing.
She tells the doctor that Wernern’s heart rate is elevated and that his skin is hot and clammy.
The doctor examines Wernern again and finds that the infection has spread to the lymph nodes in his neck.
The swelling is now visible from the outside and the skin over the nodes is red and tender.
The doctor increases the dosage of sulfa drugs and orders cold compresses to bring down the fever.
Wernern hallucinates again, and this time the visions are darker.
He sees the American soldier who threw the grenade standing in the doorway of the medical tent, smiling.
He sees the faces of the men from his unit who died in huilies, their eyes hollow and accusing.
He sees his mother crying at the kitchen table, holding a telegram that says her son is dead.
Wernern tries to tell her that he is alive, but no sound comes out.
He reaches for her, but she fades away, and he is left alone in the darkness.
Lieutenant Chen stays by Wernern’s bedside through the night, changing the cold compresses every 20 minutes and monitoring his vital signs.
She has seen men die from infections before, and she knows the signs.
The glassy eyes, the shallow breathing, the faint pulse that grows weaker with every hour.
She does not want Werner to die, not because she has any particular affection for him, but because every death feels like a failure.
She joined the Army Nurse Corps because she wanted to save lives.
And every prisoner who dies under her care is a reminder that medicine has limits.
She wipes Wernern’s forehead with a damp cloth and whispers a prayer that she learned as a child.
On the fifth day, the infection begins to recede.
Wernern’s fever drops to 37° C and the swelling in his jaw decreases slightly.
The doctor is cautiously optimistic, but he tells Lieutenant Chen that the worst is not over.
The fractured jaw will need to be stabilized and the remaining shrapnel will need to be removed.
The doctor also explains that Wernern will never have a normal mouth again.
Even with surgery, the damage is too extensive.
Wernern will need dentures eventually, but those will not be available in a prisoner of war camp.
For now, the goal is simply to prevent further infection and allow the bone to heal enough that Wernern can eat soft food without choking.
Wernern regains consciousness in the afternoon.
And the first thing he sees is Lieutenant Chen sitting beside his cot.
She smiles when she sees his eyes open, and she tells him that the fever has broken.
Wernern tries to speak, but his voice comes out as a horse whisper.
Lieutenant Chin brings him a cup of water with a straw, and Wernern drinks slowly.
The water is cool and soothing, and it washes away some of the metallic taste in his mouth.
Lieutenant Chen tells him that he is going to survive, and Wernern is not sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed.
The doctor visits Wernern later that evening and explains what will happen next.
Wernern will be transferred to a larger medical facility near Paris where surgeons with more experience and better equipment can perform the necessary operations.
The transfer will happen within the next week and Wernern will be transported by ambulance along with other prisoners who require specialized care.
The doctor asks Werner if he understands and Wernern nods.
The doctor tells him that the surgery is necessary, but that it will not restore his mouth to its original condition.
Wernern already knows this and he tells the doctor to proceed.
The next 5 days are a blur of pain, medication, and waiting.
Wernern’s condition stabilizes and he is able to sit up and drink liquids without assistance.
Lieutenant Chen brings him soup twice a day and Wernner sips it slowly through a straw.
The soup is thin and tasteless, but it is the first nourishment Wernern has had in weeks, and his body craves it.
He gains a little strength, and the fog in his mind begins to clear.
He starts to remember details from before the grenade, the faces of the men in his unit, the sound of artillery in the distance, the cold Belgian rain that soaked through his uniform.
Lieutenant Chen notices that Wernern is more alert and she starts to talk to him during her rounds.
She asks him about his life before the war and Wernern tells her in broken English that he grew up in a small town in Bavaria.
His father was a minor and Wernern was supposed to follow in his footsteps but the war started before he finished school.
He was conscripted at 18 and sent to the Eastern Front where he spent two years fighting in Russia.
He survived Stalenrad, the retreat through Ukraine, and the chaotic collapse of Army Group Center.
He was transferred to the Western Front in late 1944, and he thought he would finally have a chance to rest.
Instead, he ended up in Belgium with a grenade in his face.
Lieutenant Chen listens quietly, and when Wernner finishes, she tells him that she is sorry for what he has been through.
Wernern does not know how to respond because no one has apologized to him for the war.
Wernern is transferred to the larger medical facility near Paris on a rainy morning in early April 1945.
He is loaded into an ambulance along with 11 other prisoners.
All of them with injuries serious enough to require specialized care.
The ambulance is a converted military truck with benches along the sides and a canvas cover over the back.
The ride is bumpy and uncomfortable and Wernern’s jaw aches with every jolt.
The journey takes 6 hours and by the time they arrive, Wernern is exhausted and nauseous.
We are now at a converted hospital near Paris in early April 1945.
The medical facility is a former French military hospital that has been taken over by the Americans.
It has three operating rooms, 200 beds, and a staff of 60, including doctors, nurses, and orderlys.
Wernern is assigned to a ward on the second floor where prisoners with facial and head injuries are treated.
The ward is quieter than the tent camp, and the beds have real mattresses and clean sheets.
Wernern is given a hospital gown and a meal of soup and bread, but he can only manage the soup.
The bread is too solid, and chewing causes sharp pain in his jaw.
He drinks the soup slowly, letting it cool until it is lukewarm, and he tries not to think about how much weight he has lost.
The surgeon who will operate on Wernern is a major from New York named Dr.
Kellerman.
Dr.
Kellerman has performed over 200 facial surgeries since the war began, including reconstructions for soldiers who were burned, shot, or hit by shrapnel.
He examines Wernern on the morning of the scheduled surgery and explains the procedure.
The fractured sections of the jaw will be wired together using metal pins, and the remaining shrapnel will be removed using forceps and irrigation.
The surgery will take approximately 3 hours and Wernern will be under general anesthesia.
Dr.
Kellerman asks Wernern if he understands and Wernern nods.
Dr.
Kellerman tells him that the surgery is necessary but that it will not restore his mouth to its original condition.
Wernern already knows this and he tells the doctor to proceed.
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The surgery takes place on a Thursday morning in late April 1945.
Wernern is wheeled into the operating room at 8 in the morning and the anesthesiologist administers ether through a mask.
Wernern inhales the sweet chemical smell and feels his consciousness slip away.
And the last thing he sees is the bright overhead light and the faces of the surgical team.
Dr.
Kellerman makes the first incision at 8:15, cutting through the swollen tissue to expose the fractured jaw.
The bone is splintered in two places and several fragments have separated completely.
Dr.
Kellerman uses wire and pins to stabilize the fractures.
threading the wire through holes drilled into the bone.
The process is delicate because too much pressure will cause the bone to crack further.
The pins are made of surgical steel and they will remain in Wernern’s jaw permanently.
Dr.
Kellerman works slowly and methodically checking his progress with X-ray images taken before the surgery.
The X-rays show the extent of the damage.
The left side of the jaw is fractured horizontally and the right side has a vertical crack that extends from the gum line to the joint.
Dr.
Kellerman aligns the fragments as best as he can and secures them with wire.
The bone will never be as strong as it was before the grenade, but it will be functional.
The shrapnel removal takes another hour.
Dr.
Kellerman identifies six separate fragments embedded in the gum tissue, the largest about the size of a pencil eraser.
Each fragment is carefully extracted using forceps, and the wounds are irrigated with saline to flush out debris and bacteria.
One fragment is lodged near the root of a broken molar, and removing it requires cutting away part of the gum.
Dr.
Kellerman works slowly because any mistake could damage the nerves that control sensation in the lower face.
If the nerves are severed, Wernern will lose feeling in his chin and lower lip permanently.
Dr.
Kellerman manages to avoid the nerves, and by 11 in the morning, all six fragments have been removed.
The final step is closing the incisions.
Dr.
Kellerman uses absorbable sutures for the internal wounds and silk sutures for the external cuts.
He wraps Wernern’s jaw in a bandage that covers the lower half of his face, leaving only his nose and eyes exposed.
The bandage is tight and it will remain in place for at least 2 weeks.
Wernern is wheeled to the recovery room where he will remain unconscious for another two hours.
Dr.
Kellerman removes his surgical gloves and washes his hands.
And he tells the surgical nurse that the operation was successful, but he does not say what he is thinking, which is that Wernern will live, but that his life will never be the same.
Wernern wakes up in the recovery room at 1:00 in the afternoon.
The first thing he feels is pain, sharp and throbbing, radiating from his jaw into his neck and skull.
The second thing he feels is nausea, a side effect of the ether.
A nurse is standing beside the bed and she tells him that the surgery was successful.
Wernern tries to speak, but his jaw is wired shut and all he can produce is a muffled groan.
The nurse explains that his jaw must remain immobilized for at least 6 weeks to allow the bone to heal.
During that time, Wernern will only be able to consume liquids and very soft foods.
He will be given a liquid diet of soup, milk, and pureed vegetables, and he will need to drink through a straw.
The recovery is slow and painful.
Wernern spends the next 3 days in the recovery ward, drifting in and out of sleep and struggling to adjust to the liquid diet.
He loses more weight, and his face becomes gaunt and hollow.
The nurses monitor him closely for signs of infection, and Dr.
Kellerman checks on him every morning.
On the fourth day, Wernern is moved back to the main ward where he will remain until he is stable enough to be transferred to a permanent prisoner of war camp.
The other prisoners in the ward are curious about Wernern’s injury and one of them, a former sergeant named Ernst, asks him what happened.
Wernern writes the answer on a piece of paper.
Grenade.
Ernst nods and does not ask any more questions.
The days blend together and Wernern loses track of time.
He sleeps most of the day, waking only to drink soup or take medication.
The pain in his jaw is constant, and the wires make it impossible to open his mouth more than a few millime.
Wernern develops soores on his lips from the constant pressure of the bandages, and the nurses apply ointment to prevent infection.
Wernern hates the helplessness, the inability to speak or eat or even smile.
He feels like a prisoner in his own body, and the frustration is almost worse than the pain.
The ward holds 24 men, all of them with injuries that require long-term care.
Wernern’s neighbor in the next bed is a man named Friedrich, a former tank commander who lost his right arm in a battle near Aen.
Friedrich is in his early 30s, and he has a wife and two children in Hamburg.
He talks about them constantly and Wernern listens because it gives him something to think about other than his own misery.
Friedrich shows Werner a photograph of his family and Wernern sees a pretty woman with dark hair and two young boys with gaptod smiles.
Friedrich says he does not know if they are still alive because Hamburg was bombed heavily by the Allies and the male service has stopped working.
On the 8th of May 1945, word reaches the hospital that Germany has surrendered.
The war in Europe is over.
The news spreads through the ward like wildfire, and the prisoners react in different ways.
Some are relieved because it means they will no longer be sent back to the front.
Others are angry because they feel betrayed by their leaders.
A few are simply numb.
Wernern does not know how to feel.
He is glad that the killing has stopped, but he is also terrified of what comes next.
Germany has lost and the country will be occupied by the allies.
Wernern does not know if he will ever be allowed to go home or if there will even be a home to go back to.
Dr.
Kellerman visits the ward the next day and addresses the prisoners.
He tells them that the war is over, but that they are still prisoners of war and will remain in custody until the repatriation process is completed.
6 weeks later, the wires are removed from Wernern’s jaw.
Dr.
Kellerman performs the procedure in the ward using pliers to cut the wires and pull them free.
The process takes 10 minutes, and Wernern grips the sides of the bed and tries not to scream.
When the wires are out, Dr.
Kellerman tells Wernner to open his mouth slowly.
Wernern obeys and the movement feels strange and stiff, like his jaw has forgotten how to work.
Dr.
Kellerman examines the bone and declares the fractures healed.
He tells Werner that he can begin eating soft, solid food, but that he should avoid anything hard or chewy for at least another month.
Wernern asks if he will ever be able to eat normally again, and Dr.
Kellerman pauses before answering.
He tells Werner that with time and practice, he will regain most of his function, but that some limitations will be permanent.
Wernern tries to speak for the first time without the wires, and the sound that comes out is slurred and wet.
The words are barely recognizable, and Wernern is horrified.
Dr.
Kellerman tells him that his speech will improve with practice and that the slurring is due to the damage to his tongue and soft pallet.
Wernern spends the next week practicing, repeating simple words and sentences over and over until his jaw aches.
The improvement is slow and Wernern becomes frustrated.
He throws a cup across the ward one evening in a fit of rage and the other prisoners stare at him in silence.
Wernern apologizes and Friedrich tells him that anger is better than despair.
Wernern is not sure he agrees.
We are now in late June 1945.
Now we follow Wernner’s transfer to a permanent prisoner of war camp in southern France.
Wernern is transferred to a permanent prisoner of war camp in southern France two weeks later.
The camp is a sprawling complex of barracks and work details, housing approximately 8,000 German prisoners.
Wernern is assigned to a labor detail in the camp kitchen where he peels potatoes and washes dishes.
The work is monotonous, but Wernern is grateful for it because it means he does not have to speak.
His speech has improved since the surgery, but it is still slurred and difficult to understand, and some of the other prisoners mock him for it.
Wernern ignores them and focuses on the work, and at night, he lies on his bunk and thinks about the day the grenade went off and everything that came after.
The months pass slowly in the camp.
Wernern settles into a routine.
Wake at 6:00, work in the kitchen until 4, eat dinner, and sleep.
The days are long and monotonous, but Wernern is grateful for the structure.
The other prisoners in his barracks are a mix of men from different units and backgrounds.
Some are career soldiers, others are conscripts like Wernern.
They talk about the war, about their families, and about what they will do when they are finally released.
Wernern listens but does not contribute much because speaking is still painful and embarrassing.
In the spring of 1946, the camp administration announces that repatriation will begin soon.
Prisoners will be released in groups based on their health and behavior, and those who worked in the camps and caused no trouble will be released first.
Wernern is relieved because he has been a model prisoner.
He has worked hard, followed the rules, and avoided conflict.
He is scheduled to be released in March 1946, nearly a year after his capture.
The news gives him hope, and for the first time in months, Wernern allows himself to think about the future.
In August 1945, Wernern is allowed to send a letter to his family in Germany.
The letter is limited to 50 words, and it must be written in German and approved by the camp sensor.
Wernern writes carefully, choosing his words with precision.
He tells his mother and sister that he is alive, that he was injured but is recovering, and that he hopes to see them again soon.
He does not mention the grenade or the surgery or the teeth because there are not enough words and because he does not want them to worry.
The letter is sent in early September and Wernern waits for a reply.
The reply arrives in November.
Wernern’s sister, Greta, writes that she received his letter and that their mother cried for an hour after reading it.
Greta tells him that the family is safe, that she is working in a bakery in town, and that their mother’s health is declining, but that she is holding on.
Greta also tells Werner that their hometown was bombed twice during the war and that many of the buildings are in ruins.
She asks Wernern when he will be allowed to come home and she tells him that their mother prays for him every night.
Wernern reads the letter three times and then he folds it carefully and keeps it in his pocket.
He does not write back immediately because he does not know what to say.
How do you explain to your family that you will never look the same, that your voice will never sound the same, and that the person they remember is gone? Wernern finally writes a second letter in December.
He tells Greta that he does not know when he will be released, but that he is working in the camp and staying healthy.
He asks about their mother and tells Greta to take care of her.
He also warns Greta that when he comes home, he will look different and sound different and that she should prepare their mother for that.
He does not go into details because the sensor will not allow it and because he does not want to frighten them.
He signs the letter and hands it to the camp clerk and then he goes back to work in the kitchen.
The night before his release, Wernern lies on his bunk and thinks about everything that has happened.
He thinks about the grenade and the surgery and the long months of recovery.
He thinks about Lieutenant Chen and Dr.
Kellerman who saved his life.
He thinks about Friedrich and Ernst and he wonders what will happen to them.
He thinks about his mother and Greta and he wonders if they will recognize him.
And he thinks about the boy he used to be.
The 17-year-old who believed in glory and duty and all the lies they told him.
That boy is dead.
And Wernner is not sure who he is anymore.
But he is alive and that will have to be enough.
We are now at the camp in southern France in March 1946.
Now we follow Wernern’s release and his journey back to Germany.
Wernern is released from the camp in March 1946, nearly a year after his capture.
The release process is chaotic with thousands of prisoners being processed and sent home over the course of several weeks.
Wernern is given a set of civilian clothes, a train ticket, and a small amount of money.
He boards a train bound for Munich, and the journey takes 2 days.
The train is crowded with former prisoners and refugees, and Wernern sits in silence, staring out the window at the ruined countryside.
The fields are scarred by bomb craters, and the towns are piles of rubble.
Wernern realizes that Germany has been destroyed, and he wonders what kind of country he is returning to.
When Wernern arrives in Bavaria, he finds his family’s home still standing, though the village around it has been heavily damaged by bombing.
The main street is lined with burnedout buildings, and the church where Wernern was baptized is missing its roof.
Wernern walks slowly through the village, and people stare at him.
Some recognize him and nod, but most look away.
Wernern does not blame them.
He knows he looks like a ghost, thin and scarred and broken.
He reaches his family’s house and knocks on the door and his sister Greta opens it.
She stares at him for a long moment and then she begins to cry.
She pulls him inside and their mother comes to see him.
Wernern’s mother does not recognize him at first.
She is older and frailer than Wernern remembers and her hair has gone completely gray.
She looks at Werner’s face at the scars and the sunken cheeks and she asks Greta who he is.
Greta tells her and their mother’s face crumples.
She reaches out and touches Wernern’s face and then she pulls him into a hug.
She sobs into his shoulder and Wernner stands stiffly unsure of what to do.
He has not been hugged in over a year and the sensation is overwhelming.
His mother pulls back and looks at him again and she tells him that she thought he was dead.
Wernern tries to tell her that he is sorry, but the words come out slurred and broken and his mother starts crying again.
Wernern lives with his family for the next two years while he recovers and adjusts to civilian life.
The adjustment is difficult.
Wernern is haunted by nightmares of the grenade and the surgery and he wakes up screaming several times a week.
His mother and Greta try to comfort him, but there is little they can do.
Wernern also struggles with the physical limitations of his injury.
He cannot eat many foods because chewing is painful and difficult.
He avoids speaking in public because his slurred speech draws staires and mockery.
He becomes withdrawn and isolated and his mother worries that he will never be the same.
Wernern finds work as a laborer on a construction crew rebuilding homes and roads that were destroyed during the war.
The work is hard, but Wernern is used to hard work, and the other men on the crew do not ask questions about his scars or his speech.
Wernern appreciates the silence, and he throws himself into the work.
He works 10-hour days, 6 days a week, and he comes home exhausted and covered in dust.
The physical labor helps him sleep, and the nightmares become less frequent.
Greta tells him that he looks healthier and Wernern supposes that is true.
He has gained back some of the weight he lost and his strength is returning.
But he still feels hollow inside, like part of him died in that bombed out bakery in Hufali.
