“Well, I guess we will find out together, Oberleutnant. I guess we will find out together.”
“Yes, sir, Herr Sturmbahnführer.”
The car continued to lead the trucks deep into the night.
The men in the back of the trucks were trying to get some sleep. For these men it was the first time in days the constant rumbling of artillery was missing. The droning of the truck engine and the squeaking of the springs as the truck headed down the dark road lulled them to sleep. Several pulled out blankets and wrapped them tightly around them. At least they had those. They had strict orders for no cigarettes.
It was nearly a crime to put humans in this situation. In the back of a piece of crap truck with no heat driving all damn night. But as German soldiers, it was their job to endure such situations, “Everything for the Fatherland”. This was actually a respite from the action Corporal Hans Kruger had seen prior to being ordered to board the beat-up Opel transport truck that evening.
Kruger was very happy to leave the front lines. Things were not going well for the German army in general or his battalion in particular. His squad suffered heavy losses over the past several months. He lost several good friends. War brought men together and then tore them apart. For several of his friends, the war ended just as their life ended… suddenly.
Hans yearned for peace, yearned for the war to be over. He was tired. He simply wanted to go home and put an end to this madness that Hitler brought upon them. But he dared not state that out loud. Everything seemed to have ears. So he kept his thoughts to himself like a good German and followed orders.
When the trucks pulled up on the road behind his bivouac, Hans was told nothing more than to get his gear and get in the back of the truck. He picked up his meager belongings, his mess kit, a couple of blankets, his backpack and his rifle and trudged off to the rear of the truck.
“What’s going on?” he asked the leutnant, who unlatched the truck’s tailgate. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” the leutnant grunted. “I don’t ask questions. I just do what I’m told. I have orders to put you in the truck. That’s all. The driver knows where he is supposed to go. I have no idea. Just get in.”
Hans got in with three other soldiers from another unit. They huddled in the back of the truck as the canvas covering the rear of the truck was closed. At least he was not alone. He sat across from the three other soldiers. They looked like they were happy to just be doing something other than fighting. Hans moved to the front of the truck bed, hoping that with the canvas top and his sitting behind the cab it might keep him warmer. As he settled on the wooden bench seat, the leutnant slammed the tailgate and closed the back flap.
The truck began to move as Hans pulled out his blankets and began the soldier’s well known skill of making any place a place to sleep. He looked around in the dim light. One of the other soldiers was well ahead of him and had staked himself out a bed and was already beginning to snore. Damn. What luck to be able to go to sleep so fast! The musty air from the wet canvas in the closed back of the truck seemed like a large animal coming out of his lair to consume them. He decided to get some sleep himself. One thing he learned as a soldier, sleep when and where you can. The others were bedding down as well.
The jerking of the truck woke Hans and his three comrades. No one knew how much time passed, but it was very dark. They were turning onto another road. One of the men slid back and opened the flap to see what was going on. Through bleary eyes, Hans saw nothing but darkness. No lights, not even the road behind them. And it was cold. He sat back; very thankful he was in this crappy truck.
“Ah,” said the soldier as he climbed back up to the front of the truck, “I see you are awake. Great!”
“Yeah, I am,” answered Hans as he moved into another position, his ass sore from the hard bench seat. “What did you see?”
“Not a thing. We are in the middle of nowhere,” said the soldier, “but at least we are riding, not walking. I’ll take a ride any day. My name’s Mauer, Johann Mauer.” He moved over and sat by Kruger.
“What about these two?” asked Kruger, pointing at the duo across from them just beginning to stir.
“Don’t know. They have not been very talkative,” Mauer answered.
“Aww, bite my ass,” growled one of the men. “This is the first sleep we’ve had in the last four days. I don’t have any idea where I am going, but I know it has to be better than where we were. “
“Where’s that?” asked Mauer.
“Hell, I tell you,” answered the voice from under the blanket beside the growler. He pulled back his blanket and sat up holding the blanket around him. “Hell.”
“Yeah, I’ve been there too,” Kruger said as he looked down at his boots. “There is nothing but rain, cold, mud and death. Not a holiday spot in anyone’s imagination.”
“So, you got a name?” asked Mauer in an almost happy voice.
“Fritz Vogel,” he said, pulling his blanket closer and trying to return to his nest.
“Hey, what’s up with all this? Where are we going?” asked Kruger, looking wide-eyed at Mauer.
“Hell, I don’t know what’s going on,” answered Mauer. “We got picked up just like you.”
“I don’t know where we are going and I don’t care. Would you just shut up and let a guy get some sleep,” cracked Vogel as he covered his head with his blanket and settled into the corner again.
Mauer grabbed Vogel’s blanket and slung it to the rear of the truck. “Get your lazy ass up!”
Vogel sat up and acted like he was going to smack Mauer. Then he stopped. He really did not want any part of Mauer. Mauer was about twice the size of Vogel. All this time the fourth soldier just reburied his head in blankets and returned to his sleep.
The group rode in the back of the covered truck for about three more hours, stopping only to refuel. As the truck trudged through the slightly frozen, muddy roads, Hans smiled as the huge wheels splashed the roadside soldiers with the gloppy, cold mix of water and mud. Poor bastards… at least he was riding, and in a truck with a cover no less.
There was very little conversation between the men as they decided Vogel’s idea was probably the best… get some sleep. They all were so happy to get out of the cold and get out of the war that they really did not care where they were going. At least it was away from the front lines.
Hans’ mind drifted as he napped. He remembered his best friend, Richard, who died the week before in his arms. Best friend? Hans had known Richard for a little more than six months. It was funny how war brought certain guys together as friends. Everyone told him not to get close to anyone. The hurt at the loss of a friend in war was just not worth the camaraderie. Hans’ vision of Richard lying there after the explosion blew him apart… he did not think he would ever forget Richard’s face as, still alive, he looked down to see everything from his waist down turned into ground red meat. Thankfully Richard said that he did not feel anything as he died quickly.
They were only a few feet apart when the artillery shell landed just outside Richard’s foxhole. Although the men reinforced their foxholes with sandbags and some tin from a farmhouse roof, it was no match for the artillery shell. When it slammed into the ground beside Richard it exploded. Searing chunks and shards of hot steel screamed through Richard’s lower body, shredding his legs and manhood, shearing his buttocks completely off. His body flew into the air and landed behind Hans. When Hans raised his head and cleared his brain, he saw a huge, smoking hole where his friend once was. Looking around, he spotted Richard, or what was left of him, lying about six feet behind him. Hans scrambled out of his foxhole and got to Richard, gently lifting his head. His face was an ashen white; his blood loss was clearly catastrophic; his intestines had an eerie sheen even though they were spread all around in chunks. He looked into Richard’s eyes, surprised to see that he was still alive.