Back in his barrack, Rudolf removed his boots and placed them carefully at the foot of his cot, and then he stripped off his clothes, filthy with the dust of the cotton field and his sharp-smelling sweat. He dropped them on the floor, one on top of the other in a messy pile, and then sat wearily on his cot in his underwear. The interminable heat was even more stifling in the small barrack, and Rudolf’s longing for the green of his beloved homeland permeated his being. Disgusted with his circumstances, Rudolf’s thoughts turned easily to the conversation with the American bastard.
He pondered the heresy of the question about German fidelity to Adolf Hitler and then his mind roamed through his knowledge about democracy. Considering it from all angles—what he had been taught in the Third Reich and what he had viewed himself as a prisoner of war—Rudolf determined the American democratic system was a farce. It was beyond logic that every citizen could have a voice in their government, and the turmoil of the failed Weimar Republic imposed upon Germany after WWI certainly proved that.
Rudolf smiled faintly, knowing the German people would never again want self-governance because only Der Führer knew what was best for the Fatherland. With all his heart, Rudolf Meier believed in the Führerprinzip, the obligation that everyone must obey the nation’s leader. Germany’s glory was because its leader, Adolf Hitler, had led the country out of its economic crisis, and spread its military force far and wide throughout Europe. While he conceded the Wehrmacht was pulling back now on all fronts, that would soon change, and the world would crumple once again under Germany’s might. Rudolf felt certain of the Fatherland’s triumph, and when that moment happened, America—this country of mixed races and a foolish belief in individual freedom—would simply capitulate.
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