They turned questioning eyes to one another. What was happening? German babble filtered in from the courtyard, and they hurried to the barred window, jostling for viewing room. A group of Gestapo and SS men, many with coffee cups in hand, were assembling around the perimeters of the courtyard wall where they continued to talk and jest like spectators at a soccer game. A photographer in civilian clothes was adjusting the lens to his camera.

“Oh, God!” Chris moaned as a unit of four Abwehr men carrying rifles marched in through the courtyard entrance and took their positions along the firing line. Rifle butts to the ground, they stood at parade rest with legs apart, one hand on their gun barrels, the other at the smalls of their backs.

“They’re an execution squad!” Brad gasped. “They’re going to execute Liverwort!”

Presently, as the dawn illuminated the grisly scene, an officer wearing the red Nazi armband and black uniform of the security service of the Reichsführer strode into the courtyard, jackboots gleaming, and took his place to give the order to fire. The straining eyes at the window recognized the SD colonel who had taken personal possession of Liverwort while they were ordered on to this godforsaken place. Shortly, to the applause and cheers of the spectators, two Abwehr men dragged the battered prisoner into the courtyard to the pole set in its center.

“Oh, my God!” Brad cried at the sight of their nearly unrecognizable friend.

“What did they do to her hair!” Chris exclaimed.

“Jesus!” Bucky choked out. “What did they do to her?”

Gripping the bars, their eyes and mouths open in appalled disbelief, the men watched an Abwehr soldier secure Victoria’s hands behind the pole. The photographer lined up his tripod and silence fell as another soldier walked toward the victim carrying a black hood. The colonel barked the execution squad to attention while the soldier solemnly drew the hood over the victim’s head, then the SD officer signaled the men to raise their rifles to the firing position. Instinctively, the three prisoners at the window, as if they could pluck Victoria to safety, thrust their arms through the window bars as far as they could reach and screamed as one voice, “No!” just as the colonel ordered, “Fire!”