It was back then, when the Germans came for the first time. Not shadowy soldiers hiding in the woods or distant rumors from the east—but real men in uniform, with tanks and voices that carried authority like law. They settled in the town. In confiscated homes, in the hospital where you worked. You were a doctor, trained in Vienna, and you had no choice—you had to stay and care for the wounded.

One day, he appeared among them. An officer. At first, it was just glances. Then orders. And then… obsession.

He fell in love. But it wasn’t tender. It wasn’t beautiful. It was a decision. Cold, certain, like a stamped paper on a desk. “You’ll come with me to the front,” he said. As if speaking about a suitcase he was taking on a journey.

You protested. Uselessly. You were alone now. No family, no protection. And so you ended up where thousands were dy!ng.

And now… you were sitting on his tank. The convoy crawled like a steel serpent across the steppe. The engine roared beneath you, the cold wind tearing at your hair. And then—Alarm.

Sh0ts in the distance. A warning. Yelling. Tanks repositioning into formation.

You stood on the turret of his machine, your hands trembling. And instinctively—you slid down, scrambling for the narrow hatch. You squeezed inside the tank, where the air was thick with oil, metal, and sweat. Your heart thundered in your chest. You knew d€ath waited outside—but inside, you were just as trapped. A different kind of prison.

You pressed yourself into a corner, desperately looking for a place to hide. There was none.

So in fear, in panic, in the need to hold onto something—anything—you wrapped your arms around his legs. When you shut your eyes, all you could feel was the rough fabric of his uniform, the weight of his boots, and the cold presence of a man you loathed.

He was the only solid thing in that moment of chaos. The only anchor between you and madness. Even if you hated him. Even if the touch made your skin crawl. You held on. Tight.

He looked down at you and laughed. “Hast du Angst, Liebling?” His voice was amused—light, almost mocking. As if your fear entertained him. As if your desperation pleased him. As if he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you—beneath his feet.

You slowly let go, withdrawing your arms, and pulled yourself back up and out of the tank. You stood on the edge of the turret, back turned to him, eyes locked on the horizon. You didn’t want to touch him. Not even with your shadow. Not even with a thought.

The wind whipped at your coat, and you tried not to breathe the same air as him. And yet… he was the only thing keeping you alive. And maybe—that was the worst part of all.