Eyes of Eve by Aïda Reid
Author:Aïda Reid
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
Published: 2021-04-05T00:00:00+00:00
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It was about three weeks before the Frenchman and I had our chance. Once we made eye contact, we began searching for the hole Abel had dug for us. Eventually, I found it. Shrubbery that grew close to the shed concealed it. Clever. I had the Frenchman go first, being thinner and nimbler, and I would follow. The elation of regaining my freedom pulsed through me like a fever. Per usual, the Gestapo were at their post, barely awake. It was only once a week, when their superiors would come out of their luxurious quarters, theyâd pay us any mind. We were simply mules milling around in a yard, otherwise. If one of the men was acting in a way the superiors didnât like, they would shoot them. No warning, no justification. They did that quite often. You never knew who they were going to pick off next (needless to say there was no such thing as making friends). It was just like being in the field, actually. Some say being a POW is worse than being out there, but it really wasnât. It was the same. You never knew when you were going to die. Yes, we were prisoners of war, but thatâs just the thing, this is war. All is fair. If they did or didnât get the information they wanted, all you could do was bide your time (one aspect that was better: as a prisoner you got a regularly scheduled meal rather than rations). Trying to escape was comparable to running headfirst into battle, so to me, the difference was negligible.
Lieutenant Steinegel, the superior who would visit us the most, took great pleasure in killing us. Typical, I suppose, of a Nazi, but he did one particular thing that drove me nuts. After each killing, he would take a coin and put it on the chest of the murdered, place his hand over it, and close his eyes in a moment of silence, giving the deceased their last rites or some BS. I couldnât stand how righteous he was, as if performing this ritual would absolve him of his sin. He worshipped the Führer, you could tell, making grand speeches after executions to instill fear in us and show off his superiority. His feeble attempt to grow an auspicious mustache was overshadowed by his infected nose. Iâm not sure what kind of condition he had, a fungus or elephantiasis, that made his nose grow supernumerary bumps. It was difficult for any of us to take him seriously with such a bulbous, obtrusive feature, a living caricature of Hitler. The superiors, including Lt. Steinegel, visited last week so we had our chance to escape. He kicked one of the sleeping guards off his chair to wake him, giving Lana the distraction she needed to knock out the young Nazi.
After gratifyingly beating the shit of out of a few guards, I made my way to the field. When we got to the shed my French comrade
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