The Wehrwolf

by Alma Katsu

A nation that put children in harm’s way while its leaders cowered in bunkers had already lost; it just wouldn’t admit it.

Wolves were cunning; wolves were strong. Many Germans spoke lovingly of the wolf, even though it was the wolf that carried off their sheep and chickens and sometimes even killed the family dog when it tried to protect them. How could so many of his countrymen not see the wolf for what it was?

Wild things were beautiful; maybe their wildness was their beauty, the knowledge that you could never possess them.

Yet it had been fairy tales that led Germany into war, the Nazis wanting everyone to believe Aryans were descended from mythic god-men and that they could regain godlike powers if their blood were pure enough.

If the Devil was real, then God was, too, yet with which side was Uwe aligned?

When they were wolves, they didn’t need to worry about feeding their families or not having enough money or finding work. They didn’t have to wonder if they would be taken to a prisoner of war camp, their families left to fend for themselves.

The wolf was strong, and the man was weak and ashamed of his weakness.

The Devil made Uwe feel strong and powerful and accepted by his fellow man, and there was a goodness there. When had God ever made Uwe feel good?

no one involved in this kind of violence believed they were wrong. They always felt justified—until, like Uwe in this story, they were forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

And the main lesson history has to teach us is that it’s easy to slip the skin of humanity and become a monster.