part eleven

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curtis left his office the same time as the day before, and he heard the same gun fire and the same shouting. the same voice. it wasn't a russian accent, which was strange as it came from the russian controlled sector of berlin.

curtis stood from the wall he took cover behind, straightened his uniform and fixed his hat. he walked up to the wall and touched it, he took in the paintings that decorated the wall. he noticed a bullet hole in the wall and looked through it.

he saw the barricade on the other side, the twelve meter gap between the army patrolled border and the concrete brick wall, and the soldiers pacing back and forth.

he watched as a russian solider turned away from the barrier, towards the wall, and took off his hat. curtis' breathing hitched.

the voice curtis couldn't put a face to, now had a face. and a painful memory. harold stood by the russian barricade, in a black, russian spetsnaz uniform.

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