The Fallen Shall Rise

By Heather Akena

The precarious balance between human and assassin rested on a
knifes edge, but Amelia was one of the few who had successfully
mastered it. And, oh, how quickly . . .
It all started when I was about 12 years old. The man in black . . . the foreigner
. . . but I knew one thing: I loved him. And at some point, Id loved both
of them. It couldve all been so much different, couldve ended so many
different ways. But the paths we chose led us to the inevitable, led us to each
other in a time when everything depended on us to put a stop to the evil
that threatened to destroy the world. My name is Amelia Reichert. This is my
story. And this is how it all began.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Apr 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469176161

Heather Akena

Heather Akena graduated Summa Cum Laude with a degree in Criminal Justice. She has been a published writer since the age of 11, being inducted into Who's Who for various achievements throughout the way. An avid language and history lover, she moved to Germany in 2006 to start work as a translator and research certain facts pertaining to this novel. In addition to English, she also speaks German and Russian, and currently resides in Braunschweig, Germany.

Book preview

The Fallen Shall Rise

Heather Akena

Copyright © 2012 by Heather Akena.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012903777

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-7615-4

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-7614-7

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-7616-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

[e-mail]

303764

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Epilogue

Dedicated to Kim Glenn and Carsten Luther, the two people

who understand me better than anyone else ever could.

Prologue

I HAD A nightmare last night.

The therapist reclined back in his chair as he looked at the young child lying on the couch in front of him. About what?

She sighed and closed her eyes as if she needed it to help her remember when all she really needed was to forget. I was in this room. It was dark… cold…

She trailed off, and he waited on her to speak again, but she didn’t.

And then what?

She opened her eyes and turned her head to the side to look at him. I died.

He smiled at her sympathetically and gently laced his fingers together in his lap. Amelia, it was just a dream.

Was it?

Her green eyes were burning accusingly at him, warning him that if he lied to her, she would know… and she would never forgive him.

Yes, he whispered reassuringly. It was only a dream. Your mind’s just playing out scenarios that it never actually expects to happen.

No, she said decisively as she turned her head away from him and stared back up at the ceiling. This was different.

He raised his eyebrows, curious now. How so?

She shook her head slowly, squeezing her eyes shut again in an effort to block out the nightmare that seemed more like a memory lost out of time. It doesn’t matter.

Well, don’t worry, he said softly as he patted her on the arm and took out his watch. Soon you’ll forget all about it, and everything will be just fine.

Like I forgot about it last time?

His smile turned sad as he went silent in a desperate attempt not to answer her, and she didn’t ask again. The therapist looked back at her father standing in the doorway, and he nodded in a silent command for him to go ahead. It wasn’t long before she was asleep, lost in a dream she was doomed to remember.

And? her father asked several minutes later as he softly shut the door behind him.

The therapist shook his head as he watched over her. It’s the same as last time, Richard.

The young man’s expression contorted briefly into one of violent, inner anger before he won his battle with composure. It’s been three months now. I thought you said you could fix this.

He slowly turned his head to look back at him. And I can. But the problem is not making her forget she’s had the dream… I can do that. The problem is making sure she doesn’t have it again later on, which only makes her remember everything else.

Richard sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. She’s only eight years old, Hans. How can an eight-year-old dream something so violent?

He turned back to Amelia resting calmly on the couch before shaking his head. I don’t know, Richard, but this is serious, and I… he paused and lowered his head in defeat. I’m not sure I can fix her.

Richard looked away, refusing to either confirm or deny his words. Amelia whimpered as she started to reawaken, and he took his weight off the wall as he watched her, wondering just what kind of world she would awaken to.

Daddy?

He broke out into a grin at the sound of her voice. Yeah, Baby. I’m here.

She got up off the couch and ran to him, laughing when he scooped her up in his arms and hugged her as close as he could get her.

How ya feelin’?

She nodded at the question. Good. I always feel better after my naps.

He smiled sadly at her, but as usual, she didn’t seem to notice. As far as she knew, she came to see the therapist every afternoon for what he called ‘nap time’. She never asked questions about it, and he hoped she never did.

That’s good to hear. Your mom’s waiting out in the hallway for us so we can go have ice cream.

She threw her hands around his neck and squealed in excitement. Yay!

Her continued enthusiasm over the routine made him smile, and he opened the door behind him and swiftly carried her out of the room to her mother. Hans watched them leave and sighed in exasperation over the fact that Amelia was the one person that he just never seemed to be able to fix. When he had first started treating her, his hair had been its natural color. Now it had faded to a snowy white, all from the stress of being incapable of saving this one innocent little girl from the monsters in her nightmares.

Though he hadn’t asked Richard whether or not they would be coming back tomorrow, he already knew the answer; it was the same every time.

Katrin, he said softly as he leaned out of his office door. Pencil me in for another appointment tomorrow afternoon at 2 P.M.

The secretary looked up at him, taking her attention away from the stack of papers littered across her desk. Name?

He sighed heavily at the sound of the door closing when Richard left with his family. Amelia Bauer.

Chapter 1

November 14th, 1917—Five Years Earlier

SERGEI WAS SITTING in his favorite rocking chair on the front porch, staring blankly down the road that led into town. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, but he supposed it didn’t really matter, anyway. He had enough on his mind already: the past, the future… and really anything but the present. He lived on a small farm with his family on the outskirts of the former St. Petersburg, now called Petrograd, and he hated every second of it. Regina Balekhova had come to see him earlier and told him that Russia had pulled out of the war, and he had been sitting in that same spot ever since. His family was too poor to own a telephone or radio, but Regina’s family had one in every room, and she had made the long trek down to the farm to tell him the news.

That was hours ago, and while everyone in his family had celebrated at first, he had gradually been consumed with what that could mean for Russia as a country now; more specifically, the soldiers who had fought for it. Vladimir Lenin had just come to power, and rumors were swirling around like wildfire.

The front door beside him swung open, and his mother leaned out of it to look at him.

Sergei?

Yes, Ma’am?

What are you doing out here?

Thinking.

From the way he had answered her, she could tell he just wanted to be left alone, but it was a right she refused to allow him.

About what?

He turned to look back at her. Do you think Nikolai’s coming home?

The door squeaked loudly as his mother stepped heavily out of it. She was morbidly obese, and everyone could hear her coming before they actually saw her.

I don’t know, Son, but I hope so.

He made a face that said her words had failed to comfort him and continued staring down the road. Nikolai Federov was his best friend, and though he was eight years older than Sergei, it did little to affect their friendship. At fourteen, Sergei was too young to go to war, but Nikolai was in the prime of his life, and they had ripped him away from everything he knew just to unceremoniously dump him on the battlefield. The last time Sergei had seen him was in January 1915—almost two years ago—and outside of a single letter in 1916, he had never heard from Nikolai again.

What if he’s dead?

His mother looked at him sympathetically and put her hand on his shoulder. I’m sure Nikolai’s all right, Sergei. He’s a fighter; he always has been.

The thought made him smile as he realized she was right. Nikolai had grown up an orphan, bouncing around from family to family and getting in more fights than anyone had ever thought possible. He’d had his first job at ten and had tried his best to live alone ever since. If he was still alive, he would be twenty-two now, and Sergei looked up to him like the big brother he had never had.

Though he wasn’t sure if Nikolai would come and visit him the moment he returned, it seemed a likely possibility since Sergei’s family was the only one he really had outside of his girlfriend, Lena.

Come on, Nikolai, Sergei whispered to the deserted road in front of him. Come back home.

*     *     *

PAUL RAN DOWN the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving his mother huffing and puffing behind him in his wake. The hospital floor squealed loudly under his shoes in an irregular rhythm, telling all the other patients in ICU that something terrible had happened to someone he loved.

Dad?! he wailed as he slid to a stop in front of his father’s room. Dad!

One of the nurses caught him as he tried to run into the room, and he fought violently to get to the man lying lifelessly against the hospital bed. His father had a tube stuck down his throat to help him breathe, but it did nothing to restart his heart, which had failed.

Let me go! he squealed as the doctors moved in the way of his field of vision. I have to see him!

You have to let the doctors take care of him, the nurse warned as she fought to keep him outside the room. They’re doing everything they can, and you’ll only be in the way.

He started to cry just as his mother reached him and wrapped him in her arms. The doctors had warned her it could end like this, and she had believed them then, but she had never really comprehended the fact that it might actually come true… not like this. Her husband was a captain in World War I, and she had prayed every single day for his return since he had left. Now, for better or for worse, her prayers had been answered. He had been injured on the battlefield by shrapnel from a land mine, saved only by his best friend, who had stepped on it seconds before him and blown himself to pieces in the process. The last few weeks had been harder for her than not knowing what was happening on the battlefield as she was forced to stand by helplessly while her husband fought for his life. The surgery to take out all the shrapnel had lasted thirteen hours and was only seventy percent successful. He had awakened only once in the last three weeks he had been hospitalized, barely able to formulate sentences as he fervently tried to tell her something. She had nodded and pretended like she’d understood anyway, trying not to cry as his condition continued to deteriorate. No one was sure if he would ever be the same again, but as long as he was alive, she was determined to never complain about it.

The heart monitor suddenly changed from a flat line to a slow blip, and Paul blinked back the tears in his eyes, wondering if he had heard correctly. His mother squeezed his shoulder to silently say she heard it, too, and he looked up expectantly as the doctor came over to them.

Mrs. Meier?

She nodded quickly, and he smiled tiredly at her.

I’m Doctor Hoffmann. We’ve been able to save your husband again.

She gasped in relief and allowed the tears that she had been holding in to flow freely down her face. She wasn’t sure how much more her own heart could take, but the look on the doctor’s face said that that wasn’t the only reason he had come out there to talk to her.

Why don’t you take a seat?

She loudly blew her nose into a tissue as the doctor directed her to a chair across the hallway, and Paul knew that if they were being asked to sit, his father wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

You know, Mrs. Meier, this is not the first time this has happened.

She nodded complacently and wiped her eyes with another tissue, knowing that the doctor was going to continue on regardless of whether she answered him verbally or not.

I think that the next time this happens, you should just let him go. Let him finally be at peace.

She glared at him and spun out of her chair to a standing position. How dare you! she hissed. How dare you even suggest to me that I should just let my husband die!

He’s had another stroke, Doctor Hoffmann warned. And we don’t really know how bad the damage is yet, but you can bet there are going to be some serious, long-term side effects.

I don’t care, she wheezed, clutching Paul closer to her as if she needed the support. I’ll take care of him for the rest of his life if I have to, but I’m not going to give up until you’ve tried everything you can think of to save him.

He hung his head in frustration, seemingly wanting to argue with her decision but knowing it was a right he couldn’t refuse her.

All right, he acquiesced. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but you are aware that he’ll require full time care, right?

She nodded firmly. Whatever it takes.

And you know we’ve had to dig out most of the muscle tissue in his hip, so you can be sure that—

You’ve already told me, she snapped. He’ll never walk again and have to use a wheelchair, I get it. We’ll have one ready for him by the time he’s healed up enough to go home.

He conceded his argument and nodded slowly. All right, then. Would you like to see him?

Paul took his mother’s hand to steady her as she shakily walked into the room. His father was unconscious, and for what seemed like an eternity, no one spoke.

You can’t die, Dad, he finally whispered. I need you too much.

His father was only thirty-one, and Paul shook his head as he realized that was far too young for anyone to die. The soft whimpering coming from his mother sobbing behind him made him want to cry, too, but he was the man of the family now, regardless of the fact that he was still a child. His father was his best friend and hero, and until his mother had awakened him in the middle of the night several weeks ago with the news, he had thought this man was invincible.

Albrecht, his mother whispered as she finally mustered the strength to come forward and take her husband’s hand. It’s Charlotte. I don’t know if you can hear me, but we’re going to get through this, okay? We’re a family until the end, and I know you still have a lot of living left to do.

Paul turned his head towards the sound of the heart monitor and smiled as the steady beeping increased. He didn’t care what the doctor said; his father was still in there somewhere, wanting to survive just as much as everyone else wanted him to.

*     *     *

WHAT ARE YOU doing?

Sergei jumped at the sound and whirled around to explain himself. It was his father’s voice, and Sergei knew from the tone he was using that he was in trouble. He was supposed to have started digging the new fence hours ago, but he had been so consumed with the thought of Nikolai that nobody had seen fit to actually force him to do it. He was still sitting on the porch where his mother had left him, but now he had a book in his hands that he had heavily been involved in reading until he had been found out. But to his credit, the longer he sat there contemplating whether or not Nikolai would come to see him the moment he returned, the more paranoid he got that his friend might be laying dead in a trench somewhere instead.

I… uh… I’m waiting for Nikolai.

And you plan to find him in that book?

He looked away, and his father bent down to move away the flap so he could get a better look at it.

Sergei, he chided, sighing heavily. We’ve already talked about this.

I know, Dad, Sergei whined as he closed the book. But it’s what I wanna be when I grow up.

His smile turned sad, but he managed to hold onto it. I know, Son, but you know we just can’t afford to send you to school to be a doctor. I wish we could, but people like us just don’t get chances like that.

Sergei stared forward into the sunset without answering him, squinting at the remaining daylight that assaulted his eyes.

What’s so bad about being a farmer, anyway?

Sergei shook his head at his father’s question. Nothing, Dad, but I wanna help people. I want to fix them, not grow vegetables. No offense.

Petrov, get in here! I need you to finish setting the table!

The white haired, aging man looked back through the screen door at the sound of his wife’s voice. In a second, Sofia! he called before turning back to Sergei and squeezing his shoulder gently. None taken, Son. And between us, I think you’d make a great doctor.

Thanks, Dad.

The silence resumed between them as thick and heavy as before, and though Sergei already knew the answer, he just needed to hear it again.

Are you sure we don’t have the money? Maybe I can get another job or—

I’ve already told you, Sergei, Petrov interrupted, you don’t have time to get another job. You have to finish your studies, and we need you here. We have an extra mouth to feed now that we have Josef to take care of.

He scowled at the thought and looked back down at his book. His sister, Evginia, had died four years ago giving birth to Josef. She had never even succumbed to a cold, but she had died suddenly and without warning before she could even see her son. In fact, it was the sole reason why Sergei had decided to become a doctor in the first place. It had taken far too long to get a doctor there from the main city, and Sergei couldn’t help but think that if he had been a doctor, his sister’s life could’ve been saved. Josef was four now, and Sergei found him a nuisance at best. He was into everything, and for some reason, he behaved as if it were his duty to annoy Sergei every chance he got. Josef’s father was German and had died on the battlefield recently, and though his paternal grandparents had taken him in for a while, they had now shipped him back to Russia, which meant that Sergei’s family was now stuck with him, whether they wanted him or not. The thought of the battlefield made his mood turn increasingly sour as he thought about Nikolai, wondering yet again if he would ever come back, or if he had ended up like Josef’s father: lost and forgotten, just another dead body with a dog tag waiting to be sent back home.

You know I told you to get that fence up today.

He cut his eyes to his father without really seeing him. Sorry. I got a little preoccupied.

Petrov shook his head. That just means you’ll have to get up twice as early tomorrow to make sure you get it done.

He nodded and let his scowl deepen at the thought of being chained down to a life he hated so much, full of menial tasks and chores that amounted to nothing at the end of the day.

All right.

And smile, Sergei, Petrov said lightheartedly as he gently patted him on the shoulder. Life’s not that serious.

Yeah, right, he muttered as he got up from the porch.

To Sergei, that was the only thing it ever was.

Chapter 2

RICHARD! CAME THE desperate scream from outside the front door. We got another one!

He cursed loudly and slapped his work gloves down on the desk before running towards the front door. The soldiers outside were coming in with another stretcher, and it was clear from the blood dripping a trail onto the floor that this was the worst one yet.

Put him down here, he ordered as he walked over to the makeshift bed.

They unceremoniously dumped the injured soldier down on the bed, and the man groaned in protest at the renewed stab of pain.

Easy, Richard hissed as he bent down over him. "You’re supposed to leave them alive, remember? Otherwise I can’t experiment on them!"

One of them grunted an apology, but Richard had already lost interest in them as he started examining the man’s wounds. His entire midsection had been torn to shreds, and it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to his injuries if Richard couldn’t find a way to keep him alive. Kaiser Wilhelm II had ordered him to the battlefield—away from his family—to conduct experiments on the mortally wounded. He was a scientist, but not the kind that most people would expect: he specialized in human anatomy. More specifically, the often frowned upon practice of seeing just how much the human body could withstand and be medically changed. He was fascinated with its ability to heal and adapt to the changes that happened to it, and he constantly tried to play with humanity’s limits. Some people said this made him inhuman, but he was only working on those who would otherwise die without his help. To him, there was nothing inhuman about it.

Did you hear Russia pulled out of the war? asked one of soldiers that had brought in the dying man. Looks like that’s one less country we have to worry about.

Richard cut his eyes up to him and glared at him before focusing his attention back on the one person who really needed it most. Well, Rudolf, as far as I’m concerned, the sooner this war is over, the sooner I can go back home to my family.

The other soldier looked around the room at the bodies of the dead and dying surrounding them before making a face. Have you actually been able to save any of them?

I’m working on it, Franz, he muttered as he lifted up the soldier’s bloodied shirt and prepared to cut away the material near the wound.

I’ll take that as a no, Franz grunted.

Uh, guys, he said suddenly in surprise, standing up to his full height. This one’s not one of ours.

Franz took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. What are you talking about?

Richard held up the man’s arm, and the other two gasped when he wiped away the blood to reveal the American flag patch sewn onto the uniform.

He’s American, Richard said matter-of-factly as he lowered his arm back down.

The man looked up at him with pain filled eyes, silently begging him for help in spite of their political differences.

Rudolf drew his gun, and Richard held out his hand to stop him. Just leave him with me, I’ll take care of it.

Richard, you can’t seriously be considering saving this man’s life, he argued.

There’s nothing to save, Richard reminded him. He’s a dead man, anyway. His wounds are too extensive, and there’s really nothing I can do at this point. But you boys better get back to work out there and stop wasting time.

They saluted limply even though they didn’t have to and walked out of the large medical tent. It was separate from the other ones that had been erected, and for good reason. The general in charge had decided that the prevailing stench of death emanating from Richard’s experiments would worry those who weren’t actually mortally wounded.

You gonna kill me now or what?

The voice was in English, and Richard raised his eyebrows at the question before looking back at the man.

No, he said nonchalantly as he pulled a vial off the table and headed towards him. Your body’s already doing that for you. What happened out there?

The soldier laughed as if the question had been a joke instead. Like you care.

Richard shook his head to say he didn’t really. What’s your name?

Though part of this man wanted to spit in Richard’s face, the fact that he wasn’t dead yet was promising, and he told him his name for the simple fact that he hoped this man—this German—would tell his family what had happened to him.

Lang, he whispered painfully as he laid back down on the bed and swallowed hard. Sergeant Allen Lang.

Richard nodded, satisfied with the information. He had intended to stop there, but Allen didn’t seem to want to let him.

I need you to find my wife, he whimpered. Tell her what happened, and tell her… tell her I love her.

Richard’s nod changed to a shake. You’re not dead yet, Allen.

But we both know I’m gonna be, he said with a pain filled smile before coughing violently. I don’t know of too many people that have survived a grenade attack.

Richard stared at him sympathetically but didn’t confirm or deny his sentence one way or the other. What’s your wife’s name?

Joanna, he wheezed. She lives in Berlin.

Richard made a face. She’s German?

Polish, he corrected. But we lived in Berlin. When the war started, I knew I had to fight for my country… he paused to shake his head. But I never thought I would end up like this.

You speak German, then? Richard asked, ignoring the one thing they really needed to talk about.

He smirked at the idea. Never got the chance to learn. I speak pretty good Polish, though.

You got any kids?

He turned his head to the side at the question once he realized Richard was trying to distract him from the liquid he was pulling into a needle.

A son.

Richard didn’t speak again, and Allen desperately tried to keep the conversation going in an effort not to think about what potential fate awaited him.

You?

Richard nodded, already lost in his own world. A daughter.

Joanna and I always wanted a girl, he said sadly. Must be nice.

Not on days like this.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Richard checking for the right vein. What is that stuff, anyway?

It should help you feel better, Richard said nonchalantly, waiting several seconds before adding, I hope.

What is it?

He looked down at the liquid inside the vial once Allen repeated his question. The truth was, he hadn’t even thought of a name for it yet, mostly because he hadn’t tried it out on anyone else before and wasn’t even sure if it was finished yet. But he supposed there was no time like the present…

It’s something I made, he admitted. I’m hoping that it’ll keep you alive and help you recover faster.

The look on Allen’s face said he didn’t believe him. Sounds like black magic if you ask me.

He smiled at the thought. Not quite.

Allen didn’t have the energy to fight him, and Richard slowly injected the liquid into his veins, silently hoping for the best. Allen closed his eyes after several seconds and exhaled heavily before going still.

Allen?

There was no answer, and Richard sighed loudly in exasperation once he realized that yet another experiment had failed. He laid the needle to the side and went back to his desk to write down the information that someone should contact Joanna.

"AAAAAAGHHHHH!"

He jumped at the unexpected sound while the abrupt motion slashed a large streak across the page he was writing on with his pencil.

It hurts! Allen screamed at the top of his lungs. It hurts!!!

He was gasping for air, and Richard ran over to him with a wide-eyed look of shock on his face. Once Allen had seemingly succumbed to his wounds, he hadn’t felt the pain that was taking over him. Now, it seemed, all Richard had managed to do was shock his body back into being aware of just how painful it was to have a grenade blow a hole through it. He tried to hold him down, but Allen thrashed violently in his grasp, unable to properly control his motor skills from the pain.

You did this to me! he screamed. You said you wanted to help me, but all you really wanted to do was torture me!

No! Richard protested. I was just trying to help you, I swear!

Allen screamed again in sheer agony, and the sound of it chilled Richard to the very depths of his soul. It was bitterly clear that the only thing he had managed to do was keep Allen alive in the cruelest of ways.

I’m sorry, he whispered as he backed up towards his desk, feeling around for his gun lying on top of it. I didn’t know it would do this to you. If I had, I never would’ve given it to you.

I hope this is what happens to your daughter! he screamed. That someone kills her and she’s forced to relive it over and over again!

Richard finally felt the cold metal underneath his fingertips and pulled the gun forward, firmly squeezing the trigger to put Sergeant Lang out of his misery once and for all. Eerie silence echoed back at him, and he fought the urge to throw up as he plopped back down into his chair in despair. He had never wanted to give up and defect more so than he did right now, but it was the last thing he could do. Even if he managed to make it off the battlefield, the Kaiser would hunt him down and have him executed. But someone still had to tell Mrs. Lang that her husband was dead, and Richard supposed it was only fitting that he gave her the bad news personally.

He sighed heavily and picked up his pencil to note the changes that his serum did to the human body. There was no time to mourn the dead when there was so much work waiting to be finished.

*     *     *

SERGEI THREW DOWN his shovel and wiped the sweat off his brow. It was early winter, but he had been digging the trench for the new fence for so long that the constant exercise was keeping him warm in spite of the cold. It was late afternoon now, and he was beyond exhausted. The fence should have never taken this long, but the soil had hardened overnight, making everything take twice the amount of time that it should have. He was covered nearly head to toe in dirt, and the realization that he still had so far to go made him want to cry. He knew he was meant for more in life than digging fences and living on a farm, but it would seem that circumstances refused to allow him the possibility of being what he wanted to be.

The cold ground crunched underneath his feet as he headed back to the main house for another glass of water, and as he got closer, he could see his mother through the window, sitting in front of the fireplace. She was knitting as she waited on dinner to finish cooking, and he cringed at the thought of what that meant for him. They couldn’t afford to buy clothes, which meant his mother took it upon herself to make them all. She didn’t care whether or not any of her children liked her work because, as she always said, ‘clothes are meant to keep you warm, not fashionable’, though Sergei wondered why they couldn’t be both.

Unc!

He narrowed his eyes at his nephew, who had burst through the front door at the sight of his favorite—and only—uncle.

What do you want?

Can you play with me?

No! he hissed in exasperation. I’ve already told you, I’m busy the whole day working on that fence.

Can I help?

He rolled his eyes at the innocent question. No. You’re too young.

Josef stood up to his full four-year-old height. Well, when I’m bigger, then can I help?

He shook his head and pushed past him to go inside. We’ll see.

Sergei! his mother called from the living room as he was on his way back to the front door.

He stuck his head in the doorway. Yes, Ma’am?

Are you being mean to Josef again?

He shook his head quickly. No, Ma’am.

She raised her eyebrow at him to tell him she didn’t believe him. He really admires you, you know. Most people would be grateful to have someone who thinks so highly of them.

He didn’t appear to be impressed.

He’s just always in the way, he muttered, scowling at the thought.

She went back to her knitting, unwilling to waste any more time in conversation. Right now, maybe. But one day you’ll be glad you have him around.

Oh, yeah? he sneered. What’s he gonna do for me? Introduce me to my future wife? Become a spy and give me classified documents so I can stop a war?

She stopped knitting and cut her eyes to him. All right, Boy, watch your tone.

He hung his head in shame, realizing he had overstepped his boundaries. Sorry, Mom.

She didn’t try to argue with him anymore, and he headed out the front door with the intention of going back to work but stopped at the sight of someone coming down the road.

Mom? he called back over his shoulder. Are we expecting company?

She made a valiant effort of hurriedly getting out of her chair. I don’t think so.

He squinted against the sunlight to see the person coming closer towards them. They were on foot, and Sergei could tell they were carrying a rifle, but they were too far away for him to make out who it was. Sofia came outside beside him and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to focus on the form headed purposefully in their direction.

Why, that’s—

Nikolai! he wailed, taking off in a full speed run towards his friend.

The road leading up to their house was over a mile long, but Sergei closed the gap between them in no time, and Nikolai slung his rifle to the ground as he hugged onto his friend.

I was afraid you were dead, Sergei wheezed as he held Nikolai back to look at him.

Not yet, my friend, he said with a smile. Not yet.

Sergei looked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and Nikolai laughed and slapped him in the arm to tell him it was rude to stare.

I’m not just here to see you, you know, he added, motioning towards the house.

Sergei nodded and stepped out of the way, following alongside him as they headed back to the house.

What was it like fighting in the war? he asked as he walked in step with Nikolai to where Sofia was waiting.

Nikolai scowled at the memories that sprang back to life at the thought. It was war.

He had just started to ask him another question when Nikolai put him in a headlock and tousled his hair.

Hey! he interjected, flailing his arms around as he tried unsuccessfully to free his head from Nikolai’s grasp.

The young soldier laughed at his pitiful attempts. So what’d I miss in your exciting life?

Not a whole lot, he muttered as Nikolai let go of him. Unless you think digging a new fence is incredibly exciting.

Better than digging graves, Nikolai mumbled under his breath.

He looked worriedly at his friend but decided not to voice his concerns. Though Nikolai was young, his boyish features now betrayed a hellish nightmare that he had lived through, yet wasn’t willing to talk about. Sergei was interested in the concept of war, of being somebody, but judging from Nikolai’s appearance, he wondered if it was a price he would ever be willing to pay.

Nikolai, Sofia said softly as she spread her arms out to take him into a hug. Welcome home.

"It’s good to be home," Nikolai whispered as he put his arms around her.

Well, you’re just in time for dinner, she added as she led him into the house. You still eat, don’t you?

He grinned at her question. I never stopped.

Petrov was busy reading the newspaper when they came in, but he put it down the moment he realized who was coming through the door. Though Sergei was technically Petrov’s only son, he had always considered Nikolai to be his oldest child, and he couldn’t control the grin that spread across his face once the young man walked into the room.

So, the soldier has finally come home, he said as he got up and patted Nikolai on the back once he was close enough. Sergei was really worried about you, you know? We all were.

Nikolai nodded thoughtfully and took a seat at the kitchen table when Petrov motioned for him to. It’s nice to know I was missed.

I worried about you every day, young man, Sofia chided as she came back into the room with several plates and put them down on the table. I can’t believe this country sometimes… sending a child off to war like that.

Nikolai flashed her a lopsided grin and picked up his fork, fully intending to wolf down every last bite of the food she had set down in front of him. I’m not exactly a kid anymore, Sofia. I’m twenty-two.

She shook her head in a tisk tisk motion. You’re still just a baby.

He laughed loudly at her assessment of him. Good to know I’m younger than I thought, then.

Sergei rolled his eyes at his mother’s behavior but knew better than to actually voice his opinion on the matter. But if he could, he would say that his parents were too old to even know what young was anymore. They had married later in life and then waited nearly ten more years before they had started having children. Sofia was younger than her husband by almost fifteen years, but it did little to ease the increasing strain on their family. Petrov was rapidly approaching sixty, and both he and Sofia were having more health issues than not, which meant that most of the chores fell on an increasingly bitter Sergei.

So, what are your plans now, Nikolai? Petrov asked in an effort to change the topic of conversation.

He laughed at the idea and shook his head. I don’t know, to be honest. I just got back in to St. Petersburg—I mean Petrograd—today. Mentally, though, I’m still on the battlefield, so I think the first thing I have to do is try and wrap my head around the idea of a normal job.

Maybe you can work on a farm, Sergei suggested resentfully as he stabbed at his food with his fork.

Petrov shot him a look, and Sergei immediately returned it. He’d meant every word, and they both knew it.

Maybe, Nikolai muttered, taking a huge gulp out of his glass. We’ll see.

Well, you know we can always use the extra help, Petrov offered. You’re more than welcome to help us out.

He smirked at him from across the table. Thanks, that means a lot.

SMACK!

They all turned at the sound of something solid hitting the windowpane, and while everyone else looked confused, Sergei jumped out of his chair, knowing exactly what it meant.

Where are you going, Sergei? Sofia demanded.

I’ll be right back, he whispered before running out the front door, not bothering to give her a more detailed explanation.

He went down the front steps of the house and squinted into the fleeting twilight. Regina? Where are you?

"Psst! came the voice from the other side of the house. Over here!"

He broke out into an uncontrollable grin and walked briskly over to where she was hiding behind the bushes.

You know everyone heard that, right?

Her brown eyes sparkled intensely at him in the increasing darkness. Sorry; I just… I had to see you.

His grin widened until his face hurt. Oh, yeah?

Yeah, she said with a smile. And it’d be a whole lot easier on me if you didn’t live so far out in the middle of nowhere.

He leaned back to look at her and smiled softly as he brushed the hair out of her face. Well, someday we’ll live beside each other, and we can just talk to each other from the window.

She laughed at the thought. Or maybe we could get a place together.

He blushed and looked away. Um… okay. Maybe.

She giggled at his embarrassment before turning serious. She was completely and madly in love with him, but she was too afraid to admit it, mostly because her parents hated him. Her father was a member of the nobility, and they found her love for Sergei atrocious at best. He was poor, and that was all they needed to know to know he wasn’t good enough for her. She had only mentioned it once, but they had so utterly hated him every second from then on that she had never mentioned it again out of fear of what they might do to him. He had never said how he felt about her, and while she thought he loved her, too, it was statements like that that made her completely unsure.

I hear Nikolai came back, she said in an effort to change the subject.

He nodded. "Yeah, he showed up here about half an hour ago. My dad’s trying to get him to think about having a normal occupation," he spat the last words sarcastically to say he found the idea utterly ridiculous.

Well, what’s so bad about that? she asked with a smile. I know a guy who works on a farm… he’s pretty cool.

His grin returned with a vengeance. Yeah, but I think it’d be even cooler to be a soldier.

She made a face. I thought you wanted to be a doctor.

His smile dissipated into a scowl, and he looked away. I did, but… it’ll never happen.

She took his hand and squeezed it. Never say never, Sergei. If you want it, make it happen.

How? he asked in a way that said he thought her statement was completely ludicrous. My parents don’t have enough money to send me to school, and they need me to help out here, which means I can’t get a job anywhere else.

She smiled sadly and rubbed his arm. Well, if anyone can find a way, Sergei, you can.

He smirked at her assessment of him. Thanks.

No problem.

Neither one of them seemed to have anything else to say, and though she had hoped he would make the first move, he didn’t appear to have any intention of doing so, so she decided to do it for him.

Sooo… you wanna do somethin’ next week?

He looked nervous and scratched the back of his head as he thought. Like what?

She was frustrated with his response, and it showed. I dunno. It was a stupid thought, I guess. Don’t worry about it.

His bright blue eyes were searching hers for answers, but she was out of both time and patience.

I should get back, she said softly as she touched his arm. I don’t want my parents to start wondering where I am. They sent me into town to pick up a few things over an hour ago.

He grabbed onto her hand when she tried to let go of him. Maybe we can have a picnic at the pond?

She smiled and slowly backed away from him to leave. Yeah. I’d like that.

He let her walk away and sighed heavily as he watched her go, wishing he could actually say the words that were so much easier to think than they were to say.

Someone’s got a crush.

He jumped at the singsong voice and turned around. Nikolai was leaning against the railing of the steps by his forearms with a huge grin plastered across his face.

How long have you been standing there? he squealed.

Nikolai leaned up and looked away towards the house.

Long enough, he said nonchalantly before coming down several steps towards him. You told her you love her yet?

He made a face. I don’t love her.

Nikolai’s expression said he wasn’t fooling anyone. Liar.

He narrowed his eyes at him, annoyed that this friend refused to believe him. I’m serious.

Nikolai smiled at him in a way that said he was about to prove him wrong. Really?

Yes, really.

What was that girl’s name again? Nikolai asked the air above him before looking back down at Sergei. "Oh, yeah. Regina."

He broke out into an uncontrollable grin and pressed his hands against his cheeks in an effort to contain his smile, but it refused to comply. Stop it!

Nikolai walked down to the bottom step and turned back to face him. Regina, he repeated more slowly.

Sergei’s grin widened until his face hurt, and he turned away in an effort to regain his composure. Stop it, Nikolai! You’re embarrassing me!

Nope, he muttered as he fished around in his pocket for something. I want to hear you say it.

Sergei shook his head, refusing to admit the obvious.

How many times are you gonna make me say her name before you give in? he asked as he found what he wanted and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pockets.

I don’t love her! Sergei tried again.

He exhaled loudly into the calm, night air. Regina, Regina, Regina, Reg—

All right, fine, I love her! Sergei yelled before immediately staring back at him in shock over what he had just said.

That’s better, Nikolai said with a grin as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it in one fluid movement.

Sergei wrinkled his nose and changed the subject in an effort to get the conversation off his feelings for Regina. Since when did you start smoking?

While I was in the war, he grunted as he threw the pack at him. You want one?

I don’t know, Sergei said softly, stretching out the words like they were part of a string. They smell.

Yeah, but you get used to it, he coaxed. Go on, try it.

Sergei took a cigarette out of the pack and put it up to his mouth as Nikolai rounded the bottom step to light it for him. He inhaled deeply, then coughed violently as the smoke entered his throat and stung his lungs.

Nikolai laughed heartily and patted him heavily on the back. Pace yourself, Sergei!

He coughed several more times before giving up and handing the cigarette back over to him.

That’s sick, he wheezed. It tastes like road tar.

Nikolai smiled and took it from him, puffing on it as he thought. Yeah, you say that now. But you get used to it after a while. I was the same way.

He shook his head decisively. Once I make up my mind about something, I never change it.

Nikolai smiled at him to say he knew better and put his arm around him when he coughed again.

Come on, Sergei, he said softly as he led him back up the stairs. Let’s get back to dinner before your parents get too curious about where we are.

Sergei grudgingly walked back with him, wishing he could’ve escaped with Regina when he had the chance.

Chapter 3

RICHARD TOOK ONE last look at the card in his hands and held it up to the house number, unable to believe it was the right one. He had always heard stories that the Americans were rich, but this was little more than a shack. He was back in Germany for one purpose and one purpose only: Joanna Lang. Richard’s commander hadn’t wanted to let him go back to Germany, but he had managed to lie his way out of it, saying that there were materials he needed in Berlin and couldn’t get where they were stationed.

He sighed heavily at the thought of the real reason why he was there and closed his eyes, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other until he was at the front door. The sound of his knock echoed loudly against the walls inside, and he was just beginning to wonder if anyone was home when the front door slowly opened to reveal a young boy staring back at him.

Hi, came the timid voice, hidden behind dark blue eyes and a head full of blonde hair.

Hi there, Richard said with a sad smile. Is your mommy at home?

The boy nodded and immediately disappeared from the doorway to go get her. There were muffled sounds of a woman scolding him for opening the door, and Richard shifted his weight nervously as he looked down the street, suddenly realizing how out of place he looked wearing his uniform. After several minutes, a timid looking blonde haired woman appeared, hiding halfway behind the door to say she didn’t trust whomever had come to see her.

Yes?

Mrs. Lang?

She nodded slowly and let go of the door, her large, blue eyes poring Richard’s for answers. Yes. Who are you?

He lowered his head slightly as he tried to find the right words to soften the blow. Mrs. Lang, my name is Richard Bauer. I thought I should be the one to tell you since I was there when…

He trailed off once he realized he had started his story in the wrong place, and she shook her head in confusion, unable to understand his cryptic half sentences.

Your husband, he tried again as gently as possible. Well… he got injured on the battlefield, and…

He stopped and inhaled deeply in an effort to finish, but the increasing look of pain on Joanna’s face said she was already starting to figure it out.

What happened to him? she asked barely above a whisper. Is he going to be okay?

He shook his head slowly. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lang. He’s dead.

She gasped loudly and cupped her hand over her mouth, allowing the tears to run freely down her face as she began to sob.

Allen, she whimpered as she sank down to the ground. No, it can’t be true. Allen!

I’m so sorry, Richard repeated as he leaned down to her. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.

The young boy came back into view, and Joanna wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her as she sobbed into his hair. He looked briefly confused, but his expression was immediately replaced with one of sorrow as Joanna whispered something into his ear.

Is it true, Sir? the boy asked several seconds later. Is my dad dead?

Richard leaned down to his level and smiled sadly, wishing he didn’t have to admit the truth. I’m sorry, Son.

He didn’t cry audibly, but the whites of his eyes turned a red hue from his valiant attempt not to release his tears, and he buried his head in his mother’s chest once he realized they wouldn’t be stopped. Richard watched them for several minutes, not knowing what else to do until finally, Joanna managed to find the strength to speak again.

He was supposed to be back next week, she whimpered as her expression twisted into one of agonizing pain. He—he promised me he’d be back.

She started to weep uncontrollably, and Richard blinked rapidly at the tears in his own eyes that refused to go away. He couldn’t imagine the pain that this woman and her son were going through right now, and he felt completely inept at dulling a wound that went so deep.

He asked me to find you, he said softly. He wanted me to tell you how much he loved you.

Her sobs escalated into a high-pitched wail, and he winced at the sound before continuing.

You and your son were the last thing on his mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut and looked away for several minutes until she could manage to look down at her son. Michael, why don’t you go wait for Mommy inside? I need to talk to Mr. Bauer for a second.

The boy shook his head, and she patted his shoulder to say that she wasn’t asking. He cast one last wary glance in Richard’s direction and then disappeared back inside the house.

How old is he? Richard asked in an effort to get her sidetracked from the real issue.

Seven.

He looked just like his mother, but Richard knew there was no point in telling her that now. He tried to think of something else… anything else to talk to her about, but she didn’t seem to want to let him.

How did it happen?

He looked up at her, unsure whether or not he should tell her the truth, but the look on her face said she would keep asking until he told her what she wanted to know.

A grenade.

He didn’t have to say any more than that, and Joanna bit her bottom lip in an effort to keep what little composure she had left.

What are we going to do? she whispered. Without Allen here, I have nothing left.

Maybe you can go to America, he offered. Perhaps Allen’s family could help you raise him.

She shook her head, rejecting the idea. They don’t like me very much. They wanted him to marry an American, and I’m… well… not.

Another realization struck him suddenly, and he narrowed his eyes in an effort to make sense of his thoughts. But your son sounds German?

That was Allen’s idea, she said with a bitter laugh. Americans aren’t exactly popular here at the moment—well, neither are Polish people, really—and in fact, no one even knew we were married. When Michael was born, Allen told me to say the father was German. No one asked any questions, and everyone here thinks that Allen was just helping me raise my son out of the kindness of his heart.

Richard smiled sadly at how this woman seemed to constantly have to fight just to survive. So, Michael’s not an American citizen, then?

She shook her head to say he’d misunderstood her story. It wasn’t easy getting it for him, but he has dual citizenship now. Germany doesn’t know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way if you don’t mind.

He nodded to say her secret was safe with him. Then you should keep raising your son as a German in public and as whatever else you want in private. The outcome of this war is too uncertain at the moment, and you don’t want any more problems than you already have.

She shook her head in despair, too tired of the present to even think about the future. Who’s to say I’ll even live to see the end of it.

I say, Richard said with a slight smile.

She smiled genuinely for the first time since he had come. Thank you, Mr. Bauer. It’s nice to know that there are still some good Germans left.

He tipped his hat to her, unable to either confirm or deny her sentence. Until Allen, he had always considered himself a good person, but now, he wasn’t so sure. If he had good intentions but made people suffer because of them, did that make him good or bad? He headed down the steps and up the street towards the main station, unwilling to look back to see if she was still standing there watching him. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to the battlefield, but if he ever wanted to come back home, it was the only place he had to go.

*     *     *

PAUL JUMPED BACK in surprise as a food tray went flying out of his father’s room and into the hallway, narrowly missing him.

What’s going on? he asked once he walked in to find his mother standing over her husband with an exasperated look on her face.

Albrecht is frustrated that he can’t communicate like he wants to, she explained with a heavy sigh.

He smiled softly at the sight of his father sitting on the bed with his arms firmly crossed over his chest before turning back to his mother.

Maybe he’s trying to tell you he doesn’t like the food.

Albrecht narrowed his eyes at his son’s bad joke and muttered something that Paul couldn’t understand.

I know, Dad, he said gently with a slight nod.

He really had no clue what his father was trying to tell him, but he tried not to show it. From the looks of things, though, Albrecht knew all too well that he