Page 6 of Beehive

“They’re getting closer,” he muttered.

Konrad reached up and adjusted his cap, stuffing sandy blond curls beneath the faded fabric before scooting forward, his belly dragging a line in the snow that covered the office building’s roof. Once in position near the edge, he lifted binoculars to his eyes and slowed his breathing.

We were perched atop the tallest building in Voivodeship, a tiny Polish town positioned miles from anything remotely important. Command had selected the villagebecauseit was insignificant, a location few but locals knew—or cared about.

Below, a smattering of aging structures surrounded a ramshackle courthouse. Our troops’ retreat, followed quickly bythe Soviet advance, ensured the pristine snow of the streets remained little more than murky sludge.

“I know it’s chilly back home, but this feels worse, like living in an icebox,” I said, rubbing my gloved hands together, begging for blood flow to offer respite. “They will control Warsaw soon.”

I immediately regretted my words.

Konrad would be impossible to soothe once that seed took root in his mind. The man had a fragile constitution and an even more brittle will.

“Do you remember home?” I asked. “Before all this? Before the war?”

For a moment, neither of us stirred, then Konrad whispered, “Yeah.”

“Where are you from?”Another moment passed.

“North. Near Denmark.”

Konrad was normally chatty, the man in our unit who never shut up. Perhaps it was the Soviet soldiers below. Maybe it was the winter chill. Something stilled his tongue.

Until it loosened.

“We have so much land, Heinrich. Hundreds of acres of farmland. Between the fields whose grains towered above my head and forests thick with trees, I spent most of my youth lost and searching for a path home. My little sister was even worse.”

His voice softened at a memory.

“Mymamaleinran the house.” A wistful chuckle escaped. “Hell, she raneverything. If the High Command ever recruited her, all men would follow. They’d be too afraid of her wooden spoons not to.”

I smiled at the simple pleasure in his tone, then realized he’d saidran.

“Where is she now?”

Unintelligible Russian drifted from below. He lowered his binoculars and looked at me.

“They’re all dead, Heinrich.”

My heart sank. “I am sorry—”

“I don’t think the Allies meant . . . Their bombs fell, and our home burned. We were far from anything. I will never know . . .”

I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. We weren’t close, and I despised comforting another man, loathed weakness that required such comfort, but I needed him stable as we stared down at enemy soldiers.

“I am sorry, Konrad.”

He grunted. “The Führer had already called me. I was not there when . . . I should have been there. I should have died with them.”

What could I say to that? I had no words, no gestures, nothing to offer.

He lifted his glasses and stared for a moment before lowering them and half turning toward me. “Are we the last?”

I kept my eyes forward, searching the empty streets. A pair of Polish children raced across, darting from the safety of one burned-out building to another.

“There are a few teams left. Command needs eyes here if they are going to mount a counter—”

“A counterwhat?” He snorted, a too-loud sound that teetered between amusement and disgust. He lowered his voice. “Heinrich, Poland is lost. The Soviets have barely knocked on the door, and our troops are already gone. There is no resistance, no counteroffensive, no anything. Poland is lost. Berlin—”“Berlin will stand forever. We have liberated many people, and more will yet know life beneath our banner. The Reich will outlive us all. You will see.”

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