1942
Terezín to Prague, Czechoslovakia
We had been in Prague just over two weeks now, marching the streets, looking for answers about two assassins responsible for one of our commander’s deaths. The story had many gray areas, but our mission was to find the two men responsible. Rumor had it that they were hiding somewhere within the borders of Prague.
In reality, we were there to battle until we collected our answers. I should not have been nervous since I had been preparing for a time like this since I was twelve. My rifle was in my hand, and we were marching over stone streets, eyeing the people of Prague with suspicion. Most of the people who remained in the area were trying to carry on with a normal life, as normal as possible after their Jewish neighbors were sent away. Sven had me by his side, as usual, and he was the last person I wanted to be around while raiding another city.
"You," he shouted to a lone man walking down the street with a loaf of bread wrapped in paper. The man’s face drained of color as Sven approached. I trailed behind, looking elsewhere, not feeling the need to add more stress to the current situation. Sven got a kick out of terrorizing innocent people. It offered him more power than he needed. "Where are you off to?" Sven continued to scrutinize the man.
"Home, sir. My wife is unwell, and I am out collecting a few items for her."
Sven stood in the man’s way, tilting his head to the side, studying the poor man. "How long has your wife been ill?"
The man swallowed loudly enough for us to hear. His nerves were evident by the sweat on his face and the redness of his cheeks. "About a week, sir."
"Do you work?" Sven continued.
"Sir, I have a cattle farm."
"Very well," Sven said, peering over the man’s shoulder. "You best get home to your wife, ja?"
"Thank you, sir."
I held back a sigh. I knew better than to question Sven’s way of conducting business, but much of his efforts seemed unwarranted.
As I looked around the area we had been marching, I noticed other soldiers questioning locals at every corner. In my mind, I wondered what resident of Prague would rat out one of their own and tell us, the enemy, whether or not they know of the assassin. Their attempt at murder was against a man who stripped this region of all Jewish people. I can’t say I blame the assassins. However, I kept that bit of information private.
A whistle blew from down the street where Astor, a soldier of rank parallel to Sven, was waving him over. "Crane, come here," Sven called for me to follow as if I was a dog.
With our rifles pressed against our chests, we crossed the road meeting Astor at the corner. Another resident of Prague was pinned against the brick wall by Astor’s subordinate who pressed the end of his rifle against the local’s head. The man had dark greasy hair, long enough to cover his right eye, and his face was sunken, pale, and covered in sweat. His white undershirt had yellow stains, and his brown pants had tears at the knees. The man smelled foul, as if he had been living on the streets for some time. The nervous glint covering his face did not show a look of being trustworthy, but I knew we had no other leads yet. Therefore, he would become a puppet for Astor and Sven. "Name?" Astor asked the man.
"Callum," he replied, sounding breathless from just the simple answer.
"You must take us to the location, ja?"
Callum’s eyes were wide as his gaze darted back and forth between us all. Sweat percolated on his forehead and ran down the side of his temples. "One million euros," Callum requested through his shaky voice.
"You show us the home first," Astor told him. "If you are correct, we will pay the bounty." Astor turned to face Sven. "He claims to know where the assassins are hiding."
"Take us there," Sven told the man.
Callum responded with only a quick nod of his head, leading us several miles down the long roads. All the while, the rifle’s mouth was against the base of Callum’s neck. I wouldn’t necessarily trust the man, but if he was willing to help, I would not threaten his life with every step, but I wasn’t one to make that call.
In the center of town, we spotted a building of flats. The units looked vacant, as there was no sign of life around us. I would not have thought a family was still occupying the space, but we would soon find out if that were true. We gathered into the building, marching up several flights of stairs until we stopped in front of a beaten wooden door.
"Here," Callum said. "In there."
We had gathered several of our soldiers before barging into this home that could contain none other than poor residents of this region.
Sven was the first to pound his fist against the door. The greatness of his thrusting booms should have warned whoever was inside. I prayed the homeowners were not an old couple sitting in their chairs, watching the trees sway outside their windows. Surely, Sven’s incoming announcement would frighten them to their death.
A young man answered the door, holding it open no more than a crack, but there was enough space to see his nose and mouth. "C—can I help you?"
"We must search your home," Sven announced. "You must all vacate."
"This is not a good time," the young man responded. "You see, I have elderly parents."
I knew any form of negative response would lead to Sven knocking a door down. "Move aside, young man," Astor shouted over Sven’s shoulder.
