Bloody Citadel

by Andrew McGregor

  The helmeted face turned away abruptly, the tone firm, ‘Tatu...support him as we move...we are leaving now.’

  Whimpering and desperate shouting for help filled their ears from within the buildings, one of the soldiers shouting after the young commander in desperation, ‘What of them? What of the wounded?’

  The reply was brief and dismissive as if weary and bitterly determined, ‘They are lost now…we cannot help them all…or probably any, there will be many on the way east too…’ Muffled gunshots rang out from within the buildings, many of the injured taking their own lives, sombre guards and ground crews dropping weapons and bayonets mercifully amongst the prone soldiers, many unable to stand through fever or their wounds. Undernourished shaking hands reached for the devices, some even glancing round to their countrymen as they brandished grenades, the solemn and defeated incapacitated soldiers nodding in final agreement as the bases were unscrewed.

  The small group struggled from the alleyway out into the dull light, explosions behind as gunshots filled the air, two men supported by their comrades as the officer glanced round across a large rear yard, originally utilised for storing engineering supplies, the sight now far darker and grim. Bodies lay half covered in snow, the faces frozen with many staring blankly upwards, some even stacked four or five upon each other. Leutnant Hausser was incensed with futile hatred as he shook his head in grim disapproval…the bodies were of the injured expected not to survive the long flight out or the time taken in the queue to escape…they had been moved outside to permit a quick and hypothermic warm death in the frozen cold.

  Turning swiftly, the young commander gritted his teeth, breath swirling around his face as explosions erupted across the airfield and rooftops, Hausser indicating towards the exit of the yard in determination, ‘Keep moving, and quickly…we are still alive and will survive this day!’

  Two Days Later. Luftwaffe Main Field, Bremen:

  Ernst Brandt limped towards the administration building to the edge of the field, eighteen hours having been spent in a local hospital, his lower leg wound stitched and bandaged heavily, his black leather flight jacket open. Having begged a lift from the local garrison commander, the Kubelwagen jeep had deposited him before the grey two storey building in mid-morning, the engine revving behind as the young soldier that had found him in the fields west of the city spun the wheel of the small car, the jeep skidding off in a semi-circle before disappearing behind some low hangars.

  Ernst grinned at the young soldier’s enthusiasm, imagining it may become less obvious once a posting to Russia or another occupied country arrived, the flyer engaged by the young man’s energy. Staring across the wide field, he smiled fondly at the line of FW190s and ME109s, ground crews busying themselves with the engine cowlings raised. Several other men in brown overalls were unloading ammunition lorries to the side, a group of young pilots looking on as they smoked and chatted, behind them empty chairs and a table before their accommodation block, the brick structure low and single storied.

  At the end of the other side of the field, before further grey buildings, six Bf110 twin engine fighter bombers were lined up, a number behind in workshops and open hangars. Shaking his head, the young flyer turned and limped through the open doors, the corridor within branching off to either side as he stopped at a low reception desk, the smartly dressed young woman glancing up at him as he smiled approvingly, his eyebrows rising before clearing his throat, ‘Leutnant Ernst Brandt to see Major Lank…’

  The woman nodded briefly, a tongue running across her lips before glancing back down in disinterest to the extensive paperwork on the desks surface as she swept a strand of long brown hair over her right ear, ‘Major Lank is at the end of the corridor to your right Herr Leutnant…please be quick, he has a briefing in twenty minutes…’ She shuffled the papers further, the flyer seeing further boxes and desk files through a nearby open door in a room behind to the right, obviously her office.

  Ernst leant forward, limping to raise a leg to sit on the side of the low table in interest, ‘Certainly, a pleasure to meet such an efficient young woman…’

  The brown haired administrator looked up once more, her eyes narrowing in seriousness and further disapproval at his intended action, her beauty obvious with high cheek bones and well-styled hair, ‘Herr Leutnant…I meet flyers all the time...I hear their compliments all the time. If I am as ‘efficient’ as you say, then you should have no doubt that I have also considered what your second thought is after the compliment. I therefore advise you once more that Major Lank is at the end of the corridor…and that he has a briefing to attend. I suggest you make your way to him…he is very busy…as am I.’

  Ernst shrugged in defeat, straightening painfully and nodding as he raised a gloved hand to his cap, ‘Thank you, miss…’ His boots turned on the cement floor, limping off down the corridor as the administrator smiled faintly, her hand rising to conceal the gesture as she reached behind for another personal file, the young pilot’s funeral having been the day before.

  Ernst Brandt reached the end doorway, straightening his leather flying jacket and officer’s cap nervously before knocking, a deep voice from inside responding almost immediately, ‘Come!’

  Kiev Central Wehrmacht Military Hospital:

  The soldier slowly lowered himself onto the wooden chair before the bed in the hospital ward of eight, the younger man sleeping deeply before him as he stared at the slim features, his eyes straining as he realised his friend had lost weight. Breathing deeply, the young prone man turned slowly in his heavy sleep, sighing as he adopted a more comfortable position beneath the covers.

  The soldier slumped back in the chair, weary from travelling, his eyes half closing after a long trudge through the city streets, his tired and bleary vision scanning the rest of the first floor hospital ward. With all the beds taken, several of the wounded men were sleeping, one jerking sporadically as if consumed by a deep and dark disturbing dream, another older infantryman smoking as he eyed the new arrival with some suspicion, his head turning to whisper to the soldier in the bed next to him, the other man bandaged heavily across the chest and both arms. At the far end of the ward, nearest the main doors were two men with amputations, one missing a leg and the other an arm, their sombre faces seeming to stare blankly through the high windows opposite their positions and into the dull grey Russian sky. The wide room was relatively basic, polished tiles beneath the comfortable beds, a vacant desk at the end where Hase presumed a nurse would usually sit, the ward situated at the back of the hospital and overlooking a small once manicured park bordered by trees that extended around the ground floor on both sides.

  His mind drifted as he looked back at the young man before him, his head nodding forward. Drifting off briefly, he became aware of the shaking of his shoulder, his eyes snapping open as he straightened in confusion, his hand reaching for the rear of his strained neck to massage the dull pain in the muscles.

  Glancing round, he smiled politely and in surprise at the young nurse who sat beside him, her eyes full of sorrow as he coughed nervously and spoke, indicating to the patient as his cheeks flushed slightly, ‘How is he?’

  A brief knowing smile flickered across her features before she realised his uniform, her eyes widening in surprise as she recognised his accent and their native language. Swallowing, she nodded reassuringly, ‘His fever is lower…he will survive.’ Her smile widened as she took in his slim chiselled features, the soldier a similar age to herself, ‘He has had many nightmares of the past…he was terrified…were you with him then?’

  Hase shrugged, then nodded reluctantly, ‘Probably…he was only transferred to Russia just before I met him.’ He glanced back down at the slumbering figure in the bed thoughtfully, ‘You must just think of him as innocent…he is only following orders…’

  The petit and slim nurse nodded despondently, ‘I have seen many now…young men crippled or that die in these beds. Some go back to the front…several return to us again and then may die or
go back home in trains or boxes…or back to the fighting once more.’ She leant forward seriously to whisper, another robust German nurse entering the room through the double doors, ‘I have never seen one of you soldiers here...’ The nurse seemed uncertain whether to proceed, then committed to asking, her curiosity overcoming doubt, ‘May I ask...how will you live with the guilt? Your mother and father…what will they say to this uniform that you wear?’

  Hase smiled for a short time, shaking his head thoughtfully and from tiredness, ‘You do not understand…we are only a few men in my unit and they are my friends.’ He swallowed hard in uncomfortable reflection, ‘I pledged my loyalty to the commander after he saved many lives in the Crimea, including the men in my unit…now I have let him down…betrayed him.’

  The nurse’s grey eyes strained in confusion, ‘Betrayed...how could you have betrayed him?’

  Hase’s cheeks flushed, uncomfortably explaining what had happened, ‘We were involved in a fight with rebels…the officer was above me in a blockhouse...there was an explosion. They kept him there as the train continued...he was unconscious and wounded again in the shoulder...’ He swallowed hard as he shook his head, a grubby hand pinching the top of his nose as his eyed filled with emotion, ‘...it should have been me that climbed the ladder first...I just watched him go up and did nothing...he was my commander.’

  The nurse leant forward, Hase drawing a sharp breath, half through rising emotion and as her hand grasped his tightly, her eyes glancing from side to side towards the other patients, her voice low and reassuring, ‘Fate in war is rarely kind, but from what you say he seems still alive...surely you will see him again…you can explain…’

  Hase nodded solemnly, his eyes straining as he recalled the smouldering blockhouse, the heat and swirling smoke with sporadic machine gun fire, a hand rising to his brow to push the field cap back as he sniffed, his head spinning round as a familiar voice broke the silence.

  Udet was staring at him as if in disbelief, the young soldier’s eyes wide with surprise as he struggled to rise to a seating position, the nurse lunging forward to assist as he declared, ‘Mein Kumpel (my close friend/buddy) Hase...’ Then he grinned and shrugged with a wince, winking at the smiling ‘Hiwi’, ‘It doesn’t matter...you cannot understand...and I am very hungry.’ The nurse was retrieving a pillow to place behind his back, grasping Udet’s arm and pulling his upper body forward as he grimaced, his eyes drifting to the double doors as they shuddered, then opened, a hand extending towards them excitedly, ‘But he can...we are now back together!’

  Hase glanced round, his smile widening to a fond grin as he glimpsed the tall figure between the doors, the robust frame leaning on a stick, a wide smile on the older unshaven man’s face as he recognised the seated soldier, his voice low and shaking, ‘Young Hase, I wondered if we would meet again...’ He struggled forward, leaning on the makeshift cane and extending his stride as the awake soldiers on either side nodded a smiled greeting, his free hand waving to dismiss Hase rising to help him, ‘I am not that feeble yet young man...so we must have a chat and discover your adventures...’ He stiffened, eyes straining suspiciously, ‘...and where is our loyal Leutnant, Herr Hausser and my little Crina?’

  The robust older German nurse interrupted from his right, shaking her head in disapproval, ‘Why Russian? Have you soldiers not had enough of this country without speaking its language?’

  Petru turned sharply, gritting his teeth, ‘Hush woman...I have had enough of your opinions and wandering hands during baths...you should go and find yourself a healthy Russian man at the waterfront and see what he can do for your miserable attitude!’

  He grinned, turning to wink at a grim faced Hase as Udet giggled, the German nurse mischievously sticking out her tongue as three of the other patients chuckled, the one below her attempting to hide his expression through fear, his head slipping beneath the sheets as her voice rose in retort, ‘Dirty old Romanians...from what I recall, there is little for you to boast about...the scar is longer!’

  Petru rolled his eyes, stepping forward once more, ‘My wife seemed more than happy last time we met...’ He glanced back at the nurse deviously, ‘...remember the river front will only be suitable for the likes of you after nightfall...go during daylight and you will only scare the children!’

  The nurse shook her head, a smile curling across her lips as she turned back to the patient, ‘Bah!’ Her eyes narrowed as she glanced back down at the bed, the covered frame shaking as the soldier laughed silently beneath the sheets, ‘I see another thorough examination of this patient is required...he may have an uncontrollable fever...or worse. I don’t want an infection spreading through my wards.’ The sheets slowly lowered, the young soldier with an almost healed stomach wound shaking his worried head in mock terror as she leant over him, her eyes staring at him in taunting menace, ‘This will hurt you far more than it will hurt me...’ Her eyes lit up mischievously, ‘But we will both enjoy it!’

  Petru struggled across the ward, wincing sharply as he lowered himself onto the bed next to a now upright Udet, the Russian nurse blushing and withdrawing nervously, the Romanian grinning and nudging the young German, ‘She is a lot prettier than the ones on my ward below...it seems the cream has risen to the top.’ He chuckled as Hase smiled, Udet shaking his head in failed understanding, Petru nodding to the Hiwi before him, ‘I have some vodka hidden in my bed...we will have a chat here and then go and talk to Sergeant Moretti. Our Italian is just waiting outside...we can have a drink with him. Now tell me, where is our Leutnant and little dog? I want to get out of here now…there is only so much sleeping I can do with this German nurse near…she scares me.’

  Petru rubbed Hase’s upper arm fondly, smiling widely, ‘It is so good to see you again young man…’ He sniffed as a cold breeze enveloped them, the three figures wearing padded combat jackets, the Romanian continuing as he swigged from the vodka flask, gasping at the course liquid, ‘…our friend Moretti was an honourable man…caring for his Italian soldiers and us.’

  Hase nodded, glancing down at the grave before them grimly, Udet taking the ceramic bottle and raising it, his slim body shivering uncontrollably as he swigged, ‘To our lost friend…may his spirit be back on his beach in Italy now, laughing at the beautiful women and drinking his fill.’

  The Hiwi stared across the park, the once carefully pruned and cared for ornate lawns now filled with graves, white crosses standing in lines with darkly marked names and unit markings with numbers adorning the light wood, many of the raised earth final resting places marked with small gestures of friendship from fellow unit members that had been patients or visitors. Some had broken identity tags hung by their chains from the crosses, others with faded pictures or the odd helmet or bayonet, even some with a small number of bullets cast across the cold earth in solemn memory.

  Udet offered the flask to Hase, Petru speaking softly down to the war grave before the three figures, ‘You must have been in terrible pain, even when we were in the field hospital…I remember you were just silent, refusing care and pointing to us…Tatu shouting at you for help and in anger as you stared quietly at us both. Tatu walked out in anger and you just coughed a few times, wiping your mouth as I stared at you. I was in extreme pain and fearful that I would die…thinking of my wife and children as you just smiled in comfort…for that my friend, I will always be eternally grateful.’ The Romanian struggled to lower himself, Hase grasping his arm as the older man dropped to his knees, tears filling his eyes as he spoke through almost gritted teeth, his shoulders shaking as a trembling hand reached out for the cold earth grave, ‘I fell unconscious and when I awoke they told me you were gone…your lungs full of blood, broken from the explosion…bones cracked and bent inwards.’ Petru’s head and matted hair dropped in sorrow, ‘…they said that when they examined you that your ears were broken, burst…that you could not hear and that you had refused any attention, saying there was nothing wrong…that they should attend to us.’ He sucked air, g
asping as he wept openly, ‘You knew you would die and just wanted to help us again…we can never thank you enough or even forgive you for that old friend.’

  The other two men bowed their heads, closing their eyes in respect for the Romanian soldier knelt and bowed before them, his sobs continuing for some time as his hands felt across the cold earth in emotional loss, the two younger men beginning to shake from the cold air and emotion as they stood still and in subdued silence. Their figures swayed as minds fell into intoxicating memories, some of fond laughter and others of fear and dread as bullets cracked around them. The two Italians had only been with them a short time, but had made a memorable mark, the jovial anecdotes and interjections preventing fiercer arguments and enhancing pleasurable experiences of food, drink and retorts…now they were both gone…buried in cold earth and far from the Italy they loved.

  Both younger soldiers sucked the cold air deeply, their chests shuddering with emotion from the memories, then the thoughts of other fallen comrades entering their minds, of Nicu and futile death against an enemy that was perhaps now growing in strength. Many lives taken long before their natural time through simple fate and a lack of luck, of being in the wrong position at the wrong time…fate was cruel in Russia.

  Clearing his throat, Petru sighed deeply, reaching for his stick, his eyes bleary and bloodshot as he grunted in pain. Hase opened his eyes, dropping down to assist the Romanian to his feet, his own thoughts subdued and miserable…isolated from the cold air in the park.

  Udet stiffened, sniffing and wiping his eyes and mouth, his face glancing sideways as he suddenly sensed another figure nearby, his eyes widening as a grim smile formed across his lips, his boots slipping together in respect. The crunch caused the other two kneeling figures to twist round, astonished expressions forming immediately as the familiar figure near to them tightened and saluted the grave formally, the smeared face grave and strained.