The Wings of Morning by Murray Pura

corporal’s face darkened and he was about to reply when the captain appeared and barked a command. “As you were, Corporal. We do not make war on women and children. We are not the Hun. Get your men in the back of the truck.” He noticed Jude’s bleeding lip. “What happened here?”
    The corporal snarled. “He banged his head climbing in, Sir. Clumsy oafs, these German farmers.”
    The captain cut him with his eyes. “See to it that it doesn’t happen again. As he told you, he is still an American citizen.”
    The truck lurched forward, turned onto the road, and headed for the Miller’s farm. Jude’s father took Lyyndaya by the arm. “Come, my dear, we will follow them. And pray. Nothing good can come of this if we don’t pray.”
    Lyyndaya bent her head as the buggy rattled toward the Millers’. At first she prayed silently, but Mr. Whetstone asked that she speak out loud so he could follow along and join her with his own words. So she prayed in a quiet but firm voice and now and then, when she paused, Mr. Whetstone interjected his own High German. Ahead of them, the truck had already parked at the Miller farm. Lyyndaya could see the family crowding onto the porch as soldiers led Samuel down the steps and into the back of the green truck.
    As they drew up, Pastor Miller was remonstrating forcefully with them, trying to hold back his anger, refusing to let the young captain leave.
    “We pay our taxes,” he was saying. “We thank God for this country,
our
country.”
    “This is a time of war and we need your sons,” the captain responded.
    “We are farmers, that is what we do. It is not for us to bear arms. We bear the scythe. We grow the food you eat.”
    “I come from a farming family myself, sir,” said the captain climbing up beside the driver and the bishop. “Four brothers. All of us are in uniform. One is even a pilot.”
    Lyyndaya saw the bishop turn to him at this. “So, that’s what this is about? You need more pilots? And young Master Whetstone is a good flier?”
    “I don’t know anything about Mr. Whetstone and his flying abilities. I just have orders to bring in the young men selected for military service who refuse to take up arms in defense of their country.”
    Pastor Miller stopped talking and looked at the captain more sharply than before. “What other young men? Which others besides these three?”
    “I have six names. Now we must proceed to the house of David Hostetler.”
    “Who else?”
    The captain consulted a sheet of paper typed with a column of names. “Besides this Hostetler, one Jacob Beiler and one Jonathan Harshberger.”
    “All six of them? All of their numbers were drawn? From the same settlement? At the same time? I don’t believe it. You are trying to punish us.”
    “I have my orders. I do not have reasons. But I can assure you this is not a punitive exercise.”
    Pastor Miller’s face was grim. He spoke softly. “You lie to us. We all of us are Americans together and you lie to us.”
    “I’m not lying,” retorted the captain. “Each of their numbers was drawn. It sometimes happens.”
    “Where and when? Where else and when has it happened?” demanded the pastor.
    The Zooks’ buggy, driven by Ruth, stopped in front of the truck, the harness on the mare jangling. Lyyndaya’s father stepped down and removed his straw hat.
    “Captain,” he said, “I once held a job with the governor’s office in Philadelphia. Not this administration. But the rules have not changed. You know the Amish are permitted to refuse military service. This right has been guaranteed to them under dozens of governors and presidents.”
    The captain nodded. “I am aware of that, sir.”
    “It’s guaranteed in the Constitution. Freedom of religion. Our faith will not allow us to take human life.”
    “The Amish are protected, sir.”
    “But not the Lapp Amish?”
    “The Lapp Amish are considered a new sect. Apparently it’s not clear, sir, that the Lapp Amish are