Ian Tregillis - Bitter Seeds

He was sorry about Will. But Marsh had his family and his garden, and he needed nothing more to be happy.

3 September 1941

Somewhere in the USSR

They were on the move again. It happened every few weeks. Klaus didn't know why, or where they'd go this time. All he knew was that each move took them farther east.

While others struck the camp, two soldiers motioned with their rifles, gesturing Klaus into yet another truck. Klaus knew that if he didn't cooperate, they'd connect the wires in his cranium to the AC generator again. The last time, he'd fractured a rib during the convulsions.

He climbed aboard the truck and took a seat on the hard bench next to Gretel, who was already seated and shackled. A soldier fastened manacles to Klaus's wrists and ankles, then locked his chains to an iron ring on the floor.

If only he had a battery ... All he needed was a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second, the merest tickle of current, and he and Gretel could be free.

Klaus tried for the thousandth time to call up his Willenskrafte, to rouse that dormant part of his mind where the Gotterelektron flowed. But it was useless. Without a battery, he was just another man.

Their captors dismantled the camp with swift efficiency. The truck rumbled to life. The captives' chains jingled as the truck bounced along a dirt road through a vast forest. Ravens flitted through the trees, flashes of black amongst the play of sunlight and shadow.

Klaus sighed, exhausted from his futile effort. He slumped on the bench with head hung low. Gretel patted him on the knee.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” he said.

She leaned close. Her breath tickled his ear.

“Incoming,” she whispered.