4
In the morning the five of them were digging up an unexploded bomb in a workshop that had been half destroyed by a night bombing raid.
They were Häftlinge, or Flugpünkte (Flugpünkte – live targets that could be shot for the slightest misdemeanour (German)), to be more precise. There in the death camp they had lost almost all hope of survival, and the only thing they still wanted was to make a break for freedom for one last time, or, to quote their loudmouth, a small dark lad nicknamed Zhuk, to slam the door on the way out of this world.
Not very safe and definitely not easy, their work was nevertheless nearing completion.
Prying under the bomb with crowbars, they finally extracted it from under the crushed stone and, holding it by the stabilizing fin, carefully placed it on lumps of
