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Prologue
Auschwitz II–Birkenau, Poland 25 December 1943

The transport train from Trezin, Czechoslovakia slowed its wheels
into the big building with the tunnel to the ramp. Inside one of the train
there were 100 people crowded, some families praying for a miracle,
young adults going bonkers, elderly couples attempting to commit
suicide and several children crying out for their parents. Hendrik
Hosporsky, a veteran of the Czech army and a Reform Jew, sat down on
the left side on a urine-filled floor. His coat with the Jude star was filled
with mud, niticone, saliva and other issues. Hendrik was wondering
why he was sent to the East with his elderly parents, not being with his
two teenage sons and British-born wife, Ashley Hopkins-Hosporsky.
Hendrik remembered the moment he pled Ashley to take their two
sons to flee Czechoslovakia on March 15, 1939. He had to take care of
his father’s bookstore in Prague first before joining the rest of his family.
With the Nazi authorities already getting rid of the Czech identity by
imposing on their rigid Nazi ideology, Hendrik wrote a long letter to
Ashley. In it he echoed the hope for a reunion when the war was over.


14 March 1939

Dearest Ashley,
Today is the last day you’ll have to leave for England with your two sons, Petr and Thomas. I have to take care of my parents’ bookstore and plan an escape to Switzerland or France with my father and mother. If we cannot escape, I hope, someone will sponsor us with a Swedish passport and perhaps fly to Stockholm or Copenhagen. From there we’ll fly to London to be with you and the boys. G-d will always help me! You and I will always remember the first peaceful Christmas after the Armistice. Remember me to your Aunt Mary, Cousins Thomas, William and Katherine, your dad and brother, Henry. Will you do that, darling? May God bless you and the children and I love the three of you!
Love,
Henry

Strictly from a formatting sense, mine or general I'd split up, If I'm reading here the Prologue: the first lead-in to two, short-step first paragraphs. Besides that, it reminds me of two hist. fictions/ histories:
Herman Wouk's Winds of War, etc., and much more recently, Mark Edmundson's (U.Virginia prof., author) The Death of Sigmund Freud, outlining his last years and how he was able to choose to travel to London, though I forget all of the details. Yours promises to include familiar, unfamiliar details.