Peter returned again to the last target on his assignment list, the one he’d skipped when the children would not leave: the gas chambers. However, he only had the pine bomb with the bad fuse and two petrol bombs in his leather pouch. One way or the other, he had to make them work. It looked from the chaos of the camp and the number of buildings burning that this bold endeavor was successful after all. The gas chamber could not remain standing. Its destruction was crucial to the success of their mission, to Peter’s personal vengeance, and as a symbol of their liberation.
Peter entered the building to make sure it was empty. To kill one of his own people from carelessness would be unforgivable.
“Anyone here?” Peter shouted. “Please go to the barracks where you will be safe. This building will be exploded immediately.”
He entered the gas chamber, a chilling room of emptiness, and he could feel the cold fear and dread of what had taken place there. The pegs for clothing were bare; for many months, the killing had gone on without any pretense.
Boots clicked on the bare concrete floor.
“You have forgotten one thing, Bruno.” Radley stepped from behind a pillar. “Me. You will not run away this time. You will die, like all your people, at the hand of a superior race.” He pointed his pistol at Peter.
His death would come at the hands of his old enemy, Peter thought. But until his last breath, he would still fight. He remembered Abraham’s last words: May God guide your feet.
Peter leaped into the air, mimicking the football side-kicks of Hans and Stephen that he had watched every afternoon at Dovercourt. He kicked his leg out, hitting Radley’s knee. The gun went off, the bullet embedding itself in the wall. Radley went down, and the gun skidded across the room.
Peter picked up the gun. “Hitler’s days are through,” he said, as he walked toward Radley. He aimed the gun at him, thinking it was finally the end.
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