But this fog over his eyes prevented any progression towards his goal.
He brought his hands to his eyes and gently rubbed their cold tips over his lids before smacking himself hard across the face. He scolded himself at the realisation that this brought no improvement, only a raw feeling across his cheek.
A man’s voice came from the left: “Was ist los?”
Harlan stammered across his few known German words.
“Ja … Meine augen sind … schwarz.”
Even without his eyes, Harlan could tell the man was judging him.
“Sie sind nicht Deutsch.”
Suddenly gloved hands clawed at his arms and his feet were lifted off the snowy ground. Harlan realised that his plan had been too rushed to consider that he would be discovered. He cursed under his breath as the men began to drag him towards what Harlan deduced would be a POW camp. At least he was heading in the right direction.