The Upside of Hunger

by Roxi Harms

  "Medics coming in! Cover!" he heard the head of the medical unit scream close behind him, over the gunfire.

  Focusing on the section of the Russian line directly in front of him, Adam sprayed bullets at the fastest rate. Others were doing the same. They couldn't afford to lose any of the medical staff. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the medics running from body to body, crouched low, checking for pulses. The last team heaved a wounded soldier onto their stretcher and jogged away, heads down. When they'd reached cover, Adam slowed his firing pace slightly. Moments later, the last of Adam's ammo strips dropped out of his gun, spent.

  Dammit, where was the ammo carrier? Looking desperately back over one shoulder and then the other, he couldn't see anyone coming. What the hell? The gunner to his left was still shooting, but a couple on his right looked like they were out of ammo as well. Suddenly Adam heard the explanation.

  "Retreat! Out of ammo! Rifles, cover the retreat!"

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  From what he could see, Adam figured the enemy was suffering a half-dozen casualties or more for every German they were lucky enough to hit. But as Christmas came and went, the flow of Russians showed no signs of lessening. Week after week, the shrinking German force retreated, first through northern Hungary and before long, into the hills of Czechoslovakia, areas more populous than the barren landscapes of the Ukraine.

  Old men and women carrying ragged bundles or pulling little carts that carried what was left of their lives streamed in both directions along the roadways, seemingly not knowing which way would be better, or worse. Often they had little children in tow. Hatred flashed in the eyes of many as they stared at the Germans. These people believed the Russians were coming soon to liberate them. From what Adam had heard, life under Russian occupation wasn't going to be much of a liberation.

  Winter had already been endless and it was only January. Then came the news that they would be billeted to local homes for the next while, near their latest line of defence. The prospect of sleeping indoors in a warm space occupied by other humans, lifted their spirits a little.

  A few mornings after setting up in the little Czech village, the commander barked out an address to Adam, with an order to take two colleagues and locate three of their men who had missed roll call. The trio headed for the billet address. The front door was wide open. Inside, the missing soldiers lay face-down in pools of their own blood. Throats slit. The air in the room was thick with the stench of warm blood. Adam gagged as he worked to keep his footing in the slippery mess while they dragged the bodies out.

  New orders came not long after. Rumour was that the enemy coalition had launched aggressive attacks from all sides. They were to fight when necessary, slow down the Russian advance when possible, and make their way north towards Berlin for a military regrouping.

  Similar orders had been issued across the Eastern Front, and as they crossed onto German soil, disorganized fragments of units converged, joining the masses of terrorized civilians fleeing in all directions. The roadways became sloughs of mud and slush, torn up by the wheels and tracks of hundreds of tanks and trucks, while the allied forces rained destruction down on the miserable scene, determined to eradicate Hitler's weakened armies once and for all. Where there was any sign of troops or military vehicles, low flying planes attacked, dropping explosives and indiscriminately mowing down anyone in their path with sprays of bullets. Ditches and roadsides were littered with corpses of elderly people, women, young children, and soldiers alike. Dead horses blocked the roads in places, the wagons they'd been pulling now deserted or laden with bullet riddled bodies, depending on whether the family they had been carrying had lived to flee on foot or been cut down.

  As the troops did their best to survive the relentless onslaught, this horrific collateral damage – the suffering of defenceless, innocent people caught in the clash – became the most disturbing of the vast collection of indelible wartime memories that Adam would carry around for the rest of his days.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Early 1945

  The sun continued to rise and set over the scenes of carnage across Europe, as what was left of Adam's unit alternately retreated and futilely attempted to establish a defensible position. The shortage of ammunition and food was a constant problem.

  "The road ahead is bombed out. We can't get any further. But there's a unit with an operational field kitchen about ten kilometres from here. We're going to unload and march to the camp for some hot food and a bed while the trucks find a way around and catch up."

  A surge of simple, childlike joy rose in Adam's chest as he heard the officer's words. It had been at least a week since they'd had anything other than stale bread and a few mouthfuls of canned fish each day. The only things he could imagine that would be better than a hot meal, were getting away from the horrors on the road, and having a place to sleep for a whole night.

  Peering ahead, Adam craned his neck to see what was being ladled into each soldier's mess tin. It smelled heavenly. He closed his eyes to the camp around him and sniffed onions, maybe potatoes, some sort of meat? It almost smelled like home. Suddenly he jerked his eyes open as he swayed and stumbled. He had to eat and then he could sleep. Only a few more in line ahead of him now. Looking towards the stew pot again, Adam's eyes rose to the cook ladling out the food, who was looking back at him intently. A moment later the cook looked away and focused on the dish he was filling. Curiously, Adam studied him. Maybe a bit familiar. Maybe not. He'd seen so many thousands of unknown faces since leaving home six months ago. As Adam reached the front of the line, the cook dug deep into the huge pot. The ladle came up heaped with chunks of meat and a couple of potatoes. Adam grinned. Digging in again, he filled Adam's tin bowl right to the brim, then smiled at him briefly before shifting his attention to the next soldier. Adam carried the hot dish gingerly. He didn't want to spill a drop. Setting it down beside the closest tree, he lowered his lanky frame to the wet ground and lifted the bowl onto his lap, then leaned against the tree for a moment before digging in. As he shovelled the stew into his mouth, he glanced up over his spoon towards the front of the serving line. The cook who was ladling out the food was looking over at him. Why is he staring at me? Adam wondered as he continued spooning the meat and gravy into his mouth.

  As he scraped the last few drops from his bowl a few minutes later, Adam looked up. The cook was headed over.

  "What's your name, kid?" the cook asked with a smile, looking down at Adam.

  "Adam Baumann."

  "Where are you from?"

  "Hungary."

  "Hungary's a big place. What town?"

  "Small town on the Romanian border. You probably don't know it. It's called Elek. E-L-E-K."

  "What part of Elek?" The cook was grinning.

  "By the cemetery. Why?"

  "Grape Street, right? And I bet your dad's name is George," he responded, grinning even wider as he lowered himself to the ground beside Adam. "It's sure good to see a familiar face, Adam Baumann. Name's Henry Kuhn, from Elek. I've worked with your dad a few times, harvesting wheat."

  "Wow. I haven't seen a single person I know since I left home last summer. Not even anyone from eastern Hungary," said Adam.

  "So you've been out here since last summer? It's going on two years for me, since early ‘43. You ever get a chance to make contact with your family? You know, let them know you're ok?" Henry asked as darkness settled on the camp.

  "Nope, not once. I asked about writing a couple of times, but they say there's no more mail service into Hungary now since the Russians took it over." Adam's voice cracked when he mentioned the Russians occupying Hungary. So many nights he'd lain on his cot, or in his foxhole looking up at the sky, wondering what was happening in Elek.

  "I heard about a way to get letters in, and I've arranged to send one. You've heard of Marika Rokk, the actress, right? She's financing a smuggling operation that takes letters into Hungary to Budapest, and then the letters get mailed from an address
she holds there. Apparently, the local mail is still running, so if they mail my letter from Budapest, it will be delivered to Elek. I'll write that I saw you, and then my mom can let yours know that you're okay. I don't know if it will actually get there, but I'm going to try." Henry smiled warmly at Adam.

  "That would be great. That would be really great." Adam looked away for a minute, blinking back his tears.

  The command to prepare to head out came as the sun was peeking over the horizon the next morning. The half-tracks had found a way through and caught up with them. Adam hadn't seen Henry while they were having their hasty breakfast. He hoped the Eleker would appear soon. He'd hate to leave without talking to him again.

  "There you are, Adam." Adam spun around to see Henry walking towards him from the kitchen supply shed.

  "Load up, men!" the assistant commander yelled out from where he stood near the row of half-tracks.

  Henry stuck his hand into the sack he was carrying. "Looks like you're moving out right away. Here, put this in your bag." He handed Adam a chunk of something wrapped in brown paper and a smaller square package. "Just a little extra ration of salami and cheese. Better than what we've had for quite a while."

  "Wow! Can you really give me that?" Adam asked disbelievingly. He was always hungry!

  "Think of it as a Christmas present. Probably didn't have much of a Christmas out there, fighting for the Führer. So Merry belated Christmas, Adam Baumann. Keep your head down. I'll see you in Elek after a victorious end to this war." Henry raised his arm in a mock Heil Hitler salute, and grinned. "And I'll tell my mom I met you here."

  "Baumann!" the assistant commander barked. Adam looked around and realized he was the only guy that wasn't loaded.

  "See you, Henry. Thank you!" As Adam jogged to the convoy and climbed aboard the last vehicle, he felt less miserable than he had in some time. Imagine, someone from Elek. And he was going to get a message

  to Mom!

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The commander had said that morning that they were close to the Oder River, and that they'd have some shelter if they could cross and get to Frankfurt on the Oder. And after that, Berlin wasn't far. They were going to make it.

  Crack, crack, crack! Adam jerked his head up. How long had he been dozing? Peering over the edge of the hole, he spotted them immediately, streaming out from behind the knoll almost directly in front of his position, firing off rifle shots in his general direction. Adam cursed and pulled viciously on the butt end of his gun to swivel it on the tripod. One or two other gunners began firing on them too, and most of the Russians didn't get far. After a couple dozen, the stream of soldiers stopped. That knoll was the same place the grenades had come from a couple of hours ago. How many more were back there?

  Adam looked around. He needed a better view. There were a few trees and a sizeable boulder about fifty or sixty metres to the right. If he could shelter behind that, he might have enough of an angle to fire on whoever was back there. Crack! The same time he heard the shot, Adam felt a spray of dirt from the ground beside his foxhole. They had him sighted! Desperately, his eyes searched the knoll and the areas to the left and right of it. Where was the shooter? Crack! He pulled his head back down below the top edge of his cover as a bigger spray of frozen mud hit him. The shot was closer. He had to move.

  "I need cover!" he screamed. The crack of rifle fire immediately filled the air to his left as he picked up his gear and stared for a moment at where he was going. Then he was up. Run!. . . Run!. . . The stupid spade banged the side of his knee with every step. He reached down to try to hold it still as he ran, his other arm wrapped around his machine gun and the attached tripod.

  Almost there. Only another ten metres.

  Dammit, his leg hit something, and he stumbled. Don't fall. Don't fall! The frozen mud exploded ahead of him. They were firing at him!

  He stumbled again. Dammit, just a few more steps! Suddenly, his left leg kicked something, hard. Falling forward onto his chest, he clawed at the icy ground, and pushed himself forward over the frozen mud with his right leg. Where was his left leg?! Push! Push!

  Almost there! A bullet exploded to his left, then another and another, each one closer. Flying ice and rocks stung his face. Push!

  A final heave with his arms and right leg and he was behind the boulder. Adam squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Pain seared down his left leg. He gasped for air as the ground spun underneath him. The twang of the bullets striking the boulder and the thud of those that hit the ground on either side of his shelter reached him through the swirling blackness, then faded.

  Suddenly, his eyes flew open as the crack of gunfire penetrated his consciousness. He was on the ground. He looked wildly around, his breath ragged. Where was his weapon? As he scrambled to his hands and knees, a hot knife of pain shot through his leg, and he collapsed onto his right side. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes a crack and looked down to figure out where the red-hot pain was coming from. Blood. His leg was soaked in blood. He shut his eyes tight again. He needed to get his weapon. The machine gun fire that had roused him was close. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes once more. His gun was beside him. Reaching for it, he looked around. No bullets. He needed an ammo carrier.

  He squinted and tried to focus on his surroundings. To his left he could make out another machine gunner, crouched behind a mound of frozen mud and roots, firing aggressively towards the Russian line. Then he saw more machine gunners. More than they'd had earlier. Another unit must have joined them. Lying back, Adam closed his eyes. He needed bullets. Where was his ammo guy? No, he'd been shot. He reached down to feel his leg. It was sticky. Where were the medics?

  Sometime later, he regained consciousness. His leg was on fire. After a few breaths, he opened his eyes a crack. Snow was drifting down onto him through the dusk. The gunfire was further away than it had been. He shivered and peered out to where the line had been, but there were no gunners out there. Scanning towards the Russian line, he spotted movement in the distance to the north. The fighting had moved slightly. His mouth was gritty. He ran his tongue around his gums and spat. Where were the medics? Adam couldn't see anyone near him. The makeshift camp was a few hundred metres back, if it was still there. He was shivering violently. Clenching his jaw, he rolled onto his front and let out an anguished cry as the pain tore up his leg. Waiting a moment to catch his breath while the pain subsided a fraction, he turned towards where the camp should be, and began to drag himself through the snow and muck.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Adam groaned. A few seconds later, his eyes flew open. It was dark. He must have fallen asleep in his hole. Where was his gun? He pushed himself up on one elbow, then gasped and fell back as pain shot through his left leg. That's right. He'd been shot. Where was he now? That noise was train wheels, he thought, staring at the ceiling. Turning his head, Adam realized with a start there was someone lying close alongside him. The guy's eyes were closed.

  "I see you're awake." Adam heard a voice come from his other side and turned in that direction. The speaker was crouched beside him, holding a metal cup. A red cross decorated his shoulder.

  "Where are we going?" croaked Adam.

  "To Straubing. Have a drink." The medic held a cup to Adam's lips and helped him lift his head. Adam took a few swallows and then laid his head back down as the medic continued. "There's a hospital there that's still operational. They'll put your leg back together. It's slow going though. We already stopped twice today for bomb damage on the tracks. Luckily, it wasn't bad and we were able to patch it up and get the train moving again. So I'm not sure how long it will be before we reach the hospital. Go back to sleep if you can."

  "Baumann . . . Baumann . . . ."

  Adam rose slowly through the layers of fog and opened his eyes. It was the medic. Now he was holding a tin bowl and a spoon.

  "Hungry? I'm going to feed you some broth." The medic put the soup on the floor next to Adam, then gently lifted his head and
put a rolled-up blanket under it.

  Adam opened his mouth and closed his eyes. So tired. The liquid was warm and a bit salty. Soup? Hungry.

  "Baumann. . .

  "Adam. . .

  "Baumann. . . ," The voice was familiar now. His eyes felt strange, like they were stuck shut. He tried harder and slowly got them open.

  "You need to eat a bit more and drink some water. You're dehydrated. Here." The medic stuck the blanket under his head again, then held the cup of water to Adam's lips.

  The next thing he was aware of was hot pain ripping through his leg.

  "Owwwww!" he yelled, opening his eyes and struggling to sit up. The sun was too bright. He squeezed his eyes shut again, as hands pressed firmly against his shoulders, pushing him back down onto the stretcher.

  "Sorry, soldier, you can't get up. We need to get you onto the truck and over to the hospital."

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  After carrying him in through the large wooden doors of the hospital, the medics had transferred him onto one of the metal beds that lined both sides of the big room. His was the first bed on the right and he had a good view of the vast room without having to move much. All of the beds were full.

  A lot of them look worse off than me, Adam told himself, clenching his teeth against the pain as he scanned the two long rows of bandaged heads and torsos, casted limbs, and bandaged stumps where arms and legs used to be. I hope they're not out of morphine, he thought next as he closed his eyes.

  "Adam Baumann, I presume?" a soft female voice asked a few minutes later. When he opened his eyes, a pretty girl wearing a white hat was looking down at him.