The fir tree, about 30 feet tall, was brought to the camp and erected in the inner court. Rudolf, the commander, and his deputy, Fritzch – his head still covered in bloody bandages – came by, taking advantage from the slightly brighter afternoon. They seemed in better moods, the prisoners remarked, the nearing Christmas was probably stirring images and memories from childhood.
That was only until Fritzch went mad seeing so many prisoners walking by the area, seemingly by chance.
‘These scumbags have no limits, you cut one head and another twenty grow back. Commander, thirty days passed since the incident with the guards, we hanged about four hundred of them and they’re still prowling around us like hungry dogs!’
Rudolf lit a cigarette from his silver case.
‘You have a short fuse, Karl.
