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If you've already done the math, then you'd know I was seven years old when
Annika was born. It was kind of an unexpected bonusno longer being the
youngest. I could hardly wait for her to arrive. I learned so much about the
infliction of pain from my older brother, I was eager to impart my wisdom to the
younger generation.
I spent my first seven years as an unwitting scientific experiment.
Scientific, however, suggests it was all documented for a greater good. But
nothing was written down. There were no lab notes. No charts. No graphs. Only a
constant stream of misery. Dad always said our family was part Austrian, but all
you had to do was see my brother, Ben, in action to realize our German roots ran
deep. I could have written a book like Anne Frank, detailing the occupation, but
Ben would have found it and rubbed every word in my face like broken glass.
Excerpted from Maybe a Miracle by Brian Strause Copyright © 2005 by Brian Strause. Excerpted by permission of Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
In war there are no unwounded soldiers
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