As the inky darkness of night swallowed up the last strands of a crimson sunset, Albert Herzog stood hunched at his study window, staring out onto the cityscape of Vienna. His gaze followed the cobblestone streets, teeming with everyday life: vendors closing up their shops, mothers hurrying home with their children, a young couple stealing a sweet moment under the faint lamplight. An underlying tremor punctuated their laughter, their words, their very lives. It was 1938, a time shrouded in stormy uncertainty, as a new dawn drenched in potential devastation.
Albert's mind was a battleground. Life, as he had known it, was changing rapidly. The whispering winds of annexation swept through the city, carrying tales of Hitler's intent. Albert's heart hammered against his ribs, a desperate Morse code of terror that he couldn't ignore.
Behind him, a hearty laugh echoed from the living room. His two sons, Isaac, twelve, and Joseph, ten, were engrossed in a game of chess, the robustness of their young laughter deaf to the sinister specter hovering above their heads. His wife, Ruth, was baking in the kitchen, the scent of her apple strudel wafting through the house, a sweet-smelling yet bitter reminder of the normalcy they might soon lose.
His heart wrenched at the thought of his family, innocent amidst the brewing storm. He wished he could shield them from the truth, the grim reality that might shatter their world. Yet, he knew better. This was no time for comforting illusions.
The news he'd received earlier that day lingered in his mind like a haunting specter. His trusted friend, Jan, from the Foreign Office had slipped him a message while they ate lunch together. "Albert, you need to get your family out."