Arthur, the Russian and Alfred had tried to take on as much work from the Dutchy as possible, without the guards noticing. But the coughing didn't disappear. It just got worse and worse, Mark tried to hide it from them but they could hear him gasping for air at night.
Today, they had to put the tiles on the roof. It meant that they had to put about 3 or 4 tiles on their shoulder and climb the ladder with those. Because it was also Monday, the morning group was digging somewhere else. Because of that, they had to work the whole day to get the new barrack done before the end of the day.
Mark seemed even more ill when he saw the huge amount of tiles that had to be brought up the roof. But the German guards were already a few steps behind him, yelling to him that he should start working.
The first few trips weren't that hard, but after that the heavy load became more and more heavy. Alfreds shoulder felt sore while he again climbed down his ladder. He already knew there would be huge bruises on his shoulders after today.
Mark was panting, slightly shaking on his legs. The guard let another tile fall on his shoulder. ''Vier! Nicht drei!'' he snarled to the Russian who had helped him get the tiles on his shoulders.
Alfred heard the Dutchy coughing, when he looked back over his shoulder, he could only hope Mark wouldn't fall of the ladder.
For hours and hours the work continued, everyone was exhausted. Alfred sent a helpless look to Ludwig, hoping he could do something for them, at least for the teen. But he also knew the German couldn't do anything, the other guards were just a few feet away from him.
Alfred brought another load of tiles up the roof, climbed back down and walked towards the pile of tiles when he heard a crashing sound. His heart stopped for a moment. ''Please… don't let it be Mark…'' he whispered in fear, while he turned around. But he knew it was him.
The teen was lying on the ground, shattered tiles around him. His legs were softly shaking in exhaustion. Mark was heavily panting before he started coughing. This time, there appeared blood in the corners of his mouth. The teen hadn't fallen from a real height but still, his illness weren't making things much better. Mark leaned on his arm, gasping for air between the coughs. Alfred paced towards him, sinking down on one knee. He saw the terror in the eyes of Mark, afraid to die. Every cough resulted in more blood, it fell on the ground and stained his shirt.
Alfred tried to calm him down, but the teen was clearly in much pain. He tried to wipe away the blood when he saw a shadow appearing on the ground. Mark looked even more terrified.
It was Ludwig who also sank down next to the Dutchy. Then Mark again started coughing, sounding like he couldn't get any air in his lungs. Drops of blood fell on the ground. Alfred didn't know what to do, he felt like he couldn't do anything.
.
A clicking sound made Alfred look at Ludwig, the clicking sound of the removal of a safety catch of a pistol. ''Nein! Nicht tun! Er 16!'' he shouted, trying to stop him, grabbing his arm and pulling it away. Mark pushed himself away from the guard but didn't got far, falling on his back and again coughing up more blood.
Ludwig pushed Alfred away, making him fall on the ground, and held the pistol in his hand, standing up and moving towards Mark. The teen was gasping frantically, his eyes widened with fear. Alfred crawled back on his feet, desperate to save the life of the Dutchy. But Ludwig already had put the pistol against the temple of the teen.
A shot resounded between the barracks. Alfred stopped and looked at Mark. The teen, just sixteen years old. Exhausted, sick and now shot to death. Tears ran over Alfreds cheeks, looking at the body. He had seen friends die in the most horrible ways, but that was what they expected, they were prepared for death. Mark wasn't, he had still tried to fight for his life.
Ludwig cleaned his pistol with a handkerchief, put the safety catch back on and put it back. Just like killing cattle in America, at the family ranch. But it wasn't a cow, it was a human!
Alfred looked at him, anger, pain and grief in his eyes. ''Why? He was only 16…'' he muttered. It seemed like Ludwig didn't even care, his face just straight as usual. Just a few moments later, the leader of the patrol was shouting angrily at Ludwig. Not because of shooting an innocent teen, no, about wasting a bullet to kill him.
The other guards were shouting at the POW to get back to work. The Russian was ordered to drag the body away and bury it.
The rest of the day went slowly and silent. Alfred tried to block the death of the teen out of his mind but every time he went down the ladder, he saw the pool of dried blood on the ground.
It was even harder when they got back at their own barrack, the bed of the Dutchy remained empty.
When Gilbert asked about where Mark was, he didn't immediately got an answer, just a sad look from the faces from the other POWs.
When he asked Alfred, it took a while before the American could answer, his throat painful. ''Shot…'' he finally said, tears again running from his eyes. ''Ich apologies für other Germans…'' Gilbert had mumbled back, before returning to his bunk. Alfred just wanted to be left alone.
Mark had never seen his family back or even heard about them. A small misstep on the ladder had cost him his life, being shot like a beast.
In the middle of the night, Alfred was woken by someone shaking his shoulder. ''Mark?'' he mumbled, still half sleeping, not immediately realizing it couldn't be the Dutchy. It sting hard when he remembered what happened. ''No, es is I. Get up'' he heard someone whispering. Alfred frowned angrily and growled back in fury. ''Get out! Leave me alone!'' But Ludwig wasn't giving up that easily. ''Stand up, now'' he said, this time more like an order. Alfred slowly got of his bed, sending angry glares to the guard, although he couldn't see him in the dark. Ludwig grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the barrack. ''Let go!'' Alfred hissed in anger, jerking his arm free. They were outside now, in the freezing cold. ''Look, you friend already like dead. He no live long. Other Germans no shoot him but beat him dead. I give fast dead.'' Ludwig struggled to say. ''He was just 16! A teen, for godsake! You killed him!'' Alfred snarled furiously back, feeling the tears again running down his face. ''He 16, he too young, he shoot dead by Germans.'' Ludwig stopped trying to speak English and continued in German. ''Früher oder später, sie hatten ihn getötet. Ich hatte ihn heute getötet, ich wusste er war zu jung und sehr krank. Ich hatte ihn getötet weil Hans es anders gemacht hatte. Und er gibt niemand ein schnellen Tod.'' Alfred bit his lip to stop crying. ''Er hatte nichts gefühlt'' Ludwig said about Mark.
Alfred knew he was right, the other Germans would have killed him, sooner or later. But he didn't know Ludwig knew about Marks real age. He also hadn't realized that otherwise the other guards would have ended the life of the Dutchy. Alfred remembered what Hans had yelled to Ludwig, about wasting a bullet. They would have beaten Mark to death instead of immediately shooting him in the head, making him feel as little as possible.
Ludwig softly pushed him back into the barrack. ''Go back sleep'' he whispered while turning around and walking back to the quarters of the guards.
