The forest swallowed them whole. Trees pressed close, branches grabbed at uniforms, snow hid the path. Unteroffizier Hoffmann led his men through the white maze, compass his only guide.
Third day without food. Fifth day without sleep. Men stumbled, fell, rose again. Some didn't rise.
A cry from behind. Hoffmann turned to find Klein on his knees, hands pressed to his chest, blood seeping through his fingers. A straggler's bullet—partisan, deserter, no one knew.
Hoffmann knelt beside him. "Klein. Klein, look at me."
The boy's eyes found his, already distant. "Home," he whispered. "I
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