[World War II] Thousands of Miles in the Sky

Loop the belt high around your waist.The collar patch on his collar was completely black, and the black cuff on the left sleeve near the cuff showed only the upper and lower white edges.On the left arm, there is a black swastika armband with a round white background. The blood red background is particularly eye-catching against the black uniform.Black breeches were gathered at the knees and pressed close to the calves; high boots, shiny black, creaked and creaked on the light fresh snow.

He walked onto Bismarckstrasse and hurried westward.However, as if he felt Ellerman's gaze, he turned his head to look at Ellerman and Foko across the street.Illerman quickly looked away, and when he glanced over again, the man was still staring at him intently, meeting his eyes, and seemed to be frowning.The young man in the black uniform kept his eyes on the two leisurely walking, and walked in the opposite direction quickly, and gradually had to turn his head back.Illerman looked at him for a moment across Foko, and raised his eyebrows suspiciously.The Berliner next to him didn't seem to notice it, and whistled a cheerful melody repeatedly while staying out of the way.

Just as Illerman retracted his gaze in confusion, the young man across the street suddenly looked left and right. Seeing that Bismarck Avenue was empty, he trotted across the road.Illerman looked at him again, attracted by the sound of military boots trampling the driveway.The young man ran over and stood in front of the two of them.

"Excuse me," he looked Folk up and down sharply, "Are you Mr. Folk?"

Foco stopped in his tracks: "Yes."

The young man turned his head to look at Illerman again, showing a embarrassed expression.

"It's my friend." Foco said bluntly, "If you have anything to say, just say it."

"That's right." An indescribably strange expression appeared on the young man's face. "Please come to our bureau. Come now."

With that said, he turned around and walked towards the intersection without giving Foco a chance to reply.Foco shrugged, didn't raise any objection, just followed behind.Seeing this, Illerman had no choice but to walk beside Foko silently.The young man's pace was very fast, he simply looked around at the intersection, and then hurried towards the building on the opposite corner of the street.Foco followed suit without hesitation, but Illerman frowned, stopped, and looked around a few more times. After seeing that there was indeed no car, he rushed to catch up.

"You Berliners are queer," Illermann said in a low voice, catching up to Foko.The young man in front had already fallen a few steps behind them.

"Huh? Why?" Folk asked casually.

Illerman didn't have time to answer, the young man walking in front led them to the door of the building on the corner of the street.The copper-coloured sign on the door reads "Second Administrative District of the Berlin Police Department, No. 20 Division 110; Bismarckstrasse [-] [-]".He opened the door and went in, holding the door for Foco with his backhand; Foco supported the door and followed in, turning his head to look at Illeman as he walked in, as if he was still waiting for his answer.Illerman just waved his hand, and followed after Foko walked in.

The interior is a medium-sized waiting room.In the center of the hall are four wooden benches with opposite backs.On the left wall is Ludwig Fehnkoger's [-] oil painting "The Sacred Moment", and on the right there is a large poster showing people wearing light brown and gray-green uniform coats bust of two young men.The two people in the poster are standing side by side to the left. The helmet of the man on the right is painted with a white eagle emblem, and the black belt buckle around his waist has a clear swastika embossed; the man on the left has the word SS written on his helmet, The lower part of the left sleeve has a diamond-shaped armband with black and white edges, and "SD" is written in white in the middle.Behind the two was a fluttering red swastika flag, and on the poster was written "[-], German Police Day" in black letters.

On the wall at the far end of the room was only a portrait hanging high of Reinhard Heytrich in military uniform.In the photo, the collar of Heytrich's white shirt is set off by a black tie, and the left collar patch has a leaf pattern that shows the general's status.There are golden epaulettes on the shoulders, and a silver-white eagle emblem on the left sleeve.The collar of the coat was turned up to the second button, and a black, white and red ribbon passed through the buttonhole.Above the pockets are two rows of medals, and in the center is a golden German Cross.Below the medal is a pilot medal.

Illerman looked at the enlarged and framed photo, frowned slightly, and fixed his eyes on the pilot medal.However, the young man in black uniform has already turned into the aisle on the right side of the hall in a hurry, knocked twice on the door of a concealed room and pushed the door open. Illerman followed Foko and walked through.

"I didn't ask you to go to the German opera..." The man behind the desk asked loudly, but his stern voice stopped abruptly when he saw Foko following behind the young man.

Without saying a word, the young man walked behind the man with his head down.The man stood up and walked over to Foko.His dark hair was cut very short, his nose was high, and his blue-gray eyes stared unfathomably at Foko.

"You are Mr. Haryo Foco."

"Yes." Foco took the hand extended by the other party.

The man immediately shook hands with Illerman, but just nodded to him without asking his name.Then he paced behind the desk and picked up a few photos scattered on the desk.There are notes spread out on the table, and a thick stack of forms next to it; a black military hat is neatly placed on one side, with the brim facing outwards, and there is a circle of silver stripes along the brim of the brim under the pale eagle emblem on it.On the other side of the table is a black telephone.

"I don't know how to explain this to you." The man stood still with the photo in his hand.Foucault stepped forward, but Illerman did not follow.

The man said, and handed the photo to Foco: "Please see if it is your sister Ingert Foco."

Foco took it, looked at the photo in his hand, and didn't answer.He stared at the photos in his hand motionlessly, and after a long time, he abruptly changed the top one to the bottom of the pile of photos, bit his lower lip, and silently stared at the next one.In the room, only the clock hanging behind the desk made the sound of "click, click".The man stood beside Foko and waited indifferently. The young man not far behind him looked like a statue at the potted plant in the corner.Illerman raised his hand tentatively and unbuttoned his coat, but the sound of rustling was particularly ear-piercing at this moment.When he reached the second button with his hands, he froze in the air, and then he gave up and lowered his hands.

Foco looked at a stack of photos, then stared blankly at the first photo that was moved to the top layer.After a long time, as if he just remembered the man's question, Foco nodded with difficulty.

"Yes." Folk said dryly.

"It was initially confirmed to be a love killing. At noon today, in Till Park." The man said, "It has been sent to the hospital for emergency treatment. Notified your mother, she is accompanying the hospital."

Foco nodded slowly, but otherwise did not respond.

The man walked around to the table, picked up the writing board on the table, turned over the first few pages of the form clipped on it, and handed it to Foco together with a pen: "Your mother has filled in the details. If it is confirmed that the murdered The person is Ingpo Foko, and I ask you to sign this."

Foko took the writing board and pen, looked at the form on it in confusion, and the pen was hanging in the air.

"At the bottom," said the man.

Foucault scribbled his signature.He was about to hand the tablet back to the man when the telephone on the desk suddenly rang.The young man standing by the wall quickly walked to the desk, saw the man turned around and picked up the microphone, paused, walked over and took the writing board in Foco's hand, and put it on the table together with the pen.

Microphone in hand, the man turns to look at Foko.The young man stood beside Foco silently, his eyes wandering around the room.Foco looked at the telephone on the table expressionlessly.He slowly lowered his hands to his sides, and put his hands into the pockets of the long windbreaker.The right pocket was tightly closed, and he didn't put his hand in it once, but he mechanically went back and forth several times before putting his hand into the pocket.The man waited for the phone call to stop talking before saying "Got it", and then put down the phone.

"The rescue is ineffective."

The man walked up to Foco, "If you don't have anything to do this afternoon, please go to the Criminal Headquarters on Cowther Street."

Foko was still looking at the black phone.

"I see." Illerman couldn't help interjecting, "I'll remind him to go."

The man looked up at the young man beside him, who immediately walked to the door and opened it.

"Thank you." Foco said to the man in an inaudible voice.Then he suddenly turned around and walked out with big strides, his military boots thumping on the floor tiles.Seeing this, Yileman hurriedly chased him out, stopped when he passed by the young man, and said, "Thank you."

The young man looked at him sympathetically and just nodded.

Folk walked out of the room, walked through the waiting hall and went straight to the gate.Illerman followed, narrowly slamming the door.After leaving the police station, Folk immediately walked towards the König station of the Berlin subway without looking back.Suddenly his feet went limp, and he was about to fall. Yileman rushed to support him, but saw that his face was already full of tears.

Folk lowered his head, letting his tears flow, and just said, "Inger is dead."

Elleman opened his mouth, but nothing came out.Sighing, he stretched out his arms and wrapped Foco tightly around his chest.Foco buried his face on Yileman's shoulder, his hair brushed against Yileman's neck with the wind, and let Yileman's warm breath breathe out next to his ear.

The snow fell harder.

twelve

February [-], [-]