KRIEG (War) Page 2

  Finally it became flatter. The street curved to the right. There lay the village crowded on the knoll. Cannon and ammunition cars stood on the street.

  We curved into a field and set up tents. The sun was still burning. We undressed completely and hung our sweat-soaked stuff outside and lay down in the tents. I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot. A brown light bored through the wall of the tent over me. I lay like that for at least an hour.

  ‘The field kitchen is here!”

  We partly dressed and went to get food and coffee.

  Later I sat with Ziesche and Perle on the slope where one could see the mountain ranges far across the valley. I felt light and peaceful. Shadows crept up the mountains. It became darker around us, but the light remained on the heights.

  There was a peculiar, grumbling sound like a drum roll and it became continually stronger. Suddenly there was a brass band. Everyone began to walk from the tents toward the village. Ziesche went also. It appeared that our regimental band was playing.

  We were marching toward the Belgian border. I had not shaved since the mobilization and had a frill around my chin that was almost completely blond and very soft. That appeared to me to be pretty slovenly. Some did not want to shave until the end of the war. I would have liked to shave, but then I thought: maybe one won’t get a chance for quite a while and will have to let the beards stay and then everyone will have a longer beard than I.

  One day after a short march, the officers were sitting under a wide tree on the road. Some were playing Skat. Our thin captain, who was generally hated by everyone, sat in the grass and the big, fat lieutenant Fabian had a barber shear in his hand and had already cut the hair on one side of his head. He was making all kinds of motions in the air with his arms and was clacking the shears in the air.

  “Now the captain will have to respectfully obey me!” He called. “If not I will leave the captain respectfully so.”

  “I will be glad to help you.”

  “I will continue to cut the captain’s hair only if the captain will respectfully fill a wish of mine.”

  “You can gladly have half of my kingdom!”

  “I ask the captain respectfully not to make fun.”

  “OK, what do you want?”

  “I have to think about that first.”

  “That would be very pretty when nothing occurs to you, then would I remain so?”

  “The captain will please allow a poor lieutenant time to think!”

  All at once fifes and drums began rolling very close by. The lieutenant jumped up and yelled: “Here comes the second battalion!” and walked away with the barber shears.

  The captain sat in the grass and scolded: “Rogue—You can have a bottle of champagne!—The rascal isn’t listening!”

  Our battalion commander was sitting close by and was struck with laughter.

  We came to the Belgian border. Then there was a delay. It was said that they had torn up the streets and built barricades.

  We continued marching. There was a customs house, then a direction sign written in French.

  “Where is the street torn up?” I asked impatiently.

  “Well, you are walking over it right now!” laughed Ziesche.

  What, that was all? A couple of stones ripped out of the street paving! On the side of the street stood the stumps of trees cut down at about three feet height. And the trees lay in the meadow. Firs, as even and tall and straight as any I had ever seen. They had barricaded the street with those? I was sorry for the beautiful wood.

  Cut wires hung from the telephone poles so that we couldn’t make calls. On the right was a small house. A man leaned against the door, his cap pulled deep over his face, and stared at us. The man hated us. Why do people have to hate each other when a war is carried on?

  Further from the border the people became somewhat friendlier. However, the Belgians remained sinister to me. At night we cautiously posted guards. Also, the officers never slept singly in houses; stories were told of nightly murders and that the Belgians were terribly cruel.

  The country became increasingly more mountainous. We marched through great deciduous forests. Then we came to a valley with country houses and a city. And beyond that it went steeply up a mountain, where we were supposed to spend the night away from the road.

  Sometimes the sunlight at midday was peculiar on the barren mountain crests. The ridges were naked and the light on them was brownish yellow, but not sorrowful. Instead it had a glimmer that was strange to me.

  We began to approach the Maas. Everyone said there would be a battle there. One evening we came to a village and everyone knew that was our last billet before the great battle.

  We remained there for the next several days. We had gone in together and bought a pig from the farmer we were billeted with and cooked it in small cooking holes in his fruit orchard. Sergeant Zache sat with us. He had been depressed for several days. Now he sat beside the fire and hung over between his knees.

  “I won’t be coming back,” he said.

  What should I say? It was understandable that Ziesche and Perle didn’t say anything. He expected something from me; or did he expect nothing?

  The one-year volunteer Lamm was also sitting with us. He looked at Zache with large, peaceful eyes. I had liked Lamm from the first day I saw him, but I was shy toward him.

  And he seemed to be shy toward everybody, especially toward Zache, whom I believe he hated. Zache treated him very badly: Lamm was physically awkward and weak. There was always a fear, displayed in his very expressive eyes, which appeared to irritate Zache, but it pleased me. But it did displease me that Lamm could not even give a command properly.

  “Renn!” called lieutenant Fabian from the house. “Would you like to participate in a patrol?”

  “Yes, Herr Leutnant!”

  “I want to go too,” said Ziesche quietly.

  We went to Fabian.

  “Good!” he said. “You come along too! But hurry! In less than an hour it will be dark. And by then we have to be long underway!”

  On Patrol

  We were seven men, counting the lieutenant.

  “Sling your rifles! Rout step—March!”

  Perle came walking after us. “You have a piece of boiled meat!” he whispered. “But it is dripping.” He put the warm, flabby piece in my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, “but what should I do with it now?”

  “Stick it in your field cup!” he said and remained behind. I unhooked my field cup from the bread pouch and shoved it in and then stuck the field cup upright in my right coat pocket.

  It warmed my right leg. I smiled to myself because of the warm feeling and also because he had brought it after me. Then I became alert.

  We went past the most advanced guards in the already darkening woods. The path was stony and went steeply upwards. The lieutenant walked quickly ahead; maybe he knew something more exact about the French positions. We strove to move without being so loud, but with the hobnail boots it wasn’t possible. The fir trees stood out darkly in the still, clear air.

  A narrow, half-broken-down bridge led over a canyon in whose depths a small stream bubbled. The path went steeply upwards. Between the trees it was unbelievably black, while through the open spaces the sky still glowed faintly.

  The lieutenant stopped and signaled with his hand to be still. We stood still. The new leather gear squeaked when we breathed.

  We continued on. We must have been nearing the next mountain ridge. The lieutenant stopped often. No sound was to be heard, not even the beating of wings or a rustling in the fallen leaves. The woods ended on the right. A hill was outlined against the sky. We left the path to the left and crept along the edge of the woods. Beneath us was short grass; to the left the woods fell away into a dark, deep valley. Several hundred meters ahead of us a strip of fog was already hanging on a projection of the woods. We halted there. It was already pretty dark. The lieutenant signaled us to gather around him.

  “The Maas flows ju
st the other side of the height. Whether the French are on our side, I don’t know. However, if they are on our side then they aren’t immediately on the bank. It is dangerous to go further along the edge of the woods because of the danger of ambushes. To the right, on the heights, is a road, and there are probably guards and patrols. Therefore we go in the middle. We’ll be able to see the people on the road outlined against the sky. On the other hand they cannot see us against the woods.”

  We advanced through an oat field. There had been heavy dew. The stalks bent around our legs and made an explosive sound when they came loose. My pants were already wet up to my coattail.

  There were two tracks in the grain. The stalks hung in the same direction we were going—had a patrol been there? Two men were not enough for a patrol. It must have been civilians. That they had gone through the oats was suspicious. They must certainly have been spying.

  Whirr! It took off ahead of us. My heart faltered. We stood. It was only a partridge! I was ashamed. The lieutenant laughed, somewhat embarrassed.

  We continued on in the gray darkness and came upon a flat elevation. Suddenly the lieutenant faltered. He signaled downward with his hand. I kneeled down.

  A strange sound came from the front like the clatter of wire.

  “What is that?” whispered the lieutenant. The hooves of many horses at the gallop coming toward us!

  I remove the safety on my rifle. The lieutenant cocks his pistol. The hooves come ever closer. I bring my rifle into firing position. There is a sudden halting on the other side. Wires zing. Are they cutting the wire fences? There is nothing to see except uncertain gray. They can only be fifty steps away from us. The wires continue to zing. Goosebumps spread over my back. Just what is it?

  I lower my rifle. The lieutenant, bent over, begins to creep forward. We follow with rifles at the ready. He stands still, and then creeps forward again. He kneels down and points forward. Vaguely something moves in front of us. It is cattle. The lieutenant sticks his pistol back in the holster.

  “We have allowed ourselves to be bamboozled. It’s cattle that are scratching themselves on the fence and horses running around.”

  We curve to the right along the wire fence. A couple of trees and houses appear. There isn’t a light anywhere. We creep left toward the houses. There is a short path between stone walls. Then the meadow slopes softly away. We come to the edge where it drops off steeply. There is a strong roar below. Thick, white fog hangs above.

  “A train must be rolling down there,” I said.

  “It isn’t very probable that trains are traveling here. That must be the Maas. But I wonder that it makes such a loud noise—We have to try and get down there.”

  The lieutenant felt his way forward. There was gravel on the edge. He began to slide. I grabbed him by the arm, but he continued to slide.

  Ziesche grabbed hold also and we pulled him back up. He trembled somewhat, but said nothing.

  We went left along the drop-off looking for a path. The pasture began to rise again. We came to a small knoll from which three sides fell off sharply. We stood by a wild rose bush.

  “So much is certain,” said the lieutenant. “You cannot go down here with troops. We have to make certain of that. We’ll rest here. We’re in no danger of being surprised.”

  I spread my shelter half out and sat down on it with the lieutenant and Ziesche. The cup had turned over in my pocket. The whole pocket was greasy from the sauce. Fortunately nothing else had been in the pocket.

  I cut the meat into pieces with my pocket knife and the three of us ate. Ziesche produced bread and Fabian hard-boiled eggs.

  It began to rain softly.

  “We have to remain here ‘til morning,” said the lieutenant, “in order to observe the area by daylight. But it is going to be miserably cold and wet. We’ll see if we can find some shelter in the village.”

  To me it was unthinkable to spend the night in the village. The Belgians were supposed to have already killed a number of people in the night. And besides, we had no way of knowing if enemy soldiers were in the village.

  We came to the first farmyard. It was surrounded by a high wall, almost like a fortress.

  The gate stood open. A number of dogs began to bark in the house. Fabian left two men at the gate.

  “If there is danger, shoot immediately,” he whispered.

  We sneak into the yard. It is uncannily dark. In the middle stands a black manure pile. The dogs bark. The lieutenant tries the door. It’s locked. He knocks. In a window a light appears, then disappears. The lieutenant bangs on the door three times with the grip of his pistol. The noise echoes back from inside the house. The dogs continue barking. A distant window shows light, then the next. Someone comes shuffling and opens up. We push inside. The lieutenant opens the door across from us. Two large men and a woman stand inside and stare at us mutely.

  The lieutenant makes a hand movement to the right. “Search for weapons!”

  I notice the woman fall at his feet, and then I go into the room to the right. It is dark inside. I go back to get a light. The woman has her arms around the lieutenant’s legs and is screaming something over and over.

  “Did you find anything?” he asks.

  “No Sir, it is dark in there.”

  “Go outside then!”

  We stood outside.

  “We have to look for something else,” said the lieutenant unconsciously. “Now be careful!” Everyone thinks back on the uncanny yard. And here we stand in the village street without the least caution.

  “Something wasn’t right there,” said Fabian. “Why was the woman so afraid?”

  We went slowly along the street. The village appeared to consist of three large farmyards. To the left came a shed, open on three sides.

  “Here’s where we will spend the night,” said the lieutenant.

  The place appeared to me to be pretty safe; to the left there was a wall and on the other sides it was clear.

  We lugged straw over.

  “Renn, you stand guard.”

  I hung my shelter half around my shoulders and walked back and forth in front of the shed.

  The woman was so upset! It was so uncanny there, inside! There must have been some reason for it. I wondered if they had maybe killed a couple of our hussars in there. Some of them were supposed to have disappeared. Suddenly I had a thought: the horses. The heavy Belgian horses don’t run around so in the night. Those were cavalry horses.

  I heard soft steps behind and turned around. It was the lieutenant.

  “Listen,” he whispered. “You are making too much noise with your hobnail boots. As long as that can’t be avoided with a guard, come on under the roof with us and we will take turns watching. I’ll begin. I can’t sleep anyway.”

  I lay down by Ziesche with my rifle in my arms. There was some sort of iron implements hidden under the straw that we had to lay on, because there wasn’t any room elsewhere. There was a pole lying at an angle right under my lower back.

  The damp wind blew over my face and also crept here and there through the folds of the shelter half. I lay and couldn’t go to sleep. The place here was unnerving to me. I kept having the desire to look around the area. But the lieutenant would have noticed.

  Steps?—Someone shakes me. I jerk awake.

  “Wake the others,” whispers the lieutenant. His pistol is already in his hand.

  I grab Ziesche by the arm. He rises up. The steps are already close. Over ten men, I guess. Somebody’s still snoring. With every breath his leather equipment squeaks. I jab the snorer in the side. He quits snoring and continues to sleep. I hear Ziesche take the safety off his rifle. They stand maybe thirty paces away from us and are whispering. There is nothing to see. Only five of us are ready to defend ourselves. They must have noticed us. If one could just understand one word!

  “Good evening, Reichart!” calls Fabian and stands up.

  “Good evening,” the call comes back, relieved. It was another patrol from our regi
ment.

  The officers conversed with each other. Then patrol Reichart continued on to the right.

  “Confound it,” says Fabian. “We aren’t staying here.”

  We moved out to the left again where we had earlier tried to climb down.

  Suddenly in the dark meadow there was a reddish glow. We turned around. Over there a barn was burning, maybe on the other side of the Maas. However, maybe it could be on an advanced height on our side.

  On the height with the wild rose bush where we had earlier been we sat down on our shelter halves. The rain made a soft noise on the grass. Over the height lay fog in thin strips. A couple of rifle shots exploded in the distance. Two men were already asleep again. Across the way flames broke through the roof, to the left bright flames and to the right, dark red with dense smoke. The roof collapsed down inside. Sparks rose into the black sky and a long flame shot out, died, and below remained smaller flames, darting and agitated. Beams collapsed, spraying sparks around. The glow became darker. It had stopped raining. Only the fog continued to wet things. The day came slowly. The lieutenant didn’t sleep. Sometimes he roused himself a little bit. One of the men woke up, stretched himself with his elbows, and wiped his hands over his eyes. Then he became livelier and began slicing bread for his breakfast.

  “There is no point in staying here any longer,” said Fabian. “The fog won’t lift for the next several hours and we have to be in the rear again by ten o’clock.”

  We went back toward the village and came up on the knoll. Artillery positions had been dug in the depression to the rear.

  “What’s this supposed to mean?” said Fabian. “There have been more people up here than just our patrols. If not they couldn’t have dug here so peacefully.”

  We went through the hollow. On the next knoll appeared a rider. It was our adjutant.

  “Your company is following directly behind me!—Our army is attacking!”

  The Battle of the Maas

  Our company came over the knoll, being led by the captain on a horse. “Good morning!” he called. “Today it will be the Iron Cross or a hero’s death!”