If only he’d won, his death wouldn’t have mattered. But he’d failed there too.

The hand patted his back, though it did nothing to help. “Drake didn’t mean to shoot your brother.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the spots. And all he could see was Heinrich, lying in his arms, no light in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. He’s dead.” Gone. Das Gespenst. Elton had made the hero into a ghost. That never should have been Heinrich’s role. His own, but not his brother’s. Heinrich had something to live for. The war hadn’t killed him already, like it had Dieter’s spirit.

“I know he’s dead. And I’m sorry.”

He tried to look at her. To focus on the dark eyes that regarded him so intently even while a haze fell over his vision. Another cough convulsed him. “He has . . . to pay.”

“He has.” Her voice sounded distant now. Like an echo. “And he will. Forever. Some men may revel in killing in a war, but not Drake. He’ll wrestle with this, with knowing the name and face of someone he killed. Knowing he took a brother and son—perhaps a husband and father?—from this world. He’ll learn to live with it, but it will never go away.” She paused, her hand steady on his back. “You must learn to live with it too.”

No. There could be no life after this, knowing he hadn’t saved his brother. There could only be roaming the earth like a ghost. Another spasm struck, another cough wracked him.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered, but the words were different now. It took him a long, burning moment to realize why. To realize she was speaking in German. And that she sounded like his mother. “Put your hand on Dieter now. Please touch his lungs where the pneumonia has settled in and break them free. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty, twenty-four, twenty-eight . . .”

He tried to pull away, but the weight of her arm across his shoulders was too much. He tried to insist that he hadn’t really wanted her prayers, but he couldn’t force any more words from his throat. He tried to find one last move to steal the momentum.

But she was right. He’d had to cheat to make the last move he’d made—and still he’d lost. Another cough shook him. And the darkness won.