by Tom Zola
"You know, I am so proud that my Franz defends the Reich in Russia against these barbarians. The other girls are already red with envy, because their boyfriends are only stationed in Norway or France, where there is nothing heroic to do. I think it's great that you're part of the most important campaign in this war."
"... Yeah, great."
"You're a real man, Franz. Sometimes I get all too excited when I think about what you're going through over there. And you're so brave. You were in Russia, and even when you were wounded in Italy, you fought." She smiled softly and caressed Franz's chest.
"Yes, perhaps. But it's not that great, Gretel."
"Oh, don't be so modest! It's so bad when you think that these subhumans wanted to attack our fine Reich! Our squad conductress explained all this to us. How the Russians were already lurking behind the border with their soldiers and tanks. They just wanted to rob us and take over our country! Can you imagine that? And now they see what they get out of it."
The youth organizations that the NSDAP had integrated into the state after rising to power were still active these days. Even von Witzleben could get something out of the idea of a German youth united under one roof, since this granted the state access to a monopoly on education of the next generation.
Gretel looked at Franz, but he was somehow absent-minded. With an empty look, he stared past her into the glow of the flashlight, while the wind whipped the roof above them.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing. It's nothing."
"But you look as miserable as sin."
"No, it's fine."
Suddenly her hand lay on his thighs while her face was very close to his. "Tell me, Franz," she whispered and seemed very excited. Aroused.
"What is it?"
"Tell me about your war stories."
"I don't know if this belongs here."
"Come on, don't chicken out! Tell me of your feats of valor and I'll be yours." Her hand slowly moved up his loins. Franz twitched and felt her incite him.
"Well, once ..." he began and felt uncomfortable. Then he looked into her eyes, which were already very close - and begged for more. "Once," he repeated, "we were surrounded by Russians ... well ... I mean our squadron and some other units. The Russians were everywhere... well... so..."
"Stop beating around the bush!" she demanded and grabbed his crotch. Franz winced.
He wanted her!
"Well, we were surrounded. And they came from everywhere. Three, four times as many as we were. And they had tanks! Our own tin cans already had been smoked. I was up in a building with my machine gunner and two others. One of them was already dead and the machine gunner was wounded. So it was more or less just me." Gretel's eyes got bigger and bigger. Her hand massaged his crotch. Franz straightened up a little, and he spoke faster now: "So it was up to me. I shot like there's no tomorrow. Twenty or twenty-five Russians I eliminated. But then I realized that all this was no use as long as the enemy tanks were still driving around."
"Good-oh," Gretel breathed.
"So I took my men and ran downstairs. Grab satchel charges! I shouted. The men did, and then we dashed outta the building. But at the same moment our own panzers were approaching the battleground, and of course they made short shrift of the Russians, I mean, nothing can compete with German workmanship, right? So me and my men scanned the village, and we secured everything and overpowered the last resistance. Suddenly I'm all alone in an alley and a door opens. There's a Russian standing right in front of me."
Gretel was already half on top of Franz and became even more excited with every word.
"Franz, what happened then? Did you have to strike him dead?"
"No, no, no, no. He immediately pulled up his rifle and tried to shoot me."
"Oh, God, how terrible!"
"But I was faster, of course, and there he was lying in the dirt."
"Unbelievable."
"... Yes..." Franz stared into the darkness for a moment.
"And the Slavic bastards hit you too," she exhaled with a pretend dismay as her fingers ran over the scar on his neck.
"Yes."
"And you weren't allowed to go on home leave for that?"
"Ah no, it was nothing much. Things went straight on."
"Oh my Franz, you are so strong." She pressed her hot body against his.
"Have you never killed a Russian in close-combat melee?" she wanted to know with a deep desire pouring out of her eyes and full lips. Franz stared at her.
What's the frigging matter with this girl? he wondered for a moment.
But as her hand rubbed his crotch even swifter and the hard bulges, which were visible under her dress, pressed against his body, he hurried to tell another war story. "Once we were attacked as we lay in position. The Russians broke through our lines and suddenly were everywhere." Franz paused for a moment while his heart beat strongly. He hesitated. But then he continued: "They were everywhere. Then I see a red soldier wrestling with a good comrade of mine. I run there and stand right next to them. The Russian was squeezing the air out of my comrade, was trying to choke him. He almost succeeded."
"God no, what a barbarian!"
"Yeah, you said it."
"Did you shoot him, Franz?" Gretel looked at him seductively. Berning's eyes became opaque. A lump got stuck in his throat. But Gretel gazed at him... she wanted him.
Franz said: "No. I didn't want to waste a bullet at that distance. I pulled him down from my comrade and fought with him for a second. Got him down real quick. Then I thought it wouldn't be bad to take him as prisoner, so we can squeeze some information out of him. Thus I captured him."
"And your comrade?" she whispered. Her hot breath caressed his face.
"He's all right. Thanked me for saving his life." Berning took Gretel in his arms. Their lips approached each other.
"You're my hero," she said, closing her eyes. "Now that you're on your leave, let the woman do her job." With these words, she pushed him into the straw and opened the buttons of the field blouse for him.
West of Oryol, Soviet Union, September 16th, 1943
Engelmann watched from the edge of the forest as a column of Wehrmacht vehicles, reaching to the horizon on both sides, slowly drove across the dusty road leading to Oryol. Opel Blitz trucks, horse-drawn carts, and standard passenger cars blocked the road and made any progress possible only at walking pace. Drivers greeted each other; Russian volunteers sat on panje wagons with pinched expressions. Small treks of civilians, who apparently carried all their belongings with them, trotted with lowered heads past the German military machinery, which almost had been condemned to a standstill. Also motorcycles roared, humming along the side of the road. Sometimes the motorcyclists waved provocatively at the men in the four-wheeled vehicles – and reaped wildly-gesticulated outbursts of rage in gratitude from those damned to wait.
Thanks God that we are out of reach of the Anglo-American Air Forces, Engelmann thought. The boys over there would make a great target.
He would smile if his family did not have to live every day with the hazard of getting battered by huge enemy bomber formations. At least he could quickly distract himself from such feelings, for in his hands he held a piece of home; a letter from Elly. While in the background his crew sat on Franzi II's hull and turret playing cards, and other fellow countrymen of the 12th Company dozed in the shades, Engelmann ripped open the envelope and pulled out the classy stationery on which Elly used to write. Just as he was about to read the first line, Münster's ringing laughter sounded across the plain mingling with the constant hum of a thousand engines. Engelmann looked north. He spotted his driver at the armored command panzer of 12th Company. Münster's head and torso stuck out of the high grass. He leaned against a tree and pulled a cigarette with relish. Captain Stollwerk gesture-richly told the sergeant some story, but Engelmann was too far away to hear exactly what it was about.
Pfft, hero tales, he said to himself in disgust. He chuckled cheerlessly as he saw
Stollwerk shape his hand into a pistol and then make a movement as if he were firing at something. Or someone. Finally the captain grinned, and Münster laughed out loud again.
Once again Engelmann envied his comrades for their levity. While the overall situation had changed dramatically since Operation Citadel, and in some cases even improved, Engelmann was once again dominated by pessimism.
He briefly recapitulated the events since May of this year in his mind: after the investment of several Soviet armies in the Kursk pocket, the Wehrmacht had succeeded in fending off several Russian offensives. Not only had immense losses been inflicted on the enemy, but also an enormous breach had been achieved in the hastily set-up enemy front lines. A rapid attack carried out by armored and mechanized forces directly hitting that breach had allowed the Wehrmacht to break through as far as the banks of the Oka and Tula Rivers. Moscow was suddenly within reach again. But now the German armies in the East were finally beat-up. They were no longer capable of conducting mobile warfare. Not only tanks and trained crews were lacking, but also ammunition, food, and above all, fuel. Nevertheless, this summer the Wehrmacht had achieved everything it had been able to achieve in view of its unfavorable starting position: The red flood had been stopped, and dozens of Soviet armies crippled or destroyed for the time being. The enemy, who at the beginning of the year had had ten times more tanks than the Wehrmacht and an almost endless supply of people and raw materials, had been shot immobile. Accordingly, quiet had now returned to the Eastern front. Small skirmishes still took place, the artillery occasionally sent greetings to the other side, but the time of the great offensives was over – at least for this year. Both sides lay entrenched in their positions, digging deeper in. This could finally lead to some kind of trench warfare similar to the cruel static war of the Western Front in the Great War, which had swallowed and digested millions of soldiers.
Engelmann had to gulp in view of these prospects. Once the trenches were deep enough and the emplacements were fortified with barbed wire, mines, battle stations, and bunkers, any attempt to attack would die out in the fire of the defenders.
Then again, one final offensive next year could put an end to everything; therefore the Wehrmacht would have to assemble its armies and march against Moscow for one last time. But Engelmann was also aware that the Russians would also use the time of "rest" for reinforcing their troops. If the Wehrmacht managed to deliver 3,000 new panzers to the Eastern Front by the beginning of next year, there would be 10,000 new Russian tanks. If the German divisions could be refreshed during the period of quiet, the Russians would refresh their divisions as well and also produced thirty new ones out of thin air. Time worked against the German Reich, Engelmann was sure of that. There was also the difficult situation in the West. The enemy had stormed Fortress Europe with its invasion of Italy. Within weeks the Western powers had conquered Sicily, and now they had landed on the southern tip of the Italian boot. Because of these events, the Grand Council of Fascism had discussed Mussolini's dismissal. Due to the efforts of von Witzleben to treat Italy as an equal ally, the Duce eventually had been able to unite a scant majority behind him. Nevertheless, the vote clearly showed how unstable the most important European ally of the Reich was.
Did the Axis powers really had to offer opposition to the concentrated might of the USA and the British Empire? Or would the enemy already be in the Alps in winter? Engelmann preferred not to answer these questions. It simply was vital for the Axis powers to tack down the Western Allies in the southern part of Italy. But with the Eastern Front, English ships in the Mediterranean, American bombers over the Reich's territory and weak allies like Italy, but also Hungary or Romania in the heart of Europe, Engelmann just could hope that the German Reich would not collapse under such pressure from all sides. His eyes became glasslike when he wondered how long this war would last. It was now the fourth year – that was how long the Great War had lasted. How much more war would Europe be able to endure? Engelmann inevitably had to think of the Seven Years' War ... of the Thirty Years' War, of the Hundred Years' War ...
Engelmann shook himself to get rid of such thoughts.
After all, for his regiment, the next stop was the rear echelon far behind the front line – the real rear echelon, not like here in Oryol, where they were only a few kilometers away from the Russians. No, Panzer Regiment 2 would be pulled completely out of the front sector. The battle-weary forces urgently needed reinforcements and the veteran comrades a rest. France it should be, rumored the moccasin radio, but Engelmann would believe that only if he would hold the marching order in his hands. In addition, 9th Company would finally be revived, and Engelmann would again be commander of a platoon.
Lastly, Lieutenant Engelmann turned to his wife's letter. For too long now he had kept it waiting and had dealt with his everlasting military thoughts.
If this is not a sin, then I don't know either, he sniggered inwardly before his eyes were focusing on his wife's peppily-written lines.
To Lieutenant Josef Engelmann, August 29th, 1943
F.P. 34444
My Sepp!
How much I hoped to get a message from you over the summer that you were in Germany and could still come visit us for a day or two. Unfortunately, nothing arrived. Did they decree a writing ban again? Did you have to stay in Russia after all and couldn't go to Germany or Italy or France? That's how you thought it might happen. At least I hope you're not right on the front line anymore. When I see what is happening these days everywhere, then I become quite anxious and sometimes I am completely at a loss. Gudrun is supposed to have a sheltered life, but that is not possible in war. The Allied bombers are now over Germany every day and every night. They hit the harbor hard, and the St. Jürgen Hospital was also completely destroyed. First the explosive bombs went down and blew the roof up, then the incendiary bombs followed and fell directly into the children's clinic. The poor little souls burned in the fire, screaming. A friend of Uncle Theo's is with the fire department. Three days after the incident, he hanged himself in his apartment because it was said that he had seen the charred little children and could not bear it. At least that's what they say! I heard it at his funeral from all kinds of people. You should have seen that! Half of Bremen was there to say goodbye to the man!
Oh, I just hope that all this suffering at least passes our little family by. We didn't do anything bad to deserve this. Especially not Gudrun. Please write soon how you are and where you are. I'll hang on till you come back, but I won't cope without a message from you for much longer!
In love,
Elly
Berlin, German Reich, September 17th, 1943
In the last third of 1943, the number of bomb attacks by Americans and British against German cities increased by the day. Hamburg had been hit severely in the summer. The bombs and the subsequent firestorm had destroyed large parts of the old town. In the sky above the German capital, hostile bomber units were no more a rarity too. The Luftwaffe, whose fighter forces were spread over the entire continent and which in the fourth year of the war could no longer compensate for the enormous losses of man and material, had to watch the bomb terror almost helplessly. Berlin was partly in ruins, but despite the increasing number of air raid alarms, daily business had to continue. So did the Chancellor's office.
With an earnest countenance, Erwin von Witzleben brooded over a letter. Next to him stood Louis Ferdinand von Preussen, a tall man with a high forehead and thick black hair. Some grew grey already. He often had a cheeky smile on his lips and was known and loved for his likeable manners, but on this day, when he looked at the document next to the Chancellor, his forehead was also wrinkled; his face revealed all the concerns he carried within him.
Von Witzleben had made Louis Ferdinand von Preussen Reich Foreign Minister, because he, as son of the crown prince of the former German Empire, had preserved so many contacts to Great Britain, France, and Russia that there could have been no better man for the post. Louis, who was still secretly dreaming o
f the crown in a reestablished German monarchy, was subject to an eternal inner discord as Reich Foreign Minister: on the one hand he had to face Germany's war opponents with strength and dominance, but on the other hand his interlocutors were often old friends or – worse – relatives.
And then there was the fact that it was deeply contrary to his mind to go to war with such great nations as England or Russia, even though the latter had fallen prey to the madness of communism. If it were Louis Ferdinand's way, he would rather end the war today than tomorrow, but of course he was also a fervent patriot, which was why he would certainly not turn the German Reich into a junk shop for allied interests.
Stacks of documents and letters were scattered all over the Chancellor's desk, and one of them was over eight months old. Nevertheless, it was of particular importance: it was an anonymous letter from a sender who named himself "Werther" and in which he assured the Chancellor that he would immediately cease his espionage activities now that the Nazis had been expelled from power.
But von Witzleben did not worry about this particular letter, which had already been the subject of many discussions and disputes within his cabinet, because he held a completely different note in his hands.
"All right," he said and put the document aside. "My English isn't the best, but I think I got the message." He sighed deeply. "So the Allies remain adamant on an unconditional surrender?" the Chancellor concluded.
Louis Ferdinand carefully examined von Witzleben's visage, which darkened with every second. The Chancellor seemed to have expected this answer, although he was not prepared for it. Briefly a twitch played around his mouth, then he asked: "So? After all, this is a joint declaration. What was your impression on site? From the individual parties?"