The Aeschylus

1

At the door to the lab, Dominik watched his own sun slip below the water. The lights around the base began to flicker, casting an ugly yellow glow across the grounds. Even with all that had happened, even with Kriege missing and Zimmer dead, the commander's schedule was flawless.

And that meant he would be coming.

Richter had been so pleased with their progress that he wanted to see the solution for himself. So he would, but not in the way he expected. Dominik had managed to delay him until this evening, and that was all the better. The night of the first sunset happened to coincide with the day before Lent, and the men had taken this as an excuse to throw a party. In a few hours, every watchman on the island would be stone drunk inside the officer's bunker, and the commander would be in the lab. It was almost too good to be true.

The other prisoners were waiting for him in the basement when he arrived.

“We're here,” Ari said.

Ettore wiped his brow. “It's just you. Good.”

Dominik didn't think he'd ever seen the man so nervous. It had been a risk bringing him into the fold, but he and Ari decided it had been a necessary risk. Counting Lucja, they were now four. Four souls resolved to violence and escape. The only man not aware was Thomas Frece. Frece was as scared as the rest of them, but he was a coward, and cowards were unpredictable. When the time came, however, he would stand with them… or he wouldn't. Dominik saw him studying charts in the corner and hoped it would be the former.

Ettore sidled over and held up a small vial. “The chloroform you wanted.”

Dominik nodded.

They'd had to manufacture it themselves by sneaking in acetone, ethanol, and bleach, but it was used by surgeons the world over, and the risk was worth the gain.

“You ready?”

Ettore nodded. “I'm sure it will work. I've never seen this used on a person before, only on pigs and dogs.”

“You are using it on a pig,” Ari said.

Dominik took the jar and unscrewed the lid. “We can do this. Never doubt it.”

“It will be different than on the boat. Richter is a killer. You know that, don't you, Dom?”

“I do. And in some ways, it makes things easier. It takes choice out of the equation. We have to do it for real this time, Ari. For me, and for you, and for Lucja.”

Lucja was another matter, and Dominik said a silent prayer to keep her safe. She would be on her way to the vehicle depot soon, ready to sabotage any chance of vehicle pursuit. He had wanted to send Ari with her, but there wasn't any way for the man to get close without arousing suspicion. She had to go it alone.

The day before, they had decided Ettore would be the one to wield the cloth. Richter always kept a close eye on Dominik and Ari, but he seemed to ignore their stoic companion. After some argument, Ettore had agreed, at last giving in to cold logic, as Dominik knew he would. Cold or not though, the man was sweating now.

There were so many things that could go wrong. The search party hadn't found Doctor Kriege. They had no idea where he was or how dangerous he had become. The search had wreaked havoc on the base patrols, all of which were now unpredictable. And as for the commander… what if he showed up with other soldiers?

Nonsense, Dominik thought. Richter was too proud for bodyguards.

The door above the stairs swung open, and all four men froze, listening. Dominik counted the footsteps, trying to ascertain who was coming. Then, he knew: there was only one pair of boots. As he turned towards the doorway, he saw the commander pacing towards them, and his heart gave a jolt. Luck, he thought. Luck is with us!

Richter entered the laboratory with the air of one bestowing a great favor upon an unworthy underling. “So,” he began, looking directly at Dominik. “Tell me about your results, Mister Kaminski. Tell me what it is that you have discovered.”

A drop of sweat fell off of Dominik's eyebrow and plunked onto his lip. It almost made him blabber, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “As you've heard, Commander, the key is formaldehyde. At room temperature, pure formaldehyde is a gas, but when distilled into a liquid form or a mist, it becomes extremely effective at containing the growths.”

“Go on.”

“We've known that the growths borrow characteristics from multiple phyla, but at their core, they're a fungus like any other. Their individual traits are traceable to any number of other species. And formaldehyde, well it's been proven to be an especially effective fungicide, especially against black mold. Our friends share quite a few characteristics with black mold, as you know. The chemical causes the cells to disintegrate, but not in a way that's going to implode the whole structure or cause them to release their spores. The spore sacs themselves wither and die when hit. I think what we have here… it's exactly the tool you've been searching for.”

Richter began inspecting the vats for himself. “You are confident this is the solution? That we need not pursue other avenues of control?”

“No sir,” Dominik said. “Fire to destroy, formaldehyde to contain. I think you have your answer.”

Though he should have been pleased, the commander only grunted, still looking at the vats. Dominik glanced over his shoulder at Ettore, who had begun to slip closer. The man looked patently guilty, but the commander wasn't paying attention.

“And the method of dispersal?”

Dominik gritted his teeth. Revealing this bit of information would reveal a bit about their plan, but then, he thought Richter would soon not be in a position to disseminate the information to anyone. “It can be released as a gas, either as a bomb or with something like a crop-dusting plane. The effects on people in the containment area will not be pleasant, but it will leave buildings and infrastructure intact.”

He chanced another glance at Ettore and saw the man's hands clasped in front of him. Dominik wondered if he was up to the task after all. Worse, he wondered how much Frece suspected. The man was starting to look unnerved himself. Fortunately, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut while Richter was talking.

The commander tapped on one of the metal cylinders. “If you are so confident now, then why, may I ask, did you not come upon this solution quicker?”

“The effects of formaldehyde are not well known. It's toxic, and not an ordinary way to deal with fungus. On top of that, as you know, the lieutenant's policies made it impossible for us to import dangerous chemicals. We talked about trying a series of aldehyde chains at one point, but when we couldn't gain access to them, we gave up.” Actually, it had been Smit's rule about allowing prisoners access to dangerous chemicals and the lieutenant had only upheld it, but condemning Dietrich sounded better.

The commander's eyes darted momentarily to Ettore, then flicked back to Dominik. “So if you were not given access to these chemicals, how did you come upon the solution?”

Dominik's mind flashed back on the night when he had come upon Zofia in the lab. The tentacles had grown to every corner of the room, twisting and bending around her. They had stopped at Zofia, curling up from her body as if repelled. Strangely, Dominik had known, somehow known, it was because of what was inside her. The primary chemical in embalming fluid was formaldehyde, and the things in the room were avoiding it like a cellar mushroom avoids sunlight. Once he had deduced this, it hadn't taken him long to isolate the chemical and test it. Before any soldiers could find what had happened, he and Ari had returned with masks and eradicated the tendrils growing through the room. They had cleaned the broken glass and disposed of the evidence, burning it all in the laboratory's incinerator.

With a terrible smile, Dominik forced himself to speak. “Well, I'd say that was thanks to you, Commander. It was my daughter who showed us the way. Now, we wanted you to see it for yourself.”

It was the signal Ettore had been waiting for, and he rushed forward with the cloth in hand.

Like a snake, Richter's hand shot out and grabbed the man by the wrist. “What?” he barked. “What are you doing?”

Dominik stared, dumbfounded as Ettore grappled with the commander. Then, he shook his head and rushed, throwing his arms around Richter to try and restrain him. It was like grabbing a tree trunk. Richter's body was thick, his arms as powerful as a machine.

The commander shrugged Dominik off and pushed Ettore downwards, bending his hand back towards his own face. Ettore struggled, but he was no match; the cloth clamped over his nose, and within seconds, he went limp.

Ari was still standing a few paces away, flabbergasted.

“Ari! Do something!”

When Dominik rushed again, Richter shoved him into his friend, and their heads collided with a crack. The older man's glasses fell to the floor, and Ari dropped to one knee, his hands clutching his mouth.

Richter's face darkened in triumph. “Now,” he said, reaching for Dominik, “now that we have the answer, we don't need you any more. We're going to have fun with you lot. Oh yes, we're going to—”

Something swooshed through the air. An earthquake rocked Richter's body, and then the commander slumped towards him, as limp as a corpse. Dominik stumbled sideways, struggling to see what happened.

Thomas Frece was standing behind him, a metal chair in his hands. In all of the confusion, Dominik had lost track of him.

“I told you,” he said, out of breath. “I told you I was still useful.”

2

Harald was swimming over the chasm.

The man with red hair was there again, standing at the brink. He was waiting for him where the rocks began, the S.S. uniform blowing in the wind. Harald was close now, far closer than he had ever been, and he reached out. He didn't have fingernails, but claws. It was like this every time, but every time it shocked him, as if this body distortion was too terrible to remember. It slowed him, and he watched helplessly as the man raised the gun.

The woman's voice called out again, only this time, he could hear the words. “They're coming!” she screamed. “What do I do?”

And suddenly…

Suddenly.

The lieutenant woke in his own bed, sweating. The dream was getting longer. It was the seventh or eighth time he'd had it, and every time, it continued further. It was approaching an end, but what end, he didn't know. Sometimes, the man was ready to shoot him, and sometimes, Harald thought he could reach him first.

He looked at his watch and saw that it was after seventeen hundred hours. He'd gotten exactly four hours of sleep after being awake all of the previous day, continuing the search for Kriege. Richter would be with Kaminski and the others by now, having a look at the man's miracle solution. Harald got dressed and left the barracks, mumbling to himself as he went. Even from a distance, he could hear the party in full swing at the office bunker. He told himself he should join the men, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Zofia's death weighed on his mind. Lucja wouldn't want anything to do with him now, thanks to Richter. In spite of everything, he found he still wanted to talk to her. He needed to explain himself to her, to tell her that none of this was his doing. It was the only way to make things right.

His feet began to move, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of the prisoners' bunker. Someone had left the door unlatched, giving its occupants free reign. He supposed that was all right given that Kaminski was in the lab, but it was a little unusual. As he reached for the handle, the door swung open, and Lucja herself nearly barreled into him.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said. “You scared me!”

I scared you? My goodness! The door almost knocked me out!

The words were almost out of his mouth when he surprised himself by saying, “Where are you going?”

She smiled, but it didn't look like she had an answer.

“I asked you a question, girl. Where are you going?” Why was his tone so gruff? Was he trying to make her hate him?

“I was just going for a walk.” She pointed vaguely. “I'm tired of staying in there by myself.”

“It's not the night to be going for a walk, Lucja. Surely you know that.”

“I wasn't going far. And I like to walk when my father is away.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. She was alone in the room and wanted some fresh air. What could be more natural than that, especially given what she had been through? When he searched her face, however, he could swear he saw something guilty in it.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It's all right, Lieutenant.”

“Harald.”

“Harald,” she said, assenting to the use of his first name for the twentieth time. She blushed in that way of hers that made her look younger. But looking at her here, without her sister next to her, she could have been Mieke's age.

“I was hoping I could talk to you.”

She paused. “Maybe we could talk later. I'm not really feeling up to it right now.”

“I'll probably be needed later. And I don't want this to wait. I… I've missed our talks. I have something I'd like to say.”

“Are you commanding me?”

“That's an odd question. No, I'm not commanding you. I just want to talk for a moment. As… as acquaintances, I suppose.” He could not quite bring himself to use the word friend. Surely, she was not that. Still, he wasn't commanding her, he was quite sure. “Well?”

“I don't like being in there,” she said quietly. “Zofia was in there. I still feel her.”

Debating how to respond, he thought he could only be honest. He could only tell her what he'd been waiting to tell her. “I want to tell you how sorry I am. This was never my intention. I'd never met Richter before coming here, but I'd heard of him back on the mainland. He has a reputation for being uncompromising. From the first moment, I was afraid something might happen. But make no mistake: what happened on the ice was on him and him alone.”

She scoffed. It was an oddly petulant gesture, one that put him out of sorts.

“Surely, you don't blame me.”

“No,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. Her eyes said she blamed him full and proper. It may have been his orders, but you helped, Harald. You helped.

It hurt him to see that look, especially given how far he'd gone out of his way to help her in the past. In spite of his need, he thought about just leaving her. As much as he wanted to talk to someone—anyone—he didn't think he would be able to do much good.

When neither one spoke, the girl made to move past him, to go on with her walk. But then, he blurted, “In a way, maybe it was my fault. It was my job to motivate your father, you know. He had it in him, as he's proven, but he wasn't… he wasn't fast enough for the commander. Maybe I just needed to be more strict with him. Men like your father, they need discipline, Lucja, and men like Richter don't like excuses. So maybe it is my fault.”

You're goddamned right it's your fault, her eyes seemed to scream. You're goddamned right!

As she brushed past him, their shoulders collided, and a water canteen fell out of her coat. It was an odd thing to be carrying on a short walk. Harald didn't remember ever giving Kaminski one to begin with. When she reached to grab it, his hand was already there. The lieutenant stood back to his full height and looked down at her curiously. The canteen felt full in his hand.

The oddly guilty look crept back onto her face. “Are you trying to escape?” he asked. He could hear the menace in his own voice.

“Of course not.” Pausing for an instant, she said, “I would never leave my father.”

Harald brought the the flask to his face and unscrewed the cap. He was thirsty, and she had no business with it. But just as he raised it to drink, Lucja's hand shot out and grabbed it, her face white with panic. The liquid splashed out and grazed his face, stinging like turpentine.

Kaminski! What in God's name is this?

She was caught. She was caught, and she knew it.

Lucja turned and ran towards the gate, kicking up dust as she went.

Harald ran after.

3

When Richter woke up, he couldn't move. His hands were bound behind his back, his ass planted in one of the laboratory chairs. They had roped him in a sitting position, the cord wrapping around his waist and arms. He blinked, seeing the outline of the same room and the same silhouettes standing within it. He was dazed, but not out, not any more.

“He's awake!”

He turned his head and saw Ari Quintus pointing his own service pistol at him. Or rather, in his general direction; the man didn't look like he'd ever held a gun before, and the barrel was pointed more towards the floor than at its target. It would be a mistake to underestimate him though. Together, the four prisoners had gotten the drop on him, and that wouldn't happen again.

“I don't know what you hope to accomplish, but I'd appreciate if you could get on with it. As soon as you're done, I can go about the business of making sure you all die a horrible death.”

“Shut up!” Quintus said. “You be quiet!”

A scraping noise came from Richter's right, and he realized the architect of this little scheme had yet to present himself. Though the man's back was to him, he could tell by the way he was inspecting the equipment that he was still in charge. It looked like he had rigged half a dozen flumes out of the vats, each connecting with the ceiling.

“We don't have enough,” Kaminski said. “This one doesn't reach.”

“Then plug it,” Frece said. He was pacing through the room, clearly on edge. “For God's sake, make sure it doesn't leak.”

The vats housed formaldehyde, and without Kriege here to monitor the day-to-day operations, the quartet had been producing as much as they could. As Kaminski went about making the repair, Richter realized with no little fascination what they were planning: they were going to pump it into the base. Kaminski had told him in plain language that the gas could be dangerous to humans as well as the fungus, and now, he had rigged the flumes through holes in the ceiling, ready to deliver the poison. Above, Richter could hear the muffled singing and thudding of the party, and he instantly understood their target. The sheer ruthlessness of it gave him a delightful shiver.

“Did you know I was in Ypres when they first used gas against the French and Algerians? The gas was chlorine in those days. Nothing sophisticated, but it was deadly enough. We waited until we had the wind on our side, and then we bombarded the enemy encampment with chlorine shells. The French, in their eagerness, thought it was just a diversion. They ordered their men out of the trench and up to the fire line, directly in the path of the green cloud. When it hit them, the confusion and terror it wrought opened a gap in their lines as far as the eye could see. Of course, our commanders were so surprised by the effectiveness of the attack they didn't lead us forward. Our enemy was able to reform and recover. It was a pity, really. I hope you all don't make the same mistake.”

“Shut up,” Quintus said.

“I can tell you: it sure was something to see so many men die at the hands of our invention. Have you ever seen a man die of gas poisoning?”

It was Frece's turn to yell obscenities, but Richter paid him no mind. The Swede looked positively green himself.

“It's awful,” Richter continued. “Mustard gas is the worst. Men will bleed and burn, but the real horror is watching their eyes. The men will eventually asphyxiate, but what it does to the eyes is just unforgettable. Chlorine is quicker but still no way I'd want to die. I have no idea what your clever formaldehyde does, but,” he paused. “But I think I should like to see it.”

“Be quiet, or you'll be the first,” Frece said.

Richter laughed. “I think if you were going to do that, you'd have done it already.”

“Maybe we should just kill him,” the olive-skinned man said.

Richter stopped laughing. This one was as calm as he could be.

“Ettore's right, he's dangerous,” Quintus said. The Walther PPK continued to point every which way in his hands. “I told him to shut up, and he won't.”

Ettore, that's right. It was so hard to keep them straight.

Kaminski paused to wiped his hands and walked over to stand next to the commander. His gaze wasn't the usual flighty thing Richter had seen before: it was impetuous. It was far too impetuous for his liking. “We're not killing anyone if we don't have to. Not even a sadistic madman like the commander, here. If we do that, we're no better than he is. If that's a cliché, I don't care. It's true.”

The Swede scoffed. “Yeah, right. And those above?”

“If they're smart, they'll run out of the building before they choke to death. They'll be damaged but not dead.”

Richter heard the lie in the man's voice and smiled to himself. The question was, was Kaminski only lying to his friends, or was he lying to himself?

“And if it doesn't work? Or they have masks?” Frece demanded.

Ettore walked over and put a hand on the man's shoulder. “We've been through all this. It will work.”

“Because it has to,” Kaminski said.

“Aye, because it has to,” Ettore confirmed.

Frece nodded, pacified if only for the moment.

It was then the commander saw the four of them shared a connection. They were convinced they were going to get away with this. They were actually convinced.

“Where do you think she is, Dom?” Quintus asked.

Kaminski shook his head.

When Richter figured out who he meant, he snarled. He didn't know how, but he would kill all of them. Even the girl.

4

The gate was open, and she ran through it.

“Stop!” Harald yelled. “I demand you stop!”

Ahead of her, she saw a single headlight cutting its way through the darkness. Someone had taken the base's motorcycle out on patrol, and it was headed towards the both of them. Behind her, Harald was closing in. The two would squeeze her along the path until they met, and she would be caught.

Stopping, she looked at what lay around her. She had never been so close to the crater before, had never felt its breath rising on the wind as she did now. A new scent hit her nostrils, something charred and burnt. She had heard about the explosion in the nearby cave, and she saw a number of loose rocks that had been blasted away from the hillside. The cave itself was filled with rubble, but the rubble had created a few new ruts and crevices. She contemplated only for a moment, then crawled under one. It wouldn't be a perfect hiding spot in broad daylight, but it wasn't bad in the dark. As she lowered her head to the ground, Harald passed just beyond her spot, then stopped.

“No one has to know,” he called. “I understand, Lucja. You may not think I do, but I do. This place is enough to drive anyone away. But this isn't helping anyone. Your father isn't helping anyone either if he's trying to escape again. I told you the commander doesn't like excuses, Lucja, and I meant it. If he catches you or your papa, you know what he'll do. If you come to me now, we can talk this through. We might even be able to forget it happened. Just tell me where you are and what your father is planning. If you hurry, we can still save him.” He waited, his hands on his hips. “Goddammit girl, where are you? You think this is easy for me, putting my reputation on the line? Given all I've done, you'd think you would owe me a little gratitude. But no! No, you're going to do what you're going to do. Is that right?” He was furious now, spitting the words at her. How quickly he could change when he didn't get his way. “I know you're here. Get out here! I order you to get out here! I order you!”

In the dark, Lucja waited, still holding her breath. He was close, so close.

After a moment, his footsteps trailed off. She could hear him heading around the edge of the crater, calling her name every now and again. The motorcycle drew nearer, and somewhere above, she could hear the engine shut off. It meant there were now two soldiers in the area instead of one. Whomever had been out on patrol had probably heard Harald's shouts.

The vehicle depot lay well behind her, and she had to find a way back. Ari and her father were counting on her, and if she wasn't there, she didn't know what they would do.

After a time, she resolved to have a peek over the rocks. She hadn't heard anything for a good long while, so she stuck her head up. The silence was so complete that she was almost confident.

In that moment, Harald reached down and dragged her out by the hair. “I've got you,” he said.

5

Moses had spoken to God through a burning bush. And so fire, in a way, was like God. It had the power to give life or take it. It had the power to warm you or steal the skin off of your back. Hans wondered if the god of fire would save him now, or if it would kill him. The room was small. And the fire would be big.

Or maybe the fire Moses saw wasn't really like God. Maybe it was more like a telephone, and God was on the other end of it. It was a question he had never asked his mother.

The Republic's three half-tracks sat in the hangar, lined up like ducks along the wall. Hans knew the exact specs for each. “Production year 1938,” he whispered. “Six cylinders. A hundred horsepower. Weight, seven thousand kilograms. Fuel tank, one hundred ten liters. Maybe full,” he said, lying on his back underneath of one of the vehicles and tapping the metal box over his head. Then, hearing the result, “Maybe not.”

They said he was dumb, but he wasn't. He knew things. He knew the exact specs on all the Kdfz models, their engine and towing capabilities. He knew the exact location of their fuel tanks. He knew the army only had these half-tracks and one motorcycle — conspicuously absent from the garage tonight — and that they were being kept in storage while the hunt for Kriege was still on. He knew the guard who was usually here in the evening, a man named Jonas, was excused for the celebration. He knew he was here alone.

Hans had always been good with his hands. He was good at making tools and fixing things. He wasn't school smart, though (“Oh my boy, er tickt nicht richtig,” his mother used to say whenever he showed her his marks. Hans had no idea what she meant, but he supposed it meant he wasn't school smart, which he wasn't.). So the army had put him in with the grunts.

Sliding out from underneath of the truck, Hans got up and brushed himself off. The fire would be big, but he wasn't scared. He had brought Milo along.

Milo had once been a dog that belonged to one of the whalers on the shore. The man probably didn't like Milo, because he locked him out of his cabin while he slept. Milo had spent his nights wandering up the cliffs in search of food. He had such pretty white and gray fur, like a sled dog. But Hans didn't want Milo to pull a sled. He treated all of his friends like equals.

The doggy was slow to come around, but when he got his leg stuck in a seal trap, Hans knew what to do. Milo didn't need his rear leg. In fact, he was too heavy, period. So once Hans had tied a rope around his snout (for Milo's own safety, really), the boy had sawed him in half at the waist. It made a terrible mess, but it made Milo a lot lighter and a lot friendlier to take around.

Since he was Hans's newest and best friend, the boy decided to take him along to the garage. It was dangerous, but so was leaving Milo alone in the cliffs. That's what his old owner had done, and Hans didn't want to be like him. They'd be friends, and he would just tell Milo to be quiet so no one would hear them. Of course, Milo didn't complain.

The doggie was sitting on the concrete lip behind the half-tracks with his tongue hanging out. Hans went over and pet him on the head. Milo fell over, something rotten spilling out of his torso. But Hans brushed the piece away and set him upright. He was a good doggie, he was.

He missed Boris, his person friend, but Milo would do for now. They would pee together outside, like he and Boris used to do. Or maybe he would pee and Milo would watch since the dog didn't have a lower half any more. Hans grabbed the lump of a package he had placed on the ground next to his friend. As he did, he saw Milo was staring. “Don't look at me like that,” he said. “It makes me feel funny. I don't like feeling funny.” He did have a plan, kind of. Once the base was gone, they would head to the other end of the island. When the time was right, he could ride one of those big fishy ships back home. Maybe he could sneak on. Or maybe he would find a new person friend like Boris who would let him on. And he could be a real sailor and join the navy. Maybe one day, he would forget about the army and get a place of his own.

And a new Thinking Place. Yes, that would be fine.

It wasn't his only dream, either. He dreamed of replacing all of his friends from the cave. He dreamed of playing on the commander with a knife and one of his saw tools. Yes, he would play on him really good and bloody. And maybe pee on him.

With his thing.

But first, he had to be like Moses.

Hans climbed into the back of one of the half-tracks and searched under the seats. He found the hidden storage compartment, the one right above the engine. He still had the lump under his coat, and he pulled it out, careful not to detonate it too soon.

6

One of the towers appeared deserted, the other held a single guard. Dominik could see little else, save for a few souls scattered near the office bunker where the party was being held. Using the dark to his advantage, he ducked inside the prisoners' bunker and searched it quickly. “Lucja?” he called. “Are you here?”

The rooms were exactly as he had left them, and there was no sign of her. Zofia's bear stared at him from the middle of the bed, its button eyes hollow and dark.

“Ettore,” he whispered. The two of them had split up, Dominik going to the prisoners' bunker, Ettore heading to the vehicle depot. The man could have intercepted her by now. Dominik ran out the door, throwing caution to the wind. Zofia was gone, and he could not lose Lucja too. It had been foolish to let her go alone.

He passed in front of the office bunker and then threw himself into shadow as two German soldiers stumbled outside. From the open door, he could hear music playing, could smell sweet tobacco wafting from within.

“A good night for a walk,” one of the men said, lighting a cigarette.

“Bah, tell it to your girl,” said the other, lighting his own. “I'm not holding your hand.”

“How about I tell it to your girl?”

“Go ahead. She'll hold more than your hand, that one.”

They both laughed crazy, drunken laughter.

“I'm going to check on Linus,” the first one said. He started walking in the direction of the occupied tower.

The other one waved him off, leaning against the bunker and smoking. Dominik waited, cursing every lost second. A minute later, the wandering soldier came back.

“What did he say?” the other man asked.

“He said the lieutenant was shouting about something. Running around like a fool. Suppose he won't be joining us.”

“And Linus isn't coming either?”

“Nah. He's got orders.”

They opened the door, and the pair of them began stumbling back inside.

“Guess we'll have to drink enough for him too, then.”

They laughed, and the door shut. Dominik was alone once more.

Running across the camp, he managed to reach the depot without being seen. At least, he didn't think he was seen, either by the man in the watch tower, or any stragglers on the grounds. Strangely, he saw that the door to the place was ajar when he arrived, the light from the inside spilling out. If his daughter was here, why had she left it open?

Then he saw a figure outside the door, hiding at the corner. The figure turned and looked right at him. Dominik froze, a rabbit caught in the sights of a hunter. Then his eyes adjusted, and he saw it was only Ettore. Of course it was Ettore. What soldier would hide in the shadows of his own base? The man motioned him over.

As Dominik approached, he was about to ask him what he had seen, but Ettore put a finger to his lips, silencing him. He pointed to the open door. Adjusting his position, Dominik saw there were two figures inside.

But neither one was his daughter.

7

Several minutes earlier, Boris Seiler wandered from the party to take a piss. He got ten steps outside and realized he wasn't going to make it to the bathroom. The bottle he had in his hand dropped to the ground, and he spun towards the bunker wall. His flow had already begun when he realized he should be on the lookout for the lieutenant. The cocksucker was wound tighter than a clock spring, and Seiler had no intention of getting his head smashed. Maybe the lieutenant just didn't take to the assignment. The key to taking any assignment you didn't like, Seiler knew, was finding ways to cope. He and Hans had found ways to cope, even if the kid was soft in the head. Boris wasn't overly bothered though; the lieutenant was off somewhere, probably talking to that Kaminski girl. The man had certainly spent enough time with her, as clever as he thought he was. Ha! And they thought Hans was sick.

Seiler wondered where the boy was now. He'd run off, and he hadn't been seen since. Seiler understood why, of course, but for God's sake, they were just animals. Zimmer's death was another story, but even that was an accident.

His stream dissipated and Seiler buckled his pants, eager to get back to the party. But suddenly, he heard shouts, and even through the liquor haze, they gave him pause: “Stop! I demand you stop!”

It was the lieutenant's voice, and it was coming from somewhere close.

Seiler drew his pistol. Two pairs of footsteps sounded off and then faded. He stumbled after them, his gun poised. He found that once he was in the open, however, he couldn't see much of anything. Whomever had been there was gone. Then, he noticed an unusual light coming from beneath the door at the vehicle depot. He had seen Jonas at the party earlier, and he knew the depot was supposed to be locked and sealed. Something was amiss.

The door offered no resistance as he thrust it open, ready to confront the lieutenant in a tryst with the Kaminski girl. Instead, he found the last person he expected to see.

“Hello Boris,” Hans said.

“What?”

The Gestapo agent couldn't believe it. Moments before, he had been thinking of the boy, and here he was, standing before him with what looked like a wired remote control in his hand. Seiler's gaze moved to the line of trucks against the wall, the tools scattered on the ground, the dog Hans had cut in half. When his gaze returned to the remote, the pieces began to fall together. It all made sense now. The trap they had set for the penguin, the explosion at the crater, the dead ensign who had been buried under the rubble in the cave… the boy had been stealing explosives. Here in the vehicle depot, he had set one mother lode of a goddamned bomb.

“What are you doing?”

“It's time for us to get out of here,” Hans said.

“No… no, you cannot do this!” He lunged forward, but he was too slow. The damned drink!

“You and me, Boris! We'll get out of here! We'll get on a boat! We'll be ship captains!”

“Give me that, boy!”

“No!” Hans shouted.

The boy tried to pull the box away, but Seiler was dragging him to the ground, his weight bearing down on top of him.

“I'll push it! I will!”

With dismay, Seiler saw the kid was crying. He was actually crying.

“I want to be like Moses,” Hans said. “You and me, Boris. You, and me, and Milo.” His thumb clicked over the large green button at the top of the device.

The last thing Seiler saw was the image of two prisoners standing outside the depot door, looking stunned. Then, the fire took him.