CHAPTER ONE

1944, Germany

War.

A declaration that changed a great many things in our country. The streets are constantly patrolled by men who proudly wear the green uniform and red armband of the Third Reich. Their watchful presence lays over all of us commuters, but none more so than them.

The Jews.

Staggering toward me in the gutter of the road, the unmistakable yellow star blared on the breast pocket of the old mans tattered summer coat. An abrupt indication of his impure heritage. Glancing up from his shoes, he continued to swerve further away from me as he passed.

Interactions between the two races are strictly prohibited. A right that had been stripped along with their lively hood. It's been years since the soldiers had herded the Jewish population down into the lower end of town. A ghetto that's now riddled with disease and void of basic resources.

Cruel.

Staring back at the old man, a gasp slipped from my lips upon my own abrupt collision. Stumbling back in shock, my eyes darted toward the young soldier I'd just run into. The angled face and pinned blue eyes are already unsettling, but the brown rifle slung over his shoulder made it terrifying.

"Careful," he teased with a curled smile and venomous voice. "Are you off to school?"

"Yes."

The question seemed innocent but mocking. Reaching out, my lips cringed as he touched one of my brown braided pigtails. Clutching the thin leather straps of my backpack satchel, my attention turned toward the young soldier's comrade.

The more mature looking man remained leant against the orange brick wall of a shop, seemingly unbothered as he slowly lit a cigarette. The comrade exhaled a puff of smoke, before sceptically narrowing his gaze over my form.

"You look familiar," he then interjected. "What is your name?"

"Milaina Kleiner."

"Her Kleiner," he stated knowingly and with surprise. "Zellenleiter."

"Yes."

The comrade straightened himself just a fraction, before taking another long look at me. The flash of fear in his eyes, and the glint of familiarity from my family name should have given me comfort and pride, but no such feeling ever came to the surface.

"You don't talk much," pointed the younger soldier with disinterest.

A tight lump formed in the back of my throat, making it incredibly hard to swallow my nervousness. The moment is turning sour by the second, but the young man's comment was enough to stir the comrade into action, as he abruptly pulled the soldier out of my way.

"Not this one," ordered the comrade before nodding in my direction. "Go on then, and watch where you're walking next time."

"Yes, of course" I apologised. "I'm very sorry."

Keeping my head down, my feet propelled me forward in a rush to get away. Their voices bickered in the background before eventually silencing with my turn of the corner. The soldiers are all the same, and only differ when it comes to the way they abuse their minor positions of power.

Corrupt and cowardly.

Taking a deep breath, the site of the school somewhat eased my nervousness. The large bricked building stood tall and grand on the other side of the road. It used to be a calming place, but the raging war had since seen the school re-decorated with blaring red banners bearing the swastika.

The very same symbol that stained the nation.

Straightening my uniform with a quick sweep of my hands, the chime of the school bell rung in three swings as a reminder. It's almost time to start the day. Crossing the road, a handful of scattered students slowly made their way into the school ground, but none of them boys.

This is a private girl's school.

Entering through the black iron gates, a spacious and cobbled courtyard waited on the other side. It's a place spacious enough to mingle with fellow peers and public enough to warrant the décor of well-kept flowers and trimmed shrubbery.

Walking up the small front steps and through the double doored entrance, more glorified emblems of the swastika and nazi propaganda decorated the hallways. Entering my home classroom, I took off my backpack before sitting down at my spot in the middle.

"Welcome class."

The stern voice and click of short heels followed the middle-aged woman as she entered to stand at the front of the room. Our teacher has always presented herself as rather meticulously dressed, and fiercely loyal to the regime. It's also believed that her own husband is an officer.

"Stand," she ordered.

Getting up from our seats, we turned to face the back of the room. A large painted portrait of Hitler hung posed and proud. The start of every school day is the same, as it begins with our pledge to the leader and all he stood for in this mighty country.

"For the Fuhrer a triple victory," announced the teacher.

"Heil!"

The salute sunk heavily in the depth of my traitorous heart. There's nothing sane about the waging war, even though my participation spoke otherwise. In my eyes, there's no choice in the matter for youths like ourselves.

It's survival.

Sitting back down, the teacher began her lesson. The school curriculum is yet another thing to have changed. Our studies have since been integrated with that of racial awareness and geopolitics. The fundamental knowledge our leader deemed important.

"Kleiner, do you know the answer?"

The teacher held a thin wooden stick while her eyes pinned on me among the many in the room. The answer quickly came to mind. It seemed to be the answer to many of our questions, and most would also say that it be the answer to many of our problems.

"Jews."

Nodding her head, she turned her attention to the rest of the class. The end of her stick pointed at a set of photographs that sat propped onto an easel. These men and women hold no significance to me or anyone else, other than the fact they showed the described features in our textbook.

"Jews have different noses, ears, lips, chins and different faces than Germans," she explained. "They walk differently and have flat feet. Their arms are long and they speak differently."

The drone of her voice continued to utter the details that supposedly separated the supreme race from the opposing abomination. The excuse might trick the minds of the children, but to me, it made no sense. There's plenty of Germans who have similar features.

Delusion.

These teachings took most of the day, before we moved on to our basic subjects. There's no denying the existence of those in the school who proudly flaunted their pure heritage. It's a kind of twisted sort of game we all have to play, but my most private opinion would never change.

Jews are our equal.

The last ring of the school bell signalled the end of the day, but none of us rushed to leave our seats. The teacher took her time as she finished writing her final sentence on the chalkboard. Dusting her hands with a clap, she turned to face us with a nod.

"Your homework for this week is to complete the questions in chapter ten of your textbooks," she announced. "That will be all for today."

The excusal gave way to a clammer of movement as we packed away our belongings. Shrugging on my satchel, we filed out of the classroom and down the hallway. A few of the girls started to search for mutual friends, while others left for their homes.

"Milaina," called a gentle voice.

Turning around, a student my age sprung toward me with her blond locks of hair. A picture-perfect image of the aryan race that this country strived to fortify. A metal pin gleamed on the left side of her uniform, as a sign of our shared commitment.

Bund Deutscher Mädel.

The German League of Girls was created as the female branch of the Hitler youth movement. A group that was made mandatory by law. Other than school, the meetings are just another way to teach us the importance of the nazi world view.

Gerda smiled, "Would you like to study with me this afternoon?"

"I'm sorry," I replied with a shake of my head. "I have piano practice."

The lie came easily enough. A few of the girls have sought my company before, as a way of gaining favour and granting an audience with my parents. Although Gerda isn't one of these people, something more important forced me to refuse.

"Another time," I replied as her smile had dimmed. "Have a good afternoon."

"You as well."

After our goodbyes to one another, we parted ways through the front gate. Heading down the footpath, my usual route home diverted after a few blocks. The sound of girlish voices had faded, but a few birds still chirped with the sunset.

The lower end of town is almost completely abandoned, as it once belonged to Jewish homes and business. Passing a familiar establishment, the glass windows of the bakery had since been boarded up with a painted stencil that signed a warning.

Jude.

Stopping in front of a narrow alleyway, a quick glance down the street showed no one in sight. A shiver ran down my spine, just as my heart quickened with deep anxiety. Walking down the dark alleyway, a small abandoned playground waited on the other end.

The square area is nestled just behind the bakery and surrounded by the bricked back facing sides of tall apartments. A place that once brought joy to many ethnic children is now rotting away. The very same brick walls we used to draw on are now covered in racist graffiti and bullet holes.

A leafy rustle.

The sound made me step back as a figure slowly emerged from behind an overgrown shrub. The tall boy still makes my heart flutter, even as he stood covered in dirt and worn old clothes. A yellow star adorned his coat, and the very same one that once belonged to his father.

"Gideon."