At last, thought Strasser, it was finally a clear morning. About time. The past few had been obliterated by near-blizzards, but this was a fine one, beautiful even. Through his window, he could see the wintry sun beginning its ascent over the pine trees, causing the snow to glow a deep orange. He never got bored of snow, even after Russia, although many of his comrades had vowed to emigrate to hotter climes after the war. There was something pure about it, something clean and hygienic. He could never leave Germany, never leave its northern climate. Strasser treasured his four seasons, and he liked them to be distinct and correct. A farmer—maybe that was what he’d be. He needed to stay outside, adopt a simple existence. There was strength and freedom in that, living off the land.

He pulled on his boots. They had been cleaned overnight, and they looked immaculate. He would ask Lange who it had been and would go out of his way to thank him, stand him a drink in the mess, because he was feeling generous today, full of bonhomie. Such a mood was rare for Strasser, who was normally much more reserved, taciturn even. But the fine morning had made him feel likewise, and he was ready to get out and lead a full day.

There was real coffee for breakfast, which made him feel even better.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” said Lange. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

“Not at all, Oskar! It’s a lovely crisp morning—exhilarating! I want to get out there straight away.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Lange, eyeing Strasser with some suspicion.

Strasser waved his hand.

“No, Oskar, I’m not. Is everything ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And Ziegfeld? Did he manage to get through to Berlin last night?”

“No. Just as I thought, the lines were down.”

“So he didn’t try driving there?”

Lange shook his head.

“And…he’s still asleep?” Strasser asked.

Lange nodded, with the trace of a smile.

“Like a lamb,” he said. “Sleeping off the best part of a bottle of schnapps.”

“Good! I don’t want him bleating around. Perhaps the shots will wake him up!”

Strasser put down his cup of coffee, rubbed his hands together, and then stood up.

“Come on, Oskar! Let’s get this over with and then we can enjoy our day. Have you ever seen a firing squad in action?”

“No.”

“Well, they’re not so bad. Unless of course your guards are bad shots, and I have to finish him off myself,” said Strasser, patting his holster.

Lange swallowed.

The cell door was swung open violently. Three privates and a rottenführer entered the cell, their expressions impassive.