| General Fiction posted March 12, 2024 |
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Based on a story I once heard. Embellished a little.
No Surrender
by Claire Tennant
It was early in the morning. The sirens in the camp were loud, so much so that if anyone were sleeping, it, sleep, would have fled holding its hands up in surrender. Karl smiled. He called this camp "No Surrender"; you did as you were told if you wanted to live or as a member of the forces, face the firing squad.
There was no surrender here unless, after being found guilty, you willingly chose to die. Karl was aware of the bravery in the camp. He, unlike many other soldiers, tried to be humane. Oh, he obeyed instructions, so as not to displease those in power. Yet he did not approve of war. So, what if the Jews were good businesspeople? At some stage the homeland would not have the money to flourish were it not for those who took advantage of a good deal. Was there no end to the punishment of all and sundry, particularly if the home of your heart was Jerusalem? Karl was in the minority. If he voiced his opinion, he would be shot. At all costs, the Fuhrer wanted unity and power. If you were caught supporting the enemy, you died. He and the rest of the men had that dinned into their heads almost daily.
His mind went back to the day before when more 'extended' visitors arrived. Groups of men, women and children were segregated; the children were clearly frightened and deprived of family security.
One little boy of about five cried and cried yelling in Yiddish. "Mumma, I want Mumma."
Mumma pushed through the crowd.
"Get back. Leave him alone!" said one of the officers. "You stay with the women."
"No, I will not." said the mother. "My son is frightened, he needs me."
"Ma'am, you will die."
"I suspect that is what will happen to us anyway as the camp is full. If my son is going to die, he can do so in my arms. He will not be alone; I insist on it."
"Very well; so be it." the officer turned to walk away, then looked back; satisfied that the onlookers were stunned. He spoke to a young soldier:
"You cry, you die too."
Karl prepared to leave the area, noticing a man in his forties unable to say goodbye to his wife and younger son. Instead, the older boy came towards the father in an attempt to comfort him. In reality, there would be no comfort. Disgusted, Karl walked away.
Franz the older son, was stoic. At fourteen, he was also strong. In the halcyon days of supposed peace, he was dreaming of and, training to become a boxer. Within a week of their arrival, he discovered that the beautiful forest beside the camp was, of course, the source of heat and other commodities. He also discovered that a lumberjack got more rations than anyone else. He soon joined the team and worked like fury, day and sometimes night depending on the weather and the needs. He kept to himself and did not argue with anyone, but, of course, he did not know how long this would last or if he would last. His last link with home was gone; his dear father, died one evening. Wherever he was in this world unless he met someone to love him as his mother did his father, he would be alone forever. That made him sad but all the more determined to succeed.
One night, while on duty, he saw what he thought was an escape route. He was also on duty the next night. Knowing he was the only one to start early; therefore, there might be a chance to explore, he prepared mentally. Darkness fell, and Franz took his chance. He knew the forest well, every nook and cranny, so he thought. Carefully, so as not to disturb the soldiers at the communication bridge, he ran as fast as he dared. He was so close to the exit he smiled. He had not realised that there was an enormous root by the nearest tree, hidden, of course in the darkness.
He slipped, falling heavily, wrenching his ankle and bruising his elbow.
Immediately the lights were on, and a siren echoed. Karl was on duty. He could see what had happened. He looked at the boy fighting tears; the pain would be excruciating. He was reminded of his only son. He should have called out or used the whistle.
'What if it were Stefan; what would he do? Wouldn't you hope someone cared?'
"Allow me to help you," Karl said, aware that the lights were dimming. Lifting the boy in his arms, he took him to a secret place—a shed the soldiers used on rare occasions—which had certain supplies. There, he bound Franz's ankle and told him to stay. If he rested, the ankle would be better soon.
Franz was crying.
"You would do this for me?"
"Ja, But we have to be careful."
"They will kill you."
"Ja, most likely, but you will be free; I will see to that. Try to sleep."
War writing prompt entry
It was early in the morning. The sirens in the camp were loud, so much so that if anyone were sleeping, it, sleep, would have fled holding its hands up in surrender. Karl smiled. He called this camp "No Surrender"; you did as you were told if you wanted to live or as a member of the forces, face the firing squad.
There was no surrender here unless, after being found guilty, you willingly chose to die. Karl was aware of the bravery in the camp. He, unlike many other soldiers, tried to be humane. Oh, he obeyed instructions, so as not to displease those in power. Yet he did not approve of war. So, what if the Jews were good businesspeople? At some stage the homeland would not have the money to flourish were it not for those who took advantage of a good deal. Was there no end to the punishment of all and sundry, particularly if the home of your heart was Jerusalem? Karl was in the minority. If he voiced his opinion, he would be shot. At all costs, the Fuhrer wanted unity and power. If you were caught supporting the enemy, you died. He and the rest of the men had that dinned into their heads almost daily.
His mind went back to the day before when more 'extended' visitors arrived. Groups of men, women and children were segregated; the children were clearly frightened and deprived of family security.
One little boy of about five cried and cried yelling in Yiddish. "Mumma, I want Mumma."
Mumma pushed through the crowd.
"Get back. Leave him alone!" said one of the officers. "You stay with the women."
"No, I will not." said the mother. "My son is frightened, he needs me."
"Ma'am, you will die."
"I suspect that is what will happen to us anyway as the camp is full. If my son is going to die, he can do so in my arms. He will not be alone; I insist on it."
"Very well; so be it." the officer turned to walk away, then looked back; satisfied that the onlookers were stunned. He spoke to a young soldier:
"You cry, you die too."
Karl prepared to leave the area, noticing a man in his forties unable to say goodbye to his wife and younger son. Instead, the older boy came towards the father in an attempt to comfort him. In reality, there would be no comfort. Disgusted, Karl walked away.
Franz the older son, was stoic. At fourteen, he was also strong. In the halcyon days of supposed peace, he was dreaming of and, training to become a boxer. Within a week of their arrival, he discovered that the beautiful forest beside the camp was, of course, the source of heat and other commodities. He also discovered that a lumberjack got more rations than anyone else. He soon joined the team and worked like fury, day and sometimes night depending on the weather and the needs. He kept to himself and did not argue with anyone, but, of course, he did not know how long this would last or if he would last. His last link with home was gone; his dear father, died one evening. Wherever he was in this world unless he met someone to love him as his mother did his father, he would be alone forever. That made him sad but all the more determined to succeed.
One night, while on duty, he saw what he thought was an escape route. He was also on duty the next night. Knowing he was the only one to start early; therefore, there might be a chance to explore, he prepared mentally. Darkness fell, and Franz took his chance. He knew the forest well, every nook and cranny, so he thought. Carefully, so as not to disturb the soldiers at the communication bridge, he ran as fast as he dared. He was so close to the exit he smiled. He had not realised that there was an enormous root by the nearest tree, hidden, of course in the darkness.
He slipped, falling heavily, wrenching his ankle and bruising his elbow.
Immediately the lights were on, and a siren echoed. Karl was on duty. He could see what had happened. He looked at the boy fighting tears; the pain would be excruciating. He was reminded of his only son. He should have called out or used the whistle.
'What if it were Stefan; what would he do? Wouldn't you hope someone cared?'
"Allow me to help you," Karl said, aware that the lights were dimming. Lifting the boy in his arms, he took him to a secret place—a shed the soldiers used on rare occasions—which had certain supplies. There, he bound Franz's ankle and told him to stay. If he rested, the ankle would be better soon.
Franz was crying.
"You would do this for me?"
"Ja, But we have to be careful."
"They will kill you."
"Ja, most likely, but you will be free; I will see to that. Try to sleep."
There was no surrender here unless, after being found guilty, you willingly chose to die. Karl was aware of the bravery in the camp. He, unlike many other soldiers, tried to be humane. Oh, he obeyed instructions, so as not to displease those in power. Yet he did not approve of war. So, what if the Jews were good businesspeople? At some stage the homeland would not have the money to flourish were it not for those who took advantage of a good deal. Was there no end to the punishment of all and sundry, particularly if the home of your heart was Jerusalem? Karl was in the minority. If he voiced his opinion, he would be shot. At all costs, the Fuhrer wanted unity and power. If you were caught supporting the enemy, you died. He and the rest of the men had that dinned into their heads almost daily.
His mind went back to the day before when more 'extended' visitors arrived. Groups of men, women and children were segregated; the children were clearly frightened and deprived of family security.
One little boy of about five cried and cried yelling in Yiddish. "Mumma, I want Mumma."
Mumma pushed through the crowd.
"Get back. Leave him alone!" said one of the officers. "You stay with the women."
"No, I will not." said the mother. "My son is frightened, he needs me."
"Ma'am, you will die."
"I suspect that is what will happen to us anyway as the camp is full. If my son is going to die, he can do so in my arms. He will not be alone; I insist on it."
"Very well; so be it." the officer turned to walk away, then looked back; satisfied that the onlookers were stunned. He spoke to a young soldier:
"You cry, you die too."
Karl prepared to leave the area, noticing a man in his forties unable to say goodbye to his wife and younger son. Instead, the older boy came towards the father in an attempt to comfort him. In reality, there would be no comfort. Disgusted, Karl walked away.
Franz the older son, was stoic. At fourteen, he was also strong. In the halcyon days of supposed peace, he was dreaming of and, training to become a boxer. Within a week of their arrival, he discovered that the beautiful forest beside the camp was, of course, the source of heat and other commodities. He also discovered that a lumberjack got more rations than anyone else. He soon joined the team and worked like fury, day and sometimes night depending on the weather and the needs. He kept to himself and did not argue with anyone, but, of course, he did not know how long this would last or if he would last. His last link with home was gone; his dear father, died one evening. Wherever he was in this world unless he met someone to love him as his mother did his father, he would be alone forever. That made him sad but all the more determined to succeed.
One night, while on duty, he saw what he thought was an escape route. He was also on duty the next night. Knowing he was the only one to start early; therefore, there might be a chance to explore, he prepared mentally. Darkness fell, and Franz took his chance. He knew the forest well, every nook and cranny, so he thought. Carefully, so as not to disturb the soldiers at the communication bridge, he ran as fast as he dared. He was so close to the exit he smiled. He had not realised that there was an enormous root by the nearest tree, hidden, of course in the darkness.
He slipped, falling heavily, wrenching his ankle and bruising his elbow.
Immediately the lights were on, and a siren echoed. Karl was on duty. He could see what had happened. He looked at the boy fighting tears; the pain would be excruciating. He was reminded of his only son. He should have called out or used the whistle.
'What if it were Stefan; what would he do? Wouldn't you hope someone cared?'
"Allow me to help you," Karl said, aware that the lights were dimming. Lifting the boy in his arms, he took him to a secret place—a shed the soldiers used on rare occasions—which had certain supplies. There, he bound Franz's ankle and told him to stay. If he rested, the ankle would be better soon.
Franz was crying.
"You would do this for me?"
"Ja, But we have to be careful."
"They will kill you."
"Ja, most likely, but you will be free; I will see to that. Try to sleep."
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Writing Prompt Write a story where a character is in war or is about to be in war. Fiction or non-fiction. |
As this is loosely based on a story, I heard there might be inaccuracies or 'not quite right' sections for those with greater knowledge of war. However, this is a short story competition. Enjoy it if you can
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