Kreisau, Silesia, Germany – September 1940
"Answer and this will all be over, Assassin," said the officer before the guard delivered yet another kick in his stomach. When Jan didn't reply, the guard kept kicking and kicking until Jan started coughing blood and teeth. He kicked him in the face too, and he could barely see through his heavily bruised eyes. The guard grabbed a fistful of Jan's hair and jerked him up.
Jan couldn't breathe. There was no face, only darkness on the guard's face. But skin slowly started appearing from the side, and with it the features of the face. But when the face was finally revealed, what he saw was the face of his father.
"So, are you going to answer, Jan? Are you going to disobey me, the Brotherhood again? Are you?!"
Jan woke up. His entire body ached. Filtered sunlight streamed through the windows. It was the hottest he'd ever felt in his life. He was burning under the blankets, his entire body covered in a thick coat of sweat. He threw away the blanket and sat up.
Just a dream, he told himself. It was just a dream.
There was a knock on the there before it slowly opened to reveal the face of someone he didn't know. By his well-dressed, black-and-white clothing, he was a most likely a servant.
"Good morning, sir, breakfast is ready. The master and missus are awaiting you in the dining room, along with your companions."
Without a look at him or a single word more, the servant pulled his head back out and closed the door. Jan slumped back onto the bed, letting his muscles relax. He knew it was a dream, and yet a part of him had feared that the guard with his father's face would come through that door.
He didn't know when they came in, but there was a clean, white shirt and a pair of grey trousers on the chair, along with a towel. Jan couldn't decide between washing up or eating breakfast first. But his stomach felt empty. He hadn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast of a delicious loaf of stale bread. He got up, wiped his body down with the towel, and got dressed. When he finally found the dining room, Elisabeth and Kevin were sitting in their chairs along with a well-dressed man with combed black hair and a suit and the woman he saw last night. Jan nodded to the two Assassins but stopped a few paces from the table when both the man and woman stood up.
"Gut getroffen, Jan. My name is Helmuth James, Graf von Moltke. This is my wife, Freya." Graf? A title of nobility. That explained the luxurious house. Jan introduced himself and, after shaking hands, took his seat next to Kevin across from the von Moltkes.
After a brief light exchange, the servants came in with food. The mouthwatering smell reached him before they even entered. A feast was arranged in front of them: a variety of breads, meat, cheese, boiled eggs, honey. For drinks, they had tea. His current hunger and the hunger accumulated over several months threatened to burst out. It took all Jan had in him to not immediately jump for the meat.
After von Moltke finished his prayer, they began to eat. Jan was in heaven. After months of stale bread, all the food tasted like they were made by the best chefs in Germany. Is this what the high classes ate? They tasted nothing like the cheap bread his mother sold at the bakery.
Through their conversation at lunch, Jan had learnt of everything that happened since his capture. The war had expanded greatly and had now reached almost all parts of Europe. Poland had been defeated after the Soviets too invaded from the east and was not split between Germany and the Soviet Union. Germany now occupied Sweden, Norway, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and most of France. Italy had joined the war on Germany's side and had joined the invasion of France as well as beginning their own invasions of British Somaliland and Egypt. The Soviets too had annexed Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, parts of Romania, and had fought a war with Finland. And now, the German Luftwaffe is relentlessly bombing England. But as they kept talking, Jan wondered if von Moltke knew who they were.
"When will you depart for Berlin?" he asked as he cut a portion of cheese.
"Before lunch, if Jan is feeling better," Elisabeth replied.
"I feel fine. A bit sore, but I can move just fine."
"I see. I'm glad that you got out of there safely, Jan," he nodded towards Jan, who nodded back. "They took over the castle not long after they invaded Poland. Only God knows what they've been doing in there."
"Isn't it just a prison? They kept me prisoner all that time and all they did was beat me up and interrogate me."
"I believe it's something much more than that. Silesia is relatively safe – it's still part of Germany after all. But they've moved a lot of troops into the region. I myself am part of the Abwehr, and I can tell you that these men they're moving into Silesia are not regular military."
Jan tensed up. If he was with the army, why were they with them? Instinctively, his grip on the knife changed. Did Elisabeth and Kevin not know? Or is he an informant, maybe even a fellow Assassin?
"You can relax, Jan," von Moltke said, pointing his fork at Jan's knife. "I was drafted into the army. It was not my choice. And I'm only serving as an expert on martial law and international public law. Let's not have violence in my house. I know your people can hold your own in combat."
"You know who, what we are?"
He nodded. "Of course, I do. I don't know the details of your organisation, but I am aware of its general activities and beliefs. Not that I agree with them, mind you. But there are not many who dare stand against Hitler's regime. It is my duty to help a fellow man in need."
"You don't agree with what we do?"
"No. Believe me, it's not because of love for Hitler or the Nazis. But what is your primary weapon in this war against Hitler?"
Jan didn't answer. What was he talking about?
"Violence. And violence can only breed more violence. I suppose you wish to kill Hitler?"
"You don't?"
"No, actually I don't. Imagine what will happen if he does get killed. The war will end?"
"Yes, and the world will have peace with one evil gone."
"Hitler is not the only person in this country, in this world even, that believes in what he believes. If you were to kill him, you'd only make a martyr out of him. They'll carry his face and name into battle, singing songs in his praise and use it as further motivation and justification to continue this brutal war and its brutal objectives. No, that's not what I want at all.
"He's going against the Geneva Convention, treating the peoples whose land Germany now occupies brutally and inhumanely. He's going against every civilised code of conduct humanity has. In the face of that, he should be arrested and put on trial. We should show that his violation of the system does not go unpunished. He shall be brought before justice, his crimes made clear in front of the whole world, and rightful judgment passed on him. In so doing, someone who has rejected this system is in the end brought to justice by the system."
All other conversation has died down. Only the clanking of cutlery and the voices of von Moltke and Jan filled the room. He was at von Moltke's house as a guest, but he could barely contain himself. What does he know about justice? Was his father killed by Nazis on the streets of Berlin as they unleashed violence on the Jews in the city? What right does he have to lecture him about this?
"So, what's your plan to ending this bloody conflict?"
"Germany will lose."
Everyone at the table fell silent. Not because they were abhorred by the idea. If the table were full of Nazis, that would've been the case. But everyone here would welcome such a scenario. But such a scenario is nonsense.
"Sorry?" Jan asked with his mouth agape.
"I believe Germany will lose. There is no way that we can win this war, especially if the Americans join."
"The United States is part of the war?" Jan asked no one in particular at the table.
"No, the United States has so far remained neutral," answered Freya von Moltke.
"The Americans are still selling supplies to the British and the French, and they show no signs of stopping. Instead, Hitler has ordered these merchant ships attacked. The Americans may be nominally neutral now but continue to provoke them and they'll come. And when that time comes, a new, better Germany will arise. We must prepare for that day."
"Well, while you're preparing for that day, we'll make that day come true," Jan declared proudly.
Their conversation was at an end. After breakfast, they bathed and made ready for their journey to Berlin. Von Moltke went ahead of them, to return to his job with the Abwehr. Despite their heated conversation, von Moltke was friendly and hospitable to the moment he left. That left Jan feeling a bit guilty for letting his temper rise. Once they were all ready, the three Assassins assembled in front of the door and bade their farewells to Freya.
"Be careful, friends. There are many of them in this area. I pray that you may arrive at your destination unharmed." With concern and a smile on her face, Freya waved us goodbye.
We got in the car, again with Elisabeth at the wheel. This time, Jan sat alone in the back. This setup reminded him of the day he left Berlin, when Uncle Rudolf and Yannik picked him up at his house to attend the Brotherhood meeting. He wondered how Uncle Rudolf was doing. He hoped – no, he knew Uncle Rudolf was alive. He was smart and cautious. He wanted to see Uncle Rudolf, see the face of someone who'd remind him of home because for the last year, he did not have a home.
And his mother. Was she still working at the bakery? Was she safe? If only Karl were home, he could protect her. But at least there's Uncle Rudolf. Rather than let his worries plague him throughout the trip, he leaned back onto the seat and let himself fall asleep as he watched the trees and pastures pass by.
He didn't know how long he slept, but when he woke up it was pitch black. Their only source of light was the moon in the night sky and the car's front lights illuminating their path. He yawned and stretched his aching body before bringing himself between the two Assassins in front.
"Have we reached Berlin yet?" he asked, looking around to find anything he could recognise.
"We're not going to Berlin," Elisabeth replied. "We're going to Essen."