Chapter 23

March 1945

There were no radios or newspapers in Bergen Belsen. Yet news managed to seep in. Sometimes they overheard guards talking. Or new prisoners brought information from the outside world. Germany was losing the war. It was just a matter of time before its army collapsed.

“We have to survive until then,” Uncle Elemir told Paul. “Tell your mother she must stay strong.”

But could she? Paul worried constantly about his mother’s health. Then one day, he saw the first spark of real hope.

“Hey, Oscar, look.”

Paul was sitting on a pile of rubbish with another boy, staring up at the sky.

“What are you looking at?” Oscar craned his neck. Then he saw it: two planes were buzzing at each other, like bees out of a hive.

“They’re German planes. They’ll probably drop bombs on us.”

“No. One of them is British.” The other boy, about Oscar’s age, pointed. “See the insignia under its wings? It’s a target with red, white, and blue, not a swastika.”

“What does that mean?” Paul asked.

“It’s a British air force symbol. I saw one before the war. My name’s Marek. What’s yours?”

“Paul. This is my brother Oscar.”

Oscar looked at where Marek pointed. And then he whooped. “You’re right! It’s a British plane!”

“What is British?” Paul asked.

Oscar looked around to make sure there weren’t any soldiers nearby. “The British are people from England who are fighting the Germans.”

By now a crowd had gathered around them. Everyone was gazing skyward as the planes swooped and dove at each other, flames spurting from their wings. There was a sudden burst of fire and one plane went spiraling down.

“It’s the German plane!” shouted Marek.

Everyone cheered. For a moment they forgot about the guards, the guns, and the dogs.

Two guards appeared. Their hands were wrapped around their guns and they glared at the crowd. “Everyone, back to your barracks. Now!”

They look angry, Paul thought. Maybe it’s because one of their planes was shot down.

As they trooped back to the barracks, Paul grinned up at Oscar. “Does this mean the war is over?”

Oscar looked at him and winked. “Not yet, little brother, but once the Germans lose…”

Paul looked up at the sky. A wisp of smoke remained where the German plane had been. The rest of the sky was blue.

In their barrack, they found Anyu lying on her bunk. When she saw them, she struggled to a sitting position. Oscar told her about the plane fight.

“Whoosh!” he drove his hand through the air. “The British plane swooped down on the Nazi plane and BAM, shot it right out of the sky.”

“How wonderful.” Anyu clapped her hands. “Hooray for the British.”

“I saw it too, Anyu. The planes were fighting and fire came out of their wings.” Fists curled, Paul pointed his index fingers like guns. “Bam! Bam! Bam! Can we go home now?” he asked in a breathless voice. “Can we, Anyu? Can we go home?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” Anyu pulled Paul onto her lap. “But this gives us hope that the war will end soon.” She jumped as a loud voice echoed through the barrack.

“Outside! Everyone! Now!”

Anyu sighed. She motioned for Paul to get up and then struggled to her feet.

“Here, Anyu, let me help you.” Oscar took her hand. “I guess the war isn’t over yet,” said Oscar as they joined the line of people shuffling outside.

“No,” sighed Anyu. “Not over yet.”