Reiner Braun was only 17 years old when he was assigned his very first mission. Although it wasn't uncommon for such a young man to be given work, the task he was given was often reserved for senior soldiers with a fair amount of experience. However, due to his status as the only son of an exalted General, Reiner was not treated as a regular soldier.

However, despite it having its perks, being the son of an exalted senior general put a heavy burden on his shoulders. A lot was expected of him despite his young age. That was why, despite being a young and perfectly capable man, Reiner was not put on the battlefield with all of the other soldiers, as his father was fearful of him being killed in combat.

There was not a day that the thought of being out on the battlefield with his other comrades didn't run through his head. He felt as though – by not being there – he was betraying them. His comrades, his friends, and his family were out there on the field sacrificing their bodies for the cause, and here he was, being pampered and protected as though he were a trophy.

Reiner Braun would have willingly died to protect his country.

"Braun," a voice cut through his sombre musings, "pay attention."

Reiner looked up and nodded his head, choosing not to talk back. He had learned that talking back to his superiors was pointless, and that it would only earn him a hard boot to the stomach in the end.

"Good, now listen," the voice grit out, "I want you to take the farm at the very end of this road, the one with the blue shutters." The man pointed toward a broken and weather-beaten farm that stood at the end of a rocky road. It looked abandoned to Reiner's eyes, however, most of the farms they had seen further out in the country looked like that. Most of them had been owned by Jews, and since their owners had been imprisoned, the elements had destroyed them in a matter of days.

It was depressing sight, really. It made him long for home, where the sky was bright and friendly, smiling faces looked back at him wherever he went.

"You want me to go alone?" Reiner asked. As far as Reiner knew, he was to stick to his superiors at all times as he was too young to take on a scourging mission all alone. Because of his age, most of his superiors were worried that he could easily be persuaded to let some of the Jews go out of pity. A shocking amount of the younger soldiers had already done exactly that, after all.

"Of course," the man said with a snide grin, "why, are you too much of pussy, Braun?"

Reiner wanted to grit his teeth, but stopped himself and shook his head at the lieutenant. "No."

"Then go in there, pay off – or threaten – the farmer and his family, and slaughter every Jew in there. Got it? It's simple."

"I thought our aim was to capture them, Sir?" Reiner asked, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"There's not much room left in out prisons," his lieutenant said as he shrugged his broad shoulders. "If there's only one or two, we can keep them, but nothing more than that."

Reiner stepped out of the wagon, rocks and sand crunching under his heavy boots.

"And why does it matter to you?" He questioned, his stern face intimidating. "They're poison, Braun, remember that."

Reiner, still not convinced, nodded his head and began marching down the road, head held high despite the doubts coursing through his head.

Could he actually kill someone? He had been trained to do exactly that, but there was a big difference between shooting a sandbag and a living, breathing human being.

"Stay as quiet as possible," those were the last words Bertholdt had heard before he was pushed haphazardly into a small wooden crate and then covered with hay. His tall and lanky frame caused him an immense amount of discomfort, however he knew that he had no place to complain about the conditions he had to endure in order to ensure his safety. He didn't have the luxury. These people who knew nothing about him and had no attachment to him whatsoever were hiding him, stowing him away and keeping him safe from the Nazi soldiers that threatened his very existence. These people could easily be killed for keeping him, and yet they did so despite their knowledge.

So Bertholdt did as he was told and remained quiet, tucking his body up until he was as comfortably seated at the bottom of the crate as he could possibly get. The entire farm became silent, and Bertholdt could swear that his heartbeat was so loud that it could be heard throughout the entire farm.

Bertholdt waited, counting every second down in his head until he finally heard the familiar sound of heavy boots on rotting wood. Bertholdt thought he would be able to bear it, he truly believed that he wouldn't be scared out of his mind because he had already endured the terror of the German soldiers before, but, there he was at the bottom of the crate, trying to control the intense shaking that wracked his lanky frame.

He had never been more alone, scared, or hopeless in his entire life.

The soldier knocked once, then twice, and the entire farm became incredibly silent. Even the sounds of the animals seemed to become nothing but distant background noise. The only thing Bertholdt could hear was the sound of his own erratic breathing and the quick, rhythmic pumping of his heart.

Bertholdt felt his chest seize up when the front door opened, and the sound of the soldier's heels clapping against the ground resonated throughout the room. He waited for the roaring sound of the soldiers voice, gripping his knees tight to his chest.

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?"

Bertholdt shut his eyes, cowering into the corner of the crate. He was so close to the front of the room that he could smell the faint musk and scent of cigarettes that wafted off of the soldier that walked into the farm. It smelled clean, and it only served to make Bertholdt long for a proper bath. It had been so long since he had even touched water.

"Yes," the farmer's voice cut through the over-bearing silence.

"Good," the man said, Bertholdt could almost see the nod and the smirk that went with it, "I imagine you know why I'm here already."

There was silence, but Bertholdt knew that one of the farmers had nodded their heads as the soldier continued speaking without missing a beat.

"Are you hiding any Jews in this farm?"

There was silence, a long, drawn out silence, before he said a quick and simple, "no."

Bertholdt could hear the sound of wood creaking again as the soldier began pacing back and forth. This was the typical way they would act – their attempt at being intimidating. And truly, as far as Bertholdt was concerned, it was successful.

He didn't think he could display the perseverance that these farmers did, as he was sure he would have cracked and given away his position as soon as the soldier had entered the room.

"Do you know the kind of punishment that any person hiding a Jew will be subjected to if they are found to be hiding a Jew, Herr Polensky?"

"Yes," another quick answer, this time with more worry behind it.

"However, to be fair, if you rat out anyone in this farm right now, no harm will befall you or your family. Appealing trade, no?"

Bertholdt felt sweat forming on his brow, and felt his stomach silently churn in terror. He could tell by the sound of his voice that the farmer was already close to cracking under the pressure. Bertholdt felt his legs twitch involuntarily, already prepared to run away like he had done so many times before. Even though he knew he wouldn't get far this time, he wanted to at least try.

He had escaped capture once, after all, but he had only done so with the help of the Polish police. Poland was now completely occupied, and there was no chance that he could catch such a lucky break again. The entire country was now his enemy, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I don't think you know the full extent of what we would do, so let me recount some past stories to you," the man said, the sound of his boots hitting the floor coming to a sudden halt. "The last family that we discovered were lying to us were gutted, and strung up like fish on a pike. The next family's wife was violated in front of her chil-"

"Enough," the man shouted, voice already quivering.

Tears streamed down Bertholdt's cheeks. He knew it wasn't fair, and that Mr. Polensky had every reason to rat him out, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling betrayed by him.

Was his life so insignificant?

"Where are they?" The soldier asked.

"We only have one, a young boy, he's inside the crate in the living room."

Before the man could even finish his sentence, Bertholdt busted out of the crate and ran. There was nowhere to go, Bertholdt knew that. There was nothing but flat farmland as far as they eye could see. He knew he wouldn't get away this time, and that his punishment would probably be lessened if he just gave himself up, but he couldn't stop his feet from carrying him farther and farther away.

As he ran, the hay he had been covered in flew away in the wind, creating a small trail behind him, making his escape even more improbable.

It seemed as though even nature itself wanted Bertholdt to be captured, along with every other Jew in Poland.

However, even when he felt a gunshot whiz past his head - close enough to rustle a few hairs at the nape of his neck - he continued running as fast as his legs could take him.

Bertholdt heard the man screaming behind him, he could hear the fury and frustration in his voice, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around and face it despite knowing that he would be caught very soon. The man was close, close enough to send shivers up Bertholdt's spine.

Bertholdt listened as the two soldiers standing on guard outside of the farm roared their approval in their own tongue, clapping their hands and cheering as though they were watching a comedic play.

"Get him Braun, you have this one!" That's what Bertholdt heard them shouting until their voices disappeared and were replaced by the sound of the engine of their dreaded kubelwagen coming to life.

Bertholdt had just reached a tree with fresh apples springing from it when he felt something heavy and solid collide with his back, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him sprawling to the ground in a heap. He made to stand up again, groping at the dewy ground for some kind of traction when he finally felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his head. He realized then that the soldier behind him had thrown the whole weight of his body at him to make him fall.

"Finally," the man said, breathing harshly from the mad dash he had made. "You Jews always think you can run away from us, but it never works out in the end, does it?"

Bertholdt didn't say anything.

"Turn around," the man snapped at him, ramming the butt of his gun into the back of his head hard enough to cause a bright display of static to eat away at his already tear blurred vision.

Bertholdt slowly began turning himself around, trying not to make any quick motions so as not to upset the soldier behind him. When he turned himself fully around, he wouldn't meet eyes with the soldier out of fear and small bit of defiance that remained despite the traumas he had already been through.

"Look at me, not the ground."

Bertholdt slowly looked up, only to realize that the German soldier he had been so afraid of was no older than he was. However, Bertholdt reminded himself that his age didn't make him any less of a frightening or formidable person.

In response to his defiance, Bertholdt fully expected to receive a snide comment or a kick to the face from the soldier in question, but was surprised to see that the soldier was being completely silent. And, as if that weren't strange enough, he looked at Bertholdt as if he were trying to figure something out.

"Name?" The man asked. Bertholdt could already hear the sound of the formidable green kubelwagen approaching from behind the soldier, so he knew then that there was no point in avoiding it out of defiance anymore. He was caught, and this time there was no way out of it. No one would help him this time.

Bertholdt swallowed hard, "Bertholdt Fubar."

The man was quiet, pinning Bertholdt with that look that he still couldn't quite understand. All Bertholdt knew about that look was that it wasn't murderous, and that was all that mattered to him in his present condition. If he could stay alive, if only for a few more days, there was still hope that he could somehow escape his cruel fate.

The man kept his eyes trained on him even as the kubelwagen came to a rolling halt only two feet behind him.

Minutes passed by like days as Bertholdt listened to the doors of the kubelwagen slamming shut as the two soldiers inside jumped out. Their feet rustled the overgrown grass beneath them, kicking up dew in the process.

"Your first catch, Braun, and it was a runner this time," the man with the roaring voice finally came into view, clearly the younger man's superior. He patted the soldier roughly on the soldier, smiling at him through the cigarette that burned between his smoke damaged teeth.

"Let's see," the man said as he leaned down in front of Bertholdt, taking his chin into his nicotine stained fingers and turning his head harshly from side to side. "This one's really dark, but he's definitely a Jew," the man said as he addressed the younger soldier. "What did he say his name was?"

"Bertholdt Fubar," the younger soldier said, eyes still on his face.

"Really, so he's a German Jew? How in the hell did he end up way the hell over here in Poland?" The older soldier looked him over carefully.

"I don't know, Sir," the younger soldier said.

"He's got blood all over his clothing, but he was alone, correct?"

The younger soldier nodded his head.

"I'm beginning to wonder if he has already evaded escape once before." The older soldier stood up, and as if to add insult to injury, kicked him in the gut hard enough to cause him to double over from the pain. "Watch those eyes, Jew."

As Bertholdt waited for the pain in his stomach to subside, he felt strong arms wrap around his own and lift him away from the ground. Too tired, too complacent to even care anymore, Bertholdt didn't even bother lifting his head in response to the rough manhandling. Even when he felt his body collide with the plastic siding of the kubelwagen, he didn't bother to check his surroundings. There was no point.

He was truly tired of running, and he knew that it was time to face reality.

Bertholdt felt the engine revving up again, feeling it rumble where his head was pressed into the side of the car. He hoped the soldiers would think he was asleep, and maybe leave him alone until they got back to their base. Even a brief reprieve would help Bertholdt clear his head and sort through his thoughts.

"Why do you think he's already escaped once before, Sir?" The younger soldier asked, breaking the relative silence that had eased over the kubelwagen.

This slightly peaked Bertholdt's interest, and he kept his ears open, waiting to hear the theories that the older soldier came up with.

"We had been told that a young Jew had escaped after his family had been slaughtered, and a member of the Polish police had been seen helping him."

"You think this Jew was the one that had escaped?"

"I have no doubt. He fits the profile we had been given, after all."

Reiner sighed, and Bertholdt felt his eyes on him once more.

"Do you like that Jew, Braun?"

Their words were exchanged in the soldiers native tongue, however, after having spent 9 years of his life in Germany, Bertholdt was all too familiar with it.

"What do you mean?" the younger soldier asked him.

"You had a really intense expression on your face when you were looking at him," the as-of-yet silent soldier in the passenger seat said, "even I noticed it."

"Unless you just really wanted to kill him," the older soldier laughed, "and if that's so, then go ahead when we get back. Do what you will with him until the trains get back. You could even fuck him, if you wanted. You are a young boy, after all, you must be getting tired of your hands being your only company."

The younger soldier rolled his eyes at the two older soldiers in the front, mouthing something in disgust to some of the things they were proposing.

"He is kind of nice looking, I guess," the man at the wheel said. "Well, I mean, compared to what we've been seeing so far. Nothing but old, dying Jews."

The other sighed aloud, "Would it hurt to find at least one young girl?"

The older soldier laughed as he pulled another cigarette out of his breast pocket, making it a point to look behind his seat at Bertholdt, "he's not bad, if we keep him on his stomach he'll be as good as any girl."

Bertholdt felt his heart hammer against his ribs erratically despite the full body weariness setting in. He knew the German soldiers often did that, but the thought of being the target of something so cruel made him want to cry. He had to remain silent though, or he would face something even worse.

There was a silence, until the younger soldier said, "you're not truly planning on using him for that, are you?"

It was quiet in the car until he answered, "and if we are?"

"There are still plenty of women at the base…"

"Braun, do you really think that we'd stoop as low as to take advantage of the women from our own country?"

"Well, no, obviously not, Sir."

"Then shut up, and mind your own business."

The rest of the drive to the base was quiet, and in the silence, Bertholdt had actually fallen asleep. It had been a long time since he'd successfully fallen asleep as he was always waking in fear of the soldiers showing up. Now, he was caught, so there was no more need to worry about having to run from them.

"Wake up, Jew."

Bertholdt was awoken by a harsh shake to his arm, and before his mind could completely wake and catch up to what was going on around him, he was unceremoniously dragged out of the kubelwagen. He was pushed down onto the cold, hard-packed ground, only to have his arms bound behind him in a tight, painful knot.

Bertholdt turned around to look at who had dragged him out of the car, half expecting to see the younger soldier, but was mildly surprised to see that it was not him. Instead of the young man with the blonde hair, he met eyes with the older soldier.

He should have known better than to turn around.

Before he even had a chance to turn back around to face the building, a foot collided with his right cheek, causing his face to make impact with the ground beneath him. His chin hit the ground so hard that he bit his bottom lip, splitting it and causing blood to drool down his dirt stained face.

He looked up from the ground, accidentally meeting eyes with another soldier. He was fearful that he would be hit again, however, as the blurriness cleared, he realized that he was looking at the younger soldier.

"Reiner, come and take this one into the cell at the back," the older soldier called from behind him before stomping down on his head hard enough to cause his vision to spin out again. A black vignette slowly began eating away at the corners of his vision.

Bertholdt couldn't quite keep his eyes open anymore, and the last thing he saw was the younger soldier's feet coming closer and closer to him.

Reiner, that was his name.

A/N: Well, I finally started re-writing this. I realize that there aren't many changes right now, but the first few chapters are relatively similar to the older ones. However, the last few chapters change dramatically, and will be much longer than their predecessors. In fact, at this point, I'm pretty sure this piece will be dipping into 100k territory. I won't rush this story like I did last time, as there was a lot of missed potential in the earlier work.

Thanks for waiting for me, guys! :) Stay tuned!