that of her half-Aryan child, proof that some guard or other functionary had ignored Hitler’s racial purity laws.
Karen knew her role in the game very well. She hated it but thought it must have a purpose that she would eventually know. She knew that she didn’t belong here, in this place, this time, this situation. She was someone else, from somewhere else, younger. She shook her head trying to remember. The realism of the game was frightening at times. You could get so lost in the game that even your own identity starts to retreat somewhere or blend into that of the avatar. Nothing came to mind right now but the situation itself and a faint glimmer of that something else that nagged at you as you made your choices in each situation you found itself.
She opened the box and took out a vial of clear liquid. The soldier that had led her into the tent stood just inside the tent door and looked on. The screaming of the woman had brought him back. Karen stabbed the syringe into the vial and filled the syringe until it was about half full. “Negerkite mano kūdikis!“ the woman screamed. Karen had no idea what she was saying, but she did know that though this woman probably suffered a fear greater than she had ever known, and though this small mound of child just beneath her skin was indeed human like herself, it had been growing in an overworked, malnourished mother for months in the camp and would probably die anyway. Would certainly be swept away once the “aberration“ had been discovered by a higher official. No, the indiscretion had already been discovered or she wouldn’t have been sent here.
Karen sprayed the syringe of fluid into the air to eliminate the air within. A pointless life-saving gesture, but still there was protocol to follow. She took the syringe and bent toward the unexposed thigh of the thin Lithuanian woman who quietly pleaded for mercy. With a quick swing of the arm, she embedded the needle deeply into the leg, the liquid filling the muscle of a hard thigh in dark pants.
The soldier fell, gasping, grabbing his leg and yelling “ Helf mir! Helf mir!“ while Karen struggled to cover his mouth with a hand towel. Gradually, he lay unconscious just inside the tent, staring sightlessly into the dark canvas roof. The young Lithuanian woman stared at the nurse in horror. It would mean all their deaths. So pointless.
As Karen emerged from the tent, she emerged from the cardboard cave and the game, throwing her backpack over her right shoulder, almost tripping over the cables. The bell rang for second period while another much louder bell rang in a distant camp, 83 years in the past.
With a sigh of relief, Lionel hopped off the horse and watched as his fellow countrymen attacked a group of German tanks from horseback with primitive lances and muskets. The explosions seemed amplified by a choking black smoke rendered from a nearby pit. Between ear-ringing bursts, grinding mechanical beasts plodded forward on tracks, setting off their own projectile explosions emitted from the dark pipes protruding from mobile engines protected by a thick layer of dunkelgrün steel. But those were still some distance away, too distant for Lionel to consider much as his horse contorted itself oddly and landed upon his thickly clothed body while his antiquated musket flew off in another direction. He struggled to get free of the horse, which already lay unconscious across his chest and shoulders. He pulled himself out between mud and horse, just enough to watch the advance of the green metal beasts.
Mounds of singed cloth and scorched human and leathery animal remains lay thick in the fore while the tanks continued their unrelenting climb, interminable in their approach, towards the foothills of Warsaw. Before the fall, Lionel had just about given up, seeing most of his comrades beaten into the dirt by the rapid fire of the small tanks and the pistols aimed
Karen knew her role in the game very well. She hated it but thought it must have a purpose that she would eventually know. She knew that she didn’t belong here, in this place, this time, this situation. She was someone else, from somewhere else, younger. She shook her head trying to remember. The realism of the game was frightening at times. You could get so lost in the game that even your own identity starts to retreat somewhere or blend into that of the avatar. Nothing came to mind right now but the situation itself and a faint glimmer of that something else that nagged at you as you made your choices in each situation you found itself.
She opened the box and took out a vial of clear liquid. The soldier that had led her into the tent stood just inside the tent door and looked on. The screaming of the woman had brought him back. Karen stabbed the syringe into the vial and filled the syringe until it was about half full. “Negerkite mano kūdikis!“ the woman screamed. Karen had no idea what she was saying, but she did know that though this woman probably suffered a fear greater than she had ever known, and though this small mound of child just beneath her skin was indeed human like herself, it had been growing in an overworked, malnourished mother for months in the camp and would probably die anyway. Would certainly be swept away once the “aberration“ had been discovered by a higher official. No, the indiscretion had already been discovered or she wouldn’t have been sent here.
Karen sprayed the syringe of fluid into the air to eliminate the air within. A pointless life-saving gesture, but still there was protocol to follow. She took the syringe and bent toward the unexposed thigh of the thin Lithuanian woman who quietly pleaded for mercy. With a quick swing of the arm, she embedded the needle deeply into the leg, the liquid filling the muscle of a hard thigh in dark pants.
The soldier fell, gasping, grabbing his leg and yelling “ Helf mir! Helf mir!“ while Karen struggled to cover his mouth with a hand towel. Gradually, he lay unconscious just inside the tent, staring sightlessly into the dark canvas roof. The young Lithuanian woman stared at the nurse in horror. It would mean all their deaths. So pointless.
As Karen emerged from the tent, she emerged from the cardboard cave and the game, throwing her backpack over her right shoulder, almost tripping over the cables. The bell rang for second period while another much louder bell rang in a distant camp, 83 years in the past.
With a sigh of relief, Lionel hopped off the horse and watched as his fellow countrymen attacked a group of German tanks from horseback with primitive lances and muskets. The explosions seemed amplified by a choking black smoke rendered from a nearby pit. Between ear-ringing bursts, grinding mechanical beasts plodded forward on tracks, setting off their own projectile explosions emitted from the dark pipes protruding from mobile engines protected by a thick layer of dunkelgrün steel. But those were still some distance away, too distant for Lionel to consider much as his horse contorted itself oddly and landed upon his thickly clothed body while his antiquated musket flew off in another direction. He struggled to get free of the horse, which already lay unconscious across his chest and shoulders. He pulled himself out between mud and horse, just enough to watch the advance of the green metal beasts.
Mounds of singed cloth and scorched human and leathery animal remains lay thick in the fore while the tanks continued their unrelenting climb, interminable in their approach, towards the foothills of Warsaw. Before the fall, Lionel had just about given up, seeing most of his comrades beaten into the dirt by the rapid fire of the small tanks and the pistols aimed
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