《The Berlin Wall》Chapter 20 - Friedrich's P.O.V

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There had been an escape.

I don't know who but they had succeeded.

But their success is going to be short lived. Someone saw them and it is all everyone is talking about now. If it were possible to escape, cross the wall to the other side, then the Wall had failed it's purpose. And now with Reagan's speech, well, that had just stirred up everyone's emotions. Yes, I would have been cheering for it a while back. But not now. Things had change. I had been shown the right way.

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A few weeks earlier

I stood amongst my conrads, all of them in their uniform and their gun by their sides. We had been gathered here, but no one knew why. The hall around us seemed to go on for miles, both vertically and horizontally. Of course, due to this, it was bloody cold. I could feel the chills itching along my arms beneath my uniform. It felt as if there were hundreds of tiny bugs.

Higher up officers were placed by 5 doors on one side of the hall. Judging by how far spread out they were, I would assume that they were individual rooms and not hallways. Two guards stood by each door, each standing on one of the sides, looking straight forward. One by one, the doors opened and guards walked out, their faces as blank as a white canvas. No expression crossed their faces, nothing was in their eyes.

"Next." An officer shouted in a strict cut off tone. And we began walking towards the doors, one of us for each door. I glanced to my side, trying to make eye contact with someone I knew, or just someone, but everyone just looked down. Something bad was happening but I didn't know what.

As I reached the door, one of the guards pulled it open and motioned for me to go in. It was a tiny office room, only big enough to fit a desk with a chair either side, a filing cabinet and a small bookcase. The desk was overflowing with papers and files, a small lamp on the edge, almost as if being told to walk the plank. But that was not my interest. My interest was the old, tall, grey man sitting at the chair behind the desk. His shoulders were broad and his arms long. His face scattered with sharp contours and his jawbone as sharp as a knife. He picked up a file on the paper, read it, then took his glasses off, popping them back in his suit pocket.

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"Take a seat." He ordered, and of course, I did as he pleased. "Friedrich Eisenberg is your name, correct?"

"Correct Sir." I blurt out the universal standardised response.

"Good. Shall we begin?"

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Some people said the escape was done by a girl. Some people a boy. And some people said it was a whole group. No one knew the story yet. We only knew it had happened and it was true. But we can't let this happen. This is unacceptable.

This person needs to be caught.

This person needs to be punished to set an example and show there's no escape.

This person needs to be executed.

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