Author's note: English and German are not my first languages, so I'm very sorry for any mistake.

I only own my OCs, Erich Weiber and Vanya (Ivan) Vasnetsov.

'Gott mit uns', he read on the buckle of his belt. A distressed smile came across his lips. Yes, god... God, gods, spirits, whatever... none would come to help him, to help his friends and comrades.

And why, after everything they had done? He looked around; once soldiers believing they were fighting for something, now war criminals, beasts.

Hosenfeld looked up, to the dark sky above his head. It was about to rain, more mud for the already muddy POW camp. Some of his comrades were already dead, but no one would take the Germans out the filth. Seemed they deserved to be there. The ex-captain sighed and felt tears burn his eyes. He found himself crying his eyes out for no reason.

No, actually there were many reasons.

The strongest was fear.

He was terribly afraid of dying in that camp, alone, with no one to mourn him. No one to miss him. No one to remember him. And that's what scares a man the most; oblivion.

And judgement.

Time passed by, even though he could not feel it. Everyone around him was dying and Hosenfeld couldn't help but laugh sadly to be the last man standing. And just when he thought he could give up on life, something happened. A Russian soldier came to him and dragged him by the mud. Hosenfeld understood he had been taken out of the camp. He was then shoved into the back seat of a car and he realised it was cold.

He felt suddenly curious and looked around; who was responsible for that? For what he knew, his family had been killed during bombardments in Berlin.

Someone covered him with a warm blanket and Hosenfeld saw a face he thought he would never see again; Władysław Szpilman. And he smiled, a true smile for the first time in what felt like ages, and allowed himself to fall asleep.

He just couldn't believe that...

He, who had such a promising career! He, who was the best from his division! He, who won a Ritterkreuz! He, the mighty arising, the one who had climbed from the lower class to the highest ranks, fighting everything and everyone! He, who only knew victories!

He, who was now sitting at a corner, begging for food, faced for the first time with defeat.

Still, Erich knew he was lucky, very lucky. His uniform was hidden under the big and heavy Russian trench-coat and that bunch of Polish civilians and Russian soldiers couldn't identify a perfect Arian face when they had one right under their noses.

So time passed by, and Erich grew more and more miserable and more and more angry with Fate. Until the day that man came to him with a friendly smile.

And Erich smiled back to the Hauptmann*.

And right when he thought he couldn't be more miserable, Life tricked him; losing a leg and vision from the right eye wasn't enough, he had to be abandoned by his comrades and left to die in the snow, in a foreign country.

He wasn't a skilled beggar.

He was a helpless victim to everyone who passed by and thought he needed another bruise.

And that was how he was found, lying in the middle of the street, half-buried in snow.

* captain

Weeee, review?