Theresienstadt Camp
Karl always thought the prospect of his own death would terrify him. Months ago, when they’d first committed to their plan, he and Markus had pledged to help each other, to bolster each other’s spirits until the last. There would be no begging for mercy, no weakness or capitulation. Instead, they’d meet their ends with bravado and good humor.
Now death was staring him in the face, but he found it didn’t frighten him at all. No, death was a relief because Karl had failed. That failure was almost as bitter as the certainty he would never lay eyes on Allina and their daughter again.
From the look of the young men pacing the camp courtyard, this small group of soldiers was more agitated at the prospect of killing him than he was of dying.
Jockel was a cruel bastard. He’d handpicked men under Karl’s and Markus’s command for the task, choosing those who’d served under them longest, and the boys they knew best. A few were holding up well enough, presenting the stoic faces of soldiers preparing for duty. Most were pale and twitchy, shifting on their heels as they waited for the commander to arrive.
Ten men assigned to kill two traitors. It seemed like pretty good odds.
“Make sure to do a good job of it, Müller,” Karl called out. He lifted his cuffed hands in a twisted salute. “Shoot straight, like I taught you.”
Müller spun around and stared, swallowing hard. The boy’s blue eyes—ones that had made all the Hochland Home girls swoon—brightened with tears.
“Christ. No need to torture him, Karl,” Markus muttered.
“Silence!” The high, nasal voice of Commander Albrecht Jockel echoed against the courtyard walls as the man lumbered in like an ox. He stopped long enough to cuff Müller on the back of the head before turning to address the condemned.
“Markus Klemperer, Karl von Strassberg, you are accused of high treason against our Führer and the Fatherland…”
Karl tuned out the man’s droning and focused on his breath, all thoughts turning inward. He’d made peace with God last night, but would not have the chance to do so with his wife. It was yet another regret in a long line of unforgivable acts when it came to Allina and Katrine. Guilt had kept him up all night, praying for their safety.
“Von Strassberg!”
Karl’s head jerked up.
Jockel’s face was a mottled red. The commander took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the sheen of moisture under his bulbous, runny nose.
“Have you anything to say?” Jockel asked.
Snapping to attention, Karl clicked his heels without raising his arms. “I love my country. Everything I’ve done has been for Germany.” He spat on the ground, an inch from the commander’s boots. “I’ll see you in hell, Jockel. Sooner rather than later, I’d wager.”
Jockel slapped him across the face, nearly sending Karl to his knees. “Shut up!” The watery blue eyes bulged, and spittle foamed at the corners of his fleshy lips.
“What will you do if he doesn’t, Jockel?” Markus drawled. “Will you kill us quicker? If so, by all means keep talking, Karl.”
The courtyard descended into silence. It was then that a falcon swooped in, causing every soul inside to stop and gaze heavenward. The falcon screeched brightly as it flew in a low, wide circle above them. Its dun feathers sparkled against the deep blue of the autumn sky.
“Cover their eyes,” Jockel ordered.
Müller came forward to tie a blindfold around Karl’s head. The young man didn’t speak, but Karl heard a strangled sob. Once he was done, Müller clapped a hand on Karl’s shoulder.
The cloth was thick and the darkness complete. Karl wondered if the blindfold was for his sake, or for the men who would perform their duty this morning.
“Still there, Karl?” Markus joked. “It’s dark in here.”
“Until the end,” Karl answered, grateful for his friend’s voice. “See you on the other side.”
“Ready…” Jockel called out.
I love you, Karl thought, holding Allina’s face in his mind’s eye, thinking of her moss-green eyes, her brilliant smile, her passion, her joy, her stubbornness, her anger—
“Aim…”
—Forgive me for failing, for the years we will not have, for every moment I will miss—
“Fire!”
Karl felt the bullets hit before he heard the roar of the pistols. The men shot true, for the pain was immediate and intense. Chest on fire, he dropped to the ground. An identical thud sounded as Markus fell beside him.
Then there was only the crunch of boots on gravel as the men marched out, leaving them alone in the courtyard. As the seconds passed, each one its own infinity, the falcon swooped in again, filling the courtyard with its joyous calls.
Seconds eased into minutes. Karl became aware of a thick, metallic tang filling his mouth, of how his heart was slowing, and the increased effort it took to breathe. A cool breeze washed over his body, and he shivered as the burning in his chest eased into a softer warmth. It was marvelous, how the pain slipped away. Let the darkness come. Let it take him like this, with Allina’s lovely face still in his mind.
In an instant, he was dragged upward. Karl was startled to be gazing down at his own body; a body that was broken, yes, but peaceful and still, and cradled in a pool of blood.
A low murmur of voices rose. They were soft, and so numerous he couldn’t make out what they were saying. As the voices grew louder, rushing over him with the roar of an ocean wave, they seemed to urge him higher.
Karl panicked and pulled away.
He needed to see his wife. His child.
The thought propelled him forward with a shot, through a buzzing tunnel of light and sound.
In the next instant, he saw her.
Allina was in a bed in a dimly lit room, cradling a sleeping Katrine in her lap. Enveloped in a golden halo of light, they looked healthy and beautiful and bursting with life. If only he could stay here. Karl would be content to watch them like this forever.
No. You cannot remain.
The voice was like a boom of thunder, clear and familiar. Karl turned to it.
His mother and father approached, holding hands as they walked slowly forward. They seemed impossibly young, even more vibrant than in his childhood memories. Arm outstretched in a graceful arc, his mother beckoned in the same way she used to when welcoming him home from school.
You can’t stay here.
Finally understanding, the soul of the man who had been Karl von Strassberg let go and fell softly, gratefully, into the light.