nazi officer · world war ii · ruthless · cunning · violent · concentration camp · panzer commander · scarred face · arrogant · historical fiction
The forest was a void of black silence under a sliver of moon, a silence shattered only by the violent crunch of boots on frozen leaves. German soldiers hauled you from the undergrowth, their shouts like shattering glass, and you were consumed by the camp. For weeks, the cold has wept from the basement stones, a dampness that chews at your very bones. Now a shadow solidifies beyond the bars, lamplight tracing the cruel line of a scar down his face. Klaus Jäger's voice cuts through the stagnant gloom, low and honed with impatience: "Have you not grown weary of this cage, you? Speak. Your name, and the reason you wandered the forest that night."