May 10, 1945
It seemed too beautiful a day to die.
But of course, the German knew that this observation made no difference in the matter. In any ambiance, he supposed, the conditions which brought him here made such an experience obviously unpleasant. It really didn't make much of a difference if this pivotal moment in the time of his life, that being his final moments before death, took place on a day like this; with the sun filtering through the smoky haze that still lingered over Berlin, a warm, quiet late spring breeze washing over what remained of the city and that around it.
Yet when this easy gust swept past him, tickling his face and sifting through his hair, he could not help but think that it was somewhat un-befitting.
Turning his gaze upward, he studied the bodies swinging above him from the thick elm tree branches with some kind of morbid fascination. They had been the unlucky ones; himself included. They had been the men who chose not too flee as the danger of their