A German crouched behind a tree peering across at the Russians. He was in uniform, but he had no gun. He was talking excitedly into a field telephone, but he was not communicating with headquarters.
He was one of Herr Dr. Goebbels' propaganda boys, selling the home folks another war.
His voice was elated, but it was also as genteel as if he were describing the tennis matches at the Red-White Club in Berlin. "It is a fine summer morning," he said, "and the action here is wonderful."
He told how the...