KRIEG (War)

by Ludwig Renn

  We joined the beginning of our platoon. Perle looked at me, pale and dirty.

  “How is it that you are already up here?” I asked.

  “We were alerted during the night,” he answered soberly.

  We marched through a beet field. The stalks were as wet as rain and reached to the knees. One skidded on the beets.

  We came to the village and halted by the shed in which we had lain during the night. The sun began to bore through. Above us was already blue sky.

  The captain came riding up, sprang from his horse and handed the reins to the groom, who came running up.

  “We are attacking!” he called. “The first and second platoons are going forward, the third remains here at my disposal!”

  How are we supposed to get across the river? I thought. “First platoon deploy!” commanded Fabian.

  We went forward and spread out. I had to go to the left around the dismal farmyard. Ahead on the other shore, a mountain ridge poked above the fog into the sunshine. To the right a couple of shots sounded. We came to a gently sloping meadow with wire fences. To the right Fabian had already reached the sharply falling incline. Individual blocks of stone and flat rubble towered from the meadow. We climbed over a barbed wire fence. In front of us broad trees were standing on a ledge. This was the edge of a stone quarry in whose depths a house stood, and to the left, a number of them. To the left stood a factory on the street with a red smokestack before which a strip of meadow stood. Then there was a strip of water from the Maas. Over there in the fog, colored by the morning sun, rose the other shore with houses, gardens, the tops of knolls, and an upward spiraling street with trees.

  A couple of rifle shots came whining from the other side.

  “The fog is getting thinner,” said Ziesche.

  “We’ll split up here,” I said. “I’m going with these men to the right. You all go to the left around the stone quarry.”

  A look from Unteroffizier Zache fell on me. He went as I had said. I wondered about it. I walked downhill with the one-year man, Lamm, Ziesche, and Perle in a strip of bushes on a narrow path. A bullet whined high above us.

  Over there the French must have been blinded by the sun, which right then was behind us. The path became ever more precipitous and came to an end at a steep meadow. Between the quarry and the next houses on the right we came to the street. The other shore lay peacefully in the sunshine.

  There! We spin around. From the quarry comes rifle fire popping and banging, very brisk—it whistles closely around us. I jerk my rifle up and shoot into the quarry.

  “There from the house!” yells Ziesche.

  The house has two upstairs windows facing us. Our shots all go into the wall of the house instead of in the windows. But the window panes must have holes in them if someone is shooting from there.

  “Get behind the house here!” I scream and run into the narrow walkway between the house and the boulders onto which a rabbit stall is built. The others are also there. The rifle fire stops. I point outward.

  “We’re such dummies! They were shooting from the other side of the river and we were so stupid as to turn our backs to them and shoot against a wall because the bullets were impacting there.”

  They looked down at the ground. I knew that I could depend on them. But, now what? We couldn’t get across the river. Where were the others from the platoon?

  The house in the quarry lay somewhat to the rear and had a wall facing us. Behind that, somewhat to the right, stood a house on the street, and behind that, the factory with the red chimney. Someone appeared on the street between the two and was looking around. Three others came behind him and stood there. There was the rattle of fire. They threw themselves on the street. They were being stupider than us. Should I yell? They wouldn’t hear it. My chest was trembling. They remained lying down. The firing popped and snapped.

  “I have to get over there!” I said.

  Perle gave me a pale stare.

  “How are you going to get over there?” asked Ziesche.

  “By crawling along in the gutters.”

  “It’s too shallow,” said Ziesche dryly.

  “It will have to do!” I said and then couldn’t make up my mind.

  One of the people sprang up and came walking along the street.

  “Over here!” The one-year man screamed.

  The other man walked along the street with his left forearm before his face to protect him from the shots. Suddenly Ziesche walked out.

  “Over here!” he called full throated and remained standing.

  “Ziesche!” I wanted to call, but he pulled himself together and came swiftly back. The other man hobbled along behind. It was Lehmann.

  “I’ve got one in the leg,” he said.

  “Sit down on this log,” said Ziesche, who knelt down in front of him. “What’s the problem with the others?”

  “They’re lying there on the street. Zache is dead and Handow Emil wanted me to take him with me, but he couldn’t walk and they kept shooting from the factory.”

  From the factory? I looked across. Is this another illusion? No, hardly. Are troops located there? Impossible! That way they would have the river behind them and no ferries. Ah, these cursed Belgians. What if others of our people come along there? But, surely, they must see the dead lying in the street.

  “Renn!”

  I jumped at suddenly being addressed.

  “What do we want to do here?” asked the one-year man, Lamm.

  Have I acted like a coward? I thought suddenly. I looked at the thigh wound of Lehmann. Should we have remained lying out front and kept shooting across the river? We had taken cover behind the house. And Lamm had to remind me that we were in the middle of a fight and that I had duties. But, what should we do here?

  “We have to go in the house,” I said. “We don’t know what the rest of the company is doing. Maybe we can look out of a window and see over to the right—Your ear is bleeding, Ziesche! Shall I bandage it for you?”

  He shook his head, grinning: “That little bit!” He wrapped a first-aid bandage around Lehmann’s naked thigh. The pant leg hung slit open below.

  Perle was standing at the rabbit cage and through the wire had stuck one finger, upon which a white rabbit was nibbling.

  I start. From out front, footsteps sound. An officer with about thirty men following is walking down the street. What if they see us hiding here behind the house?

  “We have to go forward with them!” I said hastily. Ziesche was finished with his bandaging. “Don’t leave me here alone!” said Lehmann. “There’s something more important now!”

  The strange platoon is already in front of the house at the quarry. We run out. Lehmann hobbles along also. There are shots all around. Those in the platoon dive to the street. A couple of them want to turn around.

  “Over there!” I scream and point around the corner of the quarry house. A hay wagon is standing across the entrance. “They’re shooting from the house!” yells someone. Already it’s the Belgians again! I jerk my rifle up and fire. Beside me the others are shooting also. Some of them walk behind me toward the quarry house, Lehmann among them. I squeeze the trigger again. Damn! I didn’t have a round in the chamber. Fire rattles.

  “Take me with you, comrade!” yells someone. “Grab me under the shoulder!” I throw my rifle into my left hand and grab him around the body. Whether it hurts him or not doesn’t matter. He’s heavy. Reports sound off the wall of the house. He pushes up with his left foot and then sinks down again. Between the house and the wagon is only a narrow passage. Something rips at my cap. There is a singing in my head. I drag him forward. He moans.

  We are already past the first window. He begins to slip from my grasp. His hip is soft. I claw into his coat. He is sitting rigid. I can only make a small fold. Someone plunges past us and around the corner, without his rifle.

  Now around the corner! We are behind the house. I lean my rifle against the wall, grab the wounded man with both arms and set him
against the back wall beside another man with blood running thickly from his nose.

  “Over there!” I heard someone say excitedly. I turned around: “Are you crazy? Stay here!” It was a strange Unteroffizier. I was startled, but he looked at me beseechingly.

  “We’ll post sentries here!” I said and thought to be subordinate about it—however, it came out harsh. “Hey, Ziesche, you watch over there. If anything shows itself at a window, shoot at it!”

  The Unteroffizier took courage. “We’ll post a sentry also.” I looked around. The sun was shining in the yard. About ten men were standing around. The same numbers were lying wounded on the ground or on the wagons and equipment. This was a forge here.

  Sander, who had come down with Zache, was lying on the ground in front of me and stared without moving at the sky.

  I kneeled down beside him. “Where are you hit?”

  He turned his gaze on me. “In the stomach,” he said, and stared upward once more.

  “Can I help you?”

  He barely shook his head.

  I stood up. My gaze was arrested by the tops of the trees, which overlooked the stone quarry, and everything that had happened became clear. While I was up above there I wasn’t yet a coward! A short time ago—it wasn’t actually cowardice. Alas, it is not cowardice when a man loses his head over a couple of shots. A short while ago I was blasting into the quarry and then again at the house! Although I should have known that those were only echoes. In my fear I didn’t even notice that I didn’t have a round in the chamber!—Now the unknown lieutenant is lying dead out front. He wasn’t a coward. He fell honorably. And is lying there dead!—Suddenly that was so hideous to me.

  And I had lured my people from over there, and why? Because I didn’t want to look like a coward! Look like, look like! As if I had not had the cowardice, the fear in me! The thoughts whipped around inside me. And I had run away; even though we had been taught that we could not go back, not even behind a house. Suddenly I had a thought. If we had remained out front we would be dead, and to what purpose? No purpose whatsoever. I would have sacrificed Perle and the others—I would have to be responsible for what I did!

  I noticed that Perle was looking at something on Lamm’s canteen. Now I suddenly realized that the artillery had been firing for some time. It roared over the valley, droned and pounded constantly from the quarry without differentiating whether it came from the German side or the French.

  I went over to the both of them. Perle laughed, “I caught one through the seat of the pants and one put a hole through Lamm’s canteen.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that earlier something had tugged at my cap. I took it off. On the right side a piece of the piping was ripped open.

  Perle laughed at my cap and touched the ripped spot. “Look at the seat of my pants!” he said.

  Ah, I thought, you have no idea what is happening here, you lucky guy!

  “Where is Lehmann?” I asked.

  “There behind the cart.”

  I turned away from them. Somebody had to do something here! But, if wounded are still lying out front, send more out—so that more of them are wounded?

  The artillery projectiles roared over us, burst, and pounded. In between, rifle shots whipped by or a machine gun rattled. Suddenly, it banged above us in the quarry and rattled down. I ducked involuntarily. One of the men grabbed his arm. His sleeve was shredded. Someone began to work on him.

  “That was a piece of shrapnel,” said the strange Unteroffizier.

  “Sergeant!” I said. “Shouldn’t we occupy the house here? We are completely useless here behind it.”

  “But, if someone is hiding inside like over there?”

  “There has been no firing from the house next door. That was just sound impacting.”

  He shook his head. “The man there was shot from the side through the nose, and he told me that he was wounded as he was running back.”

  “Yes Sergeant. That is possible. Earlier someone said that they were shot at from the factory, from which we are protected here by the house next door. If we occupy this house we can probably see everything and also take better care of our wounded.”

  “Good,” said the sergeant.

  I got Ziesche, Lamm, and Perle. Ziesche picked up an iron bar that was lying on the ground and went to the door. He tried to pry it open. “We’ll have to break the lock first,” he said.

  The armored door withstood a couple of powerful kicks. He got an ax and began striking the lock. I was in an anxious state. I held my rifle ready. The Sergeant’s people watched from a distance.

  After a fresh blow the door opened. Lamm rushed inside. I was shamed and followed after him. We were in a hallway, which led through the house to the front door with narrow steps to the left. The first door to the right was locked.

  We went to the next one and came into an empty kitchen. Ziesche checked out the stove.

  “The house is occupied. There are still hot coals in it.” No one was on the entire ground floor. We climbed up the stairs. I opened the first door.

  An old woman lay in a wide bed and looked at me with old, empty eyes. Another woman sat next to the bed and stared at me.

  “You don’t need to be afraid, Mother,” I said.

  The one beside the bed—she was no more than twenty years old—began to chatter very fast.

  “Don’t you speak French?” I asked Lamm. He said something haltingly. She answered and raised her hands beseechingly.

  “What did she say then?”

  “The old woman is dying and we should leave her in peace during her last hours.”

  “Tell her that we must occupy a window in the next room.”

  From the corner room looking left, it was only possible to see a corner of the factory. Perle looked out to the front. “It’s burning over there!” It appeared that a number of houses had been set on fire from the barrage. On the right the quarry blocked our view toward the rest of the company. I left my people upstairs and went back down. Someone was making a fire in the stove to brew coffee. Others were carrying the wounded inside. In the yard Lehmann still leaned against the wall and appeared very pale. Sander still lay as before, staring in the air. A pool of blood had formed beside him. The sun shone in his face. It must have been blinding to him.

  I went to bring the others downstairs to better care for our wounded. As I came into the yard again I noticed someone running along the street. “Over here!” I yelled.

  “Renn!” He called cheerfully and came walking into the yard. It was Eckold, the lieutenant’s orderly. “The lieutenant wants to know how things are going over here. There are some people lying in the street. Who is that?”

  I told him.

  “Listen,” he said. “Things haven’t gone all that well with us. Our captain was shot in the back from a house and killed. I tell you, the rage we all had! And we couldn’t get to the house because of the heavy fire and we were lying below them. However, they stormed the house from above and put all the people against the wall and executed them.”

  “Tell me, was there no firing as you were walking over here?”

  “Sure, there were a couple of isolated shots. However, they aren’t shooting very much from the other side since our artillery dropped on them!”

  He walked off again. We took Sander carefully and carried him into the forge. He didn’t make a sound. We placed Lehmann next to him.

  Meanwhile the artillery fire had strengthened and droned incessantly in the valley.

  As we climbed up the stairs again, suddenly there was a crack and something raining down from above. The younger woman came bursting out of the door and screamed something. We went into our corner room. The corner was torn open with grass backing and plaster hanging down. A window pane was broken and on the table lay pieces of plaster and white dust.

  Lamm came in. “Nothing happened over by the women. But the dying woman is sitting up in bed and by all means wants to get dressed. She looks ghastly.”

  We
didn’t say anything. With the roaring of the artillery it was impossible to hear anything from next door. I observed the far side of the river. There was heavy smoke and fumes, but it wasn’t possible to tell if it was from the artillery bursts or from the burning houses. What should we do? I sat on a chair. I was in terrible spirits.

  After a while I pulled myself together. Just do something! I went down stairs to check on the wounded. Lehmann sat with his head sunk forward. He was pale and snored restlessly from an open mouth. Sander still stared unmoving in the air. He is going to die, I thought. I wanted to pray, but couldn’t.

  I went into the yard and looked around the corner of the house. The dead were still lying in the street. What if wounded are among them? Now one could help. But I had no more spirit. The sunshine and the roar of the cannons were painful.

  I slunk back upstairs and sat down again on the chair. Lamm stood at the window and kept watch. How frightfully long this day was!

  “Someone’s coming outside!” Lamm said suddenly. “It’s Vizefeldwebel Ernst with some people.”

  I roused myself. Just so they don’t continue on past here. It was remarkable enough that they hadn’t been shot! I went downstairs. He was just coming into the yard with two squads.

  “Where is the house occupied by guerrillas?” He was something of a snob because of his education. I showed it to him. “We’ll take the factory! You lead us!”

  I got my rifle and the ax. “Herr Feldwebel, it would be good if we first went single file behind the next house.”

  I walked behind the wagon and a small vegetable garden to the narrow path leading between the stone wall and the house. I saw the rear wing of the factory about a hundred paces in front of me. I tried the door. It was locked. I leaned my rifle against the wall and used the backside of the ax to pound the iron lock. In the meantime Ernst came running with the first squad.

  “Caution!” I called, for I was already making a second swing and there was little room on the stone path. I swung with both hands. It resounded. The door latch fell on the stones.

  I prepared to strike it again. A shot rang sharply. It must have passed closely behind me.