Author's note: This Chapter is shorter than the two previous. I was also a bit unsure what mode of transportation the SS took to oversee camps. The Deutsche Reichsbahn seemed like a safe bet. However, if this is inaccurate, please let me know. Enjoy and happy reading!

December 15th, 1944

The time had come for Christof's unit to travel to Poland, ensuring order of the prisoners in Auschwitz. The officer was now at eight months. Dark clothing and long coats worked wonders in concealing his gravid middle. He could feel the baby shift to his right side, momentarily bringing a hand to caress the area and calm her down.

While there was no definitive way to determine the gender. His intuition told him it was a girl. Observing his fellow men, cautious as to not arose suspicion on himself if he kept his hands on his stomach for an extended period. The journey was long, with the men in close confines of their private military Reichsbahn. An officer sitting across from Christoff smirked.

"Kann nicht warten, um aus und strecke meine Beine"

He jests. Christof directed his attention to the ground, quietly chuckling in response. He was the most uncomfortable he'd ever felt. The baby's head putting pressure on his bladder, his back aching, and feet so swollen he was shocked they still managed to fit in his boots. At long last, they had arrived. It being signaled by a shrill whistle as the train pulled into the station.

The harshness of the cold December wind, nipping at their faces with an unforgiving nature. The skies blanketed with an ominous gray overcast. Getting slowly to his feet, did this in turn, garner a response from his daughter. Reacting to him now standing upright, with a series of kicks and jabs. He shuts his eyes harshly, bracing himself on the wall nearest him. Inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. The same officer sitting opposite of him, takes notice.

"Ist alles in Ordnung?"

He inquired, concerned. Christof nodded his head without saying a word. Again, inhaling deeply, he finally finds the energy to detrain, his daughter finally settling down. At least for the moment. He breathes a sigh of relief. The unit near the camp, Christof gazes up at the magnificent iron entrance ARBEIT MACHT FREI. Armed guards at the gates check the unit's records.

With uniforms similar in color and dress to theirs. Christof hiked his collar up further, attempting to keep in whatever warmth he could. He hands the guard his papers. The man's steel blue eyes rashly scan the fine print. A half smile and nod proceed before handing the documentation back.

"Du bist klar"

He slips the papers back inside his black leather trench coat. Feeling the ground crunch beneath his feet. Taking note of the towers and outer brick buildings. Some prisoners scattered about, others detained behind barbed wire. All matching blue and white pajama-like uniforms, as if they had stepped off an assembly line. Christof sneered, having to be in the same proximity as these animals was more revolting than anything morning sickness could've brought.

Their gaunt, dirty appearance had the officer wishing he was more equipped to lessen being exposed to them. Eyes lazily surveying the layout the further he ventured. Hearing the sounds of their pitiful, pathetic cries and screams. It was truly repugnant. Out of the corner of his eye, does he see one of these creatures approach him. Christof's hand reaches underneath his jacket, fingertips brushing against his holster containing his C96 Mauser pistol.

The prisoner's beady, hollow eyes boring into him. Bringing the officer a feeling of unease. Suddenly, he feels his daughter start to stir about. Causing him to have to stop and essentially catch a breather. Hand not leaving the smooth leather of his holster. Inexplicably, it was like the prisoner had sensed the officer was heavily pregnant. Thinking he could get him in a moment of weakness. The haggard man shouts something in Polish, before making a lunge for Christof.

This also caught the attention of nearby officers, but his trigger finger was quicker. Withdrawing his pistol at breakneck speed, his calloused, dirty fingers barely brushed the breast pockets of the German's jacket before he fired two shots into his abdomen. The savage crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap. Officers rushed over, making sure he wasn't harmed. His hands with a bit of a tremor. He spat on the bit of ground next to the man's head.

"Dreckiger Jude"

The German growled, waving off the approaching officers. Feeling "invigorated", he was curious to see if any of the other prisoners were really foolish enough to try and attack him. He turns to face a group of about ten, that stopped to witness the incident. For dramatic effect, he blows out the trace trails of smoke from the muzzle. An almost facetious tone overtakes his voice as he addresses the sparse group.

"Irgendjemand anderes wollen ein gehen?"