It is a piece for a creative writing class in University. The assignment was to write a short store (1/2 page) that is based around a historical event or person. The reader should be able to tell what that event/person is by reading it. I just want some opinions on this piece. Thanks so much:

It’s freezing in here. You would think that with all the bodies, there would be some form of warmth. Many are huddled together in one shivering mass, while others are so still I have to keep myself from looking in their direction. The train jostles everyone, and I’m sure I hear one of those still bodies thrown from the compartment onto the stiff, frozen ground. The darkness is impenetrable, leaving only enough moonlight to see the hopeless expressions surrounding me. My mother sits to my right, tears frozen on her face. When I ask her why we are here, she cries and tells me in a strangled voice, “There is no good reason”. The train is beginning to slow, and people start to panic. I hear voices outside but it’s in a strange tongue that I’ve never heard before. The door is thrown open, and people are violently torn out by soldiers wearing dull-looking uniforms. I can just barely make out a warped symbol resembling a cross sewn to their shoulder. They’re pulling everyone out so quickly that there’s no time to get away before the next innocent victim is dropped on top of us. Weakened by the cold, my numb body cannot register the shock and I am unable to move. The soldiers prod us with rifles until we all manage to pull ourselves off the ground and stand shivering in front of them. They keep shouting at us, words that no one can understand, and brandish their guns until we are all cornered with only a chain-link fence behind us. Their eyes show no emotion: our begging and pleading does nothing. People are crying and families are desperately holding onto each other. We are backed up into the fence, and I feel my arm burn at its touch: an icy reminder that there’s no escape. My mother turns and embraces me and I can see my own fear reflected in her eyes. At least a dozen of the uniformed men stand in front of us, rifles drawn. I hear the unmistakable cocking of countless guns. There is a deafening silence: so quiet you can just hear the triggers being squeezed.

Thanks for reading!