'Nameless' was what they called them.  Not important enough to be prisoners of war, not useless enough to be ignored, they had been hustled from their homes and brought here - the stalag - while it was decided what to do with them.<br/><br/>Tatiyana clung to her name as part of her identity.  Born of rural stock, she was physically fit, but she had also exercised her mind as well.  It was that aspect that had attracted the attention of the invaders.  "Rohstoffe," one of them had said before ushering her into one of the many transports.  She had soon found that most of her fellow prisoners were similarly selected - smart enough to learn, fit enough to survive, but what?<br/><br/>Once they arrived, they were further divided - men to one side, women to another.  The basic necessities were provided, but she hadn't seen sunlight for weeks other than through gritty windows or the wire-roofed 'exercise yard'.  Her dark hair was cut almost mannishly short that first day, but had grown out enough to give a softer appearance over that time.  It was a place designed to break the spirit, and among her block, she was the most steadfast, maintaining a certain 'spark' while the others fell into a gray routine.<br/><br/>Today, she had seen someone who was obviously of higher rank looking over the yard and talking with the guard.  They had gestured in her direction, and salutes had been exchanged before the klaxon signaling the end of the exercise period sounded and all the women were returned to their bunks.