She called out his name, more to herself than him. Her faith in God and Adam were inexplicably linked.
Thomas started to run towards the nearest truck. It had been his intention to take out the soldier manning the searchlight for his third shot but he couldn't help but notice how quick the Sergeant upon the back of the second truck had reacted. He was on his feet immediately after his Lieutenant had been taken out and the flash from Thomas' second shot had alerted the experienced Sergeant to the assassin's location in the blacked out street. Two rifle shots rang out in quick succession, almost simultaneously, from the Sergeant and Corporal respectively
Jessica desperately turned around again. The frantic woman took two paces in one direction, then two paces in another - yet ultimately it still seemed as if she were rooted to the spot. Another Jewish woman, fleeing, bumped into her. The row of intended victims were as confused and frightened as anyone, if not more so - but they finally started to scatter into the camouflaging night.
Remembering how important it was for him to take out the soldier with the machine-gun Duritz devoted two carefully aimed shots at the panic-stricken Corporal. The first struck the man in his right shoulder, but the force of the pistol shot swivelled the man around. The SS Corporal was still conscious enough though to unleash a burst of machine-gun fire, which commenced a few yards to Duritz's left and the continued in a one-hundred and eighty degree arc. The result was that the Corporal unwittingly ended up scything down his comrade next to him - whilst also firing upon the escaping Jews. The second shot from Duritz's Mauser however felled the Corporal, hitting him just below the throat.
Before collapsing to his knees from the burning wound in his abdomen the obdurate SS Sergeant had been able to get out his own shot. Thomas winced as he felt the sting and bite of the bullet tear through his right thigh.
Yitzhak Meisel had ducked for cover beneath one of the trucks and crawled through the other side when the firing had commenced. He instinctively headed for the area which appeared to be devoid of soldiers and fighting. The infernal din temporarily prevented the policeman from collecting his thoughts - but then the policeman spotted his little fugitive in the doorway of the building across the street. For a moment Kolya was paralysed as, at almost the same moment, his eyes met the constable's glare. After a strange pause, in which Yitzhak Meisel might have even wolfishly smirked at his prey, the policeman scrambled out from underneath the truck. The clatter of the machine-gun fire deafened Kolya and distracted his attention for a moment (and so too he fleetingly saw Jessica). But the youth then darted into the tenement building and fled up the stairs - terror and desperation coursing through his veins like adrenaline as the diabolical policeman pursued him.
The tall soldier with the harelip had first ducked for cover in front of the first truck, overestimating the extent of the force which had unleashed the surprise ambush. As almost a token gesture he had fired a couple of shots upon one of the Jewish youths attempting to escape. The bright burst of machine gun fire not ten feet away which followed shortly after forced the soldier to duck down again though. He pressed his back against the grill of the vehicle, gripped his rifle and trembled.
Perhaps it was due to the tirade of sound from the MP40 - one stray bullet had even clanged and ricocheted against the truck door - but Dietmar regained consciousness. The adjutant kept his head down with the fire fight still raging on. His shoulder throbbed with a pain that Dietmar had scarce imagined before, let alone experienced. He was naturally distracted though by the figure of his Lieutenant propped up against the passenger door of the truck. Christian took short, rasping breaths. A giant splurge of blood soaked his coat. His face was coral white but for streaks of raspberry-red blood which marked his chin. One might have thought that the Lieutenant would die with anger in his expression at being murdered so, or seething in pain, but no. His lasts thoughts were for Dietmar as he tried to raise his hand towards the attractive boy's face. There was a rare tenderness in Kleist's countenance, his lips even contorted in an attempt at a comforting smile for his companion. With great pain and effort Christian tried to speak, but failed. He passed away in the attempt - blood, rather than his wish for him to be buried back in Germany, trickling out from his mouth.
Slightly deafened from the cacophony of the machine-gun fire Duritz barely heard the bullet which shaved past his head. He fired another brace of shots but even through the smoke and darkness Adam could see that they both missed. Distracted; he could see Thomas out the corner of his eye. Was he hit? The driver of the truck had appeared as if from nowhere, a pistol similar to his in the soldier's hand. A shot also passed way over his head, emanating from the man positioned by the searchlight on the truck. It was all happening so quickly, yet slowly. Dream-like. Courage led Duritz on but when he saw an additional soldier run out from behind the same vehicle his heart sank. There were too many of them. David so seldom conquers Goliath. Surprise had helped, but it had not been enough. Where were Jessica and Kolya? He hadn't seen them. Two shots left.
After rushing up a flight of stairs, roaring it occurred to the policeman that he had the boy trapped. Yitzhak Meisel was familiar with the old tenement block having carried out two aktions on its tenants before. The exit to the roof had been sealed shut. There were no fire escapes. He could take his time in catching up with the troublesome youth, enjoy it even. Indeed the policeman slowed himself down, smiling as he listened to the doomed boy's feet scamper up the stairs. He didn't want to be out of breath when he got hold of the child - nor did he want to give the rascal a chance of slipping back past him.
"Keep running boy. The higher you get up the stairs the less time it'll take to get to heaven - or hell, when I toss you off this god-forsaken building," Yitzhak bellowed up the stairwell.
The truck stood in between Thomas and the group of soldiers who were about to unleash a volley of fire into Adam. The Corporal didn't even have the angle to fire upon the soldier who had worked the searchlight on the first truck, but he did not need it - as the soldier was now half way down the street, fleeing the ambush. Two shots remained in the magazine of his Karabiner Kar. Out of the corner of his eye he witnessed Adam fall.
Thomas' heart sank upon seeing his friend fall, but then rose up bravely, savagely. He ran and orestia-like leapt up upon the back of the nearest truck - his wounded leg giving way slightly as he landed. Thomas stood now over the two soldiers who had just fired upon Adam. The soldiers temporarily froze out of fear and surprise, that it had been a fellow German who had attacked them. Thomas fired down upon them. Two shots. Two dead. Fortunately Adam had just been but clipped in the arm from a pistol shot. He propped himself up and desperately fired again at the enemy, emptying the magazine into the two Germans that Thomas was shooting down upon as well.
The tall soldier with the harelip who had come out from his cover to attack Adam let off one round from his rifle before he checked his offensive - after seeing a Jew dressed in a Wehrmacht uniform loom over his comrades and fire down upon them. With the same wild haste the terrified Private motioned to retreat but was again checked in his decision by hearing the telling click of the empty weapons. He turned back towards the already wounded enemy. There was a moment which seemed to be frozen in time. Adam bowed his head and collapsed on the street, defeated. The soldier pointed his rifle at the murderous Jew dressed up in a soldier's uniform upon the truck, his victorious and sadistic sneer even more pronounced. Thomas was momentarily crushed by the thought that they had come so close to saving Jessica and Kolya. It had all been for nothing. But then Thomas was struck by another thought. He smiled back at the sneering soldier and winked at him, mischievously - fraternally almost. Whilst the tall Private was momentarily surprised, distracted, by this strange gesture Thomas whipped his rifle from his hands and launched it at the soldier, throwing the weapon as if it were a frisbee. The improvised missile clattered against the Private's own rifle and knocked it out of his hands. The futile attack would earn but a stay of execution for the two
assassins though as the tall German would quickly retrieve the loaded rifle and immediately fire upon the enemy.
Thomas gritted his teeth in fiery pain as he put pressure on his wounded leg and hastily bent down to pick up the dead SS Sergeant's rifle. The scene was strangely reminiscent of a Wild West showdown, with both men attempting to be quickest on the draw and fire. The bullet blasted through the Private's sternum at such close range that he was knocked off his feet, unconscious before even hitting the ground.
Still fired up - and worried in case the tall Private was not the only soldier still left standing on the street - Thomas leapt back down from the truck. He stumbled upon landing on the hard road as the soldier's bloody leg gave way. Adrenaline picked the man up however and, rifle ready, he glanced both ways along the corpse-littered street, the air filled with the acrid smell of gun-fire. He then limped around to the front of the first truck. Thomas opened the driver's door of the vehicle to find a cowering Dietmar. A large epaulette of blood covered his shoulder. He whimpered upon seeing Thomas level the rifle at him (did Dietmar even recognise it was his old Corporal at this point?). Kleist was dead. The Corporal removed the two rifles from the cabin out of precaution. You may argue that Thomas should have murdered Dietmar too, leaving no witnesses to his crime. But the soldier could not murder the youth in cold blood. The good German was at this point also distracted by Adam, calling out his name in a desperate plea for assistance.
During the time in which Thomas checked around the vehicles for anymore SS Duritz had made his way up the dismal street in an attempt to find Jessica. Adam found her soon enough, dying.
Kolya could hear the taunts of the psychotic policeman from the flights of stairs below. For a short time the boy had commenced to sob as if the violent demon had already caught up with him. The child's heart pounded frenetically as though Kolya had been plunged into a vivid nightmare. Indeed wasn't there even a horrid sense of deja vu about the scenario? For more than once Kolya had dreamed that the pock-marked policeman was chasing him through the gothic maze of the ghetto. And always Meisel had finally hunted the boy down, upon which Kolya would wake. Sweating. Terrified - caught in the twilight between sleep and the waking world.
After a couple of days from when Meisel had pursued Kolya before - and sensing that the boy was still suffering from the ordeal - Duritz had spoken to him. He said he was proud of the boy that he ran - and he was clever enough to hide. When those two options were exhausted though, when you had no choice, Duritz advised Kolya on how he had to fight.
"Use any weapon you can find. Fight fast and fight dirty... Consider your size as a strength, not weakness. Remember that you're mobile...That they won't be expecting you to fight back....Use the element of surprise."
Duritz's words echoed through the youth now. Kolya reached the top floor and realised there was nowhere else left to run. But he could still hide - and fight. He saw the half-brick prop open the door to a deserted apartment. He picked the russet-coloured block up, bulky in his tiny hand. He peered into the room and saw the window. Kolya rushed to open it, making a loud scraping noise as he did so.
Yitzhak Meisel felt a slight drop in temperature as he climbed to the top of the creaking stairs. A draught wafted into his face. Added to the sound of what he suspected was a window opening the constable decided to venture into the apartment from where the draught was emanating. Meisel tapped the hard wooden truncheon upon his thigh with every step he took. It was a small one-room dwelling. The door was fully open, resting against the wall. The policeman furrowed his brow. Had he been wrong? Did some of the apartments have balconies? Was the daring ferret attempting now to scale down a drainpipe? Meisel approached the window, half expecting to see the boy hanging down from the windowsill, in hope that the policeman wouldn't check such a thing.
The last thing Yitzhak Meisel heard was a brief war cry, cut short through him losing consciousness. As the policeman steadily approached the open window Kolya came out from his claustrophobic hiding place in between the open door and corner of the apartment. The first blow would be crucial. As quiet as Kolya planned to be he couldn't help but scream in fury at his tormentor as he clubbed Meisel on the back of the head with the heavy brick.
"If one of them goes down, make sure they stay down," Duritz had advised with logic rather than emotion instilled his tone. The boy let out a cry each time he struck the floored policeman on the head. Hate displaced fear. The monster would not have a chance to retaliate. Again and again blood from the constable's skull marked the brick and the boy's hand (traces of Kolya's own skin and blood could also be seen on the weapon from where he gripped the rough block so tightly). It would be impossible to tell which one of the vicious blows actually killed the policeman, but I have little doubt that Kolya continued to bring the jagged brick down upon Yitzhak's head after he was slain. In the end the boy could barely lift his make-shift club. Blood and even tiny pieces of bone flecked the boy's face like measles. Slumped upon his knees over the gory body Kolya tried to recover his breath - his breathing high-pitched as if he were crying at the same time.
A couple of the machine-gun's stray rounds had struck the woman. Jessica lay upon the street, sipping in air through shallow breaths. One bullet had struck her shoulder, the other had shot through her mid-rift. It took a heroic effort for Jessica to keep her eyes open, such was her failing state. Death beckoned her like sleep, but she fought to stay awake. Jessica's efforts had proved worth it when she finally saw Adam standing over her. Her skin was lily-white. She smiled, lovingly, up at the distraught face. She shivered as she spoke. Adam dropped to his knees to hear her frail voice.
"You're hit," Jessica whispered, more concerned for Duritz than she was for herself.
"Don't speak. Save your strength. Thomas will get help."
Jessica shook her head in reply, the slight movement sending a searing pain from her shoulder down to her hip. She winced, her expression betraying but a fraction of the agony the girl felt.
"You must take care of Kolya."
"I will." Rain began to stream down Adam's broken face, as did the brackish tears. Jessica's fingertips motioned slightly in the reddened puddle they were lying in. Adam clasped her pale, but still responsive hand.
"Thank you," Jessica managed to get out, her voice growing hoarser. Gasping. Weakening.
"For what?" Adam replied, a lump in his throat. His young heart was filled with more love and sadness now than he thought possible.
"For saving me," Jessica answered. She bit her lip in one final grip of pain but then smiled at Duritz - a peculiar wisdom and serenity suffused in her blanched features. The bleeding, internal and external, was too extensive. Life ebbed out of the virtuous girl like waves retreating from the shore. Adam tenderly kissed his life-giving love upon the mouth, briefly warming Jessica's cold lips, but then his Sleeping Beauty became just so.
Epilogue.
Thomas mournfully gazed down upon the pair, sleeting rain spitting in his face. For once he was at a loss as to what to say, or think.
Duritz heard footsteps and voices in the background. The shower grew heavier, creating a constant "shushing" sound in the air. Adam still did not look up though, remaining on his knees before Jessica, holding her precious hand. He did not care who they were, German or Jew.
The scuttling noises in the background grew louder. Thomas noticed that some of the guns pointing in his direction - as he lowered his own rifle to the ground - were homemade. The dozen or so Jewish men, all approximately Adam's age, split up into two groups. They first circled the German Corporal, holding their rifles aloft. A few methodically began to salvage any weapons, tools or provisions they could from the dead soldiers and the truck (even removing parts of the engine from the vehicles).
Adam finally glanced up upon seeing the feet of Kolya in his view. Duritz mumbled that he was "sorry" to the boy. Kolya barely heard the word though before burying his tear-soaked face into Duritz's chest.
"Is he German or Jewish?" rema
rked a voice, pointing his gloved finger at Thomas. The man was slightly older than Adam. Medium height. Black curly hair sprouted out beneath a tatty cloth cap. His face was round and heavily stubbled. His dark brown eyes unblinking and unreadable.
"German, but a friend," Adam issued.
"A German is a German."
"I've heard SS officers say "a Jew is a Jew" and use it as an excuse to murder. I thought you were fighting the enemy, not turning into him," Adam challengingly replied, still simmering from anger and remorse.
A solitary shot rang out, fracturing the pause. Everyone looked to turn to its source.
"There was one of them still alive in the front of the cabin," a rough voice explained to the commanding figure who had addressed Adam. He nodded in reply to the man, whose rifle muzzle still smoked in his hands, expressing that he both understood and approved of the man's action.
"My name is Michal. I am part of a Jewish resistance group. If you have nowhere to go then you can come with us. You will have to earn your keep and fight though if you do so."
"The boy must be allowed to come with me."
"That's fine. I'm sure we can find work for him too. We must hurry though," Michal ordered. There was a natural authority yet also self-importance to the man Duritz would later conclude.
Adam looked to Thomas. The soldier nodded his head to express that he would be okay and that Adam should go with the group. Duritz smiled, weakly. Thomas responded in kind, communicating that so much would have to remain unspoken between the two friends.
The moon slid back behind a cloud, either bored or too saddened to continue to gaze down upon the ghetto anymore. Besides, the scene was ending. Duritz was disappearing into the night, his white face still a long time visible as he glanced back at the German. Adam would think upon his friend often over the coming months, desiring his company. The street was strewn with corpses, like characters littering the stage at the close of a tragedy.
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