The town gathering had become a regular occurrence with the German commander. Major Helgberg was a sadistic man who took delight in torturing the populace. News of his death was met with muted delight—they knew another monster would take his place soon enough. They were right and a demon had taken up Helgberg’s mantle for brutality, if the stories everyone had been hearing were true.
They arrived at Maragos’ Field, which was now an execution field—it was where many innocent villagers had been murdered and the soil was drenched in the blood of the Greeks. Zoe sighed and looked down at the brown sludgy mud under her feet.
The Κομμουνιστικο Κομμα Ελλαδας, the Communist Party of Greece or KKE, had established a formidable Resistance group and was active in the countryside surrounding Larissa. The Communists had years of experience in working underground and thus formed the best Resistance to the German occupation. The extensive cave system in the hills was used by the KKE to escape and hide from the Germans. Once organized, they hit back at the invaders by blowing up train tracks and disrupting the German supply lines from Athens to Thessaloniki. Other attacks were made by small groups of men descending from the mountains and raiding German troops when they least expected it. The KKE was soon joined by other Greek Resistance groups such Ethnikos Dimokratikos Ellinikos Stratos– National Republican Greek League or EDES — and Ethniki kaí Koinoniki Apelefthérosis — the National and Social Liberation or EKKA.
These attacks brought the wrath of the Germans on the civilians. The German policy of retaliation was to kill civilians and destroy their villages. Helgberg had directed these retaliatory actions in Larissa and the surrounding areas until the Resistance killed him.
Zoe glanced around her at familiar faces, faces that betrayed their fear. She saw old men and women barely being able to stand, huddled in the rain. The young children clasped their mothers’ hands. Some were too young to know what was to come. She felt sick as she glanced at her own mother, who had her eyes closed and was silently praying.
"I love you, Mama," Zoe whispered. She took hold of Helena’s hand.
Helena opened her eyes and smiled. "I love you so much, my child. Have faith in God; we will be all right. Saint Achillius will protect us," she said and leaned down and kissed the top of Zoe’s red-gold hair.
***
Eva’s shoes made that awful sloshing noise as she traipsed through the mud to get to the field. Henry held her arm and he was true to his word. Eva felt at times as if he was holding her up instead of her walking on her own. Assembled was a large group of women and children, their eyes darting back and forth, uncertainty and fear written on their faces. She could not look at them; she felt their fear and wanted to call out for them to run but there was nowhere to run. She kept her eyes down, not daring to look up and meet any of the villagers in the eye.
Eva was wet and cold. The cold wind penetrated deep into her bones and she shivered uncontrollably. Henry held the umbrella and shielded her from the drizzly misty rain that had now turned into a downpour. The wind had picked up and occasionally would turn the umbrella inside out. Muller and Bonhoffen were standing near the car and looked happy. Bonhoffen laughed as an old woman slipped in the mud, which only sickened Eva even more. She could barely breathe as she slowly made her way to where Muller told her to stand.
Eva swallowed and closed her eyes while Muller’s voice screamed orders as he came closer. He was enjoying the terror he was inflicting; she could hear it in his voice.
Eva opened her eyes and focused on the first villager that stared back at her—the girl that had called her a cripple. Fiery green eyes met her sky-blue ones. Defiance stared back at her, daring her to do something, but Eva was just as helpless as the girl. The young girl’s hatred was palpable—it almost reached out towards her and defied her to act. Eva looked away, unable to watch the heart-rending scene that was to unfold before her. She gazed out into the horizon and watched the rain come pelting down—anything but the ugliness she was going to witness.
***
Zoe’s gaze fell on their much despised commander when he emerged through the crowds, his pristine gray and black uniform neatly creased. Zoe looked at the mud, then back at Muller, and sneered. She was about to go down and collect some mud to welcome him properly when Helena’s hand held her.
"Don’t," Helena whispered. "You’re going to get us killed."
Zoe rolled her eyes and clasped her hands together instead. A wry grin formed on her lips as she envisioned applying the mud herself. She was abruptly brought out of her daydream when the sound of a gunshot pierced the air making her jump.
"As you have all heard by now, we don’t have a train line. The reason you are all here, is because I want you to send a message to the Resistance."
Zoe’s attention shifted from the murderous, ranting Nazi to the woman standing a few feet away from him. Zoe turned to Stavros. "That’s the cripple," she whispered as she gazed at the woman.
Eva’s long black cloak covered most of her body, and luckily for her, a soldier stood with an umbrella over her, shielding her from the rain that once again fell. Zoe shivered as the rain pelted her in the face. Her coat had long since been soaked. She kept staring at Eva, whose angular face was barely visible in the gloom and shadow of the cloak and umbrella, and she was surprised when Eva turned her gaze towards her.
Their eyes met and Zoe glared back in defiance. She was almost tempted to reach down and pick up the rock that she could feel under her foot. The woman just stared. Didn’t move, didn’t blink. She just stared at Zoe.
Zoe jumped at the sound of the gun going off. To her utter horror, this time the German’s aim was not in the air but directed at a feeble old man. In the blink of an eye, the old man crumpled to the ground, the blood streaming down his face. His eyes gazed up into the sky, unseeing.
Zoe turned to see that it wasn’t Bonhoffen who had fired but Muller. He was brandishing his pistol and stamping his barbarous authority. There was no rhyme or reason to the execution and Zoe wanted to disappear, to hide from the utter senselessness.
The villagers panicked, but couldn’t escape, as the field was surrounded by German troops. Those that tried to flee faced either Muller’s gun or the guns of his troops. Zoe watched in horror as the young and the elderly fell.
Then the unthinkable happened. Muller stepped in front of Zoe and her mother and looked at them. Blue eyes met green for a very long moment. Helena put her arms around Zoe and held on tight. All Zoe could hear was the sound of the beating of her heart. All she could see was the look of utter hatred in Muller’s eyes.
"So you see, Greeks will die for the soul of every Aryan hero who is killed," Muller was saying, but Zoe could barely discern what he was talking about, the sound of her heart was thundering so loudly in her ears.
Zoe’s gaze shifted to Eva, who had once again turned and was watching her. Zoe could almost hear a voice in her head telling her to keep watching—keep looking; don’t look away. She swallowed her fear as Muller came within inches of her head. The gun was so close to her face that she could smell the gun smoke, but she didn’t move. She didn’t look away from Eva, who was staring back at her. Zoe didn’t look at the monster that was a hair's breadth away from her.
Zoe wanted to hide her face from this madness. She held tight to Helena and prayed to Saint Achillius, hoping against hope. But she could not stifle the sound of the gun popping so close that she felt the bullet rush past her when it exploded in its next victim.
Mama.
Zoe felt Helena’s arms release their grasp, and to her horror, she saw her beloved mother slump to the ground. A dark crimson stain spread across Helena’s chest. The madness continued around her as she held her dying mother to her chest, the blood mixing with the mud, caking her legs. Oh dear God, Mama!
Zoe’s soul was shattered that very moment. Everything that was, everything that she was going to be, perished as her mother’s life ebbed away. She held Helena, who was talking to her, try
ing to tell her everything in those few seconds that they had left.
"Be brave," Helena whispered, unable to breathe as the pain in her chest was overwhelming.
"I will take care of her," Stavros vowed as he knelt beside Helena.
Zoe was oblivious to everyone except Helena, but then a sound, something incongruous to the pain and death surrounding them, made her look up. To her utter horror Eva was chuckling as she walked away from the carnage along with the German butcher.
In that instant between life and death, Zoe’s purpose in life crystallized. She looked down at Helena’s face and rocked her back and forth. "I promise I will kill them. I will," she repeated, over and over. Nothing else had meaning any more. She was going to exact her revenge for Helena’s death and kill the woman that laughed as her mother lay dying. "I promise you, Mama, I will kill them. I promise," Zoe kept repeating as Helena passed away.
"Zoe."
Zoe opened her eyes to find the village priest, Father Panayiotis Haralambos, his black robes covered in crimson stains, looking at her. "You can let go now," he said gently as he tried to pry the dead woman from Zoe’s arms.
"No." Zoe shook her head. "No," she murmured while Father Haralambos gently separated her from Helena’s body. He picked Zoe up, cradling her in his arms, and Zoe curled up against his chest. She buried her head against his neck and sobbed.
Chapter Seven
Six months later.
The sound of crunching leaves was the only distraction for Zoe as she walked purposefully away from the cemetery. She had dodged a few patrols—the last thing she wanted was to tangle with yet another group of soldiers. She was sick of them, sick of their superior attitude and even sicker of their machismo. She used to take delight in setting small booby traps for the soldiers and would often hide and watch her handiwork. Since her mother’s death, Zoe had a new purpose and it wasn’t to annoy the Germans but to inflict as much damage as she could.
Zoe pulled the coat collar tighter around her neck as the wind picked up and she hurried along. Her frequent visits to the cemetery had started soon after Helena had been killed. Someone had told Zoe that the dead could hear the thoughts of the living, mostly to console her, but she had latched onto the idea for dear life. She was a common sight in the cemetery, cleaning the graves of her parents and brothers, talking to herself and drawing as she sat for hours. Many thought she had lost her sanity and pitied her.
Zoe was lost in thought until a hand touched her on the shoulder and she jumped in surprise. "Whoa!"
"Zoe, where were you?"
"What?" Zoe turned to find Father Haralambos standing beside her, his long black robes reaching to the ground and his large gold cross glistening in the sunlight. His normal headdress was replaced with a beret, which looked a little out of place. "Nice hat," Zoe muttered.
"You were daydreaming again," Father Haralambos teased. He had become a surrogate parent to Zoe after Helena’s death. He had given her a place to stay, and he had cared for her during those long months when she just wanted to lie in bed and refused to move at all.
"Father," Zoe said as she bowed and kissed Father Haralambos’ hand in reverence. She may have lost her faith in God on that godforsaken day when Helena was killed, but she still loved and respected the priest.
"I want to speak to you."
"Why?"
"It’s an important matter and we need to speak inside." Father Haralambos indicated the church, which made Zoe scowl. She had not entered Saint Spiridon Church, the only church in the village, since Helena’s death. "Please?"
Zoe didn’t reply but walked up the stairs reluctantly. She stood still for a moment and, without thinking, crossed herself before entering. Father Haralambos smiled.
***
"Alright, I’m here." Zoe folded her arms and waited impatiently.
"We don’t see you at church these days. Is something wrong, my child?" Father Haralambos’ blue eyes bore into Zoe. He knew the answer to his question but wanted to reach her, to try to get her faith restored. He knew he had a difficult task ahead of him. He didn’t believe Zoe’s faith had entirely died—it was just buried in a very deep hole.
Zoe stared up at the icon of Jesus and then back at Father Haralambos. "I have no use for it."
"You have no use for your faith?"
"There is no God."
Father Haralambos nodded. "So sayeth the fool."
"What?" Zoe asked sharply.
"My dear child, the Bible says that those who don’t believe in God are fools."
"Well." Zoe sighed. "I’m a fool then. I have to get going, Father."
"I need to speak to you." Father Haralambos smiled and polished his cross against his black robes.
"What about?"
"Please, don’t go out tonight."
"Stavros has a big mouth. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed himself," Zoe muttered.
"He confided in me and he was worried. He was a little--"
"Let me guess, he was scared?"
"No, he was concerned."
"It’s not the first time I’ve gone out with the Resistance."
"No, it’s not but--"
"Stavros doesn’t want me to go because he thinks I’m still a young child. That child died when my mama was murdered." Zoe’s brow furrowed as she glared at Father Haralambos. "What have you been doing, Father?"
Father Haralambos stroked his long beard and smiled. "I can honestly say I have never killed a man so I don’t know that is like, but you are losing your soul."
"I can’t lose what I don’t have. They took it from me."
"I love you and I don’t want to see you get hurt, or worse—get killed."
Zoe sat down heavily on a chair and gazed down at the floor. "What would it matter if I got killed? There’s no one left to mourn me if I do."
"Now that’s a silly thing to say. Stavros, myself, the village, your aunty Stella. So many people would miss you."
Zoe looked up and blinked in the glow of the candlelight. "I want to be with Mama and Papa. I don’t want to be alive anymore. I want to join them."
"Is that why you’re going out tonight? You want to get killed?" Father Haralambos gently asked as he pulled a chair and sat down opposite Zoe. "That’s suicide, Zoe. God hasn’t given you the right to take your life."
"It’s alright, I’ll let the Germans do it," Zoe flippantly replied.
"You will not go to heaven to be with your mama and papa if you do that. Suicide is a severe sin and one that should not be flippantly entertained."
Zoe looked up at the crucified Christ and sighed. "So no killing myself with the help of the Germans?"
"No. If you choose that path, God will know."
"So, Jesus didn’t kill himself with the help of the Jews?"
"Zoe!"
"What?" Zoe held up her hand and pointed to the icon of Jesus. "He let them kill him. He could have escaped but he let them. That’s the same thing."
Father Haralambos shook his head slowly. "Are you making out that you and Jesus are the same?"
"Well, he let the Jews kill him with the help of the Romans. Those…" Zoe stopped and looked sheepishly at the priest. "Those bad Italians, they are a terrible lot."
Father Haralambos laughed; he just couldn’t help it. His laugh echoed in the chamber. "You always make me laugh."
"You mean when I’m not exasperating you." Zoe grinned. She took a deep breath before she asked her next question. "Is it a sin to kill people, Father? Is it alright if I go out tonight and shoot these bastards—"
"Zoe! You’re in church! Please, don’t swear."
"Sorry," Zoe mumbled. "Isn’t it a sin if I kill these nasty men?"
"Those who kill by the sword, die by the sword."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that if you kill, you may get killed yourself and I don’t want that to happen to you," Father Haralambos explained. "Yes, it is a sin to take another human’s life, but we are at war. I believe God is on our side. We f
ight not for riches or glory but we fight for the greater good. We fight to save our enslaved brothers and sisters. This is a just fight."
"Even those without a sword die by the sword. My mama didn’t have a sword and she’s dead."
"Yes. Not everyone who passes away wields a sword, but this is war."
"Why don’t you join in the fight, Father?"
"Remember the scripture about not letting your right hand know what your left hand is doing?"
Zoe nodded.
"You do not know what I’m doing. That’s how it should be. The less you know, the better it is; for your safety and mine."
"Are you saying you’re in the Resistance?"
"I’m saying you shouldn’t ask too many questions," Father Haralambos replied with a tiny smile. "Now I want you to promise me that tonight you won’t try to sin."
"Um—Father, I’m trying to kill Germans. That’s a sin."
"I’m talking about a far greater sin. Your eternal soul depends on you not committing that sin."
Zoe melodramatically sighed. "Yes. I promise I won’t."
"Good. I know you have been taught that your ‘yes’ means ‘yes,’ and your ‘no’ means ‘no,’ so I will take you on your word."
"Not that I will be around for you to tell me off." Zoe giggled and almost immediately stifled that giggle on seeing Father Haralambos’ stern look directed at her. "Alright, I won’t do it."
"Thank you. I also want you to take care of Stavros. He worries about you so much and you give him much to worry about."
"Stavros is a good man. I’ll try not to worry him too much."
Father Haralambos put his arm around Zoe and kissed the top of her head. "I love you very much, Zoe. God loves you as well. Now go home or else Stavros will worry where you are."
***
Zoe left the church and, walking quickly, rounded the corner toward home. She stopped and looked up into the heavens. "Why is it that my plans just don’t work out? A sin this and a sin that." Zoe was a little annoyed but also somewhat pleased Father Haralambos had taken an interest in her, and she walked cheerily back home.
In The Blood Of The Greeks (Intertwined Souls Series Book 1) Page 5
