Chapter 952: Childhood

Dim sunlight streamed through a tattered hole in the truck’s canvas roof, illuminating the interior. A pair of bright eyes curiously took in everything around him. These were children in their early teens, orphans scraped together from all over Germany by the White Orchid Group. Their parents had all died in the last war, leaving these poor little lives behind in a broken world.

A miserable life and a desperate situation had given these children an unforgettable childhood. Starving was just the most basic of hardships; many had fought for their turf under bridges and in gutters, waging bloody wars over a dead rat.

Their minds back then were filled only with mud and gloom. They never knew in which corner they might die the next second, becoming forgotten dust in this world.

The truck suddenly lurched to a stop. Everyone swayed with the abrupt halt. The little boy leaning against the side of the truck peered past the other children, his curious gaze fixed on the canvas flap at the rear.

Suddenly, the flap was thrown open from the outside. Sunlight flooded the dim interior. Dust motes danced and swirled in the bright light. The boy squinted, curiously observing the world outside.

“Get out! Get out!” a German officer in an SS uniform roared. The boys and girls stumbled out of the truck’s bed, their eyes wide as they took in their surroundings. Tall barbed-wire fences, bristling with sharp spikes. High watchtowers, with menacing machine guns mounted on them. For children in their teens, all of this seemed a bit too surreal. It wasn’t until later that they realized everything here was, in fact, evil and extremely unfriendly.

“Everyone! Strip off your clothes! Hurry up! Or you’ll die right here! Move it!” the SS officer bellowed, his voice terrifying. The little boy and the other children jostled and pushed, finally forming a line and beginning to strip off their thin, filthy clothes in the already slightly chilly weather.

“Rein! Rein Hardt!” a doctor in a white coat, holding a clipboard, called out, standing by the little boy. Seeing the boy respond, he nodded for him to pass the inspection. And so, the little boy named Rein, naked, walked down the corridor, glancing back from time to time at his companions who had not yet passed.

A powerful jet of cold water from a large hose washed over Rein’s body. He squinted, feeling the bone-chilling cold all over. When he had come, he had signed an agreement. It had clearly stated that in exchange for bread, he was willing to do any terrible thing. Now, they were essentially non-existent people, military supplies legally trafficked by the German army.

An SS officer with his hands behind his back stood on a podium, his terrifying gaze sweeping over the children below who stood listening with their hands behind their backs. His voice echoed continuously, sharp and terrifying in the empty classroom. “You were all supposed to starve to death in the streets! Because you contributed nothing to this country! The Führer felt you should be given a chance to live, which is why you have the opportunity to be selected here!”

“So you must remember your savior. Without the Führer, you would not exist! Number 1! You will answer my question… Who is your father?” The officer stepped down from the podium and came to a trembling boy, questioning him loudly.

“Akado Rudolph is my father!” the little boy answered hastily. “I am willing to give my life for him! Instructor!”

“Very good!” The instructor walked to the second little boy and asked the same question. “Number 2! You will answer my question… Who is your father?”

“Akado Rudolph is my father!” Rein, standing there, answered loudly, his hands behind his back. His voice was incredibly clear, without a trace of fear. “I am willing to give my life for him, Instructor!”

“Very good!” The instructor passed Rein and walked to the third child, continuing to ask the same question. His voice was like twisted metal, unsettling to hear.

The third child was a not-so-pretty little girl. She was distraught over her recently cut hair. She stood there, tears streaming down her face, not answering the instructor’s question, just crying loudly, demanding to leave this place and go back to where she had come from.

“Wrong answer…” The instructor forced a smile. He then pulled out a beautiful-looking pistol from behind his back, pointed it at the little girl’s head, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Crack! With a single shot, blood splattered onto Rein’s freckled face. Unlike the others, Rein did not turn his head to look at the little girl who had just died beside him. He just stood there, as if nothing had happened.

People died here every day. As an old-timer here, Rein had long since grown accustomed to it. He could ask the instructor for a new set of clothes to change into, because he was the best student in this class.

“Rein!…” The instructor handed the pistol to the little boy who was standing there, motionless. “You can ask the rest… Killing these children really disgusts me… They enjoy the best treatment in this country, yet they don’t even know how to be grateful…”

“Yes, sir!” Rein took the pistol, walked to another newcomer, and, in a practiced tone, questioned him. “Number 4! You will answer my question… Who is your father? Answer quickly!”

“Fire!” an instructor shouted, his pistol aimed at the back of Rein’s head. Rein, in turn, held a pistol to the head of an old Russian woman he had gotten from somewhere. She was constantly muttering in a Russian that Rein couldn’t understand, while Rein hesitated whether to pull the trigger he was pressing with his finger.

“Fire! If you don’t fire, I will!” the instructor shouted. Not far from Rein, another officer had already fired, killing a student in front of him who had refused to shoot.

“Ah!” Rein screamed, closing his eyes, and then pulled his trigger. Because of his shout and closed eyes, the gun in his hand had moved. The bullet struck the old woman in the chest. She cried out but did not die immediately. Her eyes, which had lost much of their light, stared at Rein, as if not understanding what had turned a boy into such a ferocious demon.

Rein opened his eyes, then fired another shot at the old woman’s face. He then continued to pull the trigger, firing a third shot. He seemed to want to forget this old woman’s face, to want to use his bullets to turn those questioning eyes into a bloody mess.

A month later, it was the same training ground, the same row of civilians muttering something in Russian that was hard to understand. Rein walked to the first person with a pistol in his hand, smiled, then raised his pistol and blew the man’s head off.

He then walked to the second person, smiled, and said, “Good afternoon,” and then aimed the pistol at the other’s head and pulled the trigger. After the gunshot, he glanced at the blood on his leather boots and walked towards the third person.

“He’s our best…” a German SS soldier, lighting a cigarette for himself, said with a smile, looking into the distance at the boy who was walking towards the tenth prisoner with a pistol in his hand. “When things are over here, I think he’ll be assigned to the Führer’s personal guard.”

A Soviet officer came up to borrow a light and lit the cigarette in his own mouth. With a disdainful expression, he smiled at the German officer and said, “This is your best? A little too ordinary. You know, in this school, the strongest person has always been our Soviet, Wolf.”

Not far away, the boy once again raised his pistol and aimed it at the head of the last prisoner. He didn’t know that two officers were watching him from a distance. He just gave a clean smile and then raised his pistol. “I’m sorry, sir. I have to live, so please die.”

“I am a teacher! You have no right to execute me! Stalin said I was a traitor, but I’m just an elementary school teacher. They tried to take my wife, so they sent me here. I beg you…” The man pleaded rapidly in Russian, but Rein’s expression remained innocent and carefree.

He paid no attention to the other’s emotional outburst, nor was he shaken in the slightest. After pulling the trigger and watching the bullet pass through this Soviet teacher’s head, Rein began to walk back with his pistol in his hand. He passed one after another of the corpses tied to the stakes, as if passing a row of fences in the countryside.

On the square behind Rein, a row of newly arrived boys were wrestling with each other in pairs. This was the most basic of combat lessons. On the muddy ground, these new boys roared as they crashed into each other, because once the lesson was over, only half of them would be alive to go to the mess hall for a meal.

“I’ll bet you a carton of French cigarettes that our Rein is better than your Wolf,” the German officer said, suddenly making a tempting bet as he watched Rein Hardt walk into the barracks.

“Then you’re going to lose badly. I’ll put up three bottles of the best vodka and bet that Wolf can kill Rein,” the Soviet officer said. He clearly had no reason to refuse. This was the most fun entertainment here, an interesting game worth watching.

Behind the two of them, outside the main gate of the entire camp, on a simple plaque, the name of this place was carved in both Russian and German—”Wolf Knight Training Program Experimental Center.”

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