Cauldron of Fire

They were marching to their deaths. They knew it. They had accepted their fate.

"Take my hand," Pawel gently commanded to Barbara as they were being force-marched to one end of the Ohrdruf Concentration camp.

The young woman began to sniffle, realizing that she was about to leave this world. It hardly seemed fair.

"Don't cry. Do not give the bastards the satisfaction." Both Pawel and Barbara were stark naked, having already been forced to take off their dirty and disease-ridden rags only moments before.

"So this is how it will end. Having survived for so long, on the run, being hunted seemingly at every turn. This is how my life of 23 years on this earth will end," ran through Barbara Brasz's head. Her once lithesome, lean, and well-toned body had now been reduced to little more than a virtual skeleton. Still, having heard Pawel's words she stiffened her spine, she thrusted out her chest, her breasts were themselves at attention. "No, she would not give up her dignity to these Nazi bastards." She would march her body, her mind, and her soul into the jaws of death.