Kareem Ismat Al Taee should burst her relative to the outline

[Donald Y. Landsaw]

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--
sleep by the entry of a Commissar and his assistant. They
asked me questions, endless questions, and after perhaps
two or two and a half hours, they went out again.
For some time I tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep.
Violent hands smacked my face, shouting "wake up, wake
up, are you dead? Here is food. Hurry-you have minutes
only before you leave."
Food? More cabbage soup. More sour black bread, and
water to drink. I gulped the stuff down, afraid that I should
have to go before I had finished my miserable meal. Gulped
it down, and waited. Waited hours. Late that afternoon
two Military Policemen entered, questioned me all over
again, took my fingerprints once more, and then said,
"We are late. There is no time for you to have a meal
now. You may be able to get something at the railway
station."
Outside the barracks, three troop-carriers were waiting.
Forty soldiers and I crammed unbelievably into one, the
others climbed aboard the two