Strasser had seen many men in this position before, but none had looked the same as Lockhart. Most were terrified, and others defiant, but none looked this…at ease.

“Do you have any last requests, Lockhart?” asked Strasser. “A cigarette, perhaps?”

Lockhart shook his head slowly. Strasser could see that he was looking at the bruise on his neck, causing, to Strasser’s annoyance, a smile to appear on Lockhart’s face.

“How’s your neck, Hauptsturmführer?” Lockhart asked.

Such insolence, thought Strasser, although it was almost admirable.

“My neck is a little painful, Captain Lockhart,” he replied. “Thank you for asking.”

“That’s quite all right.”

Strasser grinned.

“You’re not without a sense of humor,” he said. “Lange here and I think it’s a shame you’re not going to cooperate—we could have had some fun!”

“What sort of fun would that be, I wonder? Murdering POWs in the middle of forests?”

Strasser narrowed his eyes.

“Goodbye, Captain Lockhart,” he said brusquely, and then turned on his heel.

Lockhart watched Strasser walk away. A small victory, but he had rattled him. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but put one over on this sadist, because now Strasser could do no more. He waited until the German reached his men, and only then did he decide to shout out.

“Hauptsturmführer!”

He watched Strasser turn toward him.

“Yes, Captain Lockhart? Do you wish to say something?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What then?”

From somewhere far off, a rook cawed.

“I’ll join your corps. If it saves my wife’s life, I’ll join it.”

Strasser paused.

“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that!” he replied.

Lockhart nearly collapsed under the weight of Strasser’s response. Surely he couldn’t shoot him now, not when he had volunteered?

“I’m sorry,” said Lockhart, “but I understood—”

“You understood wrong. It’s too late.”

Strasser turned to the squad.

“Ready!” he shouted.

Lockhart instinctively shut his eyes, feeling his heart throbbing absurdly hard. He wanted to scream, to drown out the reality of what was about to happen to him, the sheer horror of the knowledge that these were his last seconds. He saw Anna. He saw Amy. He saw the pinecones.

Because his eyes were shut, he didn’t see Lange run over to Strasser. But when it occurred to him that he had not heard any further command, he opened his eyes and saw the two men talking heatedly. In addition, he noticed that the soldiers had lowered their rifles. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could guess—Lange was no doubt insisting that he should be spared, telling Strasser that now that Lockhart had volunteered, he should not be shot.