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Christmas Day
Christmas Day started whenever a man got up, which was anytime
from 3:00 A.M. to 12:00 noon. The Germans, as they frequently did,
kept their word and did away with roll call. For the first time in
months we enjoyed the luxury of sleeping late undisturbed by any
military information, any Posten screaming, "Raus!," any vicious
dogs. In the barracks there was talking, singing, cooking. Outside
and through the windows the sun shone brightly, and as the morning
went on the day warmed, stayed bright, with pink-tinted white
clouds drifting across the deep blue Bavarian sky above the green
pines and firs outside the camp.
"Any bets, Stubby," I asked, "on what we'll get for food
today?"
"Nope. Your guess is as good as mine. But I could use a third of
a loaf of bread."
Coppola leaned out of his bunk to say, "I heard from a guy
working in the kitchen that we get some meat, mashed potatoes,
and gravy," and added, ''I'm ready."
Jones volunteered, "I could eat a whole roast of beef."
The same conversation took place up and down the row of
bunks and across tables, one of which was especially decorated
with paper bells, tinseled stars, pine boughs, and strings of red,
white, and green crepe paper. Underneath all this was a scrumptious
bread pudding. Over the top of the "cake" in white frosting
were written the words MERRY XMAS. The big party was set for the
evening.
"Hot stuff! Hot stuff!"
The food arrived. It was, for most of us, satisfactory. A piece of
beef, undoubtedly horsemeat, about two inches wide and thinner
than a pencil. A spoonful of gravy with a touch of onion. It took half
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