The Kommandant's Lover

by nena92

Just arrived to Auschwitz,to save his brother from a certain death,Feliciano a Jew boy of nineteen, with a passion for music, will be forced to become the lover of the ruthless and cruel Kommandant Beilschmdt. Warning inside.

4. The sinners

Sorry the delay, happy new year! Thanks to callmelittlewolf for having Edit the first part, and Thanks to my new Beta RusCan-CottonCandy57-GerIta. Look his works!

The sinners:

He remained in the prone position for a time that seemed painfully long. With his bare buttock still raised, he waited for the German's seed to drip off of him completely. The feeling was horrible. He felt the sticky liquid drip from his hole and slowly slide on his thighs.

"Thank you for the pleasant fuck, Jew-bitch," said the German.

Despite the anger and shame, Feliciano could not help but agree with the Aryan. He had behaved like a whore. He had let the other man ride him like a bitch.

With tears in his eyes and cheeks red with humiliation, Feliciano knelt as his hand bumped something solid.

He looked down and saw a bar wrapped in aluminum close to him. When brought it to his nose to smell it, his stomach began to gurgle loudly. It was chocolate, his reward for being fucked without protest.

Angrily he threw the chocolate against the wall, which then dropped to the filthy floor of the bathroom with a dull thud.

"I'm not a whore! I'm not a whore…," he said between his teeth, looking for the chocolate bar with hatred and contempt.

"God, please, if you are listening to me, forgive me," he sobbed desperately on his knees with his hands clasped, "Please forgive me. Forgive me. "

He was still praying, naked and kneeling when the door opened.

"I came to get you, Jew."

With his heart in his throat, Feliciano turned quickly toward the man who had spoken to him and his breath stopped.

A tall blond with blue eyes stared at him silently. He looked a lot like Ludwig, but there was something different about him that Feliciano could see only a few minutes later.

His gaze. The boy's gaze was different from that of Commander Beilschmidt. It did not seem unfriendly or cold, but stern and hard.

His face was perfectly oval. His eyes were dark blue and he had light blond hair, but not like Ludwig. His shoulders were broad and he had slender legs wrapped inside a pair of gray-green pants. He did not seem to be an adult yet, and Feliciano was sure that the boy had to be his age. What was a boy this age doing working in a concentration camp?

"Put your clothes on, Jew," the boy called out annoyed, turning his face to the side and looking the other way.

Embarrassed, Feliciano took his clothes, ignoring the pain that he felt, and quickly got dressed. He had noticed that the young man's voice didn't have the usual hardness and sullenness that the other soldiers have in common. His voice seemed friendlier and even embarrassed.

"You done, Jew?" The blond boy asked, without turning his head.

"Yes, thank you."

Without a word the boy walked and the Italian followed him in silence. The pain in his legs was almost unbearable, and as he walked he felt something warm trickling between his thighs.

"Walk before me, Jew." told him the boy, pointing with one arm in front of him.

Obediently Feliciano stepped in front of him, with more and more hesitant steps, when the boy said, "But you're bleeding, Jew!"

Feliciano stopped abruptly and looked distressed. He was upset because for the first time someone who was not his brother had shown worry about him, but he was especially upset because there was astonishment in his voice. Did he not know what the soldiers did to prisoners in the concentration camps?

He felt his eyes burn and he closed his hands into fists. That guy was either hypocritical or far too naive to not know what was going on.

"Why are you're bleeding, Jew?" asked the blond and his eyes widened even more as if he were disgusted and upset by what he was seeing.

Feliciano avoided his gaze and turned away. The answer to his question would have been too humiliating and he just couldn't stand it.

"Hey, stop, Jew. I asked you question," the boy insisted grabbing the Italian's shoulder and staring at the blood stain.

Feliciano felt his cheeks become hot and he gritted his teeth. Because he wanted to know what had happened to him? What did he care?

"I told you to answer me, Jew!"

Before he could control himself, Feliciano growled bitterly: "What does it matter to you?"

His question vibrated around the cold and icy concentration camp. And for the moment there wasn't an answer.

The blond boy's eyes widened as if he was surprised to hear him respond so courageously to his question, and perhaps it was. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. The German finally looked down, muttering between his teeth: "You're right, I don't give a fuck about your problems, silly Jew."

Feliciano let out a breath, relieved. For a moment he had thought the boy would attack him with punches, kicks and insults. He knew very well that he could have done it, and the fact that he had not put the Italian in a confused state between disbelief and relief.

"Just keep walking and do not say another word, Jew," the boy said through his teeth and walked past him.

Then he stopped and without turning around he said, "Hurry up, Jew. I do not have all night. "

The two boys continued to walk side by side and Feliciano looked at him from the corner of the eyes, noting that he was slightly taller than him. Then he shifted his gaze to the starless night sky and finally wept.

All the way back the guy next to him did not say anything and the Italian was grateful. He pretended not to see the droplets of blood that ran down in between his legs and fell in the mud.

When they arrived in front of the cabin, Feliciano quickly wiped his face clear of tears and snot. He did not want Romano worried even more so than he already was. Even if the lights were off inside the cabin and he could hear the slight, restless snoring of the prisoners from inside mixed with sobbing.

"Go in, Jew," the German boy instructed giving him a slight push behind his back.

Feliciano took a step toward the door but then he stopped and turned back to the door, trying to speak to the in a low voice. Fortunately, the other soldiers had already entered into their barracks and their distant laughter echoed on the desolate grounds.

"Hey, you. Wait a minute," the Italian said softly darting wary glances from side to side on the alert to see a soldier on the horizon.

The blond stopped suddenly, however. His back tensed, then he looked around and walked back a few steps.

Feliciano knew he had just been granted permission to ask one and only one question; so he thought well about what to ask him.

"What's your name?"

The boy hesitated and seemed reluctant to answer. Evidently he did not expect such a request by a Jewish prisoner, from a race inferior to him. Yet despite that he had only spent a few minutes in his company, the Italian boy he realized that the German was not like the other soldiers, and especially not like Commander Beilschmidt. For this reason, he wanted to know what his name was. But the blonde boy remained silent, merely looking at him with his deep blue eyes. Maybe he did not understand his language as it seemed the commander could.

Then repeated the question, putting together the few words that he remembered they had taught him on his arrival at the camp.

"What is your name?" he asked, in broken German and a little stressed.

The boy looked around again and took a step back, even if he didn't see anyone nearby. Judging by the racket coming from inside the housings, the soldiers seemed too busy singing.

Feliciano understood that he would not ever get a response and mentally reprimanded himself. What the hell he was thinking? Had he inadvertently forgotten that he was a Jew, moreover a whore of the commander of the camp, and that he was not allowed to look at or talk to the soldiers?

He had been left enchanted like an idiot by the mild-mannered and clear-eyed boy. Feliciano was not in the noisy and cheerful Italian capital but in a dingy and depressing German concentration camp. He was not allowed to socialize.

For the first time he was overwhelmed by the awareness of his position in which he was worth less than an insect. He could not speak, smile or think. In that awful area there was nothing to smile or laugh about. He was only allowed despair and suffering.

Suddenly a lump formed in his throat and he was forced to quickly turn his shoulders in order not to make the other guy see his bitter tears of shame. Feeling like a fool, he quickly stepped inside the cabin and from the corner of his eye he saw the blond boy walk away quickly and disappear into the night, with a good chance he was going to take refuge in one of the soldiers' barracks.

The scene was exactly as he had imagined. Inside the cabin it was smelling and dark, Romano was sitting on top of the torn mattress, his feet dangling and looking down. Marco was sitting next to him and had his hand resting on his shoulder, he spoke in a low voice, but he was also looking down.

"Romano, Marco ..." Feliciano whispered cautiously, drawing the attention of two boys.

"Feliciano!" Exclaimed incredulously Romano, in a low voice without getting up from the bed.

"Feliciano!" Marco said, smiling instead of worrying that his voice was a bit too high, and getting up quickly from the bed with his arms outstretched.

Feliciano with a lump in his throat, he quickly passed his sleeve on his face and ran with rapid steps towards Marco, throwing himself into his welcoming arms.

"Marco, Marco ..." Feliciano breathed and buried his face in his strong chest.

"I'm here, Feliciano. I'm here, do not worry." Marco consoled him, increasing their embrace and buried his nose into his hair. "Blessed be the Lord, I'm so happy, so happy..."

Feliciano let rocked back and forth, oblivious to what he had done.

That night he slept between Romano and Marco, caught between their arms and fell asleep listening the breathing of the two boys.

"Wake up, you bunch of filthy Jews!" Boomed the voice of the Kapo in the little cabin, just after the siren had sounded. "Gathering in the yard in five minutes for inspection!"

With his body still in pain from most of the previous evening, and legs become leaden, Feliciano barely managed to get up from the bed which he shared with Romano and Marco.

The two boys meanwhile had already raised, and Romano nervously said, "Get up fool! What you are waiting for, an invitation? "

Feliciano cringed before the harsh comment of his brother, and shook his head and tried to get up from the bed. If he did not, he would have raised suspicions, and he would not like to, but he had the unpleasant feeling of having two boulders attached to the legs that prevented him from getting up. He had to get up though, so he clenched his hands into fists, closed his eyes, exhaled air and stood up with a jerk.

"Ouch!" he cried, almost writhing on the ground, but luckily managed to stay on his feet and joined the row that was heading out of the cabin.

"Feliciano, but what the hell happened to you?" cried a voice behind him.

He turned and met the Marco's astonished gaze, who opened his eyes even more when he looked at his face in the clear light of dawn.

"Feliciano what the hell..." Repeated his best friend, with the air of not knowing how, he then rose quickly and laid hand on his face and brushed his hands over the wounds on his face.

The gesture reminded him very much that of the German commander, and he held almost hardly the wish to push aside his face from under the Marco's fingers, but his touch was different from that of Ludwig, it was nice and light like the caress of a feather.

"Marco I..." He tried to say, throwing to him alarmed glances. He would not tell him because it of his injuries, because otherwise he would have to explain the dark spot on the bottom of his pants, which was now dried up.

"Feliciano, have you spotted behind your pants!" He alarmed the other guy with an apprehensive look.

"What happened last night? Why did you come back later? Romano and I, we thought you had..."He paused, as if he couldn't find the right words, but then he said,"...We thought you'd been killed..."

The last word came from the lips of Marco as a hissing sound hoarse and low, but fortunately Feliciano was able to hear it as well. Then after a moment's hesitation, he lied "The soldiers beat me, just after the performance."

That lie came out so easily from the outside of the mouth, that for a moment he believed it himself.

While he had his back turned and walked quickly to head in the yard, he heard Marco ask him, "The soldiers beat you up?"

The tone of his voice struck Feliciano. In all the years he knew Marco had never heard a tone of angry and threatening, it almost did not seem like his voice.

With the corner of his eye he looked at his best friend and saw that his face had become dark and grim, and his orange eyes sparkled with a threatening light.

"Marco..." he whispered, his best friend's gaze scared him, but then fell silent immediately because they had arrived in the Appelplatz.

The SS paraded before his eyes, and he lowered his head with the other campers, which were about two hundred.

The Kapo, the one that had nearly killed him last night walked, along the row and counting them while another man followed him with his hand in a register.

Soon Feliciano would have learned that the Germans obsess to number all things and register them in proper archives.

Despite his head bowed, the Italian could feel the eyes dripping with hatred and contempt of the two men, but especially of one: The Kapo. A man of about thirty years of good looks and albino, with the eyes of a strange color.

His eyes silently scanned the row of prisoners, looking between their young faces the slightest sign of rebellion or disobedience. But of course, no one dared to breathe. All had learned that a word equal to kicks and fists from the soldiers.

The Kapo, satisfied, spoke to them and introduced himself by the name of Gilbert, an inmate of Auschwitz. Only months later, Feliciano would come to know that Gilbert was German and that he was in the camp at Auschwitz for killing ten people for fun. He was a true sadist, a quality very pleasing to the SS and especially useful in a death camp.

The albino told the prisoners that they were Jewish's scum and they had to do everything he would have ordered to them, otherwise they would be sent directly in the crematoria, without going to the gas chambers.

Feliciano listened terrified every single word spoken by Kapo. And when he asked the prisoners if any of them knew how to sew, he did not answer.

Annoyed, the albino made the question again and threatened the prisoners of harsh punishments if this time they did not respond. At that point stood shyly a few hands, but not that of Feliciano.

To the a few volunteers, the Kapo gave them the remnants of rough cloth and ordered them to take a step forward. He then told them they would have to sew those pieces of cloth on the jackets of the prisoners.

"When the stars will be sewn on jackets, all you dirty Jews, you'll have to write your approval numbers clear and visible. Got it? " the Kapo added with a growl.

All prisoners nodded scared, and Feliciano shared a sad look with Romano. For the soldiers and the Kapo, he was not called Feliciano but Z57900.

His mother had called him Feliciano because was a transliteration of the word from the Latin: Felix, happy. His mother always liked to tell him that he was born with a smile, as if to rejoice with others the happy event, and from that day had not stopped since.

"Remember to always be happy." She had told him before dying with a smile on her face pale and emaciated with fever.

Happy. Always.

How those words seemed foreign and unknown to Feliciano at that time, not suitable for that place, and even for his life now. He was forced to live like a dog, to let a German soldier was abusing him and endure the insults of the guards.

He would never be happy. Maybe it was an asset that was not named Feliciano and that his name was just a series of blacks, anonymous, insignificant numbers. Like him.

When the Kapo ordered to the prisoners to return to the barracks, Feliciano silently followed the crowd, with downcast eyes. At every step, he felt a searing pain from the lower back and quickly climb the spine like lava. He wanted to stop to catch his breath but everyone would stop swooped on him the Kapo along with his henchmen and was savagely beaten up until he died. During half way had already been killed six guys, and their bodies seemed to want to join the mud, which seemed like a monster swallow them up.

Stunned by grief and fear, the Italian tried to focus his attention on the footprints left in the mud, but it did little good. The pain continued to increase, making his vision blurry and shaky balance.

The Kapo Gilbert did not seem to have satisfied his thirst for blood, then growled the prisoners to run.

With tears in his eyes and the snot dripping from his nose, the Italian began to run knowing that the next volley of blows would have touched him because now he was losing stability because of too much pain.

The moment he felt his knees become weak and break under its own weight, Feliciano thought that he would not mind dying that day. He was comforted by the thought just that day was to be his mother died.

'Now I will return to you, father and grandfather.' Thought the little boy going on with the body toward the mud, and smiled. In that moment of confusion was not afraid to die.

"Caught!"

Two big and strong hands quickly took the Italian from under an armpit and they brought him up with a single thrust, as if he were a rag doll.

Confused and grateful, Feliciano looked around his savior and recognized him in the Marco's orange eyes. The guy with the corner of his mouth murmured to lean on him as they ran.

Fortunately, the two boys were in the crowd, then Feliciano did as he said and put his side against one of Marco, which quickly put an arm around his waist and helped him to finish the race.

When they went inside the cabin, Marco quickly left Feliciano, which fortunately had been able to regain enough energy to stand up by himself, and went to join the queue lined up in front of the bunks.

Look oozing with contempt, the Kapo Gilbert pulled in front of the prisoners to count them, smirking when eventually his henchman told him that the number of prisoners was decreased. Then he said to the few remaining, about eighty, which in the end of the cabin they found a pile of burlap sacks and a pile of straw and they would have to take a lot of jute to head and fill it with straw. That would have been their blanket.

Feliciano and the other prisoners watched carefully, and the person in front of them and did the same.

When it was his turn, the Italian opened his arms and took a handful of straw that smelled of the barn, slipped it into the rough jute sack and returned to his bunk.

"That's disgusting!" Romano muttered broken while he threw his 'blanket' above the bunk with rage, threatening to attract the fury of Kapo.

"Romano ..." Murmured the alarmed Italian, who had not escaped the murderous look of Kapo turned to his older brother.

The older boy looked at him the corner of his eyes and tried to show off with a grin a security that does not actually felt.

Romano had always had the bad habit of being blatant and defiant in any situation. That kind of behavior had caused him problems when he was little, especially with their mother who was anxious to know what was going through the head of his eldest son when he returned home bruised after getting into fights with neighbourhood kids.

Feliciano understood, however, that such behavior would serve as little to Romano in the concentration camp, where only raise his eyes meant signing his own death warrant.

"Romano, please." He said softly, hoping that his brother would understand the danger to which he was exposing himself with his behavior.

The older boy stared at him for a long time, without erasing the grin from his face. But then he slowly lowered his eyes emerald-like those of their deceased father-and a fleeting tear slid down his cheek. The Italian could not imagine that one small drop would be the last tear that would have poured his brother.

Once they have placed the covers over the bunks, the Kapo ordered them to form a line and was distributed to each of them a bowl scarred, enameled metal. Gilbert advised them to keep an eye on the bowl because it was of their own lives. If they lost the bowl, would not give them another . Then he pushed back the prisoners out of the cabin to another, obviously without saving kicks and beatings to anyone who had the bad idea to stop.

Feliciano could see that the latrines of the field were really horrible. It was a long cabin like the others. The little light that came from small openings in the ceiling and between the pillars that supported the roof, there were concrete slabs with simple holes. Even in the ghetto, Feliciano had his own bathroom. In the field there was no privacy.

Gilbert ordered to the prisoners to drop their pants. Since there were days that Feliciano did not eat, did not come out of nowhere. He stood with his pants down to his ankles until the Kapo told him to pull up his pants.

Gilbert then pushed them towards the door adjoining the shed of the wash. It too was a dimly lit cabin. There was a sort of water troughs filled with dirty water and cold. In comparison, the viscous liquid was washed with which the first time that he had arrived in the camp seemed more hygienic.

The Kapo ordered them to wash, otherwise he would have beaten them.

Frightened the prisoners began to slap the water on their face, shivering for the contact. Feliciano came to trough and for the first time he saw his image. The lower lip was split, his left cheekbone was swollen and a horrible red scar across his right cheek. He looked like a monster. Horrified, the Italian looked away and carefully washed his face.

Gilbert was bored, so he decided to take the time to blow off steam with a prisoner, and his scarlet eyes pointed at the back of Feliciano. With a firm step went behind the back of the boy, oblivious to everything that was rinsing his body, and suddenly grabbing him by the neck with a violent move pushed his head into the trough.

Feliciano could not react and he found himself with his face submerged in the icy and dirty water. The pain was indescribable panic and the twisted the bowels. In vain with his hands he tried to cleave the air looking for something to hold and apply pressure to pull himself up. The oxygen was drastically decreasing and the brain was sending messages of danger through his entire body. There were thousands of tiny bubbles on the surface of the water and the Italian could hear his cries muffled by the water. His throat ached and felt that the brain began to blur, making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He was about to die, he was sure.

In the last desperate attempt of life, Feliciano put his hands behind the burden that was forcing him to stay with his face submerged in water, frozen and try to take it off.

Gilbert saw the Jew's hands touch his, and with a violent gesture grabbed by the scruff of the Italian and pulled him up again. Laughing heartily.

The Italian fumbled for oxygen while the mouth dripping dirty water.

"Now you are clean." The Kapò said to him coldly in his ear and with a shove threw him forward, causing him to fall to his knees on the dirty and humid floor.

Shocked, Feliciano knelt and began to spit the water while trying to fill his lungs with oxygen. With tears in his eyes, he continued to cough and shiver in a vain attempt to breathe without feeling pain in the throat. He felt completely exhausted, his head was spinning dangerously. He continued to cough and gasp for fifteen minutes, then finally began to breathe normally

When he stood up, he saw that the prisoners, still naked, staring at him with eyes full of shocked and scared. No one had lifted a finger to help him, no one had implored the Kapo to stop. But Feliciano did not blame any of them. Nobody wanted to be killed to save a stranger, even he would do it. Not now that he knew in what ways cruel and atrocious Nazis killed Jews.

Stooping, the Italian picked up his jacket and put it on quickly. Then dropped his pants and as if nothing had happened, washed his legs, trying to wipe the blood mixed with cum now dry. Obviously, however, without soap, he could do little.

Gilbert shouted at them to get out of there and get back in the barracks. Again, a grueling race, savage beatings, violence case.

The last of the row outgoing is taken from the beating and kicking of Kapo, then resumed the race. The route was the same as before, but when they returned, they found inside the cabin waiting them two Kapo with yellow bands on their arms. Next to them was a plank with over the bread and a bucket filled with black liquid.

"Take your bowls, filthy scum! And then get in line, "growled the Kapo passing near the prisoners to go towards the plank.

The prisoners immediately went to their bunks, took their bowls from under the burlap bags and quickly lined up orderly, advancing one after the other.

When Feliciano approached the table, kept his eyes fixed on the floor but he could feel the look dripping hate of the Kapo Gilbert over his head. An Kapo gave to the Italian a thin slice of stale bread while the other filled the bowl with a black liquid.

With a small piece of bread and his bowl full, the Italian returned to his bunk, where he found Romano and Marco literally devouring their own piece of bread and gobbling the black liquid.

Feliciano sat close to his older brother and Marco immediately went near him. Despite he had not eaten for several days, the Italian nibbled the bread and drank only a little of the black liquid, which turned out to be a substitute for coffee.

He could not understand how in a few days he had suffered all kinds of violence. The thought that maybe that night the commander could call in some dark room to repeat the same perverse act of last night made him close his stomach and pass hungry for good.

He put the piece of bread and began to sob quietly. He was disgusted by what he had left to do from the German soldier, but above all he was disgusted with himself, however, to reminder of how excited he was when the German had taken him.

'I'm a dirty sinner,' he thought looking at his reflection in the black liquid into his bowl. 'I'm not Feliciano. I'm just ... '

'I don't even know who I am' he thought bitterly as the salty tears were falling down his cheeks, livid from the cold.

"Never forget who you are." Whispered a voice close to him.

Feliciano lifted his head slightly off the ground his eyes wet with tears and met Marco's smiling eyes. His best friend had the ability to smile with the eyes, and it was something that had always liked to Feliciano. Especially because it was immediately impress the girls.

Suddenly the mind of the Italian boy was thrown back about twelve years old when he met Marco. He was seven years old the first time he saw Marco in the street chasing a ball dirt, while he was on the other side of the wrought iron gate of the old house where he lived with his parents before and Romano. Had stared at him for hours without ever coming forward until his hands were wrapped around the iron bars had turned white and his legs were starting to tingle. And Feliciano had never been shy. Indeed, as soon as he saw some children playing in the street out of the house and joined him to play. But Marco, while he had looked him chasing after the dirty ball, had aroused inside him a feeling of pure admiration and attraction, which has only seven years is difficult to know and indeed frightening. The manner in which Marco played and smiled expressed only one thing: the joy of living and being in the world.

And he felt the same way. That was what had frightened him. Have found someone like him, someone who his mother poetically called 'Alma gemella'. Marco was his soul mate, the first ever.

Other days had passed before Feliciano gather the courage to open the wrought iron gate and run into the street, where Marco played ball.

The moment that took courage and was able to present to him, he would never forget, because then Marco had said smiling, "I am Marco and I have been waiting for you for weeks."

From that moment on, the two were not separated. They had played, joked and chased the skirts of young women together. They were always together. Even now they were together. And this made him sad, but at the same time made him happy because even the war had separated him from his soul mate under the guise of the name best friend.

"Do not forget who you are, Feliciano." He repeated softly Marco then added, "I know who you are, and you know who I am."

Heartened by the words of his best friend, Feliciano thanked him with a small smile that instantly Marco returned with another.

The Kapo Gilbert went back inside the cabin and again ordered them to get out of the cabin and reach the 'Appelplatz, in single file.

Arrived at 'Appelplatz, were divided into five rows of fifteen and were forced into another grueling race until they came to another part of the field larger than the others.

Feliciano, with behind Marco and Romano, looked at the camp ground level and without holes trying to figure out where was the deception this time, and as if he had read in their minds, the Kapo Gilbert pointed to a distant point and growled "Over there are the quarries. You stupid Jews, you have to get inside and take out the rocks that are there. Once taken out of the rocks, where there are need to carry wheelbarrows and then load them up there. Then you have to continue until the barrows will be full. Once filled wheelbarrows, you have to push them into the pit and replace the boulders. Then again, until I give you the order to stop." Finished with his speech, the longest he had ever done up to that day, the albino looked at the shocked prisoners and shouted" Do you understand, disgusting cockroaches? "

The prisoners nodded and satisfied the Kapo went across the field, laughing loudly, as if he found the situation ridiculously funny, and maybe it was.

The heart of the Italian had risen in his throat, and there it stopped. He could not do what the Kapo had just ordered because his body would not hold the effort. The pain in his legs was increasing as well as pain in the rest of his body, but of course that was the end of the extermination camp, breaking them down until they died. That day Feliciano fully understood the meaning and the purpose pursued in the field where he was.

They died if they did as they were instructed, they died if they did not obey. In any case, death was the only guarantee assured of that field, and waited in ambush as the most insidious enemies, to attack the front of the throat, or from behind. The way it could, however, decide for yourself. If you decided not to obey, then death will kill the front by means of the soldiers or the Kapo, but if you decided to obey then they waited patiently until they suddenly took you and killed you.

Feliciano decided that death would have stuck behind him, then ran along with the other prisoners to the edge of the field where there was a cave, went in, took a block of stone and began to carry it painfully toward the exit.

The task, however, proved more difficult than he had thought, because the mud slid and along with the weight of the block of stone made his shaky balance, adding that the pants began threatening to fall on his hips to get a lot more down. Step by step, sinking in the mud and wounding his feet with splinters in the heels, Feliciano took the stone out of the quarry. But when he got out he saw the hell.

The soldiers were arranged in a row, from one side of the field, and they shouldered their rifles blacks in attack form. Feliciano looked with horror the first victims reaped by the soldiers. Their uniforms were tattered behind the back by a dark hole from which oozed blood that was going to mix with the mud.

Taken from anxiety, was paralyzed with the rock in his arms, unsure of what to do. If he disobeyed after death would frontally attacked and he had decided that the death had to kill him by attacking him from behind.

He was not the only one left standing in front of the exit from the quarry, two other prisoners had imitated, and shared his own thoughts. Or at least that left to guess their eyes wide with panic and mouths contorted in despair.

Feliciano swallowed the lump in his throat and decided to leave because that block was beginning to weigh on his arms. He took a step, then another, and keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead went to barrows arranged on the other side of the field.

Before him another prisoner was struggling with his boulder. He was as tall as Romano and even had his own physique. Feliciano For a moment he wondered if the prisoner before him was Romano. With his heart in throat for the effort and for the concern, the brown prayed for both. But then a gunshot split open the cold air of the field and hit one of them.

Scared Feliciano looked at the prisoner in front of him fall to the ground and create a pool of red under his body. Terrified, fumbled with his boulder in his arms, toward the prisoner and prayed to God not to let him see before his eyes his older brother die. Those few meters turned out to be the longest of his life. Everything seemed to him that had stopped in the air frozen field, even his breathing.

With his heart in throat and prayers on his lips Feliciano with one eye checked the prisoner died. The face of the prisoner had turned on his side, and not in the mud like the other corpses, and with relief the brown could see that the body lying in the mud and the blood was not his brother Romano.

That little joy however in Feliciano was consumed with the same speed of a match. Had rejoiced at the death of another, because he was not his brother. It was a horrible thing. He thought about when his death would bring happiness one day to another and he was almost crying. Those horrible monsters dressed in black were dehumanizing them to the point of making them happy when someone died in their place.

Bearing the weight of the boulder, Feliciano trudged toward the basket with relief and triumphant loaded the boulder inside the wheelbarrow. Then he came back running. He did not need that he be ordered to do so, he had realized that the race was a necessary part of the game. Fortunately, the soldiers were intended only to those whom the boulder fell, and they had a good shot.

The torture lasted all day, until the night. And it was also a mental torture for Feliciano because he could not be sure to see if his brother and Marco were still alive. The fear of recognizing among the various bodies scattered in the field, those of Marco or Romano, had consumed stomach worse than hunger.

The ordeal for the Italian ended only when the Kapo made the call and yelled the approval numbers. Those of Romano and Marco he had memorized. And rejoiced twice, at a distance of thirty minutes apart.

With aching arms, which almost would have liked to rip them off, and legs tingling, the Italian racing for the last time for the day inside the cabin, where he found again the two Kapo that morning near the plank above with a pot.

With the stomach aching Feliciano did queue up to lend him his ration. It was a gray, lumpy mess. Soon, when he stuck a finger inside the lumps turned out to be pieces of potatoes. Disgusted, the Italian tried to replace the image in his head of gray gruel with a plate of pasta, but things only got worse because he remembered the times when he ate with his parents in the old house.

He remembered the white apron and dark brown wavy hair of the his mother. The scent of soap and talc when she approached him to put in the soup pot. The memories of his mother accompanied him along with those of his father. The cheerful tone of his voice and his smile with straight white teeth. And his light brown hair and emerald green eyes, which were the last things he saw before going to sleep.

As he thought of his mother and his father, tears came again and them fell into the brew.

"What's wrong?" He asked in a whisper, Romano, who had swallowed his gruel.

Feliciano sighed softly, "I miss Mom and Dad."

The older looked at him in silence before saying sharp "I miss them me too. But you must not cry. Otherwise you're a villain. "

With a confused look but also offended by the last comment of his elder brother, the Italian asked "Why would I be infamous for crying for our parents?"

Romano was silent staring straight ahead, as if searching for an answer in the air freeze, then without looking in his eyes, said, "You're a villain because you're not keeping the promise made to our mother before she died."

Feliciano's eyes widened in surprise. He, too, remembered the last words spoken by their mother, the promise that he had made. Suddenly, like an echo, he remembered the promise.

'Feliciano, promise me that you will be happy. Promise me you'll always be happy. '

'I'll do more, Mom. I'll be happy for both. I promise you that I will live happy for both of you. '

"You remember that?" He asked softly, his older brother, turning his head to his side.

The redhead nodded, trying not to cry again. It was true that in that field there was nothing to be happy, but inside he had a reason to be happy. The promise made to his mother and his older brother. Romano was alive and was close to him. The life of his brother would become the reason for his happiness, and so it would continue to keep the promise.

Two hands grab him by the shoulders and his face touched another front, while the voice of his brother whispered, "Come here, you fool. Come here. "

That night, fortunately, no one came to disturb him.

The Standartenführer Ludwig Beilschmidt, commander of the camp, that night he was still in his office with Lagerführer (1)Dietwolf and Folkher. Dietwolf with his greenish eyes silently read the last report prepared by the commander while Folkher was sitting behind the wooden table and blankly stared at the bottle of French cognac.

"Good. I see you're doing a great job here at the camp. Is here recently, but you was really efficient " complimented after a few minutes the camp Führer Dietwolf restoring the account. Then he went near the small wooden table, took a glass and poured the cognac.

Ludwig remained silent as he watched Dietwolf take large gulps of the dark liquor. He hated the camp, he hated unnecessary LagerFührer and their speeches crazed regarding the enhancement of the gas chambers, Zyklon B and crematoria. He would have rather preferred to talk about the improvement of troops, tanks, grenades, Stuka and strategy. For example, in Leningrad, the Red Army was able to break down the German fortifications and had opened a road corridor towards the southern side of Lake Ladoga. And in some stationery rumored that the Americans aimed to occupy Anzio, as they had done with Sicily. Damn they were tightening the troops of the Reich in a choke hold! They had to act immediately, before the damage became irreparable. Unconsciously, the German commander pounded a fist on the desk and drew the attention of Lager Führer.

"What bothers you, Kommandt Beilschmidt" asked Folkher, finally waking up from his apathy. Then gave a sarcastic look in the direction of Dietwolf, who was pouring the second glass of cognac.

The commander flicked his gaze from Dietwolf to Folkher, then got up from his leather armchair and turned his back with his arms crossed behind.

On the wall hung a large geographical map; watched with an expert eye, then tapped map pins with colored pinheads that dotted the map and exclaimed, "This is the situation at the front!" He turned, putting his hands over his dark wood desk .

"And how could it be otherwise, after all?"

Dietwolf and Folkher silent. Ludwig put his fists on his hips, as a professor who was about to impart an important life lesson.

"It will be like in four weeks? In eight or maybe a month? "He gave himself answer, banging his fist on Berlin, Dresden and Weimar. "Those damned could attack the capital and other cities bombarding them with their fighter planes!"

At that remark, Folkher stirred and said "it is impossible that the Anglo-Americans can attack Berlin! They would not dare because they know that we have the best fighter aircraft such as the Stuka! Not to mention that the Luftwaffe is the best in aerial combat! We have the best pilots! "

Dietwolf agreed with Folkher and added, "Not to mention that our industries have just patented a new type of unmanned rocket at a distance, the Hs-293."

Ludwig sighed bitterly and countered, "They've already done! I would like to bring to your attention the bombing on the capital on 23 August. "

"That, however, has failed." immediately explained Folkher.

"Sure, but I seem to remember that on the other hand has been successfully sign the bombing of August 31! A piece of Berlin was destroyed! Half of the German population is dead, "cried the furious commander, again beating his fist on the table. He still remembered the terrible sound of shattering glass of the buildings for the explosion and violent vibration of the buildings that collapsed while people were screaming hysterically in fear. Because of an explosion he had ...

"Calm down, commander Beilschmidt! I remember the heavy losses we suffered that day, but our troops were resettled immediately and we 'paid back' the favor of the British. The Luftwaffe bombers shot down more than fifty-six British aircraft. "Said Dietwolf, and added a grin. Then he walked over to a glass filled with cognac and handed it to the captain.

"Come on, drink and calm down. Everything is under control. Germany is powerful and our Führer knows what he must do. "He said in a tone conciliatory, while continuing to offer him the glass.

Ludwig struggling with anger and downed the glass cognac as it were medicine, staring straight ahead. Those two ignorant beggars did not deserve the signs leading up to the chest. It was for him, he would tear them immediately and he would give them dishonor.

He hated his life into that lousy stinking lager! He would pay any price to find himself in the icy steppes of Russia, in the midst of blood and despair, knowing that make a great contribution with his sacrifice for the rebirth of a new and more powerful Germany. In the damn concentration camp he was useless, he had a feeling that only served to fuel the insane ravings of a madman who had as a priority the creation of a superior race and the extermination of the Jews. To hell with the Jews, he did not care a shit about those unhappy! Of course, he considered every single Jew equal to an insect, deserving of death, but they were not his priority. He had in his mind only war and the welfare of his country, as every German.

With his heart in throat for the anger, the commander made a decision and said, "I would like to be reinstated in the Wehrmacht. With any degree, I do not care. "

The camps Führer remained silent and looked at him as if he were crazy. Then Dietwolf spoke.

"Is a request honorable yours, but I must reject it immediately. Even if I brought your request in Berlin, surely the Court dismiss it and maybe even take the decision to take you to court for disobeying a task that has been entrusted to Nuremberg. "

Folkher went to the aid of Dietwolf adding, "Yeah, why risk losing such a great element like you? At the bottom is showing great efficiency even here, in the camp. And believe me when I say that you is more useful here than in any other place. The Führer consider this place as a useful means to give birth to new race that will dominate all states. "

'To hell with the Führer' Ludwig franticly thought, sitting in his black leather chair not to jump to the neck of the two camps Führer. He listened to the radio, on the military frequencies, and he knew that after the attack in Berlin, the Allies began bombing Franco Forte Main, Stuttgart, Leverkusen and then back to Berlin, that had lost two factories of Siemens and installations stations. He was sure that while he was there to discuss with the two idiots Lager Führer, the allied army was waging a deadly new attack on German troops. And the Führer was not doing anything! Germany at this pace in danger of losing the war! And he was stuck in that damn dump full of filthy Jews because his superiors considered him more useful there than in war!

Agitated by all those thoughts, his head began to throb violently and he had to bring both hands to the sides of the head to soothe the pain. He did not want to do because he knew it was an act of weakness, but at that time he was suffering so much that he could not restrain himself, and it also noted Dietwolf and Folkher.

"Well, Kommandt Beilschmidt, now that we were updated on the results obtained from you here in the camp, Dietwolf and I, may we well go back to Berlin. The journey is long and we must also report the results in Nuremberg. "He started to say as he walked Folkher, preceded by Dietwolf, at the door. Then he said, "Will be back here in a couple of months. And we hope that you have changed your mind and is convinced that this is the right place for you. "

Ludwig was silent with his head still in his hands, but he did not escape the threatening tone of Folkher accompanied by a sarcastic chuckle of Dietwolf.

The two camps Führer took their leave and, as the door was closed, Dietwolf whispered, "Poor fellow, when he collapsed on that building, he is no longer the same."

"Yeah, that sadness. He was an excellent soldier but now he no longer need anything."

When the door closed, Ludwig was seized with a fit of rage and began to smash the first things in front of him.

When it was over, fell on his knees, panting. The migraine was giving him no respite, indeed had become more violent and was gradually losing vision in one eye. Clumsily tried to get up, but fell again and forced to crawl on his belly to get to the desk where he kept the vials of paracetamol, but could not.

Writhing in pain, Ludwig repaired the head under the arms to defend himself from the light of the lamp that was bothering him and tried not to throw up, as often happened during these violent attacks.

While he was curled on his side, the commander wondered if this was the feeling that the Jews felt when they died in the lethal gas chambers. He heard the heart-rending cries of all those who died and the pain increased, causing him to scream in agony.

"Nein! Nein! "He yelled in pain, trying to chase away those screams inside his head and pathetically crawled under the table and thought," Gilbert! Gilbert! "

After a few minutes the door opened and he saw a black shadow approach him.

"Ludwig" He called the shadow and he felt even more pain. He wanted the shadows to stop yelling and leave him in peace.

"Ludwig!"

"Go away!" Mumbled as threatening and warning pulled first thing that came to hand.

Gilbert dodged the piece of glass of the lamp and went to the desk, knowing what he had to do. From the drawer pulled out a vial of acetaminophen and kneeled down under the desk where he found his brother agonize like an animal quartered. Patiently avoided the punches and kicks that Ludwig was trying to give him and dragged him out of the desk, replacing him sat on chair.

"Leave me alone ..." he hissed sullen Ludwig, not recognizing his brother because he saw only a shadow blurred in front of him.

The albino grabbed his arm and injected into the vein the solution of paracetamol. He would have to take effect in eleven minutes, but had to turn off the lights and then remain stationary next to him to check for vomit.

In the darkness of the room, Gilbert squeezed to him his younger brother and as every time he felt like a coward because he took advantage of these moments to externalize his repressed love for Ludwig. He knew it was wrong, sick and abnormal, but the love he felt for his younger brother went beyond all limits and could not control it.

With tears in his eyes, Gilbert kissed his head, his face, his lips with devotion, love and despair. Ludwig every so often complained, but did not resist. At least not the same kind of resistance that would have the opposite if he had been at the height of his strength, and above all conscious.

"I am here with you, my beloved brother. I am here with you, do not be afraid. "He continued to whisper in the ear of blond, until felt that he had calmed down.

When it was over, Ludwig began to breathe normally and the view was less opaque. Beating the eyelids several times, tried to understand what it was that warmth that was holding him in a vice and suffocating and before his eyes he saw the thin dark lines. For a moment, but only for a crazy moment, he thought he had in front of the Italian Jew. But then a voice spoke to him and he knew he was close to his older brother.

"Gilbert." Mumbled thickly for fatigue.

"Ja, bruder."

Ludwig tiredly reclined his head back and whispered, "I'm tired. Please go with me to the couch so I can lie down and sleep. "

Gilbert accompanied him to the couch and helped him to laid. Then he pulled off his boots and opened his shirt. The knuckles of his fingers brushed against warm skin of his brother and Gilbert felt his body tremble with pleasure and pain. The stomach was writhing painfully he felt the urgent want to pass his hand over his muscular chest and go down, discovering a body that had always attracted him.

"Gilbert." Whispered Ludwig annoyed, and the albino realized that he was with his hands around the top button of his shirt. Biting his lower lip, opened the last button and forced himself not to look.

At last he rose , his heart pounding, and walked toward the door.

The German closed his eyes and said, " While I was under the influence of the drug , it seemed that you were kissing me . " He laughed hoarsely , amused by the thought absurd and even incestuous . "But it was just me , right? Absurd."

The albino stood in the doorway, undecided, but in the end he joined his laughter and before closing the door, whispered with tears in his eyes , "Yes, absurd. "

A young blond boy and stalked toward the door of the commandant , but Gilbert stopped him.

"The commander Beilschmidt is not well." He explained the albino to blond. "It was another migraine. "

The boy nodded and went back on his feet , but before disappearing around the corner said to Gilbert , "When he is well again, if we do not match, tell him the following message: his cousin Heinrich joined the Wehrmacht and the first task will pay service as a guard at Auschwitz."

Author's corner:

I hope I have not bored you with this chapter and that you enjoyed. Ludwig now looks a little more ' human '. And that was my intent. As you have seen there have been many developments. Now every character has a role. Every one of their own interest and passion. And the games begin in earnest!

Small question: Who do you think is exactly Heinrich? Those of you who know who he is?

I hope you have noticed that the first person who has thought Ludwig is Feliciano ...

History note:

LagerFührer: they were the sub-commanders of the field. Every three or four months they met with the commander of the field and controlled the results obtained in the field under the command of the commander. Then the results reported in Nuremberg.

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