was to stand scarcely five centimeters in front of me, they would see a few traitorous scattered light brown highlights in my short, neatly groomed hair. If they looked into my eyes they would see a dangerous slight tint of green. Thankfully, no one ever did. I eventually succeeded in convincing even myself these treacherous nuances didn’t exist. I was an Aryan, a Nazi. That was all.
The earsplitting shrieks of the Jews finally jolted me out of my musings. It took me a bit to remember where I was. Then it all came back. The Warsaw ghetto, my first field mission, the uprising, the fire, the attacking Jews. I gripped my Mauser Karabiner 98k. This was no different from target practice. I fired a shot at a Jewish man. It missed by a few centimeters and went sailing harmlessly into a nearby building. I had missed. I never miss. Something was wrong. I dodged a volley of bullets and ran into a nearby alley. I was not alone. Lying on the ground was a dead woman, on her stomach, her brown hair covering her face. My mother’s face. I inwardly cringed. Now I know what it was that had distracted me. For the first time in years, I was feeling something. Something besides the burning heat of the fire. Something besides the tremors of gunfire. Something besides the drip of sweat running down my brow.
Something besides the tremors of gunfire. Something besides the drip of sweat running down my brow.
I sprinted back out of the alley, trying to ignore it. Focus Achmed, focus, I repeated in mantra. It saw Jurgen Stroop, commander of my S.S. unit. He was locked in combat with the very same Jewish man I had aimed at before. They each fired bullet after bullet, none of them landing. Neither of them noticed me. I felt a twinge of emotion in my gut as I raised my gun. Why was I hesitating? It was so easy! I glanced at my reflection in the steel buttplate. Could I change? Did I have the courage to find out? I tried to get my thoughts together. Why was I thinking these things?
At last, the commander saw me. He glanced at my raised gun and a flicker of approval crossed his features. He barked something I couldn’t quite make out, but the meaning was clear. I had made my choice. I knew in my heart that this time I would not miss. I steeled myself, squeezed the trigger, and fired.
Vocabulary
Mischling- German for crossbreed. A person with jewish ancestry.
Aryan- A caucasion person of non-Jewish decent.
Fuhrer- German for leader.
Schutzstaffel (S.S.)- An elite Nazi military unit that served as Hitler's bodyguard an police force.
*Who does Achmed hit? Finish the story and send it to us! Winning ending will be published in the next issue!*