There was no sun that day.
As the rain fell from an iron-dark sky, Ludwig marched across a barren field. His men had long since given up on starting a fire in the downpour and had taken shelter beneath several large trees. The Einsatzgruppen had never enjoyed delay.
The dead lay everywhere. Ludwig began to feel nauseated at the sight of them; women, children, infants, the elderly, and of course the men were strewn like broken toys upon the ground, their blood soaking into the earth beneath them. Some had their eyes open, wide in terror, while others looked as though they could be sleeping if one were to wash the blood away.
That seemed to be what the rain was doing.
His eyes scanned the area until he felt himself fixate on a particular spot; a woman, fair-skinned and dark-haired, lay on her back, a baby wrapped tightly and nestled in her limp arms. A single bullet hole stained its white blanket. It couldn't have been more than a few months old. The mother, perhaps, was in her late twenties. Her eyes were closed and her face was serene.
He swallowed as he felt moisture welling behind his eyes; deep down, he knew his leader's orders were cruel and confusing, but he couldn't question his Fuhrer. Before the man there had been misery and death in Germany, and without him the people had seen no other way out. No, Ludwig assured himself as he turned away from the bodies and continued on, the Fuhrer's plan will prevail, no matter how senseless and unfair and sickening and murderous…
He shook his head; bad things to be thinking about his boss.
A steep drop-off led Ludwig to a lower area of the field, where the blood was pooling into a small creak. The sea of bodies didn't end until the very edge of the forest around them. The rain began to fall harder.
He saw his brother then, still at a distance. Gilbert was squatting on his knees, facing away from Ludwig, and apparently unable to hear him coming as he sloshed towards him, sending a spray of red water with each step.
As he neared, the Prussian man stood, bringing up with him the limp body of a young girl. She had fair skin like the woman, with lighter hair, which along with her clothes was soaked in the blood of her companions. Her eyes were wide, frozen in terror, and Ludwig could see that they'd been green.
"You probably shouldn't hold that," he began slowly, unsure of what to say, "You'll get its…her blood on your uniform."
Gilbert turned to him, his scarlet eyes void of any emotion that Ludwig could detect. His grip on the girl tightened and her head flopped backwards.
"And ol' Fuhrer won't be pleased with a soiled uniform? Is that right, bruder?"
Ludwig turned his gaze to the tainted ground. Gilbert returned to look at the body in his arms. She was wearing a gray coat, much too large for her, with a yellow six-pointed star sewn to the front, bearing the word "Jude." He turned his gaze to her face; she had freckles and a tiny nose, with a tiny trickle of blood from the right nostril. She was easily twelve, at the oldest.
"Why did they shoot her, bruder?" His voice was tauntingly miserable, "what could a girl like this possibly have done to warrant her death?"
"She, well, she was Jewish…" Ludwig felt himself stuttering and couldn't fathom why; why didn't his brother understand anything?
"She was Jewish," Gilbert spat back at him, jostling the girl so that she faced his brother, "she never killed or shot a German soldier, or anyone at all. She had a family who loved her and friends who loved her and because she was Jewish, she no longer deserved her life, is that what you're trying to convince me of?"
"Yes," he replied, now turning to face him once again, "yes, she was a Jew. A Jew that the nation of Germany would have had to feed, clothe, educate, provide for, with money that could be used for the greater good."
"The greater good being your Verryckte's death factories, correct?"
His words were answered by fist to his mouth.
Ludwig watched as his brother, along with the dead child, fell to the sopping ground. Gilbert held her instinctively to his own body as they hit the ground, trying to protect her from the impact. He gently eased from his arms and snapped around to stare at Ludwig, who in turn found his gentleness with a corpse strange and mildly disturbing, in fury. The German's face had gone stony, his eyes losing the little light they'd held seconds before. They contrasted perfectly against the rage in Gilbert's fiery eyes and his overall shaking form.
"Never insult the Fuhrer to my face like that. If you weren't my brother, I'd shoot you here and now."
Gilbert could only stare in horror. The man who stood before him had once been his baby brother. The child he'd raised to be a strong and just nation, turned puppet to a deranged murderer. His rage intensified as the light slowly began to appear again in Ludwig's eyes. His emotionless expression melted to once of concern, and he bent down.
"Here," the German reached out to his brother, "come. Let's get out of here, and leave that body behind."
Gilbert swatted Ludwig's hand away, scooping up the girl once more, and stomped away toward the forest. His shoulders shook with sobs, although he was far enough away where his brother couldn't hear him.
Ludwig watched him go, the pain in his chest growing as the only person he was sure he could turn to took the losing side of a corpse.