A/N: Emotionally-intense chapter ahead with long author's notes at the end answering the questions and concerns of some readers. So when you're done with this chappie you have the option of either skipping 'em or whetting your curiosity.

Also, Jacob Gens is a real historical figure who really did have the job described at this particular ghetto at the moment in time this fic takes place. To this day there is some controversy about his actions in the ghetto and whether or not he was doing the right thing. Google his name if you're curious.


Chapter 7


The first thing Ludwig noticed about the ghetto was that it was crowded: human beings swarmed over the streets and all open areas like clouds of insects. Most were hard at work; the tiny fraction that looked to have been resting jumped to their feet and made haste busying themselves the moment they happened to catch sight of him.

The next thing he noticed were the clothes: relatively few people were wearing anything that was both clean and untorn. Most of them walked around in filthy rags, or, if not outright rags, age-wearied garments that looked as though they had been worn daily without laundering for well over a week. Less than half had anything that passed for a decent coat; they packed on extra clothing or wrapped blankets around themselves to keep warm. All wore the yellow star over their left breast.

"Do you need anything, Obergruppenführer?" The guard who had opened the door for Ludwig stood with his back pressed against it, still holding it open, his posture disciplined and attentive. He regarded his superior curiously, no doubt wondering why he was here and what he meant to do inside the ghetto.

"I'm looking for someone," Ludwig replied flatly, "two someones, actually."

"Someones who are…specific?"

"Ja."

By now most of the Jews in the immediate vicinity had noticed their visitor: they kept him in the corners of their eyes without looking directly at him, warily and hurriedly going about their business. They were working very hard now — harder than they had been only moments before.

Although no one had told him specifically, Ludwig knew at once that their lives depended on keeping busy and remaining productive, especially when in the presence of the SS. It was as obvious as day in the light of everything he had just learned. Survival of the fittest. Keep the most useful as slave-labor and exterminate the rest.

Something inside him flinched. It was a cruel system, but also very efficient, he had to admit. It kept unproductive people from sucking up resources that could be better put to use elsewhere and kept the frightened survivors at optimum productivity.

"In that case, I'll get Gens for you. He knows just about everyone in the ghetto." The guard was only too eager to help.

Ludwig turned to dismiss him with an appreciative nod, but he was already gone, the big wooden door slamming loudly behind him. There were no sounds of the door being re-locked, but then the ghetto was bustling with activity — it would be easy to miss. Not that the blue-eyed nation was at all worried about getting trapped in here.

He started forward, passing a multi-housing complex and coming into an open area that might once have been a paved courtyard, a wide intersection, or a site cleared for some other purpose — it was hard to tell now with all the people milling about. With a guide already enroute he'd be sure not to wander too far from the front gate, but what harm could a little solo exploration do? He'd never been in this kind of a work camp before, and he was naturally curious as to how bad the Jews in here really had it.

Turned out, they had it pretty bad. Most of them — not all, but most — were malnourished and in various stages of starvation. Their clothes hung off them, their bones showed too well under their skin. They appeared to have only limited access to soap and running water, and for the most part lacked the items necessary for basic hygiene, even hairbrushes and toothbrushes. Everywhere he turned he saw sallow faces cut with deep lines, dark rings under bloodshot eyes. So many of them didn't have warm enough attire…their whole bodies shivered under whatever they were wearing, their teeth chattering as they worked outside or raced from building to building. Whenever Ludwig got too close to any of them silent terror would fall over their faces and drive them to strive extra hard to look busy doing something very important.

In his haste, one man tripped over a rock and dropped the boxes he was carrying, sending empty tin cans everywhere. No one helped him pick them up; indeed, none of his fellow Jews even looked at him. Ludwig merely watched as, wide-eyed and frantic, the man scrambled to pick the cans up and put them back in the boxes, his head darting up every few seconds to check on Ludwig, probably to reassure himself that the Nazi wasn't about to shoot him.

Ludwig didn't so much as twitch a finger. Though the intense gaze and the harsh, no-nonsense expression he wore suggested otherwise, he didn't plan on doing Can Man any harm. I'm not going to punish you, he thought dryly, Though in the future you will want to avoid accidents like this in front of the SS.

Can Man finished recovering the cans in record time and dashed into an adjacent building, sparing only one nervous backward glance.

For the first time, Ludwig noticed that the quiet chatter that had rustled through the ghetto only minutes ago had died down to a few occasional hurried whispers. No one made eye-contact with him. No one dared.

They were suffering greatly.

Suffering more greatly than the Jews who were taken to Ponary, because at least those Jews had a relatively quick death to look forward to. Better to be killed outright than worked literally to death under abominable conditions, freezing, starving, watching your loved ones die slowly before your very eyes…

My god, it just keeps getting worse. His heart ached, the stark sorrow of the ghetto seeping into him, troubling his thoughts.

How could his people go through with this? Slave-labor was one thing, but to make the slaves suffer like this when killing them would be far kinder….for what? To save on resources? Because their immediate future read 'death' anyway, so why not exploit them to the fullest before killing them?

Something cold caught in his chest at the realization that he'd just hit the nail on the head. Jews had no place in Hitler's regime. It didn't matter how hard they worked or how much ass they kissed: every single person here was going to be used for all he or she was worth and then killed. Ruthless efficiency. Torture and kill the hated 'enemy' while simultaneously profiting at their expense.

If only Hitler's lies were true…if only they really did deserve this…

Ludwig had never been a huge fan of torture — especially prolonged torture on this scale — but it would not be so bad if only his so-called enemies actually were his enemies; if they were all the things his boss and the other Nazis made them out to be, if so many of them weren't his own damn people.

But even though the vast majority of the prisoners in this particular labor setup were not Germans, his heart was not so closed-up that he couldn't feel compassion for them. It was not quite the same kind of compassion that he felt for his own people, but it was close. He hated to see them suffer.

Over ten minutes had elapsed since he had wandered away from the main entrance. Frustrated, he was just about to head back and see what was holding his guide up when he saw a man bounding towards him, everyone making way for him as though he were a projectile parting water.

"Generaloberst! Generaloberst!" He rushed up to the Nazi, smiling in a faintly fearful way, his dark eyes alive with excitement.

Ludwig looked him over. He was in his mid-thirties or early forties with a receding hairline and short, dark hair. The yellow star decorated his chest, but unlike most of his fellow Jews he was not thin to the point of emaciation and wore cleaner, newer attire that included a warm coat. His relatively well-kept appearance indicated that he had more regular access to hygienic necessities.

He dipped into a quick, respectful bow. "Jacob Gens at your service."

"Gens," Ludwig repeated, committing the name to memory just in case it proved useful in the future. "I take it you are in a position of authority in these parts?"

Gens straightened. "As much authority as one such as me is permitted to have. I am head of the Jewish Ghetto Police."

In other words, you have no real authority at all, except over those waiting to die. Ludwig thought disdainfully, but said nothing.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Herrmann. It isn't often that a German general visits Vilnius." One of his eyes twitched, and Ludwig saw that he was staring at his Maschinenpistole. But then his gaze lifted quickly, and now his eyes seemed to catch on one of the Nazi's uniform decorations. "I see you are with the SS as well."

Though it was still overly friendly, now Gens's voice carried a slow, subdued sorrow, so subtle that Ludwig — who had never been all that adept at reading people — would have missed it if he hadn't been expecting it. Like any Jew in his position would, Gens was expecting the worst.

Ludwig cut to the chase. "I'm looking for two children; a five-year-old boy, and a seven-year-old girl. Surname Goldberger."

Gens tilted his head pensively. "Goldberger," he repeated quietly, "Goldberger….that's a very common surname. How long ago did they arrive?"

Damn. Two horrible truths hit Ludwig right then: 1), he didn't know how long ago Rivka and her children had arrived, or if they had even arrived together, and 2 ), he had already forgotten the kids' first names, which was going to make things a hell of a lot more difficult.

They couldn't have been here for long, he reasoned, Rivka didn't act like it, and she wouldn't have waited long before going to them.

"Not long. Maybe a couple of weeks." He frowned, uncertain.

This was just a guess. An educated guess, but still.

He continued, "Their names escape me at the moment, but I am sure I would recognize them if I heard them again. Their mother's name was Rivka Goldberger. She came from Berlin."

Gens blinked, his own face becoming uncertain. "Berlin? We don't get many German Jews here — mostly Lithuanians and Poles. I don't remember a Rivka Goldberger, but then I deal with so many names every day it's quite possible she simply slipped my mind." As fast as it had come, his uncertainty was swept away by a weak smile. "Of course, I would be delighted to help you search for these children. The ghetto is big to walk around in, but I know it like the back of my hand."

Ludwig nodded seriously. "Good. The quicker the better." Then, considering, he added, "Are the children confined to any one place?"

"Not generally, especially children as young as these Goldbergers you're after. They wander around doing what they can to remain obedient and useful." Gens turned and started forward. "I'll lead, if it is alright with you?" His tone and voice were very pleasant, almost cheerful.

"Naturally," Ludwig replied, annoyed and a little surprised that the man had bothered asking his permission when it was so painfully clear that that was the only arrangement that made a shred of sense. The Jew broke into a brisk walk, and he followed, keeping to his side and slightly behind. Overhead, the sun peered out from behind soapy clouds.

"It will help to ask around," Gens said presently, "Would you like me to translate for you?"

"Ja. I do speak other languages, but not Lithuanian, or Polish, or Hebrew."

Gens got to work immediately questioning the ghetto residents, who seemed to regard him with almost as much fear and respect as they did Ludwig. No one on the street they were on knew where the Goldberger children were; Gens's questions were met with bewilderment, blank expressions, and sad eyes. People shook their heads and talked back and forth, keeping always a wary eye on Ludwig, and pointed down other streets, naming others whom they thought might know. So onwards to these others they went, following up each new lead as it came to them .

The deeper he journeyed into the heart of the ghetto, the more Ludwig saw, and the more he wished he hadn't seen.

My god…

It was like trekking into the outer realm of a frozen Hell.

Vilnius's Jews were even worse off than he had initially supposed: everyone was so utterly exhausted, cold, broken-spirited, spent, and completely miserable. Starvation was rampant — a few people were literally not much more than animate skeletons with taught, sickly skin stretched drum-tight over frail bones, their almost lifeless eyes sunken in, their teeth and fingers yellowed, their hair falling out, their expressions glazed and far away as they huddled together for warmth or painstakingly forced themselves to work until they literally fell where they stood, never to rise again. Men, women, tiny children…age didn't matter. They squabbled over the smallest bits of food that did not look fit for human consumption. Drank questionable water.

Ludwig didn't like looking at them. At first he tried his best to shut them out, focus on Gens and only Gens, make them fleeting, blurry ghosts in the dark edges of his peripheral like he usually did when confronted with human suffering.

But then he realized with a terrible jolt that he could not shut them out — not when he was looking for two of them — and so he kept his own search alongside Gens's, inspecting each age-range-appropriate child closely for some sign that it was one of the ones he was looking for. But the sad truth was that he could only guess as to what Rivka's children looked like based on what their mother looked like, and each time he asked Gens confirmed that no, the child was not a Goldberger.

More searching.

More black, gritty images to add to the bank of bad, heartbreaking memories.

Bloated, grossly disfigured, discolored, frost-bitten corpses lay piled off to the sides in some of the streets they passed, dead for days from the smell and appearance of them. Their clothes had long since been scavenged by their freezing brethren. The entire ghetto stank of death, decay, and other unpleasant smells, though some places were worse than others.

There were no old people — indeed, no one looked much over the age of forty, at most — and it was obvious why. Of course the elderly would have succumbed first…if they ever made it here in the first place.

Survival of the fittest. Literally.

They had been searching for about half an hour when Ludwig asked "How long has it been like this?"

"Hm?" Gens stopped for a moment and turned to face him, a gentle confusion dawning on him. "Forgive me, but I am not sure what you are asking. How long has what been like what?" His voice was strangely calm and casual.

"The ghetto," Ludwig elaborated, his voice softening ever so slightly, his face an indifferent mask that concealed his emotions, "Has it always been this bad?"

Gens regarded him quizzically, staring into his intense blue eyes as though he were searching for Rivka's children in them, his posture and mannerisms reminding the German of a nervous songbird that wasn't certain as to whether or not it had glimpsed danger. "What do you mean by 'bad'?" he asked carefully, plainly afraid of jumping to the wrong conclusion.

"The starvation, the crowded conditions, lack of sanitation, people freezing and dying in the streets." Ludwig gestured to a small pile of corpses, most of them children and young mothers. "I've seen less suffering and brutality on the Russian front."

Gens nodded solemnly, and for the first time Ludwig saw a bit of the mask he wore slip to reveal a hint of inky sorrow that probably welled much deeper. "It used to be worse," he almost whispered, his eyes ticking off to the sides every few seconds while he spoke, scanning the nearby vicinity like nervous radar, "There used to be twice as many people packed into this ghetto. Months ago there was another ghetto across from this one that housed another ten thousand or so people. The small ghetto, Ghetto Two. But that was merely a holding place for everyone surplus and unfit, and it was completely liquidated by the end of October. This ghetto is for workers with permits and their families. Well…what members of their families they are allowed to take with them."

Ludwig looked away, his gaze coming to rest on the side of building. This is wrong. he thought, over and over again, overcome with a mild case of surreal shock. He closed his eyes and began breathing a little more deeply than usual, ignoring the stench and the way the icy air burned his nostrils and bit into his exposed flesh.

Everything changed.

The noise of languages he didn't understand being spoken became the lively chatter of joyous songbirds. The gray sky exploded into the brilliant brightness of a perfect cloudless day. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun on him, all but smell the unbelievably sweet, mouth-watering scent of apples and berries floating on the lazy summer breeze. The tart, delicious taste of applewine lingered on his lips. Warm, yellowed grass crunched pleasantly beneath his bare feet.

He was the North German Confederation again, back on the day of his birth, frolicking in a beautiful apple orchard for the sheer joy of being alive, every moment more magical than the one before.

Prussia was there too: his dear, beloved brother, although he had not thought of the strong white-haired nation with the human alias of Gilbert Beilschmidt as his brother the time.

"I want to be a great nation someday too!" His voice was a child's in his mind, full of hope, innocence, vitality, and the unadulterated dreams of endless possibilities, "I'll grow up into a big, strong knight, and we can save our people together! Evildoers will know better than to mess with me!"

Beaming, laughing, swelling with pride, love, and tipsy happiness, Prussia had supported him one hundred percent. "I'd bet my whole army on it, kid!"

I failed. I can't protect my people. Instead of vanquishing evildoers, I serve them.

The coldness rushed back like wind borne of a hurricane and hit him in the face like a truck. The warm, golden memory shriveled up like a photograph thrown into a fire.

He felt something hard and vaguely warm in his fingers, and when he opened his eyes he realized he was holding the little iron cross that was attached to the necklace he'd worn since before the Great War. He rubbed the piece of metal between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its every contour, echoing the actions of Prussia decades ago.

"It's shiny, isn't it?" Gilbert's bright, cheerful words rang out through the darkness across space and time.

Ludwig held his own iron cross up in order to see it better, a muted sorrow touching his face.

No. It was losing all its shine. He kept it well-polished as his brother had taught him, and visibly it didn't look much different, but still, somehow, it seemed less lustrous now than it had ever before.

He let it fall back against his chest. Lowering his head, he exhaled a long, deep sigh.

Then a fire flared up from somewhere within him, swift and fierce, traveling up his body and shining out his eyes. He turned to face Gens with steely determination, his stare acid-clear and unyielding, his face once again hard and strong.

Gens, street-smart as always, had paused and allowed him to have his moment in uninterrupted silence. He stood patiently at a respectful distance, looking back at Ludwig with a mixture of professional composure, cordiality, and curiosity tinted with sadness and wonder.

"We will find them," Ludwig said savagely, his voice as powerful as if he were commanding fate itself, "if I have to turn this ghetto inside-out." He locked eyes with Gens and started a trembling behind the other man's eyes. "Gens! I am running out of patience. Start everyone searching — tell them I'll start a random head-count reduction program if they don't." He reached into his trenchcoat and withdrew his PPK, deftly removing the safety and cocking it.

I wont, but they don't know that.

He hated having to frighten these people even more like this, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If they were still alive, Rivka's children were living on borrowed time; he had to find them before the Einsatzgruppen did. If they were not still alive he wanted to learn as quickly as possible so he could leave this depressing hellhole full of suffering and put it far behind him.


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A/N: Whew, long ones this time! They likely won't ever be this long again. Here goes:

Poisonlovely: You asked a good question and made an observation others had noticed/wondered about, so for you and everyone else out there wondering the same, I shall do my best to answer and clarify. Thank you kindly for the comments, and I hope I'm able to satisfactorily answer your questions! :D

Wouldn't the other Nazis have reacted more violently/harshly towards Ludwig upon discovering that he wasn't an anti-Semite?

Absolutely Ludwig's fellow Nazis aren't thrilled with his ridiculously ( in their opinion ) lenient stance on Jews. However, Ludwig is an incredibly high-ranking officer — a general in the Wehrmacht and the equivalent in the SS — widely known to regularly be in direct contact with Hitler himself. Combined with his extremely commanding, powerful, presence; his apparent fearlessness; a very impressive track-record for his apparent age; and the fact that he is practically famous for his tendency to make it out of extremely dangerous situations ( namely battlefields and Hitler-assassination attempts ) almost unscratched, you get the perfect recipe for fear and respect. Everything I've seen and read indicates that WWII-era Germans had a very healthy respect for the chain of command, especially for those high up the ladder. Insubordination was a serious matter that could easily get the insubordinate person killed.

The Einsatzgruppe suspects Ludwig of treason, but they don't yet have the smoking gun they need to prove it: it's pretty much their word against his right now. Since he's not only a decorated general, but Hitler's personal buddy ( as far as they know ), getting some damning evidence is critically important, because if they make an unsubstantiated claim of treason and the high command calls BS, it could potentially end very badly for them.

As to why they didn't just play dirty by shooting him and blaming it on their enemies, keep in mind that Ludwig's revelation of not being an anti-Semite came relatively suddenly. "Relatively" in the sense that the Einsatzgruppe in question didn't get a chance to get away from him and have a proper group-discussion about it. So if, for example, Defacto Second had decided to open fire on Ludwig, he would have had no way of knowing whether the rest of the unit would have followed suit or turned their guns on HIM for the openly traitorous act of attacking their commanding officer. Any member of the group contemplating murdering Ludwig would have been faced with the same dilemma of not knowing who was on their side and who remained loyal to Ludwig. No matter how anti-Semitic you are, it's hardly the kind of thing you'd want to risk your life over, especially since in every other respect Ludwig was demonstrating strong leadership and something of a willingness to try to approach the matter from their perspective ( as evidenced by his little speech on how he knew they were conditioned to take orders without question, etc. ).

So it was less that the Einsatzgruppe were understanding and more that they were too afraid for their own safety and well-being to go against Ludwig right then and there. Doesn't mean their suspicion and disgust vanished, and you'll definitely see evidence of that later on. ( Also, as a little extra, at least one of that Einsatzgruppe WASN'T on Defacto Second's side, but I don't know whether or not I'll get into that in this story. I'll just say that human beings are complex creatures and that, for this man, there was more at play than simply how he felt about Jews. )

These are the Nazi years. Why isn't Ludwig more Nazi-ish? Shouldn't he have a darker personality/disposition?

Okay, answering this in two parts:

1) To answer the first question, there was more to Nazism than the whole racial-purification-kill-all-undesirables component ( though that was a large and important part of it ). It was essentially a form of extreme right-wing socialism, a political party with many objectives and aims stretching into several sectors of influence for making Germany a mighty nation and a great place to live.

As I touched on in the second chapter, the unjust persecution ( and now genocidal ) aspect is really the only thing Ludwig doesn't like about being a Nazi. Every other core principle he either loves, supports, or is at least open to. Here are just a few:

Nationalism — For Ludwig is a very proud creature and loves the praise and adoration lavished on him in addition to the heightened sense of kinship it inspires his people to feel towards him. As the living personification of Germany he has a very deep connection to and love for his people, and despite his pessimistic attitude about certain things he actually has a pretty glowing self-image. While race isn't completely meaningless to him and he does harbor a few latent racial prejudices, he cares far more about a person's nationality than what they look like or what they believe. He sincerely believes Germans are superior to every other nationality on Earth and always has, pretty much from the time he was "born".

Develop and maintain a strong military…and use it! — Ludwig is a warmonger. For him, war is like a challenging, thrilling game, and he really gets off on ( the way he sees it ) exerting dominance and power over others. He is also rather selfish and loves conquest for all the benefits it can net him and his people. He does not necessarily hate his enemies, either the nation-spirits themselves or their people. It also gives him the chance to show off and exercise his combat and strategizing prowess.

Eliminate unemployment and supercharge the economy — He wants the best for his citizens ( and also himself, since a strong economy keeps him strong and healthy ). As far as he is concerned, these ends are being achieved beautifully under Hitler's regime.

Tight control on everyone — Because the perfect world can only exist with 8,213,784,765 laws, rules, and regulations, all strictly enforced for the collective good of the people.

As for acting like a Nazi in other regards, he has that pegged with his usually harsher-and-louder-than-necessary voice, his borders-on-an-irritated-scowl neutral expression, the predatory gaze he tends to fix people with whether he means to or not, and his strict ( most of the time! ), no-nonsense adherence to the rules and enforcing them. He's good at giving the impression that he's harsher than what he really is and tends to frighten people a lot without even trying, just by being himself.

2) The reason I don't portray Ludwig with a darker, crueler personality during this timeframe is because he is the embodiment of ALL of Germany, not just the Nazi party. Germans are Germans regardless of race and religious views. I don't see nation-spirits as hollow walking reflections of current popular thinking. Even in Himaruya's canon they posses cornerstones of individuality that don't change through the years. You'll see what I mean as the story progresses.