What made the Nazis so smart?

Herschel walked outside the hotel into the cool, early morning air and took in a deep breath of Paris. For a brief moment he wondered how many more such breaths he had left to take in his life. He walked along the sidewalk to the first open café he found and ordered a dark roast coffee and a butter croissant. He did his best to savor every bite, but he was too anxious to finish the pastry. He was a bundle of nerves. His brain was filled with thoughts of his parents and their current state of de facto imprisonment. He also thought of brown Nazi uniforms and their pompous arrogance; thinking they knew what was best for everyone. What made them so smart? How did they know what was best for everyone else? And how could someone as small as he get their attention and make them listen?

He had received a postcard from his mother a few days earlier. In it she had described their dreadful condition in the Polish refugee camp and it had filled his eyes with warm tears. He prayed daily for God’s inspiration for some action he could do that would help bring attention to the plight of his family in particular and the Jewish people in general. His young mind ran rampant with emotion, but he tried his best to think clearly. In the end he felt he had made the best decision possible given the limited means available.

After breakfast he continued his walk and found a small gun shop a few blocks further down the street. The sun was now up and the shop had just opened. Herschel looked at the small handguns in the glass case near the front counter.

The shop owner said something to Herschel in French, but Herschel didn’t know exactly how to respond. He noticed the yellowed, handwritten price tag on a small 6.35mm revolver. He pointed at the gun and the shop owner pulled it out of the glass case. He had some limited experience with small firearms, and this one looked similar to some of the guns he had seen in the detective movies he watched. Plus the price was right. He also picked out a box of bullets. The total came to 235 francs which nearly cleaned him out. 

Herschel put the gun and the box of ammo in his coat pocket and made his way towards the metro station.

-- from Killing for Country

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