by Peter Haden
Günther was surprised at the number of bottles – whisky, cognac and wine – that were laid out. The Unterfeldwebel grinned and raised his eyebrows, almost as if he approved of their foraging. ‘I want a few tarpaulins, some more rations – not booze – and if possible a couple of medical kits to go on the cart. Quick now, see what you can find. But we must be out of here in ten minutes, regardless.’
They left to the glow of flames behind them and the crackle of small arms ammunition cooking off. Their luck held – they were soon off the main supply route and onto a maze of tracks and lanes with Geiger using his compass to make sure that they were heading more or less in the right direction, which was away from the lines and the follow-on assault divisions and towards Amiens.
The Leutnant sent out scouts as they moved on at a leisurely pace, and it paid off. About five kilometres from the supply dump they found the ruins of another farm, well back from the lane, with a roof that had a couple of holes in it but which was nevertheless more or less intact. More to the point, the ground floor of what had once been a reasonably substantial, two storey house was still dry. They covered the windows with tarpaulins, lit a roaring fire in the range and made themselves comfortable. The Unterfeldwebel organised the distribution of a well-earned drink. Apart from those due to go on stag – they would have to wait till afterwards – it was a couple of large tots of spirits or half a bottle of wine for each man. Günther was excused sentry-go because he had been out with the Leutnant on the recce. There was a hot meal, a couple of mugs of red wine and the bliss of several hours of warm, dry sleep.
November
They were in a barn virtually identical to the one in which Günther had first reported to his unit some eight months ago, but this one was considerably further behind the Siegfriedstellung. Morale had been very different, back then. Now after a summer of hard fighting they were tired from the long retreat – demoralised, hungry and filthy. After months of living in the field they were all infested with lice.
The platoon gathered around Leutnant Geiger, who had just returned from the Commanding Officer’s briefing
‘All right, men, this is what I can tell you,’ he began. ‘In fact, it’s as much as I or anyone else round here knows for the moment.’
Avid for news, they listened in silence.
‘We all know that the spring offensive, the much vaunted Kaiserschlacht, was a failure.’ His voice failed to hide his disgust. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, it was a complete fuck-up.’
There were nods of agreement. The speed of the initial advance had taken the powers-that-be by surprise. The logistic plan – or lack of it – had failed woefully to support the forward troops. Virtually out of ammunition, they had stopped short of Armiens and the Allies were given time to get their act together. The Germans failed to take the town, with its prize railway links and marshalling yards. Eventually sheer lack of numbers had forced them back behind the Siegfriedstellung, which had been fatally breached by the beginning of October. They could fight the British, but not the British, the Canadians, the New Zealanders and now the Americans. The Allies had over five hundred tanks that were vastly superior to the few built by the Germans. They also enjoyed a huge advantage in artillery, the newly formed Royal Air Force had established air superiority and despite a desperate and ferocious rear-guard action by Stosstruppen the German army found itself retreating in disarray.
Leutnant Geiger looked at his watch. ‘Gentlemen, I am told that an armistice took place with effect from eleven hundred hours this morning. The war is over.’
‘Have we lost?’ asked one of the Gruppe NCOs anxiously amidst the immediate buzz of conversation.
‘We were forced to sue for peace,’ answered Geiger, ‘but technically the German Army has not been defeated in the field. I am told that we will be allowed to return behind our original pre-war borders.’
He paused to let the news sink in. His men were shaking hands and patting each other on the back in their delight at the end of the fighting. They were still alive, they could go home, and that was all that mattered.
He raised his hand to still their noise. ‘There are a couple more things I should pass on,’ he continued. ‘The news only reached us this morning, but the Kaiser abdicated two days ago. He is reported to have gone to Holland. So, as of now, the Fatherland is a republic.’
Some of them nodded in acknowledgement, but this was less momentous than his previous news.
‘When will we go home, sir?’ asked one of the men.
‘Don’t know yet – maybe in a day or two. But we can make ourselves comfortable here for now. We need food and the chance to clean ourselves up and wash our uniforms.’ He grinned. ‘You lot look like a bunch of pirates.’
That night he posted sentries, just in case, but the shelling had stopped and they were not disturbed. For the first time in four years he did not order a dawn stand-to.
Last evening the Unterfeldwebel had sent out a foraging party. They had found a supply unit and despite protests had “liberated” a quantity of food and even a few precious bottles of schnapps. It was just after nine when Obergefreiter Steinke approached his officer, who had been seated alone writing a letter to his parents – although when he would have chance to post it, he had no idea.
‘A minute, sir?’
Geiger waved a hand for Steinke to sit down. With the war over, he saw little point in standing on ceremony.
‘Günther Raschdorf came to see me last night,’ he began. ‘I didn’t bother you then, because we all had a lot of other things on our mind.
‘He thinks we are pretty close to where the remount depot used to be. Says he knows it’s a long shot,’ Steinke grinned, ‘but he wants permission to go and look – maybe find out what happened to his precious horse.’
‘He’s a good lad,’ Geiger replied thoughtfully. ‘He’s done bloody well. In better times, he would have made a good officer. No reflection on you,’ he added quickly for Steinke’s benefit. ‘You’ve done wonders with that Gruppe. I couldn’t possibly have asked for better.’
Steinke suddenly noticed that Geiger was wearing the insignia of an Oberleutnant. Seeing the look of surprise, Geiger said, ‘They told me yesterday. Offered to reassign me to a Company, but I told them now that the war was over I wanted to stay with the platoon.’
‘Glad you have, sir,’ he said solemnly, shaking Geiger’s hand, ‘and congratulations. Well deserved, if I can make so bold; it’s thanks to you that most of us are still alive.’
‘Now, about Raschdorf,’ said Geiger, deliberately changing the subject. ‘I don’t see why he shouldn’t take a look. Not a lot happening so the Unterfeldwebel can keep an eye on things here. But Raschdorf can’t go wandering around on his own. Take the Gruppe and I’ll come with you. It’s not a bad day for a walk in the country. Besides, Raschdorf might need my help and I owe him.’
Günther had a good memory and a natural eye for land. He was certain that the depot was, or had been, just a couple of kilometres north of where they were. It was a relief to walk in the thin autumn sunshine without fear of being ambushed or machine gunned from the skies. He had been right. They found the depot just after eleven o’clock. From all the bustle and activity, it was obvious that the unit was preparing to move. A couple more days and it would have been too late.
There was no sign of the quartermaster but they found an ageing, rather corpulent Oberleutnant taking his elevenses in a makeshift, tented office.
‘Von Horner,’ he introduced himself. Geiger decided that he didn’t look like much of an officer, and he probably wasn’t a “von” either.
‘Geiger,’ he replied evenly. ‘This young man left a seventeen hands grey stallion here in March. It’s not an army mount; it belongs to him. Your quartermaster promised to try to keep him safe. The horse is called Grane – I’m told he is a fine animal. Perhaps you can tell us whether he’s still here?’
Günther almost had a panic attack as he waited for the reply. Geiger noticed that the officer was not looking at him directly when he replied.
‘There’s no horse here that matches your name or description,’ he said, ‘but he would have been reassigned months ago.’ Somehow his words and demeanour did not carry a ring of truth.
‘That’s all right, then’ said Geiger pleasantly. ‘Just tell us which unit or which officer took him, and we’ll follow it up.’
‘I wish I could help you,’ came the response, ‘but I don’t have the records.’
‘I’ve been in this man’s army for a long time,’ said Geiger, his voice not quite so relaxed now, ‘and I’ve had a shitty war. But one thing I have learned is that supply units don’t part with anything as valuable as a top-quality remount without a record and a signature. You lot spend all day on your arses filling in paperwork. And you’re trying to tell me there are no records?’ He looked pointedly at several battered filing cabinets standing on wooden boards behind the officer’s desk. There was a heavy silence.
‘Günther!’ he deliberately used Raschdorf’s first name, just to make it clear to “von” Horner that he took a close interest in the rights of his men. ‘Go take a look round – see if you can find your horse.’
‘Wait a minute, you can’t just wander round my depot,’ said the Oberleutnant, striding round the desk to intercept Raschdorf. Geiger stepped in front of him, stopping his progress instantly. Horner’s hand had moved to the flap of his holster.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly, placing his own hand over Horner’s. ‘I have a full section of Stosstruppen outside. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see any unpleasantness?’
Horner hesitated, then backed off and sat somewhat heavily behind his desk.
‘Tell you what, old chap,’ Geiger went on, his voice falsely pleasant now. ‘Why don’t you shout for one of your men. A couple of mugs of hot coffee wouldn’t go amiss, and perhaps something to warm my stomach.’
They waited, the coffee and schnapps long gone. It must have been a good twenty minutes before Raschdorf ran back, completely out of breath but his face lit up with joy.
Geiger didn’t need to ask. ‘Tack him up and put a sack or two of oats on his saddle. Then bring him here and we’ll be on our way.’
Geiger and Steinke were alone with the officer. They waited in silence for about ten minutes until Günther returned.
‘We’re ready to leave, sir,’ he told them.
The Oberleutnant moved to stand alongside his desk. Geiger stood right in front of him. ‘You lied to me, did you not,’ he observed, his voice acid with contempt. ‘That horse has never been on the books. Grane is an expensive animal. You were going to sell him, weren’t you?’
Horner could not look Geiger in the face.
‘We’re leaving now,’ he went on. ‘Don’t try having us followed. We are Stosstruppen not supply depot lard-arses. I shall have a rear-guard. Anyone who follows will be shot. And then we’ll come back for you. Do I make myself clear? Verstanden?’
Horner could only nod his agreement. They wouldn’t be followed – Geiger knew Horner wouldn’t have the courage.
Without warning, his fist took Oberleutnant Horner hard in the solar plexus. The officer doubled over, gasping for breath. ‘That was for Raschdorf,’ Geiger told him quietly, his voice without rancour. ‘He is a private soldier. You are an officer. But you are not fit to lick his boots.’
Geiger turned and walked outside, Steinke on his heels. The Gruppe were all laughing and making a fuss of the horse. Several patted Raschdorf on the back. One of them had found a carrot – Lord knows from where. Grane stood quietly, basking in the attention, his owner now holding a lead rein.
They attracted a few stares as they left the supply area, Günther walking his horse. But the Oberleutnant stayed in his tent and no-one tried to interfere with their progress. Geiger was as good as his word. He did drop a man off who eventually caught up with them. They had not been tailed.
‘Good job you have been promoted, sir,’ said Steinke as they walked.
‘Why so?’ queried Geiger.
‘I would have had to close my eyes otherwise,’ came the reply. ‘You’re not allowed to hit a senior officer. But when you hit that fat bastard of an Oberleutnant in the gut, you didn’t.’
Back at the barn, Günther fed Grane then rubbed him down. His horse had lost a bit of weight but was otherwise in fair condition. Although the lack of gloss on his coat Günther put down to a wartime diet light on a few fats, vitamins and minerals. After a while Obergefreiter Steinke informed him that the Oberleutnant would like a word.
‘What are you going to do now?’ he was asked.
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘Well, you have your horse, and I am genuinely pleased for you. But how are you going to get him home?’
Geiger saw that Raschdorf looked worried. ‘Can’t we take him with us, sir?’ he asked anxiously.
Geiger shook his head. ‘Sooner or later we will form up as a company, and eventually as a battalion. Grane will stick out like a sore thumb. Any officer senior to me could order you to hand him over – and if he were commandeered again, there would be nothing I could do. If you try to put him on a train with the other remounts, that’s exactly what I can see happening.’
Raschdorf looked crestfallen.
‘Look,’ Geiger said kindly, ‘I’ve been thinking about this. Have you ever heard the expression “the fog of war”?’
‘Carl von Clausewitz, wasn’t it, sir? Vom Kriege, published nearly a hundred years ago.’
Geiger was impressed. The response had been automatic. The lad was not showing off. The Oberleutnant raised his eyebrows. Günther Raschdorf was even more educated and well-read than he had realised. Definitely should have been officer material, he thought.
‘So you have read On War,’ he replied. ‘Well done. I think we are going to take advantage of that fog right now.
‘I am going to give you a document on our regimental headed paper. In case you are stopped by our military police, or the civil police come to that, it will simply state that you have been honourably discharged and given leave to make your own way back to Germany, and then home, with a horse that is your own property. I shall give my rank and unit and the order that if there are any queries they are to be addressed to me, my successor or our Unterfeldwebel for verification. Also, I’ll sign over a unit stamp. That should cover you. If I do that, do you think you can make your own way home?’
Günther knew that it would be a hell of a journey, but realised that if he wanted to keep Grane it was probably the only way. He had to try.
The Oberleutnant produced a British map. ‘Take this with you.’ He unfolded it and pointed to a spot near Charleroi, in Belgium. ‘We are here. Head northwest towards Liège, then on towards Cologne, or Köln, as we call it. You can follow the railway line for most of the time, but stay off the main supply routes,’ Geiger went on. ‘And as soon as you can, get hold of some civilian clothes. The locals are not going to be that friendly to a lone soldier in uniform, seeing that we have occupied their country.
‘And by the way, you can hardly pass as a civilian carrying an MP18. Get a good night’s rest,’ he suggested, ‘and come and see me immediately after breakfast. Do you have any money?’
Günther shook his head. He hadn’t even thought about it. Most of his Army pay had been sent to his parents.
‘I’ll give you enough to see you through,’ Geiger went on, ‘and I have a serviceable Mark Six Webley .455 that you can have, together with a fair amount of ammunition.’
Günther didn’t even ask how his officer came to be in possession of a British officer’s revolver.
‘The money’s mine, by the way,’ Geiger concluded. ‘But I’ll give you my address. My people have a hotel in Sonthofen – it’s a
skiing village up against the Austrian border. If and when you are able, feel free to send back the funds. But better still, bring them yourself. I can promise you three things: a holiday with good Bavarian food that won’t cost you a Pfennig, some great skiing and the finest hangover you can ever imagine.’
Günther was dumbfounded by this generosity. ‘Aren’t you taking a hell of a risk for me, sir?’ he asked. ‘How will you account for my absence?’
‘I’ll put you down on the platoon roll as sent to a medical aid post,’ said Geiger with a smile. ‘I’ll just forget to say which one. In all this confusion, I don’t see it being followed up. I’ll still have your weapon, so there’s no problem accounting for it. And don’t worry about Steinke, he already knows what I have in mind.’ He paused. ‘As for the risk, if it were not for you, I probably wouldn’t be here today. So, let’s just say I owe you and I pay my debts. See you in the morning. Dismissed!’
Günther could hardly believe what he had heard. Bursting with gratitude, he stood to attention, threw up the finest salute he could muster, about faced and returned to his Gruppe and Grane.
Chapter 4
He was out of the swathe of land destroyed by fighting and into disarmingly normal countryside. Günther had no idea how far it was. But he had a map, at least for part of the way, and also a watch. He knew that if you pointed the hour hand at the sun and bisected the angle between that and twelve o’clock, using what the British called Greenwich Mean Time, that would give him due south. And if he travelled by night under a fairly clear sky, there was always the pole star for north. At a guess, it was probably well over a thousand kilometres. But if he headed northwest, avoiding any major towns and villages, then as the Oberleutnant had indicated he would cross still-occupied Belgium and head towards Cologne.
Grane was in good but not top condition and on a journey like this could not be ridden hard. He would do what the British and Portuguese had done during the Peninsular war: ride fairly gently for an hour, then walk for the next. Also, he would avoid the main roads and stick to the byways or even, if necessary, travel cross-country – although this would be slower. If he could cover about fifty kilometres a day he should be home in a month. Certainly in time for Weihnachtsfest. Christmas at home – that was something to dream about! He could almost smell the pine scent and see green needles on the Tannenbaum that his father would bring into the hall. Then he thought of his fallen comrades who would never see a Christmas tree again.