The SS guards tapped their fingers nervously on their batons. They might have been wondering, why did the SS officer resort to driving through back roads? Had he received word that the main roads were booby-trapped, or that certain bridges had been blown up? How reliable was this information? Who had given it to him? Was the entire procession heading closer and closer into an ambush?

  At this point, my life mattered little to me. If brought all the way to the final destination, I would be forced to go through a mockery of a wedding, after which I would be executed at once, at the hands of the Nazis. On the other hand, if this truck were to be attacked by French Resistance fighters, I might end up being just as doomed. Either way, my chances of survival looked grim. 

  From time to time I toyed with the idea of forcing my way through the SS guards and flinging myself down, somehow, over the back edge of the moving vehicle. At the mere thought of it, my muscles tightened. I was ready, almost ready to make my move, come what may. But no, that would be suicidal. There was no way for me gain any speed to make an escape, with my legs chained together. 

  By now, the fear in me turned into something harder, into an urge for revenge. It permeated my heart, my mind, every fiber in me. I could not wait to see French fighters descending upon the Germans. I could not wait to hear the sound of a grenade tossed in the air, coming down at us with a shriek, announcing the approach of destruction. 

When spotting birds nestled on a branch I did not listen to their annoyingly happy chirps. Instead I imagined how—alarmed by the sound of explosion—they would start fluttering about, scattering every which way. 

  I pictured the partisans lurking there, just behind those trees. Were they drawing closer? Were they taking aim? Soon, I hoped, they would be hurling petrol bombs. With dark anticipation I looked for the ensuing cloud of petrol droplets, listened for the vapor igniting into a fireball, waited to feel the heat of spreading flames.

  But no, no such luck! To my disappointment, the trip remained uneventful throughout the night and well into morning, when the tires of the Blitz truck scraped off the road and into a stop. 

  My tongue felt dry as I licked my parched lips. We had been given no water, no food since the beginning of this journey. Now, the driver got out of the enclosed cab, and our captors jumped off the back of the truck to stretch their limbs, leaving us chained, yet unattended. 

  The covering over the top and sides of the cargo area blocked our view. We heard their voices, their bursts of laughter. Down there, they ate and gulped one mouthful of Schnapps after another. The aroma—just like gin flavored with fruit—wafted in through the canvas. It intoxicated me. Such was the power of depravation. It sharpened the senses.

★  Love WWII Suspense? Prepare to be thrilled ★

Marriage before Death

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From USA Today Bestselling Author, Uvi Poznansky, comes a captivating WWII Spy Thriller:After D-Day, her photograph appears on the most-wanted Nazi propaganda posters. Who is the girl with the red beret? She reminds him of Natasha, but no, that cannot be. Why does Rochelle step into his life when he is led by SS soldiers to the gallows? At the risk of being found out as a French Resistance fighter, what makes her propose marriage to a condemned man?