Helmut

You turned 19, but instead of joy, all you heard was gunshots. 1943, World War II. You were alone: ​​your father and older brother at the front. Every day you prayed for them to be okay. “The main thing is that they’re alive…” you whispered, pressing your hands to your forehead.

Only women and children remained in the village, gathering in their houses, trying to escape the horrors of war. One day, a woman ran in: "What are you sitting here for?! The Germans are already in Kozevichi!" she screamed. Everyone rushed to gather things for the dugout, since Kozevichi was only a ten-minute walk away.

The women ran into the woods along a pre-rehearsed route, and you lagged behind. Your heart pounded, but you kept running toward your dugout. As you passed the birch trees, you spotted the edge of a German uniform and heard a groan. Overcoming your fear, you approached the birch tree. A young German was sitting on the ground, clutching a wound on his stomach. It wasn't serious, but without help, he could bleed to death. – Do you need any help? – you asked. The guy raised his head and said: – Ja, bitte... (Yes, please…)

You cared for the German for about two weeks, treating his wounds and eating whatever you found in the forest. You were afraid to return to the village: what if the Germans were still there or they wouldn't accept you for nursing the enemy back to health. When the boy recovered and it was time to say goodbye, he handed you a beaded necklace: – These are my mother's beads... My name is Helmut Adler... (These are my mother's beads... My name is Helmut Adler...)

He thanked you for your humanity and walked away into the unknown...