He would have to settle for an unmarked grave, if you could call it that, and his bleached white bones, stripped clean by wild dogs in a dry riverbed on the outskirts of Kabul, not unlike the one he ...  [+]

I am a doll.

I was born sixty years ago at Görlitz in Germany, in a hut in Stalag VIII-A.

I am the one for whom a Belgian prisoner of war, number 15825, opened his clenched fists and to whom ...  [+]

Once you become visible, it's hard to disappear into the shadows again, but Hank White was doing his level best. His life depended on it. People looked right through you when you were flipping ...  [+]