The Alps, December 31, 1944

His wool uniform was rough against her cheek, but Tanya continued to cling to his arm. It was silent inside the Mercedes, only a restrained murmur from its powerful engine. The supple backseat absorbed all but the deepest ruts in the Alpine road. The hands on the dashboard clock glowed in the dark, approaching midnight. In a moment, 1944 would end, and with it, their way of life.

They watched the driver struggle to keep the large staff car on the icy road, which slithered up into the formidable mountains toward the Swiss border. The headlights were painted over, only thin blades of light left to illuminate snapshots of steel barriers, pine trees, and mounds of fresh snow.

Klaus cracked the window, and cold air invaded the car, together with the engine roar of the loaded truck that followed them close behind. Tanya’s hand crawled into his, her fingers curled against his warm palm. The car entered a tunnel, and the phosphorous hands of the dashboard clock merged into one.

Midnight.

As the Mercedes emerged from the tunnel, the western horizon exploded-red, blue, and white lights, bursting into the black sky-a New Year’s salute from thousands of artillery guns, orchestrated by General Patton, the irascible commander of the American Third Army. In the front seat, the driver cursed under his breath.

“Happy birthday.” With a finger under her chin, Klaus brought up Tanya’s face and kissed her lips. “Seventeen,” he said, “and many more.”

“Together.” She pressed his hand to her lower abdomen, where a new life was growing.

Meanwhile, the driver began searching the radio frequencies through static and bursts of music until Adolf Hitler’s voice emerged. “Like a phoenix,” the Fuhrer yelled, “ Deutschland will rise again!”