The Only Survivor

Maybe he will make it.

"Alarm!" the guard shouted.

First white circles designed themselves onto the sky. Explosions followed about the BMW. They were ordered to hide under a row of pine trees. Peter did not budge and was surprised when he saw that one of the guards did not either. He looked at Peter with a gnomic smile,

"It will not last long," he said.

First Peter thought that he meant the air raid, he meant the war.

They had lunch-break but nothing to eat. He watched the elderly guard eat, his stomach gurgled in pain, but loved the man when he shared his meager lunch with his dog.

He never paid attention to the houses near-by, only when a woman carrying a big pot headed toward them. She handed one potato to each of them, and then one more, then caught the hungry eyes of the guard and offered him one. He shook his head. She split the last two potatoes between the four of them.

It took him by surprise when he felt the warm breath of the dog on the back of his hand. Two hungry eyes looked at the half potato in his hand. Peter allowed him to lick it, than take it. The dog licked his face.

Peter knew that he will never forget that motherly face, and followed her as she dragged her emaciated body to a yellow house, the fourth house on the left. She could have a son taken by the war, Peter thought.

Not more than two weeks later three thousand prisoners were taken to Karlsfeld railway station and loaded in cattle cars as hostages to a group of high ranked SS officers.

Obersturmfuehrer Kurz looked like a hawk ready for the kill, directed the ant-march to the last train of Germany. The famous blue scar on his forehead looked more prominent as he kept an eye on the prisoners.

Peter tried to lag behind, move closer to the end of the line, but Kurz caught him,

"You over there, keep moving!," he shouted.

He read my mind, Peter thought. One of the guards eager to oblige Kurz, hit Peter in the back with his rifle-but.

The sky crowded with lead gray clouds, leisurely moved above the thick black air. Peter scouted his surrounding. Guards were scanty in comparison with three thousand prisoners.

Kurz was far to his right. He saw no guard near-by. At the shouts of the guards his scared slave mates squeezed him against a wheel.

He sneaked under a car, waited until the entire armada climbed into the train. When the sliding doors were shut with a bang, he crawled across to the station building.

It was all clear. He ran towards the houses. Hardly did he take off, he knew that he had company. Short-lived freedom his was. They’ll either hang or shoot him.

He peeped from behind a corner but saw no one. When he felt the dog lick his hand, he took a deep breath in relief, sat down next to him and pulled his big warm head into his lap.

Peter saw the woman look at him from behind the kitchen curtain. He worried about her reaction to the dog. She opened the door wide to make place for both of them.

Peter slept in the attic with the dog he called Angel, because he knew not his name. In a week the Germans ran out of Germany.