I went through the drill as if my life depended on it, which it did. My fingers flew as they had never flown before and then I was up on my feet, standing to attention. When the last man had completed his drill, the colonel thanked Lt Breding and then came the magic words, “I would like to speak to the Kanonier on the left.”
I got my order to step up to the colonel who proceeded to congratulate me and to say that I had given an exceptional demonstration in the handling of a machine-gun. Although I had to keep my eyes on the colonel while he was speaking, I was strenuously trying to send a telepathic message to the captain at the same time. When the colonel had finished speaking, my role would have been to give a simple “Danke, Herr Oberst” (Thank you, colonel) and wait for the order to return to the ranks. But this would not be enough. I still had to get through to the captain, but how could he remember a face in a fox-hole, partially obscured by a steel helmet, and this over five months ago?
The answer was my voice. People can forget faces, but they do not forget a voice. I had to take the liberty of going beyond the formal three-worded reply and to start waffling at the colonel. So, what came out was, “Thank you, colonel, I have always taken a particular interest in all forms of drill on machine-guns and light anti-aircraft weaponry.” There, that was as much as I could risk, but I was already conscious of the captain’s interest.
The captain came up to scratch and, before I could be dismissed, he said that he would also like to speak to me. Things were now running smoothly and, at last, I was at liberty to look straight at him. There was a puzzled expression on his face and he said to me, “Tell me, have we met somewhere before?” I replied, “Ja, Herr Hauptmann” and went on to remind him of our meeting in Holland. The captain admitted that he now remembered, but he continued to look puzzled and I imagined he was wondering how I had got into this situation.
Time was getting short and I could hardly burst out with a detailed explanation. Then I had a flash of inspiration, the best I probably had in all my life. Suddenly I knew how I could convey all in a camouflaged manner. I went on to say, quite innocently, “After completing my training in Holland, I was sent to the Eastern Front at the end of July and last served with the Anti-Aircraft Gun-Group Nr…. commanded by Lt Trapp.” When giving the number of my unit and the name of its commander, I tried to speak very distinctly without making it too obvious what I was up to. I had now managed to give him a lead and it was up to him if he wanted to find out more about Lt Trapp. There was nothing else that I could do. With that I was given the order to “fall-back,” and we three volunteers rejoined the soldiers lined up behind us. The inspection came to its formal close and the “brass” drove off.
After the colonel and his party had left, I felt a sense of subdued exultation. Surely all this could not have been without purpose? It was a miracle that the captain had arrived at this very spot and this was compounded by the miracle that the colonel had asked for machine-gun drill. He could have asked for many other things or he could have just left after five minutes.
But the odds against me were astronomical. The captain had to understand the hint, he had to remember the details I gave him and he had to want to do something about it. Then he needed to have time to follow it up, he had to obtain permission for my transfer back to Lt Trapp’s gun-group and my return had to be effected. All this had to happen in turn and there was no time to lose since the Russians could stage their offensive at any moment. My spirits remained elevated, but I tried not to be too optimistic. It looked like an impossible race against time, if there was a race at all, and maybe I was just deluding myself?
Many hours later I still felt dazed by the events. I knew that no great developments were possible the same day, nor even likely during the next day. None of my mates referred to my conversation with the captain and I did not think they were even aware of any of its undertones.
The day drew to a close and that night I got off to a good sleep. Unfortunately, I was picked for sentry-duty from one to three o’clock in the morning and as the minutes dragged on, one by one, I had to constantly fight against my thoughts dwelling on my chances of a reprieve.
Things became easier the next day when my mind was occupied with various activities. Again, I was able to walk in the woods with Offenheim, but I avoided any reference to the happenings of the previous day.
After breakfast on the following morning, I was getting out my equipment for the morning-drill when a soldier came dashing along one of the trenches and shouted, “Stieber, you are to report to the CO in a hurry!” Surely this had to be it! The urgency of the call and the way I was singled out could mean only one thing, but I had to keep calm and not let my hopes rise too much.
Like a shot, I bolted through the trenches and stood before Lt Breding who said to me, “Stieber, I have just received a communication that you are to report back to Lt Trapp immediately.” He then went on to say, “There is a supply-van here at the moment, but it has to leave in ten minutes and I cannot let it wait. If you are ready by then, you can leave on it, otherwise you will have to wait till tomorrow.” I rushed back to my bunker, calling out to Offenheim that I was being sent back to base. Grand fellow that he was, an instant look of delight crossed his face and he scrambled to help me get my things together. There was no sign of envy, only joy at my good fortune and I suddenly felt a pang of remorse at leaving this fine person behind to die. I had a fleeting urge to go slow and miss my van, but Offenheim was already pumping my hand and wishing me good luck, so I shook off all thoughts of staying. Anyway, I would have been foolish to risk my life just to delay the departure for one day until the next van was due to arrive. I wished Offenheim good luck and, after hurried farewells to my other mates, went to report to Lt Breding.
Jolting along in the van, my mood was not so much one of celebration, but rather a feeling of being at peace. I was still going back to the Front lines, to a situation where I could be killed, but an immediate danger had been averted. It was difficult to comprehend the miracle that had saved me, but my faith in my future was now stronger than ever. I felt no animosity towards Lt Trapp, only compassion, and so I resolved to make our meeting as easy as possible for him. There must be no suggestion of triumph and I would have to guard against appearing condescending. I knew exactly what I had to do, but would I get it right?
I arrived at my destination and made my way to Lt Trapp’s underground bunker. It was a brilliantly sunny day and, as I walked down the steps with the sun at my back, I could see him writing at a table facing the open door. After walking up to him I stood to attention and saluted, giving him my formal “Kanonier Stieber reporting for duty.” I felt I had achieved a natural expression on my face and waited for his reaction.
Lt Trapp had obviously known that I was coming, but he still stared at me for some moments as if mesmerised. All he had to do was to say, “All right, Stieber, fall out,” but that was not what happened. Instead, he began to rise in slow motion, his knuckles showing white as he clutched the edge of his table. He did not seem to be able to achieve a standing position, but remained crouched behind the table staring up at me. Then his face slowly went into a hideous contortion and his clenched teeth parted to give me what, I realised to my horror, was meant to be a smile. Words came, pushed slowly and painfully through his rigid jaws; “Yes, …Stieber, …glad to have… you… back with us.” Having said that, he remained crouched before me with the same expression on his face; it was as if his whole body had suddenly been cast in stone and he was unable to stand up or sit down. I saw only one way out; the spell had to be broken. I saluted and left the bunker.