The Cuckoo's Song

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The sun glared through the small window, the day passing by without so much as a backward glance. Ernst tried desperately to ignore the bright intruder; he felt it was mocking him. Getting up from his bed, he went over to the small desk he had been provided with in this gloomy cell. He sat down, staring at the letters in front of him.

There was one for each of his children, telling them just how much he loved and missed them. There were also the divorce papers that Ilse had sent him. He wouldn't sign them. She'd get what she wanted soon enough. This trial was pointless and any defence he had tried to mount entirely futile. He knew he would die when it was over; that's what had happened to all the other Commandants that had come before him.

Ernst ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, his face now buried in his palms. He should have gone further than Switzerland; South America would have given him far more of a chance to evade the Nazi hunters that came after him. But he still wanted to be close to his children. How could he hope to send for them if they were so far away? He should have simply accepted that he was never going to see them again. Maybe they would be here for the trial. At least then he could say a final farewell.

He heard the lock on his door click, and he looked around to see one of the guards striding in.

"On your feet," he barked, Ernst doing as he was bid. The guard watched Ernst as another placed him in irons.

Ernst's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's going on?"

"You have a visitor," explained the guard, now leading him out of the cell.

"Who?"

"Like they would tell me," sighed the guard, dragging Ernst along to an interrogation room at the end of the hallway.

As they stepped in, Ernst eyes widened. Hans was standing by the table, his jacket folded neatly over his arm. He surveyed Ernst with his usual hard eyed stare, Ernst breathing deeply.

"I wish to return to my room," said Ernst, going to walk back but the guard shoved him forward.

"Sit down," he said impatiently. Ernst was forced into the chair, his jaw clenched in frustration. "The Warden says you have ten minutes," said the guard to Hans, who nodded and took the seat on the opposite side of the table. Then the guard left them alone, the thud of the door echoing around the room.

They stared at one another, both of them sizing the other up.

Ernst let out a long, frustrated sigh. "How the fuck are you not in chains?" asked Ernst.

Hans, as usual, didn't react. "I was feeding information to the British throughout most of forty-four," he said levelly. "Right under your nose, in fact."

Ernst laughed bitterly. "Never pegged you for a turncoat."

"I was helping my country more by betraying the regime than you were in aiding it," replied Hans. A silence followed.

"Well other than gloating, what do you want?"

"I'm here to give evidence against you at your trial."

"Of course you are," mumbled Ernst.

"As is Anna."

Ernst felt a strange chill wash over him, his mouth now incredibly dry. "Anna," he whispered, her name a strange sensation on his lips.

He hadn't thought about her in such a long time. He hadn't dared to. It didn't surprise him that she was alive; she was the most tenacious person he had ever met. None of the women he had been with since had filled her void. He hated it. No matter how much he had beaten them or how good they had been in bed, he always felt empty afterwards.