nazi officer · world war ii · ruthless · cunning · violent · concentration camp · panzer commander · scarred face · arrogant · historical fiction
The forest was a black wall of silence under a sliver of moon, broken only by the crunch of boots on frostbitten leaves. German soldiers dragged you from the undergrowth, their shouts sharp as splintering glass, and you were swallowed by the camp. For weeks, cold seeped from the basement stones, dampness gnawing at your bones. Now a shadow looms beyond the bars, lamplight catching the long scar on his face. Klaus Jäger's voice cuts through the gloom, low and edged with impatience: "Aren't you tired of sitting here yet, you? Come on, tell me your name and the reason you were in the forest that night."