\u201cDon\u2019t touch me, you bastards!\u201d Albrecht spat, clawing against the hands holding him. \u201cScum!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He reared back, kicking his legs at the door frame, but a moment later the two soldiers had muscled him inside with a rough shove to the spine. He collapsed over a heap of bodies and felt hands pressing against his weight. A moment later, the door slammed shut behind him, clanging and echoing through the damp cement of the basement prison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Albrecht breathed hard and tried to make sense of his surroundings, his chest heaving with the insults he hadn\u2019t yet hurled at his captors, a rainbow of colourful curses set at the tip of his tongue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The singular window in the narrow cell had been pasted over with black, allowing less than a pale strip of light into the room. There were numerous black spots in his vision as Albrecht righted himself and settled onto a woefully small patch of unfilled space on the floor. \u201cFotze!\u201d He swore, slamming a palm against the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWatch your tongue,\u201d a voice near him warned quietly. \u201cThey don\u2019t take kindly to it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI wouldn\u2019t imagine so,\u201d Albrecht replied bitterly, wiping the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was too dark in the cell for anyone inside to make note of his face or his colouring. His eyes were as much a mystery to them as theirs were to he; though he could guess well enough at their glittering blackness, like demons peering through a tunnel from hell. The tight press of bodies around him were just shapes, smelling of sweat and blood and the tang of stale urine. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, stifling a gag. The smell was on him now, like a baptism in a tainted stream that could not be washed by any number of holy prayers. The bodies around him shifted and murmured. They were animals in a cage, grumbling over the pangs of hunger and thirst.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was no space even to lean against the wall, so packed was the narrow room. It ought to fit a single bed and perhaps a sink, a tiny apartment in the worst of circumstances. But instead, there were two dozen stinking men inside, slowly rotting. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Albrecht pulled his knees under his arms tightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He heard scratching beside him. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d He hissed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMarking another one,\u201d came the dull reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnother what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPrisoner,\u201d he said. \u201cCadieux was taken out, and now here you are to take his place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cadieux. A Frenchman. \u201cWhat did they do to him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTortured,\u201d croaked a voice nearby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShot in the yard,\u201d said another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Silence was the answer, but the hopelessness sifted through the room, a poisonous gas in the air. He could hardly tell any single body apart in the room. Eyes open or closed, he saw the same. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
But Albrecht imagined their faces, inhuman and sallow-cheeked, their eyes sunken and shadowed, and their lips cracked and dried. These were not the faces of people. They were the faces of ghosts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did he do?\u201d Albrecht asked instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSame thing any of us have done,\u201d a man murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAbsolutely nothing,\u201d said another quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Albrecht thought on how to respond. He waited, breath half held. \u201cSo, none of you are\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A man snorted. \u201cWe don\u2019t need to be <\/em>anything to be brought in here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cExcept other<\/em>,\u201d said another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPrecisely,\u201d replied the first dryly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The silence fell again, and Albrecht tried to shift where he sat to find a more comfortable position. The air tasted like fear. He knew the taste as well as he knew his mother\u2019s sauerbraten on Sonntags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d The same voice, the one who\u2019d been scratching marks into the wall, asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlbrecht.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGerman,\u201d grunted a man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019re all Germans in our right,\u201d answered the first. \u201cCitizens of a country that now hates us, even as we stood by them through the worst of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe caused the worst of it, according to some.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A dry cough. \u201cWhatever they need to point to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd you, record keeper?\u201d Albrecht asked, recognizing him immediately as a respected figure among the flock. \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The slightest hesitation. \u201cWhat did you say you were brought in here for, Albrecht?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSame as any of you, I suppose,\u201d Albrecht said carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A pause. \u201cI suppose so,\u201d the man agreed. \u201cI am Hendrik Dijkstra,\u201d said the record keeper. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDutch.\u201d Albrecht said, placing the accent where he\u2019d suspected. \u201cA German-speaking Dutchman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSoon the whole of Europe will be speaking German,\u201d another said bitterly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWatch what you say,\u201d a voice warned. \u201cThey could be listening. That\u2019s how they got Andersen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht was already sweating. The source of heat wasn\u2019t only from the press of bodies. It came from the gurgling hot water pipes lining the outer wall of the narrow room, beneath the covered window. The pipes heated the entire building and made the already stuffy place absolutely sweltering. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There was moaning at the back of the room, and the shuddering of unspent tears. Before he could think up another question of his fellow prisoners, Hendrik addressed the sniffling person in the back. \u201cWhat will you do, young Thomas, when you are released?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cD-do?\u201d The young voice returned in stilted breaths. A fellow German.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJa,\u201d said the Dutchman, a smile in his voice. \u201cWhere will you take your sister in the summer, lad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The boy cleared his throat. \u201cOur parents always took us to Laacher See when we were children. In June, the trees are so green it hurts your eyes. And the water is just right. Cold enough to wake you with a jolt, then warm enough to swim through the reeds for hours. We\u2026 We used to gather flat stones and make walls along the shore, pretending they were castles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI saw the inside of a castle before,\u201d another voice chimed in. \u201cOn the Rhine. Most beautiful stone architecture. I would go back there,\u201d they said with a wistful air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd you will,\u201d Hendrik promised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy wife and I always wanted to move to England,\u201d another man rasped. \u201cI\u2019ve heard they have good schools there. We could buy a house in the countryside. My children ought to learn proper English. I think they would be happy there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHappy?\u201d Someone else chuckled. \u201cThey get more rain than Germany!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few weary laughs filled the stinking air. Albrecht held back his own smile. How could they be so comfortable here? How could they make jokes\u2013make plans for a future that would never come? This cell would be the last thing most of them would ever see. To think otherwise was a fool\u2019s dream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEngland is beautiful,\u201d Hendrik agreed. \u201cRolling hills, far as the eye can see. Your family will love it there.\u201d Will<\/em>, not would<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht scratched the back of his sweating neck uncomfortably, swallowing to lubricate his already parched mouth. \u201cYou give these men hope,\u201d Albrecht told Hendrik.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGod gives them hope,\u201d the Dutchman replied to murmurs of agreement. \u201cI simply remind them of our humanity. That is all one can do in a place such as this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSome would not see it as such,\u201d Albrecht said. \u201cWhy not offer what information you have to them, so you may be released?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Someone snorted beside him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs that funny?\u201d Albrecht demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hendrik answered, his tone smooth. \u201cWe are not here because they want information from us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do you mean? Of course y\u2013of course we are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was another awkward pause, and Albrecht felt his hands clench into tight fists. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy wife and daughter\u2026\u201d Hendrik began thoughtfully. \u201cWe have lived in Germany for six years. A week ago, they broke through the doors of my home\u2013without provocation\u2013and arrested all three of us. They invaded my home and named us spies, then dragged us away while our neighbours watched silently on.\u201d His voice broke, but he cleared his throat and continued in a quieter, composed voice. \u201cI was brought here, and my family\u2026 I don\u2019t know where they were taken. My daughter is only ten, and my wife\u2026 We are expecting our second child soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey will be alright,\u201d one promised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve seen what they do to women\u2026\u201d said another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A man offered hushed words of warning. \u201cDon\u2019t let them hear you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy would they suspect you to be a spy?\u201d Albrecht asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hendrik sighed. \u201cWhy did they suspect you<\/em>, Albrecht?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht rubbed the back of his neck again. \u201cThey caught me carrying a missive\u2026\u201d he said finally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA missive?\u201d Someone asked. \u201cFrom who?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t say it,\u201d Hendrik said sharply. \u201cDon\u2019t say anything else. Answer or not, they\u2019ll have your flesh if they think you know anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht lowered his voice. \u201cAren\u2019t we all here for the same reasons?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another pregnant pause. \u201cI\u2019m a professor.\u201d Hendrik said blankly. \u201cNot a spy. I teach history. It is my blood they hate, not my secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A professor. <\/em>That explained why this Hendrik fellow was able to command a room of prisoners so well. They all listened when he spoke. He was respected. He could convince them to do anything, Albrecht suspected… Even plot an escape, were it possible. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht glanced at the small sliver of light through the painted window. There were bars on that window, but perhaps there was a way through it. Could they break the pipes? Cut through the door? Had any of these foul-smelling prisoners even thought to get out, or were they content to let themselves lie and rot and wait for death to come for them? And what could they possibly want with a history professor, anyways? The man who has no sense of history is like a man who has no ears or eyes,<\/em> Albrecht thought wryly: the quote of a great man. \u201cYou must have connections through the university. Or they must have seen you talking to someone they suspected, surely,\u201d Albrecht reasoned. \u201cThey must have some<\/em> reason in thinking you\u2019re against them. How else would you find yourself in a K\u00f6ln gestapo prison?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cReason has nothing to do with it,\u201d someone bit back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t stand with them,\u201d Hendrik said gravely, and someone gave another warning hiss. He sighed, then. \u201cI don\u2019t agree with what they\u2019re doing. Of course I don\u2019t. I\u2019m a decent and educated man. But I don\u2019t have the resources\u2026 Godverdomme,” he swore in Dutch, “I don\u2019t have the guts to ask for a tenure, much less head an uprising.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSomeone must have thought you suspicious,\u201d Albrecht pressed, keeping his tone even and reasonable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know who\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA loyal<\/em> German citizen,\u201d someone else muttered bitterly. \u201cThat\u2019s how they want to look. It doesn\u2019t matter if they\u2019re right. They get praised just for turning you in, innocent or no.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am<\/em> innocent,\u201d the professor said solidly, \u201cbut I suspect you speak the truth of the matter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe are all innocent,\u201d another hissed. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter. We shall all be crucified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLike Christ,\u201d another whispered in agreement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For a while, they fell into uncomfortable silence. Albrecht picked through Hendrik\u2019s words carefully, trying to make sense of the matter. Hendrik Dijkstra, a Dutch professor living in K\u00f6ln.<\/em> The name didn\u2019t strike him as particularly relevant, but then again, conspirators would be wise to use false identities. Hendrik seemed on the surface to be genuine, but Albrecht had seen a number of good actors in his line of work. A face\u2013as much as he could see of it\u2013did little to reveal what shadows lurked beneath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Soon, there was a bang at the door that made Albrecht nearly jump out of his skin. He felt the men around him shuffle back out of the way and Albrecht quickly scrambled from the door as it was shoved open. Something landed on the stone floor near his feet and he held his breath. There was a grunt, and the door slammed shut with a metallic clang as the lock fell back into place. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWater,\u201d someone croaked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Excited murmurs filled the cramped cell and Albrecht felt something being pressed into his hands. \u201cTake a sip and pass it along,\u201d Hendrik said gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht obeyed, taking more than a sip as he felt the refreshing liquid hit his lips and cool his throat. It was a small canteen. Hardly enough to satisfy a man at full health, much less a roomful of sickly and underfed creatures huddled in the sweating, piss-scented dark. Albrecht had expected them all to leap at the canteen like ravaging animals, but instead they shared it like a ritual of Christ\u2019s communion. Blood, there would be. But no bread for these hopeless few.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They all drank their measly portion, the canteen passed lastly to Hendrik, who seemed to swallow nothing but a few droplets. Then the professor spoke, his voice clear and soft despite the tragic little water he\u2019d had. \u201cProst, my fellow men.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cProst!\u201d They all answered quietly. Albrecht found himself muttering the sentiment a moment later than the others. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOur bodies may falter,\u201d Hendrik continued, \u201cbut our minds must ever onwards in thought and hope.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHope,\u201d a few men returned solemnly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey do not fight over what little they are given,\u201d Albrecht commented, the disbelief plain in his voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The words had been meant for himself, but Hendrik answered. \u201cTo them, we are naught but livestock. We must maintain our humanity, because they will not do it for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Somehow, the day faded\u2013at least he suspected so\u2013and sleep took most of them with soft snores and some rattling breaths of the near-dying. Albrecht managed to position himself in the corner against the wall, shoving back from the doorway as much as he could to avoid the next time it opened. He heard more scratching through the night of other saddened souls, cracking fingernails on the plaster as they wrote the names of loved ones, or recited prayers into the stone as if those might reach the Lord more than whispered words of countenance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht\u2019s prayers were for his grumbling belly at the first of many more missed meals. His stomach turned at the thought of food in such a place, and eventually he curled into a restless sleep bordered with nightmares of gunshots and splattered blood on slate walls, peppering shined black boots. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The weight of a body was more easily managed by two men. Drag it by the arms and you would meet too much resistance, leaving a bloodied trail to clean up afterwards. Raise it up, one on each end. You were counted lucky to hold the legs. The head always had it the worst, slopping out its contents in pink and grey fluids. A nightmare to scrub out of grey-green wool… <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Within the narrow cell where death lingered in the air, mingled with sweat from the pores of every prisoner, Hendrik and the other men spoke of hopeful matters amongst the shit and vomit. They spoke of vacation plans and houses they wanted to build. Hendrik thought to name his son after his grandfather: Johan Dijkstra. The young boy with the German accent, the one named Thomas, spoke of the dog he would get once he was out. He would name it K\u00e4mpfer for fighter<\/em>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht asked if they had thought of escape. Had they tried the window? Was there loose concrete on the floor? What of the pipes? Overrunning the soldiers? No,<\/em> Hendrik said, and told them all about the history of Roman trade over the Rhine as if teaching a regular lesson to a group of assembled students. Anything to keep their minds off the hunger. Albrecht held his tongue against his frustration. When water came, they would all take their meager sips and praise God on high. Albrecht cursed all of it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The door opened several times. A name would be called\u2013German, sometimes French or English, Dutch and Italian\u2013and a man would be dragged out by rough hands. Most didn\u2019t even fight. They hadn\u2019t the will to stand, much less throw a punch or scream out for help they knew wouldn\u2019t come. Their families were long dead, and they would follow soon enough. The surrender of their souls\u2013should they have such a thing\u2013happened the moment they first entered the stone walls of their prison. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Hours later, the tortured ones would be returned to the cell smelling of blood and tears, sobbing or groaning in pain. There would be no tending wounds in the darkness. There would be no point to it, only a delay of the inevitable end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht said little, but listened much in the following days. Then he confided in the men of his mission to move messages between the allied forces. They said little, then. They warned him to stay quiet. They were all weak-minded. All except Hendrik. He seemed no fool. Whatever secrets the keen minded Dutchman carried would be brought to his grave. Of that, Albrecht was certain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Four, perhaps five days ebbed by in near-darkness. Albrecht had grown numb to the smell, and the heat, and even the feeling of the floor beneath him and the voices around him. Hendrik murmured encouragements even then. Albrecht hated the professor more than he hated the devil, and yet he found himself stirred by the Dutchman\u2019s words. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, it was Albrecht’s name on the lips of the captors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The door flew open. A strict, German accent broke through. \u201cAlbrecht Fuch\u00df.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht felt a hand in his, gripping it with a tight squeeze. Hendrik, he knew. And then it slipped away. Albrecht felt the hand after it was released, a momentary warmth on his palm. He was grabbed around the shirt collar and forced into the hallway. The door\u2019s echoing boom rang through the space. Albrecht felt his legs slip out from under him. He would have collapsed if not for the hands hoisting him up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEasy now, soldier,\u201d A familiar voice muttered as Albrecht was half-dragged down the hallway. He felt himself collapse onto a cold metal chair and blinked the dizziness and exhaustion from his eyes, slowly adjusting to the singular bare bulb dangling from a chain overhead. He squinted, feeling near to vomiting. The floor was stained brown with old blood they hadn\u2019t managed to scrub from the stone. \u201cSchei\u00dfe, you smell!\u201d said the voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht\u2019s face broke into a weak grin despite himself. \u201cI\u2019ve been in a cell for\u2026 how many days was it? What\u2019s your excuse?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The soldier shook his shoulder and chuckled. \u201cHow was it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHell,\u201d Albrecht admitted. \u201cWater, please. And bread. Verdammt. And a change of clothes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He felt a pile of fabric hit him in the face. He stripped down and dressed in the fresh clothing. He would scrub clean later, though he felt it would take days to rid himself of the stench. A plate of bread and mug of wine were tossed onto a table in front of him and he dug into it immediately, devouring every crumb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The General arrived a moment later, straight-backed and assured. He had pale hair and eyes and pockmarked skin that made him look younger than he was. He dragged another chair across the room and seated himself in front of Albrecht. \u201cTell me everything, soldier.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht swallowed the chunk of bread he\u2019d been chewing on. He\u2019d gone into that cell desperate to please. The task was less than desirable, but the outcome, should it be successful, would have immeasurable rewards to one such as he, who had much to prove. He couldn\u2019t admit that he\u2019d found nothing about the men to suggest they were spies or traitors. These men wouldn’t be released\u2013couldn\u2019t be\u2013or they would be assured future spies and traitors. Execution was their only fate from the beginning. Judgment day had come the moment those names were on the lips of their neighbours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht took a deep breath and launched into his description of each prisoner in detail, stripping them down to their barest self. He saved the tale of the Dutch professor for last. Saved, or perhaps delayed. He couldn\u2019t be sure. But the story of Hendrik Dijkstra came out all the same, the details solidifying into a new story as it was retold. The greatest mercy he could offer was a quick death, spared from further tortures. That was his humanitarian offering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When his words were spent, the general nodded his approval and sent the wardens into the cell to retrieve their bounties. Albrecht was soon sitting alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stayed behind in the room with the stained floors, turning to his reflection in the dusty mirror. He touched his face, where the blond stubble of a weeklong beard poked from his jaw. His blond hair was streaked brown with dirt and his face looked gaunt and sallow-cheeked from lack of food and sunlight. His clear blue eyes stared back, now shadowed so he looked less than human, his lips cracked and swollen with dryness. <\/p>\n\n\n\n His was no longer the face of a man. It was the face of a ghost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He flinched as he heard the first crack of a gunshot in the yard, followed by the rattling of a dozen more. Abbef\u00f6rderung<\/em>. The word they’d taken to using for the removal of undesirables. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht took a lantern from the table and lit it. He walked down the short hallway, turning left at the cell door. It was open now. He covered his nose with his arm and raised the lantern light over the walls, crouching to where he remembered Hendrik\u2019s voice. He touched a finger to the scratches in the faded green plaster, and saw his own name beneath that of the Frenchman: <\/p>\n\n\n\n Bertrand Lockley \u2013 An Avid Reader.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Louis Cadieux \u2013 A Beloved Brother.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht Fuch\u00df \u2013 A Loyal Soldier.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, forgetting the smell and the heat for that moment. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When he opened them again, the words were just scratching’s on a wall. He stood and stepped out of the cell. <\/p>\n\n\n\n They would paint over the names and the cell would be filled with a new batch soon enough. More fodder for the stories, which required the constant churning of new villains. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Albrecht sighed. The world would turn, the Rhine would flow on, and the sunlight would never cease to shine over the greatest empire ever to have been born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you want to shine like sun first you have to burn like it.\u201d – Adolf Hitler.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The tight press of bodies around him were just shapes, smelling of sweat and blood and the tang of stale urine. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, stifling a gag. The smell was on him now, like a baptism in a tainted stream that could not be washed by any number of holy prayers. The bodies around him shifted and murmured. They were animals in a cage, grumbling over the pangs of hunger and thirst.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1397,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"episode_type":"","audio_file":"","cover_image":"","cover_image_id":"","duration":"","filesize":"","date_recorded":"","explicit":"","block":"","filesize_raw":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[224,249,252,250,154,80,251,232,69,248],"series":[],"class_list":["post-1396","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-fiction","tag-german","tag-names","tag-nazi","tag-prison","tag-short-story","tag-soldier","tag-war","tag-world-war-two","tag-ww2"],"episode_featured_image":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/06\/IMG_20210914_143307-scaled-e1657019679667.jpg","episode_player_image":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/wp-content\/plugins\/seriously-simple-podcasting\/assets\/images\/no-album-art.png","download_link":"","player_link":"","audio_player":false,"episode_data":{"playerMode":"dark","subscribeUrls":{"amazon":{"key":"amazon","url":"https:\/\/music.amazon.ca\/podcasts\/09c34bbc-b359-49af-a286-31830ed5634c\/short-stories","label":"Amazon","class":"amazon","icon":"amazon.png"},"apple_podcasts":{"key":"apple_podcasts","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.apple.com\/us\/podcast\/short-stories\/id1621456328","label":"Apple Podcasts","class":"apple_podcasts","icon":"apple-podcasts.png"},"google_play":{"key":"google_play","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.google.com\/feed\/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbGV4aXN2ZWVuZW5kYWFsLmNvbS9mZWVkL3BvZGNhc3Qvc2hvcnQtc3Rvcmllcw","label":"Google Play","class":"google_play","icon":"google-play.png"},"google_podcasts":{"key":"google_podcasts","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.google.com\/feed\/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbGV4aXN2ZWVuZW5kYWFsLmNvbS9mZWVkL3BvZGNhc3Qvc2hvcnQtc3Rvcmllcw","label":"Google Podcasts","class":"google_podcasts","icon":"google-podcasts.png"},"spotify":{"key":"spotify","url":"https:\/\/open.spotify.com\/show\/0lcQCRs52MfYlKs35lVX4K","label":"Spotify","class":"spotify","icon":"spotify.png"},"itunes":{"key":"itunes","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.apple.com\/us\/podcast\/short-stories\/id1621456328","label":"iTunes","class":"itunes","icon":"itunes.png"}},"rssFeedUrl":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/feed\/podcast\/default-podcast","embedCode":"Scratching Names<\/a><\/blockquote>