Berlin blood

The road through France was turbulent. Paul was worried. He didn’t know whether the train would be stopped or not. He hoped that they would arrive in Spain without any difficulties and that everything would be fine. Laura sat and simply looked at one point: it was clear that the girl was having a hard time and felt bad. The deaths of her father and grandmother affected her, and although she tried not to show it emotionally, the man understood everything perfectly. Paul looked out the window, beyond which the field now stretched. An endless and huge field, covered with shell craters and strewn with mines and bullets. Once upon a time there were flowers here, but now it’s hard to imagine them in this place. Destroyed houses, churches, and that’s all, slowly floated by. The clouds obscured the sun, the clouds gathered somewhere in the mountains and slowly descended on the city to bring down their rains. — Sorry! — a man with a hat made of expensive material and a familiar style of speech walked along the rows and sat down right behind them. Paul turned: the man was wafting the familiar smell of cologne. Luxurious and unusual. — Is it really you, Francis? “Paul turned around, the man looked at him, took off his hat and smiled. Yes, it really was him, not changed at all: still the same blond with the same dark eyes. — Paul! Are you alive! — Francis extended his hand. “Damn it, I thought you were dead,” the men shook hands. — What do you mean, “I thought you were dead”? — Paul looked sideways at his friend with narrowed eyes. “After your last sailing, you were declared dead, and we all mourned you. However, when your body was not found, they began to search. I already found out this myself. Your death seemed too implausible to me. Do you know that you are being chased? Paul just waved his hand. — Yes, I know, damn it — the British. — And not only them. Also ours,” Francis switched to a whisper, afraid that someone would hear. The train was swarming with informers and spies. — Ours? — The man raised his eyebrows. — Well, let’s say I can understand the British, but why ours? Is the task really to kill the British? — Not really. They all don’t want to give you away, afraid that you will spill the beans: you know too much. But whether this knowledge is valuable is a big question. The war is lost, no secrets or weapons will help us,” Francis sighed, remembering those days when he really believed in propaganda. — What’s true is true. Do you know that I met Moritz here? He went over to the side of the British, and not only did he go over: he considers them his own. Francis looked incredulously, but Paul’s look spoke for itself. — Until the first shot in his head. You know that betrayal rarely ends well. Usually the defectors themselves shoot at themselves like the restless. — Francis looked at Laura and turned his gaze back to Paul. — I think so, but how did he manage to survive? “I can tell you with confidence that he planned his escape, covering it up with his murder.” He understood that no one would simply give him resignation or even leave. That’s why he decided to leave, pretending to be dead. This snake is cunning. — He settled down well and is now chasing me. Why did you run away? Francis is silent, and Paul sees that he doesn’t want to talk, he breaks down for a couple of minutes, but in the end he gives in: “To tell you the truth, I’m tired of it: we’re shooting in vain.” I don’t want to waste my strength and talent, I don’t want to waste supplies that were made by people from concentration camps who worked twelve hours. I had a chance and I took it. Don’t ask anything else: I won’t tell you anyway. It’s complicated, broken and difficult for me. I still had my mother and fiancee, and I went without telling them anything. Paul fell silent. — Do you think there will be a place for you in Spain? What the hell is going on there now too. — Where is it easy now? Nowhere. Tell me, why are you going there? “Because of her,” Paul pointed to the girl, who was now trying to sleep. — Because of a girl? — Yes. It was she who saved me. So we run with her to her sister. I hope I can leave it there and deal with them all somewhere else. — You do understand that they will chase you until they shoot you, right? — Francis asked with complete seriousness. — Yes, I know, that’s why I want to figure it out. This is not her fight. This is my past. I thought I had escaped him, but I relaxed too soon and decided that the sea was calm. — The sea is never calm. Paul, you know this as well as I do. Just protect her. — Do you know who is leading my capture? Francis shrugged. — No, yes, and from where? I left as soon as the opportunity arose, before we were all strangled. There is terrible panic in Berlin. The Fuhrer makes his speeches four times a day, but what’s the point? — Not surprising. Berlin is like one huge mousetrap, the lid of which is about to slam shut. Doesn’t he understand this? — Paul spoke, looking at the sky. — Maybe he understands. But he doesn’t want to sow panic among the top. I guess there will be a revolution soon. Everything is heading towards this. — Is it true? It’s high time: history repeats itself, we will be on our knees again. War, no matter what form it comes in and no matter what goals it sets, will always be a black and bloody affair. — We humans are strange creatures. We can’t agree on anything. Starting from wallpaper in the apartment, ending with world domination. We should learn from animals. — Yes, it’s good that we have each other. Friends are the main value. — Yes. We are now approaching the border with France — be on alert: most likely they will stop you. “No,” Paul frowned. — And I say yes. — Why should they stop him? — Do you need any reason now? — No. The train began to slow down. They looked at each other: this was bad news for both of them.