Black Fox One: A Gripping WW2 Story of Love, Resistance, and Courage (Project 613) by Elyse Hoffman

Author:Elyse Hoffman [Hoffman, Elyse]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Project 613 Publishing
Published: 2023-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

“Hey, friend,” the Dutch Black Fox said, jabbing Jonas in the shoulder and making the Nazi jump.

“Y-Yes?”

“You look spry enough to sit on the floor. Mind handing the chair over to Old Man Menachem? I don’t imagine sitting on the floor is good for his knees.”

The Black Fox pointed towards an old man sitting on the cold ground, surrounded by a few young children. Menachem was reading them something, though it seemed most of the little ones were distracted by the hubbub around them. That or they simply weren’t able to hear him over the Yiddish folk song.

“A–all right…uhm…” Jonas glanced at the Dutch Black Fox. “Have you seen Black Fox One?”

“Aha!” chuckled the Dutch man, clapping Jonas’ shoulder again. “Was that what you were looking for? You’re wasting your time, friend: she won’t be interested. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” yelped Jonas a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of several Jews. His cheeks turned scarlet, and he shook his head.

“Er…never mind. I just…needed to speak to her, that’s all.”

“She's around here somewhere. Took off her uniform. She might be hard to find. Knows how to blend in, One does. That’s how she gets half her work done. Walks up to a troop of SS men: ‘Help, help, I’m a feeble young woman!’ Then, bam!” The Black Fox smacked his palms together and chuckled.

“I’ll give Menachem my chair and look around,” Jonas muttered.

“Sure thing. If you need anything, just yell, ‘Fifty-Six!’ and I’ll come running.”

The Dutch man, Black Fox 56, gave Jonas a slight shove towards Old Man Menachem before scurrying off to have a drink with a few of his fellow resistance fighters. Jonas followed Black Fox 56 with his gaze, but he didn’t see Ava standing amongst the Black Foxes. Sighing, the Fox Hunter stepped up to Old Man Menachem.

“Sir,” he said, and his inner SS man, whose voice was no longer a powerful cry but now little more than a hoarse whisper, harangued him as best as it could for treating a worthless Jew with anything resembling respect.

Old Man Menachem looked up. Jonas had never met his grandfather, but Dieter had described him as a gentleman with an impressive beard and twinkling eyes who could put one at ease with a smile. Jonas swallowed. Menachem fit that description perfectly.

And your father would send him to one of the camps he designed.

Jonas felt like a beast was clawing at his stomach as he offered the old man his chair. “For you, sir…the floor can’t be good for you.”

“Aha!” laughed Menachem, tucking the book under his arm. One of the children helped him stand and shuffle towards Jonas. The Fox Hunter set the chair down, and Menachem got comfortable.

“Bless you, son!” the old man said. “Much better! I was just about to say that I couldn’t keep reading. Now where was I? Ah! Right! King Asmodeus the Great Demon…”

The old man thumbed through the tattered tome, trying to find the proper chapter. Jonas glanced at the cover: it was some sort of fairytale book.

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