Berlin blood

It was very cold and lonely in the cell. For the first two nights, Gunther did not sleep at all from the word and drove away unnecessary memories in his head. Before his eyes stood the faces of those whom he had once killed. They looked at him with dead eyes, and Gunter felt uneasy. He felt that the memories, like a noose, tied a knot around his neck and squeezed until his chest hurt. He couldn’t escape anywhere from these four walls. He wanted to go for a walk and smoke, but here such luxury was not provided and only three times a day they brought tasteless food. On the third night, Gunther managed to fall asleep. Fatigue over the past two days without sleep made itself felt, and Richter fell into a deep sleep, in which Ilsa came to him. And he was so glad to meet her, so glad that he saw her beautiful face, and not the dead, that for a second it seemed to him as if they were in reality. It was as if he had been released ahead of time, and she waited for him. She spoke words of love to him, and Gunther could no longer restrain his tender feelings for this girl. Suddenly a strong wind blew and the bars on the window shook so violently that they woke Gunther up. He sharply opened his eyes, the dream dissipated, and Richter realized with regret that everything was not real. He sighed. Ilsa was so close and so far at the same time. He wanted to talk to her, look at her and make sure Becker was okay. He, of course, had hope for Andreas, but Gunther preferred to control everything himself, and therefore concern for Ilsa did not disappear. Just as the concern for one’s own skin has not disappeared. Gunther had no idea what would happen to him next. Any option, be it execution or prison, was acceptable to him. Although, if you look at it, Gunther acted on orders, killed on orders, and captured foreign territory on orders. Yes, he has more than one or even two taken lives on his hands, but in this situation, didn’t he become the same victim as the people he killed? After all, the real villains and murderers were now walking around free, probably drinking champagne and eating gourmet food. No one will get to them, and if they do, their pockets full of green bills will do their job. And ordinary officers will be responsible for their ideas. Gunther rubbed his face and rolled over. The bed was disgusting and uncomfortable, but Gunter, who was used to sleeping in such conditions, didn’t care. He tossed and turned for a long time until the wind on the street died down and left the bars alone, and only then Gunter managed to fall asleep again. Early in the morning he was awakened by distant voices coming from the street, and Gunther, opening his eyes, mentally greeted the new day. A day that will probably bring him nothing. Gunther got out of bed and felt dirty and sticky. He was disgusted with himself. He dreamed of taking a hot shower, feeling the streams of water on his back and just standing under them, not in a hurry. Such small dreams and seemingly achievable, but not in his case. Footsteps were heard along the corridor, and Gunther perked up his ears. They were approaching his cell, which rather confused Lieutenant Colonel Richter: it was too early for breakfast. The man on the other side of the door froze and was in no hurry to open it. Gunther tensed, already thinking that someone had come for his soul and would now simply put a bullet in his forehead, and that would be the end of it. But nothing of the sort happened. The door never opened, but a folded sheet of paper was squeezed into the gap between it and the floor. Gunther raised his eyebrows and leaned down to pick up the note. While he was unfolding the sheet, the man hurriedly left. And what was his amazement and relief when he saw the letter from Ilsa. Gunther returned to the bed, sat down on it and eagerly began to read. “Gunther, hello! I hasten to inform you that I came to Nuremberg to visit the court and meet with you. Andreas found me and helped me settle in the city. You can’t imagine how glad I am that you thought through everything to the smallest detail and that even here, in an unfamiliar city, you didn’t leave me alone. Andreas and I follow every news. Thanks to some connections, he agreed to deliver my letter to you. I hope you are happy to read these short lines, I hope you have not forgotten me. I intend to be as close to you as possible, my dear. Andreas thinks that you will be imprisoned for life, that you will not face the death penalty, and that is already good. I can’t imagine what would have happened if you had been killed. My life without you is meaningless. Your hearing will take place in about a week, so please don’t worry, wait and don’t try to do anything to yourself. I still won’t go anywhere without you. We’ll definitely get out of here, Gunther. We will escape as planned. Know that I love you.” The feelings after the letter were twofold. On the one hand, his soul felt light and good just because Ilsa wrote the letter, that she spoke about her love for him, and these words gave him strength, but on the other hand, his mood still worsened. Even the fact that he does not face the death penalty could not hide the fact that he will get a life sentence. Will he really spend the rest of his life pacing in a tiny cell and looking at the sky through the bars placed on the window, and occasionally going for walks? Did he deserve such a life? Gunther walked from corner to corner. Now he resembled a tiger seeking freedom behind iron bars. I needed to calm down. But calm did not want to come. A couple of hours later they brought breakfast and immediately warned Richter that after the meal he would be taken away for interrogation. Gunther pecked at the burnt oatmeal, almost spitting it back out. There was no appetite at all, and at the edge of his consciousness Gunther thought that he was so close to exhaustion. He couldn’t see himself in the mirror, but he knew that he had lost a couple of kilos. This was indicated by the belt in his pants, which Richter was now tightening a couple of holes further. Half an hour after breakfast, two guards came for Richter and, handcuffing him as if he was about to escape, led him down the corridor. The corridor seemed endless. The lamps hanging from the ceiling and illuminating almost the entire corridor blinked in places, putting a lot of pressure on the eyes, and replaced each other in the warmth of the light. Gunther couldn’t help but think that this building had not seen renovation for too many years, and the wiring here was completely flimsy. He was taken into a dimly lit room in which only one lamp was burning, and it seemed to Gunther that they would definitely shoot him. But he was again wrong in his assumptions. One of the guards led him to the table and sat him on a chair. Gunther found himself with his back to the exit, facing another empty chair. The handcuffs had not been removed from him, and Gunther thought that the bracelets were putting a lot of pressure on his wrists. But he decided that he would endure this pain with steadfastness. The guards left him alone, and the room fell into a ringing silence that crept deep into his consciousness and weighed heavily. It seemed to Gunther that he was left alone in this world, that everyone had abandoned him, that now no one needed him. Gunther began to think about his fate again, and was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud slam of the door. Richter shuddered, but did not even turn to greet the one who would now interrogate him. He raised his eyes only when the man sat down opposite him, and was stunned. In front of him sat his old acquaintance Albrecht, freshly shaven, without a single abrasion, with a ruddy face. An acquaintance whom Gunther, being near death himself, rescued and saved from the SS. Richter no longer remembered what year they met, but he remembered how he helped Albrecht escape from the country. Albrecht was a Czech pilot with German roots. He was going to cross the border illegally, and he was tied up and sentenced to death. Gunther, at that time severely wounded, helped him escape the fate of being killed, and then helped him escape to Switzerland using forged documents. — Gunther Richter. — Albrecht said, despite Richter. His gaze was directed to the yellow folder. Gunther opened his mouth, but could not utter a word. Albrecht, whom he had saved then, was now sitting on the other side of the front. “Albrecht,” Gunther wheezed, not believing that he had become a defector. Albrecht looked up at Richter, and Gunther saw mockery in them. “So, Mr. Richter,” Albrecht pretended that he had not heard Gunther’s address to him, “I have a couple of questions for you.” And Albrecht began to ask about what orders Gunther carried out, what goals he pursued, who commanded him and how many he killed in this war. By the end of the interrogation, Gunther could barely contain his anger at Albrecht. The man pressed him hard, pressed him, asked tricky questions and tried to bring him to some clean water. Gunther answered him truthfully and did not play around, but in the eyes opposite Richter saw distrust and contempt. When Albrecht finished, Gunther almost spat in his direction the words that he owed him, but restrained himself. They had witnesses who should not have known that they knew each other. Gunther was taken back to his cell and spent the day lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Towards evening, when Richter had already calmed down, Albrecht suddenly came to him. — What? — Gunther snapped. Anger at Albrecht rose with renewed vigor. Albrecht put his hands forward. “Gunther,” he said quietly, “calm down.” — Calm down? — Gunther hissed. “You’re too arrogant, Albrecht.” — What could I do, Gunther? I couldn’t show that we knew each other. I already begged for your case in order to somehow help you. Sorry for the interrogation, but I had to conduct it. Believe me, you are not the only one here who I owe. But Gunther was still angry, but curiosity got the better of him: — So, you owe more than just me? — The question sounded harsh, but Albrecht was not at all hurt. The man nodded. — And how many more? — Richter was curious. — Three. — And to whom, if not a secret? —August Scholz, Tilika Schlosser and Paul Berstein. It seemed to Gunter that he had heard these names somewhere, but he knew for sure that he did not know any of them personally. “I wonder,” Richter drawled, “I helped you get across the border, but how did these three get you into debt?” — August helped me avoid the Gestapo and SS torture, provided me with various documents. During the six years of war I visited a lot of places. In 1943, Tilike made me an adjutant for a high-ranking boss in Spain, and in 1944 Paul helped me move towards the Soviet Union, and here I secured a very good position. “I don’t even doubt it,” Richter said still displeased. — Why are you complaining now? “I just wanted to tell you that I will try to get the most lenient sentence for you.” Perhaps I will even agree on a few years or agree on forced emigration. You will fly to America. — Who needs me there, Albrecht? — Believe me, you will be very useful there for serving your sentence. — Albrecht paused. — I am your debt, Gunther. And I will definitely help you.