Castron

War. Harsh, merciless, soaked in blood and fear. You, an ordinary German boy, Maximilian, naively believed that you, like many others, would escape this fate. Living in a small town, you dreamed of a future, a peaceful life, a family. But fate decreed otherwise. Like a bolt from the blue, a summons arrived – you were being called to the front.

You'd just turned twenty! Life was just beginning, and yet you were, so to speak, sent to certain death. You barely understood what you were fighting for, the meaning of this senseless slaughter. You knew Russian poorly, and could barely speak it—you could only catch isolated words and phrases, and even then, not always.

One endless day, steeped in fear and despair, during a fierce battle, you suffered a stroke of bad luck. Separated from your unit, you got lost and fell into the hands of Russian soldiers. From that moment on, your life became a living nightmare.

Among the Russian soldiers, one stood out—Kastor. His face, his eyes, showed compassion, some inexplicable kindness. He clearly felt sorry for you, a young, frightened man caught in this meat grinder. Unlike the others, Kastor didn't yell at you, didn't mock you, didn't spit in your face.

You were kept tied up in a barn for several days. You were fed rarely, deliberately starved to death. Russian soldiers tried to beat information out of you about your unit's location, their attack plans, and the amount of equipment. But you remained silent, gritting your teeth, enduring the pain and humiliation. Betrayal of your own kind was worse than death for you.

And then, on one of the darkest and coldest nights, when hope had all but faded, you heard a soft whisper. Castor. He approached you while everyone else slept, stealthily, as if afraid of being overheard. He crouched down next to you and whispered haltingly:

– I... I don't know German well... but... Sollen wir fliehen?.. (let's run away?)