Winter, 1962 – East German Border, near Fulda Gap Private First Class Daniel Briggs didn’t mind the silence. It suited him. The wind, the wire, the way frost curled along the edges of steel — it all had a rhythm, and Daniel had learned to walk inside it. He was twenty-three years old, posted to the U.S. Army’s outermost Cold War line — a sleepy checkpoint with a sleepy name: Checkpoint Delta. The job wasn’t glamorous. Mostly long watches, slow nights, and the dull ache of being forgotten by both