Pounding against the walls of my head, my heart’s dramatic rush of blood shoots adrenaline throughout my body.
Before me crumples the German officer whose surrender I was taking until he pulled his .38 pistol on me.
A bullet from my rifle drilled a hole in his face where his left eye used to be.
Why did he have to do that?
I didn’t want to shoot him.
Frozen in place, I simply stare down at the body.
Why didn’t you just surrender?
You could have lived.
My eyes lift off of his lifeless body, though my rifle still points directly at him.
Moving toward eye level, I realize I still have to take the surrender of the rest of the Germans falling out of this bunker.
They are quiet, shuffling peacefully with arms raised, toward me.
I don’t want to shoot them too.
Please, surrender.
Eying the first man in line, I can’t see any signs of resistance.
Can I trust this one?
Lowering my rifle, I reach out to begin frisking him.
His arms stay raised as I pat all up and down his body before passing him on to Lucas, who stands about 10 feet away.
Thank you for surrendering without incident.
I eye the next one. He is also passive, arms raised.
Patting him down, I don’t feel anything, so pass him on as well.
This is so much better than shooting them.
I get into a rhythm of turning to the next German, patting him down, then passing him back.
No looking at faces.
Just get the job done.
German after German passes before me.
How many men were in this bunker?
Turning to the next German, I’m taken aback as my eyes fall upon his lower chest.
I start patting him down, but have to reach really high to get to his armpits.
Chuckles ring out behind me, though I pay them no heed.
I just want to get this over with.
Turning to laughs, I can tell several men behind me are finding something funny.
What are they laughing at?
I pass the prisoner back, turning to the next one.
Frisking three more prisoners, I finish the group before turning around to see the Germans and my fellow Canadians all looking at me with smiles on their faces.
What the hell is going on?
Lucas approaches me, big grin across his face.
“Roberts, that was a hell of a sight!” he says.
“What are you talking about?” I reply.
“You frisking that giant!” He counters, as if I should know what’s going on.
“Oh, the tall one?” I offer, not really thinking anything of it.
“Tall, they say he’s the tallest man in the whole German Army.” Lucas laughs.
I look across the men standing there to the giant within the German ranks. He towers above all the others.
Wow, he is really tall.
“We all got a good kick out of you straining to reach up to him” Lucas says has he puts his arm around my shoulder.
I’m glad someone can laugh about something today.
I’m exhausted.
Corporal Bob Roberts was overseeing the surrender of dozens of enemy solders during the Battle of Normandy when he processed the surrender of a 7ft 6in German. Standing at 5ft 6in himself, Corporal Roberts initially did not notice the man’s height. Roberts had been shaken moments before by having to kill a German officer who had pulled a pistol on him, rather than surrender.
Only after processing the Giant was Roberts made aware of the height discrepancy between himself and the tallest man in the German Army. His mates, as well as the other German prisoners of war, had a good laugh watching him try to frisk a man two feet taller than himself. They even captured a picture of the event.
Levity at war may be the only way to get past the rest of it.