When George S. Patton’s Men Broke the Rules of Surrender DD

The heavy iron gates of the prisoner of war camp finally swung open, groaning under the weight of advancing American steel. It was the end of April, 1945. The United States 14th Armored Division, operating under the command of General George S. Patton’s legendary Third Army, had just broken through the outer defenses of Stalag 7A, the largest prisoner of war camp in all of Germany.

As the dust settled in the courtyard, the German camp commandant stepped out of his headquarters to officially surrender his facility. Despite the fact that his nation’s capital was burning, and his military was completely collapsing, the German officer looked as though he were preparing for a military parade.

His gray uniform was absolutely immaculate. His leather boots were polished to a mirror shine. His silver medals caught the spring sunlight. He walked confidently toward the dirt-covered, exhausted American tank commander, who had just driven through the gates. The German commandant stopped, clicked his heels together, and offered a crisp, formal military salute.

He extended his hand, fully expecting the American officer to shake it. He expected to formally hand over his pistol, sign a surrender document, and be treated with the aristocratic respect due to a high-ranking military officer. He expected the Americans to act like civilized gentlemen. But the American officer did not raise his hand to return the salute.

He did not reach out to shake the German’s hand. Instead, the American commander looked past the pristine German officer, staring deeply into the camp. Standing behind the barbed wire were thousands of American prisoners of war. But they barely looked human anymore. They were walking skeletons, men who had been deliberately starved, humiliated, and worked to the brink of death by the very man who was now standing with his hand outstretched, expecting a polite surrender.

The American officer’s jaw clenched in absolute, unyielding fury. He looked back at the arrogant German commandant. He refused the handshake. He ordered his men to strip the German officer of his polished belt, his pistol, and his gleaming silver medals. And then, the American commander did something that would permanently shatter the ego of the Nazi elite.

He took an M1 Garand rifle from one of his infantrymen. He walked over to a severely malnourished, 90-lb American prisoner of war, who could barely stand on his own two feet. The commander gently placed the heavy rifle into the trembling hands of the liberated American prisoner. Then, the commander turned to the arrogant German officer, pointed to the muddy ground at the feet of the starving American prisoner, and gave a single, terrifying order.

He forced the elite German commandant to sit in the mud, completely disarmed and utterly humiliated, guarded by the very men he had ruthlessly tortured just hours before. The illusion of the master race was instantly and permanently destroyed. To understand the profound, breathtaking justice of this exact moment, and why General Patton’s men completely abandoned the traditional rules of a gentleman’s surrender, we must look at the absolute hell the American prisoners had endured inside those wire fences.

During the course of the Second World War, tens of thousands of American soldiers, pilots, and air crews were shot down or captured behind enemy lines. Under the international rules of the Geneva Convention, prisoners of war are supposed to be treated with basic human dignity. They are supposed to be provided with adequate food, clean water, medical care, and safe shelter away from the combat zones.

But the regime in Berlin had absolutely no respect for international law. Inside camps like Stalag 7A, the reality of American captivity was a waking nightmare. Originally designed to hold a maximum of 10,000 prisoners, the camp was intentionally and maliciously overcrowded by the German High Command. By the time the Americans arrived in 1945, there were over 80,000 men crammed into the filthy, disease-ridden barracks.

The conditions were fundamentally barbaric. American boys from places like Texas, Ohio, and Pennsylvania were forced to sleep on lice-infested wooden planks stacked three tiers high. The winters in southern Germany were brutally cold, dropping well below freezing. Yet the prisoners were denied basic heating or warm blankets.

They wrapped themselves in old newspapers just to survive the night. But the most devastating weapon the German guards used against the American prisoners was not the cold. It was starvation. The daily ration for an American prisoner of war was intentionally kept at a starvation level. They were given a single slice of sawdust-filled bread and a bowl of watery soup made from rotting turnips or grass.

Men who had entered the camp as healthy, 200-lb athletes were slowly and painfully reduced to skeletal figures weighing less than 100 lbs. Diseases like dysentery, typhus, and pneumonia ran rampant through the barracks. Men died quietly in their sleep, their bodies too weak to fight off even the mildest infections.

While the American prisoners slowly wasted away in the freezing mud, the German guards and camp commanders lived in a completely different reality. The officers who ran these camps were often men who had completely bought into the fanaticism of the regime’s propaganda. They believed they were genetically superior to the Americans.

They viewed the starving prisoners not as fellow soldiers, but as a weak, undisciplined, and inferior breed of men. The German commanders lived in comfortable, well-heated wooden houses just outside the barbed wire fences. They ate rich, warm meals. They drank fine wines and smoked expensive cigars, often right in front of the starving prisoners to inflict maximum psychological pain.

They marched through the camp compounds wearing tailored, perfectly pressed uniforms and polished leather boots, carrying riding crops, and walking with their attack dogs. They took immense pride in their power. If an American prisoner failed to salute them fast enough, or did not stand at perfect attention during the freezing morning roll calls, the guards would severely punish them.

The German officers truly believed they were the untouchable masters of their domain. Even as the war turned against Germany, and the booming sound of Allied artillery echoed in the distance, the camp commanders maintained their staggering arrogance. They genuinely believed that when the American army finally arrived, they would simply change out of their uniforms, hand over the keys to the camp, and be treated with the utmost respect by the liberating generals.

They expected the American commanders to recognize their high military rank, and grant them the privileges of an aristocratic surrender. They completely failed to understand the furious, uncompromising wrath of General George S. Patton’s Third Army. By late April 1945, the situation inside the prisoner of war camps had reached a critical, desperate breaking point.

The men were dying by the dozens every single day. But hope was rumbling on the horizon. The men of the United States 14th Armored Division, nicknamed the Liberators, were pushing rapidly through Bavaria. These American tank crews and infantrymen had fought through some of the most brutal urban combat in Europe.

They were exhausted, covered in engine grease, and deeply hardened by the realities of war. As they approached the town of Moosburg, where Stalag 7A was located, they encountered fierce, desperate resistance from retreating SS units. But the Americans did not slow down. They crushed the enemy roadblocks, their Sherman tanks tearing through the German defenses with overwhelming, devastating firepower.

Inside the camp, the starving American prisoners could hear the distinct, heavy thud of American 75-mm tank guns. They could hear the rattle of .50-caliber machine guns. And then, the moment they had prayed for finally arrived. An American Sherman tank crashed directly through the barbed wire fences and the wooden guard towers of the camp.

The massive steel machine rolled into the muddy compound, completely ignoring the gates. The sight of the white American star painted on the side of the green armor sent an absolute shockwave of pure emotion through the camp. 80,000 starving, sick, and exhausted prisoners of war erupted into a deafening, tear-filled roar.

Men who had not been able to stand for weeks suddenly found the strength to drag themselves out of the filthy barracks. They crowded around the tanks, weeping, cheering, and reaching out just to touch the cold steel of the American armor. The liberating GIs climbed out of the hatches of their tanks, but their smiles of victory quickly faded into expressions of profound, heartbreaking shock.

The combat-hardened American soldiers had seen heavy casualties on the front lines, but looking at the men inside the camp was a completely different kind of trauma. These were their brothers. These were fellow American soldiers, airmen, and officers, and they looked like walking corpses. Their eyes were sunken deep into their skulls.

Their uniforms hung off their bodies like rags on a scarecrow. The liberating soldiers immediately began emptying their pockets. They threw their own chocolate bars, their C rations, and their cigarettes down to the cheering prisoners. Some of the tough, veteran tank commanders openly broke down and cried as skeletal prisoners kissed their muddy boots in gratitude.

The absolute, burning anger that filled the hearts of the liberating American officers in that moment cannot be overstated. And it was in the middle of this highly emotional, chaotic, and heartbreaking scene of liberation that the German camp commandant decided to make his grand entrance. Stepping out of his pristine headquarters, the German commander walked into the courtyard.

He completely ignored the starving men surrounding him. He adjusted his collar, smoothed out his tailored jacket, and marched confidently toward the American commanding officer. The German stopped, clicked his polished heels together, and raised his hand in a formal military salute. He expected the American officer to return the salute.

He expected the American to treat him as a respected equal, to formally accept his surrender, and to guarantee his safety and comfort as a high-ranking prisoner of war. It was a breathtaking display of narcissistic delusion. The German commander genuinely believed that the aristocratic rules of a gentleman’s war still applied to him, even while he stood in the absolute center of a starvation camp he had personally overseen.

He expected an honorable exit. The American officer simply stared at the German commandant. He looked at the German’s perfectly tailored uniform, his healthy, well-fed face, and his highly polished leather boots, and then he looked past him at the thousands of starving, freezing American boys who had been treated worse than stray animals.

The American officer did not return the salute. He did not offer his hand. Instead, he stepped forward and completely shattered the German commander’s illusion of superiority. In a cold, commanding voice, the American officer ordered his military police to immediately disarm the German. The American GIs stepped forward and roughly stripped the commandant of his custom leather belt, his sidearm, and his gleaming medals.

The German officer’s face flushed with deep, sudden embarrassment. He began to protest, attempting to invoke his rights as a senior military officer under the Geneva Convention. He demanded to be treated with the dignity of his rank. The American commander completely ignored his protests.

He had a much more profound, psychologically devastating punishment in mind. The American officer turned to one of his infantrymen and asked for his M1 Garand rifle. He checked the weapon, making sure it was fully loaded and ready to fire. He then walked over to the crowd of liberated prisoners. He approached an American GI who had been held in the camp for over a year.

The prisoner was painfully thin, his uniform hanging in tatters, his face hollow from severe malnutrition. Just hours earlier, this starving prisoner had been completely at the mercy of the arrogant German guards. The American commander gently handed the heavy, loaded M1 Garand rifle to the starving prisoner of war.

Then the commander turned back to the fully dressed, completely stunned German commandant. The American pointed directly to the freezing mud at the feet of the liberated, skeletal prisoner. “Sit down,” the American officer ordered the German. The German commandant hesitated, his eyes wide with a sudden, overwhelming panic.

He looked at the American officer, and then he looked at the starving prisoner holding the loaded rifle. The power dynamic had shifted so violently and so completely that the German’s mind could barely process it. “I said, sit in the mud,” the American commander barked, his voice leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

Slowly, awkwardly, and completely stripped of his arrogant pride, the German camp commandant lowered himself into the filthy, freezing mud. He sat directly at the feet of the 90-lb American prisoner he had starved and tortured. The master race had been brought to its knees. The American prisoner, gripping the wooden stock of the M1 Garand with his frail hands, looked down at the shivering, humiliated German officer.

He didn’t need to pull the trigger. He didn’t need to seek physical revenge. The sheer, overwhelming psychological victory of that single moment was more powerful than any bullet. The German commandant was forced to realize that he was not a superior being. He was not a respected military officer. He was a defeated, pathetic criminal, completely at the mercy of the very men he had considered weak and inferior.

This beautiful, poetic role reversal was repeated across several liberated camps throughout the spring of 1945. When Patton’s Third Army captured the arrogant men who ran these facilities, they refused to grant them the honor of a dignified surrender. They stripped them of their power, handed the weapons directly to the victims, and forced the German elite to experience the absolute, crushing reality of their own total defeat.

General George S. Patton and his battlefield commanders understood a very fundamental truth about the nature of tyrants and bullies. They understood that men who build their entire identity on cruelty and perceived superiority cannot simply be defeated on a map. They must be broken psychologically. If the Americans had accepted the formal, polite surrender of the camp commanders, it would have validated their delusion.

It would have allowed them to maintain their dignity and their ego. It would have sent a message that despite the starvation and the torture, they were still respected military men. The American liberating forces refused to give them that satisfaction. By stripping them of their rank, denying their salutes, and forcing them to sit in the mud under the armed guard of the very men they had starved, the Americans delivered a flawless masterpiece of battlefield justice.

They reminded the arrogant camp commanders that their power was entirely an illusion, and they restored the dignity, the pride, and the honor of the American prisoners of war in the most profound and deeply satisfying way possible. The story of the liberated camps is often remembered for its deep tragedy and its horrific conditions, but it must also be remembered for the sheer, unapologetic justice delivered by the men of the United States military.

They proved that no matter how dark the night gets, and no matter how arrogant the tyrant becomes, the dawn of freedom will always arrive. And when it does, the bullies will always be forced to answer to the very people they oppressed. What do you think of the American commander’s decision to hand a loaded rifle to a starving prisoner of war? Was forcing the arrogant German commandant into the mud the absolute, perfect form of psychological justice? Let us know your thoughts in the comments section below.

Make sure to hit that like button, subscribe [clears throat] to the channel, and turn on the notification bell so you never miss a story of true historical justice. Thank you for watching. Respect the fallen, honor the veterans, and never forget history. We will see you in the next video.

The heavy iron gates of the prisoner of war camp finally swung open, groaning under the weight of advancing American steel. It was the end of April, 1945. The United States 14th Armored Division, operating under the command of General George S. Patton’s legendary Third Army, had just broken through the outer defenses of Stalag 7A, the largest prisoner of war camp in all of Germany.

As the dust settled in the courtyard, the German camp commandant stepped out of his headquarters to officially surrender his facility. Despite the fact that his nation’s capital was burning, and his military was completely collapsing, the German officer looked as though he were preparing for a military parade.

His gray uniform was absolutely immaculate. His leather boots were polished to a mirror shine. His silver medals caught the spring sunlight. He walked confidently toward the dirt-covered, exhausted American tank commander, who had just driven through the gates. The German commandant stopped, clicked his heels together, and offered a crisp, formal military salute.

He extended his hand, fully expecting the American officer to shake it. He expected to formally hand over his pistol, sign a surrender document, and be treated with the aristocratic respect due to a high-ranking military officer. He expected the Americans to act like civilized gentlemen. But the American officer did not raise his hand to return the salute.

He did not reach out to shake the German’s hand. Instead, the American commander looked past the pristine German officer, staring deeply into the camp. Standing behind the barbed wire were thousands of American prisoners of war. But they barely looked human anymore. They were walking skeletons, men who had been deliberately starved, humiliated, and worked to the brink of death by the very man who was now standing with his hand outstretched, expecting a polite surrender.

The American officer’s jaw clenched in absolute, unyielding fury. He looked back at the arrogant German commandant. He refused the handshake. He ordered his men to strip the German officer of his polished belt, his pistol, and his gleaming silver medals. And then, the American commander did something that would permanently shatter the ego of the Nazi elite.

He took an M1 Garand rifle from one of his infantrymen. He walked over to a severely malnourished, 90-lb American prisoner of war, who could barely stand on his own two feet. The commander gently placed the heavy rifle into the trembling hands of the liberated American prisoner. Then, the commander turned to the arrogant German officer, pointed to the muddy ground at the feet of the starving American prisoner, and gave a single, terrifying order.

He forced the elite German commandant to sit in the mud, completely disarmed and utterly humiliated, guarded by the very men he had ruthlessly tortured just hours before. The illusion of the master race was instantly and permanently destroyed. To understand the profound, breathtaking justice of this exact moment, and why General Patton’s men completely abandoned the traditional rules of a gentleman’s surrender, we must look at the absolute hell the American prisoners had endured inside those wire fences.

During the course of the Second World War, tens of thousands of American soldiers, pilots, and air crews were shot down or captured behind enemy lines. Under the international rules of the Geneva Convention, prisoners of war are supposed to be treated with basic human dignity. They are supposed to be provided with adequate food, clean water, medical care, and safe shelter away from the combat zones.

But the regime in Berlin had absolutely no respect for international law. Inside camps like Stalag 7A, the reality of American captivity was a waking nightmare. Originally designed to hold a maximum of 10,000 prisoners, the camp was intentionally and maliciously overcrowded by the German High Command. By the time the Americans arrived in 1945, there were over 80,000 men crammed into the filthy, disease-ridden barracks.

The conditions were fundamentally barbaric. American boys from places like Texas, Ohio, and Pennsylvania were forced to sleep on lice-infested wooden planks stacked three tiers high. The winters in southern Germany were brutally cold, dropping well below freezing. Yet the prisoners were denied basic heating or warm blankets.

They wrapped themselves in old newspapers just to survive the night. But the most devastating weapon the German guards used against the American prisoners was not the cold. It was starvation. The daily ration for an American prisoner of war was intentionally kept at a starvation level. They were given a single slice of sawdust-filled bread and a bowl of watery soup made from rotting turnips or grass.

Men who had entered the camp as healthy, 200-lb athletes were slowly and painfully reduced to skeletal figures weighing less than 100 lbs. Diseases like dysentery, typhus, and pneumonia ran rampant through the barracks. Men died quietly in their sleep, their bodies too weak to fight off even the mildest infections.

While the American prisoners slowly wasted away in the freezing mud, the German guards and camp commanders lived in a completely different reality. The officers who ran these camps were often men who had completely bought into the fanaticism of the regime’s propaganda. They believed they were genetically superior to the Americans.

They viewed the starving prisoners not as fellow soldiers, but as a weak, undisciplined, and inferior breed of men. The German commanders lived in comfortable, well-heated wooden houses just outside the barbed wire fences. They ate rich, warm meals. They drank fine wines and smoked expensive cigars, often right in front of the starving prisoners to inflict maximum psychological pain.

They marched through the camp compounds wearing tailored, perfectly pressed uniforms and polished leather boots, carrying riding crops, and walking with their attack dogs. They took immense pride in their power. If an American prisoner failed to salute them fast enough, or did not stand at perfect attention during the freezing morning roll calls, the guards would severely punish them.

The German officers truly believed they were the untouchable masters of their domain. Even as the war turned against Germany, and the booming sound of Allied artillery echoed in the distance, the camp commanders maintained their staggering arrogance. They genuinely believed that when the American army finally arrived, they would simply change out of their uniforms, hand over the keys to the camp, and be treated with the utmost respect by the liberating generals.

They expected the American commanders to recognize their high military rank, and grant them the privileges of an aristocratic surrender. They completely failed to understand the furious, uncompromising wrath of General George S. Patton’s Third Army. By late April 1945, the situation inside the prisoner of war camps had reached a critical, desperate breaking point.

The men were dying by the dozens every single day. But hope was rumbling on the horizon. The men of the United States 14th Armored Division, nicknamed the Liberators, were pushing rapidly through Bavaria. These American tank crews and infantrymen had fought through some of the most brutal urban combat in Europe.

They were exhausted, covered in engine grease, and deeply hardened by the realities of war. As they approached the town of Moosburg, where Stalag 7A was located, they encountered fierce, desperate resistance from retreating SS units. But the Americans did not slow down. They crushed the enemy roadblocks, their Sherman tanks tearing through the German defenses with overwhelming, devastating firepower.

Inside the camp, the starving American prisoners could hear the distinct, heavy thud of American 75-mm tank guns. They could hear the rattle of .50-caliber machine guns. And then, the moment they had prayed for finally arrived. An American Sherman tank crashed directly through the barbed wire fences and the wooden guard towers of the camp.

The massive steel machine rolled into the muddy compound, completely ignoring the gates. The sight of the white American star painted on the side of the green armor sent an absolute shockwave of pure emotion through the camp. 80,000 starving, sick, and exhausted prisoners of war erupted into a deafening, tear-filled roar.

Men who had not been able to stand for weeks suddenly found the strength to drag themselves out of the filthy barracks. They crowded around the tanks, weeping, cheering, and reaching out just to touch the cold steel of the American armor. The liberating GIs climbed out of the hatches of their tanks, but their smiles of victory quickly faded into expressions of profound, heartbreaking shock.

The combat-hardened American soldiers had seen heavy casualties on the front lines, but looking at the men inside the camp was a completely different kind of trauma. These were their brothers. These were fellow American soldiers, airmen, and officers, and they looked like walking corpses. Their eyes were sunken deep into their skulls.

Their uniforms hung off their bodies like rags on a scarecrow. The liberating soldiers immediately began emptying their pockets. They threw their own chocolate bars, their C rations, and their cigarettes down to the cheering prisoners. Some of the tough, veteran tank commanders openly broke down and cried as skeletal prisoners kissed their muddy boots in gratitude.

The absolute, burning anger that filled the hearts of the liberating American officers in that moment cannot be overstated. And it was in the middle of this highly emotional, chaotic, and heartbreaking scene of liberation that the German camp commandant decided to make his grand entrance. Stepping out of his pristine headquarters, the German commander walked into the courtyard.

He completely ignored the starving men surrounding him. He adjusted his collar, smoothed out his tailored jacket, and marched confidently toward the American commanding officer. The German stopped, clicked his polished heels together, and raised his hand in a formal military salute. He expected the American officer to return the salute.

He expected the American to treat him as a respected equal, to formally accept his surrender, and to guarantee his safety and comfort as a high-ranking prisoner of war. It was a breathtaking display of narcissistic delusion. The German commander genuinely believed that the aristocratic rules of a gentleman’s war still applied to him, even while he stood in the absolute center of a starvation camp he had personally overseen.

He expected an honorable exit. The American officer simply stared at the German commandant. He looked at the German’s perfectly tailored uniform, his healthy, well-fed face, and his highly polished leather boots, and then he looked past him at the thousands of starving, freezing American boys who had been treated worse than stray animals.

The American officer did not return the salute. He did not offer his hand. Instead, he stepped forward and completely shattered the German commander’s illusion of superiority. In a cold, commanding voice, the American officer ordered his military police to immediately disarm the German. The American GIs stepped forward and roughly stripped the commandant of his custom leather belt, his sidearm, and his gleaming medals.

The German officer’s face flushed with deep, sudden embarrassment. He began to protest, attempting to invoke his rights as a senior military officer under the Geneva Convention. He demanded to be treated with the dignity of his rank. The American commander completely ignored his protests.

He had a much more profound, psychologically devastating punishment in mind. The American officer turned to one of his infantrymen and asked for his M1 Garand rifle. He checked the weapon, making sure it was fully loaded and ready to fire. He then walked over to the crowd of liberated prisoners. He approached an American GI who had been held in the camp for over a year.

The prisoner was painfully thin, his uniform hanging in tatters, his face hollow from severe malnutrition. Just hours earlier, this starving prisoner had been completely at the mercy of the arrogant German guards. The American commander gently handed the heavy, loaded M1 Garand rifle to the starving prisoner of war.

Then the commander turned back to the fully dressed, completely stunned German commandant. The American pointed directly to the freezing mud at the feet of the liberated, skeletal prisoner. “Sit down,” the American officer ordered the German. The German commandant hesitated, his eyes wide with a sudden, overwhelming panic.

He looked at the American officer, and then he looked at the starving prisoner holding the loaded rifle. The power dynamic had shifted so violently and so completely that the German’s mind could barely process it. “I said, sit in the mud,” the American commander barked, his voice leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

Slowly, awkwardly, and completely stripped of his arrogant pride, the German camp commandant lowered himself into the filthy, freezing mud. He sat directly at the feet of the 90-lb American prisoner he had starved and tortured. The master race had been brought to its knees. The American prisoner, gripping the wooden stock of the M1 Garand with his frail hands, looked down at the shivering, humiliated German officer.

He didn’t need to pull the trigger. He didn’t need to seek physical revenge. The sheer, overwhelming psychological victory of that single moment was more powerful than any bullet. The German commandant was forced to realize that he was not a superior being. He was not a respected military officer. He was a defeated, pathetic criminal, completely at the mercy of the very men he had considered weak and inferior.

This beautiful, poetic role reversal was repeated across several liberated camps throughout the spring of 1945. When Patton’s Third Army captured the arrogant men who ran these facilities, they refused to grant them the honor of a dignified surrender. They stripped them of their power, handed the weapons directly to the victims, and forced the German elite to experience the absolute, crushing reality of their own total defeat.

General George S. Patton and his battlefield commanders understood a very fundamental truth about the nature of tyrants and bullies. They understood that men who build their entire identity on cruelty and perceived superiority cannot simply be defeated on a map. They must be broken psychologically. If the Americans had accepted the formal, polite surrender of the camp commanders, it would have validated their delusion.

It would have allowed them to maintain their dignity and their ego. It would have sent a message that despite the starvation and the torture, they were still respected military men. The American liberating forces refused to give them that satisfaction. By stripping them of their rank, denying their salutes, and forcing them to sit in the mud under the armed guard of the very men they had starved, the Americans delivered a flawless masterpiece of battlefield justice.

They reminded the arrogant camp commanders that their power was entirely an illusion, and they restored the dignity, the pride, and the honor of the American prisoners of war in the most profound and deeply satisfying way possible. The story of the liberated camps is often remembered for its deep tragedy and its horrific conditions, but it must also be remembered for the sheer, unapologetic justice delivered by the men of the United States military.

They proved that no matter how dark the night gets, and no matter how arrogant the tyrant becomes, the dawn of freedom will always arrive. And when it does, the bullies will always be forced to answer to the very people they oppressed. What do you think of the American commander’s decision to hand a loaded rifle to a starving prisoner of war? Was forcing the arrogant German commandant into the mud the absolute, perfect form of psychological justice? Let us know your thoughts in the comments section below.

Make sure to hit that like button, subscribe [clears throat] to the channel, and turn on the notification bell so you never miss a story of true historical justice. Thank you for watching. Respect the fallen, honor the veterans, and never forget history. We will see you in the next video.