Wednesday, December 3rd, 1941

Dear Alexander,

I hope this letter reaches you. Everything is fine here. It is very cold this winter, especially here in Lillehammer. Our food is still rationed. I hope you are well.

Love, Annelise.

.

Alexander read the letter at least three times. It was the only word he had received from Annelise in three weeks. It was getting harder to send messages through occupied lands.

He looked over the letter one last time, written in Annelise's careful handwriting. It was written in Norwegian, and Alexander was grateful he could read it.

Shivering, he opened his jacket slightly to put the letter in a pocket. Winter had come to Amsterdam. He stood on a street corner, in uniform, watching people come and go. He watched how people would bow their heads and quicken their pace near him. Mothers would pick up their children, and fathers would occasionally glare at him. It made him sick.

Next to him stood Henri. The two were good friends and happened to be stationed on the same street. They shared a glance as Alexander tucked the letter away.

He thought back on how he had met Annelise. In 1936, his father received a new job opportunity from someone in Norway. When Alexander was sixteen, his family moved north.

One day, he got hopelessly lost in the winding streets of Lillehammer. Annelise saw him wandering around aimlessly and laughed. "Are you lost," she had asked.

Alexander had shaken his head. "No. I know exactly where I'm going."

Annelise had nodded, smiling faintly. As she walked away, Alexander had called out. "Wait! Yes! I am very lost!" With a laugh, she had turned around and helped him through the town. After that, they began to visit each other. For the next three years, they built a relationship. Those were the best years of Alexander's life.

It had all come crashing down when the War started in 1939. Alexander was old enough to join the army, and his father had dropped his job and joined the Nazis, dragging his two sons along with him. Eventually, Alexander had been sent to Amsterdam, and his brother, Conrad, had been sent to the Eastern Front with their father.

Alexander was just as lost now as he had been all those years ago when he met Annelise. He didn't want to betray his country, but he also didn't agree with the Nazis. He was being torn in two every day. Receiving letters from Annelise only made it worse.

A whisper of voices made him look around. A little boy, no older than six, was asking his mother something, pointing at Alexander and Henri. Alexander listened making out what he could of the conversation through his poor Dutch.

"Why do those men stand everywhere," he asked his mother, who's face turned white as she glanced at Alexander.

"Shh." She put her finger to her lips. "Be quiet Misha. They are soldiers from Germany."

"Germany," the boy, Misha, said loudly. "Where is Germany?"

"Very close to us, in the east," she said, but Misha didn't hear a word of what she said, because he trotted up to Alexander. The mother looked as though she would faint.

"Are you from Germany," he asked Alexander.

Alexander nodded. "Yes," he said, suddenly self-consious about his awful Dutch. "I am German." He kept his voice firm but not harsh. The boy was very short, and had brown eyes.

"Is Germany far away from here," he asked.

Alexander nodded. "It is." He remembered that it was his job to ask questions. "Where are you and your mother going?"

"Home. We are coming from my aunt's house."

"Why were you at your aunt's house," asked Henri.

Misha swallowed, daunted by the presence of two soldiers. "We were... having an early Christmas." His voice was suddenly small, and he looked scared.

"Why don't you run along to your mother," said Alexander. In a whisper to the boy, he added, "I would advise you not to talk to any more soldiers."

"Yes, sir," answered Misha as his mother drew near, terrified.

"I'm so sorry," she said hastily to them. "He's little and askes questions. Please forgive-"

Henri cut her off. "It's fine. Just keep him closer to you next time." She nodded, and hurried away.

"I hate this," said Alexander suddenly in German.

"Hate what," asked Henri.

"They way they look at us. They are terrified that we will question them or shoot them. They're teaching their children to fear us. They won't look at us." He exhaled. "I hope it's better than this in Norway. I hope Annelise isn't scared to walk home."

Henri nodded. "Well, it is definitely much colder there, and from what I've heard, so are the people. I don't think they will strike up conversations with Germans on their streets."

Alexander let out a short laugh that died as soon as it was born. "It is very cold there." His eyes fell to the ribbon on Henri's tunic, a way of wearing the Iron Cross award. It was a great honor to receive one. Alexander's father and brother had one as well. He knew he should've felt ashamed that he hadn't been awarded one, but he didn't feel anything.

A Dutch flag flying in the wind caught his eye. Next to it, an even larger flag with a swastika on it, a sign of the German occupation. All these things rang like bells in Alexander's head. Even more haunting was the memory of Jews being ripped from their homes and deported. Alexander had been forced to arrest a family, and had cried for hours that night, knowing he had sent them to their deaths.

"Alex?" he turned to see Henri looking at him, concerned. "Are you alright?"

Alexander assumed his face had betrayed his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, waving Henri off. "Just tired."

Henri laughed. "I've been tired since this damn war began." After a moment, he said, "We've patrolled this corner for weeks and I've never seen that boy before."

"They were coming home from his aunt's. I doubt this is their normal route."

"Or the soldiers on other streets are becoming more interrogative," suggested Henri. "It's just a thought."

Alexander nodded. Annelise had a few siblings. Twins. A boy and a girl about Misha's age, and a boy about a year older than him.

"Any news on the East Front," he asked Henri, knowing the answer would be no. He was worried for his father and brother. The Russian winter was devastatingly cold, and he was sure that the troops had not brought winter clothes.

"Actually, yes," said Henri, to Alexander's surprise. "I haven't heard much. Only that they're nearing Moscow."

Alexander was happy to hear that. One thing he shared with the rest of Germany was his hatred for communism. The sooner it was eradicated, the better.

His eyes went back to the street in front of him. He guessed it was around seven. In the distance, he could hear the marching of hundreds of feet, and the smaller sounds of civilian feet rushing out of the way.

"Ten more minutes, then we can get back to that hotel," muttered Henri. Alexander nodded. The army had overrun the city and took over hotels, homes and churches to house themselves. It was getting cold.

"What street is this again," asked Alexander. He was slightly embarrassed for not knowing.

"Westermarkt," answered Henri in a bored tone.

The next ten minutes passed quickly, and Alexander began the trek through the city with Henri, enduring the stares of the people he was supposed to be watching. start writing