KRIEG (War)

  We spent the night in an area with a creek and a meadow. Corrugated sheets of iron were lying around from which we built huts. Not far away there was an English dump with high, pointed tents. Group Haehnel carried one of the tents away and had also found new jackets, shoes, and shaving articles. They wanted to keep the tent.

  “If you want to carry it,” I said, “it is all right with me.”

  They had assumed that I would make a place for it on our machine gun wagon. The next morning they left it behind.

  We crossed over a small river on a narrow, temporary bridge. The far bank rose steeply upward. There were dead Scots lying there in their short skirts. Their boots and socks had been taken from them. Most of my people were already wearing good English lace-up boots. To the left of the road lay an abandoned battery with some dead Frenchmen.

  We spent the night again in a trench and spanned the windward side with doubled shelter halves.

  This whole area had been abandoned by us a year earlier. I thought the French would have built everything up again. However, no one was living here and the fields were not cultivated.

  We came to the area of the battle of the Somme. The trenches were overgrown and the wire barricades rusted. Not even the streets had been restored.

  We stayed two days in the ruins of one place by icy winds. Within one or two kilometers’ distance stood the dead forest of Bourraine, where I had been wounded in 1916.

  That day we marched across the tangle of trenches from the Battle of the Somme and set up tents. A dead horse lay there. Everyone rushed over and with their knives cut pieces of meat from it.

  Darkness came and it began to rain. I lay down in my tent.

  “Break down the tents! Fall in immediately on the street!”

  Outside it was pitch black. It was raining in sheets. There were complaints everywhere. Where were my groups? I called.

  Finally someone came.

  “Group Haehnel is on the street!”

  “Are you finally ready?” Trepte screamed at me.

  “Who do you mean? This is Renn.”

  “This damned darkness! Have you seen any of my people?”

  “No, I’m still searching for mine.”

  After three-quarters of an hour the company was standing in the street. However, three men were missing, among them Leiser. They had probably used the confusion and had taken off.

  Lamm was not to be found. The rain poured down on us.

  “Where is the battalion headquarters?” the company commander asked over and over.

  “The brigade has once more alerted us instead of giving out a peaceful order!” someone complained.

  “Well, what is the purpose of it?”

  “What is the purpose? Now we can stand four hours in the rain instead of sleeping!”

  “Well, we could set up tents again.”

  “That would be a lot of fun in the darkness, and then lay down under a roof and below you is mud!”

  We stood and let the rain fall on us. Lamm came back and stood with us.

  “Are we attacking early in the morning?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We were again quiet. The rain dripped.

  Finally after midnight we marched off. It had stopped raining. In the sky large, white clouds moved toward us and once in a while allowed the moon to peek through. The clouds came from the sea. We marched through villages. Sometimes a ray of light from the moon moved across the fields.

  I dreamed again and again of the sea, to which we might come. What does the sea look like?

  IV

  As the day came it was overcast.

  We marched through a large and, as it appeared, a rich village. On the other side we curved off into a field with bright green winter corn. Here we dug flat holes for ourselves to lie down in and slept.

  “Today we attack,” said Lamm. “A reserve of leaders is to be chosen so that not all of them will be involved in the first attack. Of the platoon leaders I have chosen Trepte. From your platoon, Hauffe can remain behind.”

  Haehnel approached: “My people have brought you a bottle of red wine.”

  “Drink it yourselves!” I said. I had absolutely no desire to drink before an attack and in the early morning.

  “No, they have much too much and they won’t drink unless you drink.”

  “Well, all right, thank you,” I said and wanted to share it with Funke and Wolf. But they already had bottles. Therefore, I poured it into my field cup. The wine appeared to me to be very heavy. Small, French planes circled ahead of us and shot from above with machine guns, sometimes at us too. That did not give me a feeling of danger though. I drank the bottle empty, placed my pack under my head and slept in my long, narrow hole.

  ——————————

  I woke up and heard, “What are you doing with the horse here?”

  “The sergeant sent me forward because we are moving out.”

  “Yeah, we are moving out, in that we are attacking,” laughed Wolf.

  “We are?” The man took the company commander’s horse and left.

  I looked around. Everyone was packing their knapsacks.

  “Herr Feldwebel, we are to be in formation in ten minutes,” said Funke.

  I got up quickly, took off my coat, and packed my knapsack.

  We assembled with the other companies of the battalion. There was heavy pressure on my bladder. It was because of the damned wine. I didn’t want to fall out in front of the whole battalion. They would have said, Look at him; he has wet himself from fear!

  All around troops made themselves ready to attack without the least caution to take cover. The sun shone.

  To the left, on the street, cannons stood in three rows, one behind the other, short thick ones and long thin ones down to the heavy howitzers. A thick crowd of idle people, mainly from the supply column, watched our preparations.

  Our company was at the very front, on our left the first company, to the right an unfamiliar division.

  Lamm called the platoon leaders together.

  “In the company we will position ourselves: to the right, Renn, left, Langenohl, to the rear, me with Sandkorn. Renn is responsible for contact with our goal—Look there ahead! First come the fields with winter corn and then at about three kilometers distance, a forest. In the middle you will see a change of color: to the left the forest is more olive green and then suddenly it becomes chalky green. That is our direction—In a few minutes it begins!”

  I placed Brand in front with his light machine gun group, me behind him. The other groups were to follow behind me to the right and left in trailing formations with the leader in front.

  “Fall in!” called Lamm.

  “March!”

  To the right and left they set themselves in motion with wide lines of riflemen, with us in short, trailing formations and further to the left in irregular bunches. To the left and behind me Lamm followed with his runners, stretcher bearers, and two reserve machine guns on a cart pulled by the armorer’s assistants. Behind them platoon Sandkorn, then the fourth company, heavy machine guns, and trench mortars.

  This is a monstrous assault, I thought. And there are at least three divisions. But this massive bunching of people made me somewhat fearful. And why wasn’t our artillery firing?

  From the other side came isolated infantry fire. They are nervous, I thought, because they are firing from such a long range.

  The terrain dropped off. Ahead of us a fairly deep area ran crossways. In this area a flat trench had been dug, but it was empty.

  We climbed up the other slope.

  The rifle fire suddenly increased.

  Brand, with his people and the machine gun, began running; they disappeared above.

  I looked around quickly.

  “We will move somewhat to the right,” I said to Funke and Wolf, “so that we don’t come upon our machine gun and cause the bunching up to be even greater.”

  They nodded.

  Shots cracked around me.
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  I saw the forest edge at about four hundred meters or less. We began running.

  Brand’s machine gun was firing on the left. I wanted to pass it and run ahead.

  It popped, clattered, and pinged.

  I threw myself down. I had no rifle, only the pistol,and it was of no use hereThe edge of the woods was jagged. Directly by us a corner stuck out. If one had that point, he would soon have the whole position.

  Someone threw himself to the left of me. It was the short, round Quellmalz.

  “I am wounded. Can I go to the rear?”

  Blood ran over his face.

  “Give me your rifle and cartridges.”

  He tossed cartridges in front of me.

  I had noticed about a half a step from the edge in the corner of the woods every so often, a thin haze. Therefore someone was firing from there. I aimed carefully. It was about three hundred meters. The man was firing from at least thirty centimeters above the ground.

  On my right two men came walking and threw themselves down.

  Brand, with his machine gun, was lying way too far to the rear.

  “M. G. group Brand forward!” I bellowed.

  Zing! A shot went close by my ear.

  Nonsense! It went through my mind. To tell them they should move forward? No! I will go forward myself!

  I picked myself up and ran. Quite a distance, I thought. While running I didn’t notice the firing as much.

  I took a small glance to the side. I was already half way between our front line and the edge of the woods. Damn, alone! I thought to myself and threw myself down.

  The shots were flying like birds above and around me. I didn’t know which were German and which were enemy. Again I saw the light haze at the point of the woods.

  I aimed. I was wonderfully calm.

  I loaded again and aimed a hand width farther to the right. Now the range was only a hundred and fifty meters.

  Snap! I tore open the magazine. It was empty. I reached in my pocket. I had forgotten to put the cartridges in it.

  A shot struck the ground a half step ahead of me!

  I allowed my head to drop down. I couldn’t fire, therefore play dead! I had laid my head in the helmet sideways to the right and saw ahead of me some green stalks of winter corn. Behind that there was a light depression into which I couldn’t see. Farther on were Germans, at least five hundred meters’ distance from the edge of the woods. They could not advance. Had it ever been possible to take a fully garrisoned position without artillery support and across level ground?

  When will it be dark? In two hours—And how terribly the pressure is on my bladder now! I won’t be able to hold it till then.

  I raised my rear somewhat and wanted to relieve myself.

  Again a shot struck close in front of me.

  Oh well, let it run in my pants! And it ran and ran the whole bottle of wine. My legs became warm and cool. What childishness!

  I heard steps to the left of me.

  I looked up. It was Hartenstein. Someone threw himself next to me. That was better.

  “Give me some cartridges!” I called.

  He threw me some.

  “Fire!” I screamed, “so that he can get there.”

  Hartenstein was five paces from the edge of the woods. He fell there with a turn toward us and looked at us.

  On the left came more people forward.

  I stood up and went with them.

  There was firing, but it grew continually weaker.

  In the point of the woods I saw someone take off.

  I jerked my rifle up and fired. He fell. I have killed that one, I thought, but it didn’t disturb me.

  Hartenstein only had a light wound.

  There was a ditch in the point of the woods like a bathtub. There lay rucksacks and canned rations.

  Some wanted to take souvenirs

  “Stay here!” I said. “We haven’t taken the position yet. Keep a sharp lookout! Rifles forward! And go here through the thicket!”

  We continued carefully forward.

  Halfway to the left a trench suddenly appeared. The French held their hands in the air.

  “La bas!” I said and waved to the rear.

  They sprang out of the trench and walked toward the side from which we came.

  A rifle fired from very close.

  We crept on. Besser was close beside me, rifle ready.

  We came to the far edge of the woods. A gorge lay ahead of us. On the other side began a thin beech woods. On the other side of that the retreating French disappeared on the high meadow.

  In the gorge I ordered a halt. It would be senseless to continue attacking with my five men. Some men from the left neighboring division came and one of our light machine guns with two men. They carried the parts with difficulty.

  “Where are the other machine guns?”

  “They’re all gone. Lamm is also wounded and Langenohl is dead.”

  I rearranged my men and continued on.

  Wham! Wham! Wham! In the woods, in a line, very close!

  “Double time!” I bellowed.

  A grenade landed two steps to my right front.

  I kicked it. There was a sharp pain in my foot. I looked at it. The upper leather was ripped open and there was blood on it.

  “Shall I bandage it?” yelled Besser.

  “No, keep going.”

  I attempted to stand on the heel. That was successful. I hobbled back into the gorge. A young guy came to me. “So we meet again.”

  “Who are you, then?”

  “I am from the first company. But I have always seen the Herr Feldwebel.”

  He had a wound in his calf.

  “How are things with the first?”

  “Our company commander is dead. He fell on the road from a machine gun. They are all dead on the street. I don’t know who is still there—not many.”

  We hobbled along together.

  Four Frenchmen had taken a wide board on their shoulders, on which a wounded German sat, and carried him cheerfully to the rear.

  Some distance to the right, grenades were exploding. There was also infantry fire.

  We came to the edge of the woods from which earlier the French were shooting. Ahead of us lay the field with winter corn and across it, like ribs, the dead. Hartenstein was no longer there. Haehnel lay on his back with wide open eyes. He made movements with his arms. I kneeled and took hold of his hand. He didn’t look at me.

  “Haehnel,” I said, “you don’t need to be afraid. I am here.” He moved and stared in the air. He had a belly wound.—Oh, I couldn’t help him!—No one will mourn for him. He has no relatives—and if he did, what good would it do him?

  I continued on.

  Jauer lay there. There also lay Sandkorn with a hole in the front of his helmet; other than that, neatly on both elbows. Saenger lay half on his side, one arm stretched out under his body. There was nothing to be seen of Funke and Wolf.

  We came toward the village. Shells were landing with regularity in a field.

  Another man joined us. He had a wound in his armpit and was afraid of the shells.

  We ran as well as we could and came to a graveyard. There, two doctors were bandaging, encircled by wounded.

  “What do you have?” called the senior physician, who had examined my lung that time, over the waiting men.

  “Foot wound, Herr Oberarzt.”

  “Straight to the field hospital!”

  The others came with me.

  Hauffe came running down the village street. “You are here? Everyone said you were dead!—I will show you the hospital and cook you a chicken; we have some!”

  “Do you know anything of Funke and Wolf?”

  “The good Funke is dead. I don’t know anything about Wolf.”

  It began to grow dark.

  “Here is the hospital. I’ll pick you up again here.”

  I came into a room in which a number of people were standing. To the right around the corner it appeared that they we
re bandaging by a carbide lamp. I observed the people. I saw a completely mangled face, the nose and mouth a bloody clump.—And those were Wolf’s eyes which looked at me sorrowfully.—How can he still be alive and stand upright? I looked at him and wanted to ask. However, he couldn’t have answered. I sat on a box and examined my boot. I had to cut it open. As I cut the seam I thought with horror of Wolf.—He can’t eat anything. Will he simply die in two or three days?

  When I looked up again he had disappeared, and I soon came to a doctor.

  “A bad splinter wound. The grenade splinter appears to still be in there. We can’t operate on that here. You will have to attempt on your own to get to a larger hospital.”

  They bandaged me and gave me an injection in my leg.

  Hauffe came again shortly. I could stand up easier with the bare heel than before with the boot. He led me to a large house.

  In a low room a kerosene lamp was burning on the ceiling. All sorts of implements were hanging all around. It must be a wool spinning mill.

  Hauffe pulled me quickly forward and turned me loose. There sat Lamm, his right arm bandaged, and with his left hand he poked at a chicken leg in a frying pan. He dropped the fork and gave me his left hand.

  Hauffe brought red wine. Trepte joined us. We ate. The chicken was heavily seasoned. I was very thirsty and drank red wine.

  I noticed now that I was very excited. My foot began to ache. I put it up on a chair. However, the pain became increasingly stronger.

  Hauffe made me a bed on a pile of wool and I lay down.

  In the middle of the night I woke up with such a heavy pain that I trembled all over.

  I stretched the leg in the air.

  I stood up and hobbled around.

  I lay down again.

  Finally I sat on a chair and laid my leg on another chair. So, in desperation, I waited for morning.

  V

  The next day began my wandering with Lamm through the wasted land. The young fellow with the calf wound had also joined us. He hobbled on the left, I on the right. My heel was naturally not used to walking bare. I constantly felt the stones of this chalk street.

  It began to snow a little. Captured Frenchmen were going unaccompanied in the same direction. What else could they do? The front was forward; the land around us was a waste with no one in it and nothing to eat.