The Aftermath
Boz1310
Word count:
Warning: I do not own Boy in the Striped Pajamas. That rightfully belongs to John Boyne. However I do own my OC Rurik Pavlov.
Author's note: I came across this the other day and decided to post this on Fanfiction. I was twelve when I wrote this so please excuse any errors in consistency with actual historical events. They are my mistakes and my mistakes only. This is an AU, I suppose. It is rather an epilogue to what happens in the actual novel. I want to make it very clear that I have no intentions to offend anyone. When I write in the perspective of a Nazi soldier, I might write something that can offend, but I hope you understand that this is for realism. I know that WWII is a touchy subject to many people and if you feel uncomfortable reading this, I advise you to exit immediately. That being said, I really enjoyed the book and I was interested in further exploring this subject.
I hope you enjoy!
The Commandant makes a discovery
"Commandant! Over here!" a Lieutenant shouted.
Through the dense foliage, the Commandant ran as fast as he could. It had to be Bruno, he thought. He must have been exploring again and forgotten the time.
He shook his head and marched forward to give his son a serious talking to when he saw the fence. There was no sign of Bruno anywhere. He glared at the soldiers, who shifted uncomfortably under his piercing eyes.
"Bruno wouldn't be here Lieutenant." He barked at the young soldier who cringed. "Stop wasting my time!"
"But sir," He murmured. "The dogs found something."
The Commandant squinted and saw what the soldier was talking about. Mixed in the dirt, there was a dirty pile of clothes and a gap in the barb wired fence-just big enough for a 9 year old to crawl through.
Then- time stopped. All the Commandant could comprehend was the bunched up clothing and the gap in the fence. Nothing else mattered. Not the bickering soldiers or the faint smell of something burning, and especially not the war.
Suddenly, he snapped out of the trance. The gate was opened and the soldiers rushed in with their German Shepherds in an attempt to sniff out the boy. They yelled and screamed until they were hoarse. But it was no use. They had searched all but a whole day and had found nothing.
"BRUNO!" The Commandant shouted, but heard no response except the echo of his own half-human cry. It was no use. It was too late.
He sank to his knees and clenched his hands into fists until the knuckles turned white. He wasn't an idiot; he knew the most logical explanation to the disappearance of his son. He just didn't have the heart to believe it.
How could he tell Elsa or Gretel or even his own father? What would they say?
If only he had been more considerate in hearing Bruno out. Or maybe if everyone had paid more attention to where Bruno had been exploring the past year. If the family didn't leave the house in Berlin, or if he hadn't been given the promotion… if the war had never even began…
He sighed and walked out of the camp, ignoring the groans and pleadings of the prisoners. He needed to find his son. He would return tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and he would search again and again until he found him.
But for the following year, he didn't find anything. There was no contact from Berlin and no contact from the Fuhrer. The Commandant had heard from the others that times were changing. The Fuhrer needed him and every Aryan's hope and support for a better country more than ever. The Vaterland was a proud nation and that was his top priority- to help create the new master race. But without his family, it was just so hard to care anymore.
They were coming to the camp. The enemy was approaching. The Commandant was standing where he normally stood- near the remnants of his child's clothing. They opened the gates, and gathered the few remaining prisoners, as well as the soldiers. And there was nothing that the Commandant or the Lieutenants with the noisy dogs or the other soldiers could do about it.
"You're coming with us, you sick-" But it was hard to hear through their thick accents. The Commandant tried to ignore them but found it difficult to do so.
"You disgusting- how can you sleep at night?" Another sneered.
"I'd like to see you salute to your Fuhrer when you're being-" They snarled tauntingly at them. They cuffed them, led them to a battered truck and drove away from the camp. The drive was as silent as death itself. The Commandant gazed out of the dirty window and saw the sun disappearing behind the clouds, leaving a dark and cold, no, a desolate presence. It was strange how everything he had worked for and everything he imagined to achieve had vanished right before his eyes.
But he didn't really care. He didn't even feel disappointed or angry.
In fact, he couldn't feel anything anymore.
Something he would have done
The Commandant knew it was over. From the moment he saw his fellow soldiers standing in front of the jury, he felt the presence of their burning hatred. He knew he had no chance of proving his innocence.
He knew he was guilty.
But if he had a chance to explain- to tell the people that they were trying to create a better country. And that the Jews weren't being persecuted or harmed because they had nothing better to do, but because that was the only way of ensuring their compliance. It might have been thought of as unorthodox, but a little sacrifice needed to be made for the greater good.
So when it was his turn to go to the stand, he tried to tell the jury this. Tried. When he opened his mouth, no sound came out, no matter how hard he tried.
But what was the use anyway? The people wouldn't believe him. They only saw him as a monster, deemed with crimes against humanity. As if he didn't have the right to exist on Earth! As if he was no better than a… a Jew!
He was taken away to his cell afterwards. It was a small room with no window and no light. There was a lumpy bed- barely big enough for him to lie down on- and a small bucket in the corner of the room that he figured he was supposed to use to do 'his business' in. It could hardly be considered 'livable' but he knew he wouldn't have to worry about that in a short while.
He had heard from the other soldiers, who had heard from other soldiers that they were choosing to take their own lives rather than be captured by the enemy. The Commandant took that into consideration. Who was he living for? Bruno was gone, and Berlin would be in ruins. They might as well have lost the war. He had failed as a soldier, as a leader, and as a father.
But as he stood up to take a look around the room for materials to assist him in doing the deed, the cell door opened. It was another soldier and he was told to follow him. The soldier didn't say what would happen to him, but the Commandant knew; just as the Jews knew, even though no one told them the truth either.
He was brought back to the Courtroom. The Bailiff handed the Judge an envelope.
"Not. Guilty." The Judge barked out before slamming a gavel on the sound block.
The Commandant was led away with disbelief. He had thought… for sure they would have…
The moment he left the courthouse, a small group of men gathered him away before the people outside could get a glimpse of him. He was rushed into a car that started before he sat down. It had lurched into action with such speed, that he crashed into the seat in front of him. His legs were still shaking from the event just prior and this did not aide him in calming down.
"What's going on?" he demanded, staring at the faces of soldiers he recognized and of others he didn't.
"We've got to be careful." A rather plump Major said, looking left and right. "There are people everywhere trying to kill you-they're trying to end us all. Better safe than sorry as I always say."
"So, we're losing?" Angry glares from the crowd. "Don't lie to yourself. You know it's true." The Commandant muttered.
"No, it's not." A young blond soldier, that reminded the Commandant of another young Lieutenant, said proudly. "The Fuhrer announced that we're doing fine. In fact we're getting closer each day to winning the war!"
"I appreciate your enthusiasm." He patted the naïve boy on the shoulders and stared out of the window.
"Can you stop? I need some rest." The Commandant asked as soon as they had left the city. The car pulled to a stop and he walked away as far as he could without raising suspicion. He kept walking until he could only see the dark outline of the car and small red blurs that were the decorative flags.
He pulled out the small revolver he nicked from the young soldier. The boy had been so busy talking; he hadn't even noticed the Commandant snatching the gun from his holster. He placed in one bullet, spun the cylinder and brought it to his head with a steady hand. He pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Bruno wouldn't have been very pleased. The Commandant knew how his son had thought of him. He had seen the look in Bruno's eyes, the twinkle of admiration. He couldn't let Bruno down anymore. Not now. Not ever.
He was a soldier and he would have to bear with the consequences of being one.
He pulled the trigger again, and to his surprise, it fired. It was too late for regret or sorrow of any kind. The sound echoed through the empty field, nearly bursting the Commandant's eardrums as he fell to his knees.
After some time, he got up and headed back to the car, leaving the gun on the ground, and the bullet he had fired aimlessly, in an unlucky tree.
The Commandant gasped loudly, as he woke up. He flailed for his gun and gave a sigh of relief when he discovered it was still under his pillow.
Bruno? Gone.
He shifted in his bed restlessly as he tried to fall asleep again. But the moonbeams were bright and shined directly in his eyes. What was the courthouse that he was in? What did that mean? As a child, he was told by an elder that dreams were never accidents- that each one meant something. But what did that one mean? He gave a shudder as he imagined the answer.
The Promotion
The Fuhrer was coming for a visit. It all began when Ralf had received a telegram from some other soldiers.
The Fuhrer is coming STOP
The next week was a roar of commotion and excitement. Elsa couldn't believe it. Neither could Mother nor Father. Hitler was coming by to eat at their house in Berlin! The house was cleaned, the silverware polished and the sheets washed and ironed. The cooks spent days marinating steaks, lamb and fish and fowl of every variety. The best aged wine and cheese were bought and even the children were given new clothes.
It was as if it was Christmas again.
Ralf wore his freshly pressed uniform, the children were bathed and Elsa wore her best dress and perfume. She didn't wear much makeup though. The Fuhrer didn't like makeup very much.
The door was open at the exact time the Fuhrer and his lady friend approached it and they walked in.
"Heil Hitler." Ralf saluted and the Fuhrer nodded with a sense of passiveness.
Ralf never understood how one little man with a little mustache could lead such a powerful nation. He figured it was his gift of confidence and persuasion. Whenever he glanced at his leader, he found himself shrinking away from the charisma and control that seemed to be almost physically emitting from Hitler's body. It was both captivating and horribly terrifying at the same time.
For such a petit man, he ate a lot, unlike Eva who spent most of the evening toying with her glass of dry red. He was on his second bowl of pudding when he began to talk.
"You believe in my philosophy don't you?"
"I do sir."
"And you believe that I can and will create a better country; one that our children's children can be proud of."
"Yes sir, I believe that you will succeed."
"So you will want a higher ranking in order to help me achieve this goal?"
"Yes sir." Ralf hesitantly said, glancing to his wife who smiled with encouragement. Hitler nodded again and in the same passive tone said.
"Well, I will promote you from a Captain to a Commandant on one condition."
"Anything you say." Ralf stuttered with excitement, looking over at his wife again for reassurance. She seemed as amazed as he was.
For the next half hour, they discussed the job opportunities and responsibilities at the base where Ralf would work if he was to be promoted to the rank. They would have to leave for Poland at once where he would work at one of the larger camps.
"But sir, to bring the children to such a… nasty environment-" Ralf began, staring at the seats where Bruno and Gretel had been sitting in hours ago. "They shouldn't be growing up where they are being kept. I don't think it's very good for them." Elsa sipped heavily at her drink.
"The house is kept far away enough from the actual camp, so unless they were to intentionally go searching for it… that wouldn't be a problem." The Fuhrer shrugged, beckoning a servant to bring forth more wine. "And I'm sure you wouldn't tell them what is going on at the camps anyways." Elsa grew paler by the second.
"And remember." Hitler continued before Ralf could get any more words in. "You do have a choice. But, if you decide otherwise, you will not get another chance at this privilege." He emphasized the last word with the drop of his eating utensils on the empty plate.
Ralf considered the children's reactions. Gretel and Bruno would not be happy at all, but Gretel would understand soon enough. Convincing Bruno to enjoy the stay at the camp, whose name he had forgotten, would be much more difficult. He also considered the disapproval that would shine in Mother's eyes but the joy and pride that would shine in Father's. He thought about the Vaterland and the people who he would help.
He thought about the Jews- but only for a brief moment.
The answer, after all, was obvious.
"I will take the job Fuhrer." He said clearly. The Fuhrer smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile, it was one that was as cold as ice.
"I'm pleased that you chose correctly." He and his lady friend got up and left the same way they had arrived, bringing both fear and awe to the people around them.
As soon as he left, Elsa turned to him with the anger he had never seen in her before.
"How could you agree to do that Ralf?" She yelled in a blind rage. "Did you think about our children at all? Did you even regard as to whether they would be happy, whether I would be happy?!"
Overwhelmed with a feeling of guilt, Ralf escaped to take a walk, watching the cars coming and going into the night.
He shuddered at the thought of what he would have to see at the camp and how he would have to suffer both physically and mentally. But soldiers were built to endure and that was what he had to do. His thought process was interrupted by a young soldier's call.
"Captain, we might have to-" he began but he cut him off coldly.
"It's Commandant now."
The Red Flag over the Reichstag
Rurik Pavlov knew that he wasn't prepared nor experienced for war. At the age of 18, he signed up with a couple of friends, hoping that he would gain some attention and fame in the small town where they had lived.
Especially Nina Mihaylova's attention.
What he didn't expect was the noise and mess of the guns and the dead everywhere. He also didn't expect that he would be the only person alive in the group of his 3 friends who signed up with him.
But he really didn't expect that he had to participate in the Liberation of Auschwitz- Birkenau. He had heard from countless soldiers that the sights of the concentration camps were images that they would never forget. But he also knew most of the soldiers were very mean and had the ability to lie through their teeth.
It was much worse than what they described it as.
Everyone was dead, if not physically, then mentally and emotionally. And the people on the other side of the fence didn't even look like people anymore; just walking skeletons. And the combination of the stenches of burning flesh and human waste was almost unbearable to the soldiers. Especially for Rurik who had vomited twice before even approaching the site.
What scared Rurik the most was the hollow look in the prisoners' eyes. It was as if they had no sense of hope or happiness left. As if they could waste away and no one would notice or care. Most of them followed the soldiers out of the camp and many had to be assisted in doing so.
Rurik figured that the camp was Hell itself.
What worried him the most was the enemy soldier standing in the sidelines staring blatantly at a dirty pile of clothes and a small gap in the fence, that Rurik reckoned, a 9 year old child could have easily crawled through. He didn't fuss or struggle when he was taken away and nor did the other soldiers. Perhaps the camp had done its toll on them as well.
"What's going to happen to the enemy soldier?" He timidly asked another soldier who rolled his eyes.
"He'll get killed of course you hopeless case!" he sneered at Rurik. "He had better."
He followed the other soldiers back to the trucks and they drove away from Auschwitz. Most of the people were still recovering from the ghastly scenes. Nikolay Sokolov, a particularly quiet soldier, groaned into his hands.
"How could they do that to them!" he muttered softly. "What did they do to deserve that?" Rurik shrugged, patting the younger combatant on the shoulder. The Jews probably didn't do anything, but they didn't know for sure. He supposed no one would really, ever know the complete and utter truth about this.
It was hours before they arrived in Berlin. Rurik shivered as he saw the once glorious capital of Germany, now completely war-torn. He saw citizens sprawled dead everywhere and Hitler's Youth soldiers being taken away by his own country's people. To his horror, he stumbled over a corpse of a young fair haired girl who could have easily passed as Nina.
From the distance Rurik saw a dot that became a speck that became a blob that became a figure that became a soldier. And that soldier had the largest smile Rurik had seen in a long time.
"Did you hear?" A soldier shouted, gasping. "Hitler's dead! He killed himself!"
Everyone rose with astonishment and many began to whoop with delight.
"Did they admit defeat?" one asked. "Did we win?"
The smiling soldier nodded. "The enemy surrendered! Turns out they only had a bunch of boys, no older than my brother, manning the weapons. We bombed them in minutes flat!"
Rurik wandered off by himself to break away from the commotion of all the sudden chattering soldiers. If they had won; then Hitler was dead and all the innocent people whose lives were claimed had been avenged. Why did he feel so bad?
He looked up to see a brightly coloured red and gold flag raised over a damaged building.
His country's flag.
The war was finally over.
What she saw through the window
Gretel stared out of the window, waiting. It started when Mother stopped getting letters from Father at 'Out With'. Gradually she lost hope for Bruno ever returning to the house in Berlin and her state of medicinal Sherries and afternoon naps relapsed again.
But Gretel never gave up waiting. She was nearly fifteen and had plenty of worldly knowledge, and couldn't help but think about what had happened to her hopeless case of a brother.
Everyday she would climb the stairs to the window that she could see all of Berlin in. And she would wait and wait until something happened. She would see dots in the distance that became specks that became blobs that became figures that became boys. But none of the boys ever became Bruno.
She would see Isobel, Hilda and Louise playing and conversing with the other blond haired soldiers, twirling their braids. They had become tall, blond and looked positively lovely in their freshly ironed white collared blouses, ties and dark blue skirts. They were the perfect Aryan maidens. Gretel was often too tired to put her own hair into braids anymore. And she really couldn't care less about speaking to the rude and foul smelling soldiers who often cared too much about their own appearance and shiny shoes. In fact she hadn't spoken to a single soldier since Kurt had left.
Pushing through the crowds she would see Bruno's best friends for life- Karl, Martin and Daniel. They zipped through the streets, knocking many people aside, playing Soldiers and Guns. They probably forgot all about Bruno because the boys didn't even visit when they first returned home. Gretel shook her head and sympathized for boys and their inability to remember anything.
She never saw a single Jew anymore. The yellow 'Jude' stars and long beards had vanished completely from Berlin. They had disappeared almost the same way as Bruno had- when no one was the wiser. She knew she should be happy because at school she had learned that they were going to special camps to live, where the children had toys and the women had gardens to work in. The Fuhrer was succeeding and the people were prospering.
But one day Gretel climbed up to the window and stared at the people below her, to find soldiers marching through the street. But these weren't the soldiers she normally saw. The good soldiers had often worn red flags with a black swastika in the white center. These soldiers were different, and clearly the Berlin citizens knew as well. They came and began to gather the other soldiers- the ones that made helped the Vaterland, the ones that belonged to the Fuhrer. The soldiers protested and shots rung and screams were emitted. They put the living ones into the truck and the dead in the back. She tried calling for Mother but got no response.
"Mother, who are they?" She insisted, confused. Mother shrugged with a smile and sipped her Sherry, her back facing her daughter.
"Soldiers" Mother drawled slowly.
"They're not the good soldiers?"
"I don't think there are such things as good soldiers."
At night they had to turn all the lights off and hide in the basement. When morning did come, she was surprised to see the top floor in ruins and the window in shatters. Outside was no better. People came crawling from the mess, clutching their dead loved ones to them. She stared in astonishment. Where was the land the Fuhrer had promised them?
"The enemy, they're coming!" a woman cried, cradling her child's lifeless body. "We're all going to die!" Gretel could almost feel the wave of panic crashing through the streets.
The soldiers shushed her and passed around rations of bread and water. "No, we must be brave and join together and fight like the Fuhrer wants. This is no time to be cowards!"
"What's the use? We'll lose anyways." The bitter voice of a man cried out. There were quiet mutters of agreement. Suddenly one of the soldiers pulled his gun out and shot the man dead. Gretel clamped a hand on her mouth to dampen the volume of her scream. One of the smaller children came up and took the piece of bread from the man's hand before running back to her parents.
"Don't look so scared. He was a traitor to our country!" The soldier announced to the trembling townspeople. "We cannot have people like that in our new race. Think of all that Hitler has given you! He has given you all but everything! We must give back."
The soldiers were choosing out men to join the frontlines when Gretel snuck away.
Crying, she went to search for solace from her friends. But Hilda and Isobel were nowhere to be found. She cautiously approached the remains of Louise's house. Something was odd but she didn't quite know what it was. She opened the door and there she found Louise, her sister, Mother, Father and Grandparents huddled in a corner under the grand piano, their arms wrapped around each other. In the air was the faint sweet smell of decay.
They must have all ingested poison, she thought, because they were all dead.
For once, in a long time, Gretel was almost happy that Bruno wasn't around.