Peter walked the streets of Berlin until the sunrise lit the horizon. He knew his plan was risky, but doing nothing was certain failure. He would do it. He would do something, and if God was with him, it would work.
Still wearing the stolen and uncomfortable Nazi uniform, he hurried to the back of his father’s old butcher shop. After he made sure no one was looking, he dug in the dirt under the back steps. He uncovered the old dented tin box he’d buried there after the Nazis attacked when he was eleven. He opened the top. The ball and jacks, the yo-yo, and the meat cleaver wrapped in a cloth were still there, waiting for him to return.
He put the ball, jacks, and yo-yo in his pockets. He opened the wrapped meat cleaver and sharpened the blade on a stone, scraping it until it sparked, then wrapped it back up like a package of meat. His plan was in motion.
He walked the two blocks to his favorite parking lot filled with neat rows of red-and-green garbage trucks. He could hear the orchestra of strings in Edelweiss Park warming up as they competed against the hammering of the workers hastily finishing the hanging platform. He had to time his rescue perfectly, or it would be sure death for all of them.
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