It happened gradually, across whispered conversations, across shared tears and stolen moments of relief.
Greta was the first to say it aloud:
“We must thank him. Properly. Formally.”
By “him,” she didn’t need to say whom she meant.
Thomas.
The farm boy who had walked unarmed toward a line of terrified women.
The soldier who had chosen mercy over protocol.
The man who had seen them as human beings when their own command saw them as expendable.
A handful of women nodded.
Then a dozen.
Then half the camp.
Eventually, every one of the 128 agreed.
Over the next week, a letter was drafted—first in German, then translated into shaky but earnest English by anyone who had enough vocabulary left over from high school or childhood lessons.
They worked on it late into the night, using borrowed pencils, scraps of paper, even the backs of ration forms.
By the end, it was more than a letter.
It was a declaration.
A collective vow.
A love-shaped gratitude that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with life.
V. THE MARRIAGE PETITION
The line that made history came from a woman named Helena—a former stenographer whose husband had died at Stalingrad.
“If we were free to choose our fate,” she said, “I believe we would all marry him. Every one of us. Because not many men in this world could deserve the gratitude of 128 women equally. But he does.”
There was a long silence after that.
Then one woman whispered:
“Write it down.”
Another nodded.
Then another.
By the time the petition was complete, it read:
“If it were possible by law, we would be honored to marry him,
all of us together,
for there is only one man who deserves the respect and love
of every one of us equally—
and that man is Private Thomas Weatherbe.”
All 128 women signed it.
Some signed with precise handwriting.
Others with shaky hands.
Others with ink-smudged fingertips because their hands trembled too much to hold the pen steady.
It was a petition of gratitude—
wrapped in the language of marriage
because they had no other way
to express the depth of what he had done.
When American officers read the petition, the room went silent.
Not a stillness of shock—
but of reverence.
VI. THE CEREMONY OF THE 128
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