"The songs of the sanctuaries turned into screams.'

In the dead of winter, we marched from dawn to sunset at the foot of the Alps. Sometimes we marched for days without food or water. If someone sat down, he was shot. We carried nothing. Blankets were acquired by picking one up off the ground where it lay after someone had dropped from fatigue and no longer needed it. As we climbed toward the mountain pass, the number of bodies increased. We were ordered to stop and form lines of five. At the pass, two were randomly shot from each line. As some fell, the rest kept marching.

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