Beauty and the Beast

The Fall

The silence in the wake of Karel's voice was deafening.
I clenched and unclenched my hands around the grips of my Sten gun that I was still holding for some reason. My comrades were all staring at the vent like it was a ticking time bomb, their faces masks of disbelief and horror. My brain could hardly even begin to wrap itself around what was going on, futilely clinging to the false hope that maybe this is a psychological tactic devised by the Germans to break us.
"Curda?!" I shouted up the air shaft, hoping that the next time he spoke, I might catch the unmistakable crackle of a recording of his voice being played. "Curda!!"
"Surrender, boys." Curda's voice came back to us loud and clear, the hollow space amplifying his voice. "It'll be alright."
No crackle. Nothing.
"If you think we're going to surrender," I growled, my vision beginning to cloud over with red mist. "You ought to think again."
The contemptuous sniff that reached me through the vent began to heat my blood with the fires of rage.
"Why?!" I shouted, even though I know full well why. Karel Curda had made his admiration of Hitler no secret during our time together as NCOs. He was a known alcoholic who repeatedly expressed his support for the Nazi government every time he hit the bottle.

"Why, Karel? Why would you betray us?"
"So you won't surrender? Shame." The venom in Karel's voice made me reel. "I thought you were smarter than that, Josef." His voice grew louder, more derisive. "You would choose death, and leave your sister completely defenseless?"
"What do you mean?" The tremor in my voice was unmistakable.
"Even alive, how much could you actually do for her? I fucked her, you know." The smug tone in his voice was what did me in. "She doesn't seem to like Czechs very much, and—"
"Piece of shit!"
The expletive was drowned out by the roar of gunfire as I lifted the Sten gun to my shoulder and sent a spray of bullets flying up the air shaft and out the opening at the end. The bullet casings rattled sharply as they thudded into the metal sides of the shaft. Terrified screams from outside filled the air as the soldiers nearby scattered to avoid the onslaught.
I dropped the weapon and drew heaving breath after heaving breath, exhaling sharply through my teeth. I was fully aware of the eyes of my comrades glued on me. It didn't matter to me anymore, though. I've lost my cool, I know it. The bottled up rage inside of me that had only been tempered by the news of Heydrich's death had reached a boil. Already I could feel it lighting invisible fires in my veins, possessing me with an energy I didn't know I had. Suddenly, I felt I could do anything, defeat anyone—hell, even break the grille over the air shaft, smash my way out, and immediately go for Curda.
From where they stood on the other side of the crypt, flattened against the stone wall, Svarc, Valcik, and Hruby were all staring at me in a mixture of appreciation and fear, almost as if my outburst gave a voice to their outrage against Karel Curda and frightened them at the same time.
"Why?" Valcik's shaky whisper broke the silence. "Why would he do this? What does he have to gain?"
I didn't answer him; I couldn't if I tried. The inside of my head is a cocktail of fear, rage, and hatred, swirling and eddying in my skull. It's all I can do to keep my footing.
What had been the point of all this? Why had I come all this way if it was only to die knowing that I had failed my sister yet again?
The rattle of metal against metal from outside followed by the crunch of gravel beneath tires makes all of us jump. Valcik and Svarc rush to the air shaft and peer outside with Hruby close behind them. I stare at my feet, trying to stop my head's incessant spinning, thinking that if I stare at the scuffed toes of my shoes long enough, I will be well enough to walk—
"It's the fire brigade!" Svarc's voice echoes off the stone walls of the catacombs. "They've brought the Prague fire brigade!"
"That's enough." A white hot spike of pain lances the front of my head as I drop to my knees and seize a nearby pick—one of the few tools Hajsky had left for us in the rare occurrence that our hiding place might need repairs. "Let's not stand here."
"Josef?" Hruby begins as I storm over to the nearest wall and begin to feel along it for a weak point. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to save our lives." I almost laughed at the statement itself. There was nothing left for us to do; nowhere left for us to go. The SS weren't idiots; they had the church surrounded on all sides, and presumably even from the rooftops.That statement reflected what all of us were trying to do now--cling to the false hope that somehow, we would make it out of this alive.