Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1953180-The-Pink-Swastika
by Kitty
Rated: 13+ · Novel · LGBTQ+ · #1953180
Two young SS officers carry a secret as they work for The Angel of Death
                       Pink Swastika


         It was a normal day in Nazi Germany. The SS soldiers patrolled the streets, rallies gathering in houses, praising Hitler and such. Children played hopscotch and pretended to be airplanes. Among those crowds were two SS officers, both in their 20s, that worked for a division of the secret police that went through the streets looking for the Jews and beating them up, and sending them into some of the makeshift prisons. All the while, they carried a secret that could itself put them in a concentration camp.

         The two young men were both handsome, their names being Francis and Ludwig. The two had known each other since grade school. So when the war started, they, as well as ten other classmates of theirs, joined the army. With Francis's and Ludwig's luck, they ended up being partners in the SS army.

         Ludwig owned a beautiful German Sheppard, her name Kathrine, just like the German princess's, the one who had married Nicholas the First, Russia's czar.

         Ludwig was the perfect Aryan poster boy. Light blue eyes, pure blonde hair, working father, and housewife mother. Ludwig was 27, always in bars, looking for some love.

         Francis, on the other hand, had French blood in him and had nothing close to a perfect upbringing. Father was an alcholic, murdering his second wife just because she was Jewish. His first wife, Francis's mother was a pure German, but she died from a sickness when Francis was only 5.

         “Guten morgen.” Ludwig said, coming downstairs into the kitchen. Francis was already making breakfast. Unlike the rations that were handed out on the fronts, Francis and Ludwig got the best of the best. Fresh pork and eggs from local farms, real coffee, and whole milk. Their fridge was full of beer and  other liquors as well as the actual food.

         “Same to you, Lud.” Francis said. He was in his uniform pants, boots, yet he only wore an undershirt. Ludwig was still in his pajamas when he had come downstairs. “Why do you always get up early and ALWAYS make breakfast? Why can't I cook for once?” Ludwig asked. Francis shrugging as he shoved a piece of jam covered toast into his mouth.

         “Fine, tomorrow, I'll let you. Just please don't poison me, I'm quite sensitive to arsenic” Francis said, going to the living room where he had left his jacket last night. An enraged yell came from the living room. “Did you sit on this last night?” Francis asked,  making Ludwig think for a moment.

         “I might've. Um. Probably.” Ludwig said as he poured himself coffee.          

         Francis shook his fist at Ludwig silently, before heading back upstairs to his bedroom. Once again, the beds they had were nothing like the beds on the fronts, in the ships, and in the tents. Even generals didn't get this kind of a bed if they didn't live in Berlin or oversee some concentration camp. Ludwig sat in the kitchen for a moment before going to check the mailbox. An official looking envelope came in, stamped with the Gestapo stamp and it was addressed to Francis. A nearly identical letter was addressed to Ludwig and he brought both those letters in to  the house. These letters could mean anything. It could be an order to respond to a draft, or it could be an order to work in a concentration camp, or to work as a driver or butler or both for a rich general.

         “Hey, Francy!” Ludwig called out to Francis once he entered the house. “We've got mail from headquarters.” He said, as the Frenchman appeared from upstairs.

         Francis looked agitated. “When will you stop calling me Francy?” He asked. “Hand me that.” Francis said, putting his cap over his caramel tinged hair. Ludwig handed the letter over as he opened his own.

         “It's addressed to both of us.” Ludwig said. “So I guess that we both have the same mission.”          

         Francis read the letter in record time and a grim look passed onto his face. “We're going to work at Auschwitz.” He said.
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