|>>|| No. 20557
One of my great-granddads was on the German side (my nan was German). He was shot to shreds in a trench in northern France in September of 1944 by British aircraft attacking his post. His wife got a condolence letter from his regiment leader describing the events in eerie detail.
We fought a good cause, but that doesn't mean there was no human suffering on the enemy side. My great-granddad was a young lad of 27, with a wife and three kids at home, and I'm sure there were a million other things he'd rather have been doing than being cannon fodder for the Fuhrer in the latter days of WWII. If I remember my nan's stories correctly, he had made plans to escape deployment to the Western front and go into hiding, and he was on home leave just before he got sent to France, but he was too afraid the Gestapo would find out and arrest him or harm his family. The Gestapo didn't take kindly to that kind of thing, and they'd either execute you or send you to a concentration camp. So I guess in a world like that, bizarrely, you were almost better off sitting in a trench in northern France with your hands over your head, hoping against the odds that you would come back in one piece, than going into hiding and living in constant fear of being found out and shot in the head by secret police.