The path of war is not glories road
“Get out,” his mother said sharply, taking a threatening step towards the German Soldiers who had invited themselves into their home.
John, taking it all in from the peep-hole behind the wall, noticed that there were four of them. The one in front was obviously an officer from the decoration adorning his uniform, and the other three looked like the common soldier, clean shaven and uniforms void of any merit that would have distinguished them otherwise. The faces of these men were rather ordinary, but each had in their eyes knowledge that had hardened them to the realties of the war they were fighting. Not a good bunch to be dealing with. He knew all about those realties.
Looking behind him, he checked out his little sister. Her face was stricken with tears, and her tiny hand was clutching the back of his shirt. She was holding on hard, his shirt pulled tightly back against his chest, and he still felt the nail marks she had left when she first grabbed a hold of him. She was as silent as a mouse, and he understood why.
He really wanted to forget. He had been away that day working for Mr. Johnson. A strong back had been needed to help hoe a particularly rough patch of ground on the southern portion of the farm, and it had taken most of the day to complete the work. Upon arriving home, he had been quickly educated on what German soldiers did to Jewish Women. Marie had not been able to keep silent in the cubby hole that day, and to the delight of the Germans, both were raped, brutally.
She was never the same after that. She never spoke to him anymore. She never ate. It was anguishing to watch someone you loved so much, in so much pain. She refused to let him help her, and instead she dealt with the situation in her own little way.
Looking around the room, he saw the officer approach, eyes taking in his mothers form. He wanted to squeeze the man’s neck. Boldly stepping close, the German reached down with his hands and lifted his mother’s long skirt up to expose her under-garments. The man leaned close to her and said something he couldn’t make out, but the intent was all to clear. She immediately slapped the German’s hand away and retreated a few steps to the end of the wall.
“No,” she cried, her voice sharp and loud.
Her face took on an iron resolve, hands held protectively against her breasts. She knew what the Officer wanted, and looked ready to resist. O, how he wanted to help her resist.
The Officer would have none of it. Striding up, he grasped her wrists and flung her violently onto the table. Two of the soldiers leapt forward grabbing her arms. Taking position at opposite sides of the table, they held her down so that she was in a prone position. The officer, unbuckling his pant and hiking up his mother’s long skirt, thrust his way violently into her. She gasped sharply from the pain as the German relentlessly assaulted her.
“Stupid Jew,” the officer said, completely absorbed in his task.
“This is what we do to filthy Jews like you.”
His mind screeched with the need to act, to come to the defense of his mother who was being brutalized in such a manner. Silent tears coming to his face, he knew that he could not. He would expose his sister. He seethed with violent intent, and wished he hadn’t been coxed into this box before the soldiers came.
He caught a glimpse of the fourth soldier, hanging back at the door, expression vacant, but he was clearly displeased with the action by the way he crossed his arms and looked outside. The man looked no older then twenty, but the eyes clearly betrayed the youth that was evident in his rosy red cheeks and thick set of blonde hair. He couldn’t help but notice the blue eyes. He had very big, blue eyes.
The man was a bloody coward. How dare he pretend his mother was not being raped. She was right there, in front of the man. He was almost as worst as the other three, and his mind seethed at the way he could be so indifferent.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes fixed squarely on the peep-hole. The blue-eyed German was staring straight at him. The man’s expression grew startled for a moment, but then he quickly resumed his old vacant features as he stood, staring out the door once again.
The man knew he was there obviously, and John quickly re-thought his opinion of the man. Maybe he was just making the best of the situation he was thrust into? He hoped the man wouldn’t change his mind and un-cover them. There’s was not much any person could do against four men.
Properly cowed, but still inwardly furious, he took his sister in his arms and covered her ears with both of his hands. Her tiny arms snaked around his body firmly as he held her tightly, hoping the men would soon finish.
He was part of the resistance now. The treatment of his family, the abhorrent murder of thousands of French civilians was too much for him to handle. He was only 16, but he could hold a rifle. H could fire his gun. He needed something, anything to make him feel like he had a chance to make a difference. He didn’t want to be the next innocent civilian picked up off the streets and sent to one of those camps. There were all sorts of stories about them. He fought for his family, his sister.
He was accepted into the Maquis, for which he was grateful. The chance had finally come for him to finally do something against the Germans. The Maquis were a hard bunch of men, but he knew they fought for the right reasons. It was those reasons he kept firmly in his mind when he saw what they did to the German officer they captured a couple days ago. It was brutal. They had gauged out his eyes, and mutilated his body. He had listened to the cries of pain distantly, not willing to allow himself to feel anything over a murderer. They deserved what they got, they all did. That officer was going to be hung up on a pole, as an example to all Germans who would kill our Mothers, our sisters.
He was marching along a beaten path towards their first objective. They were going to blow up a mining operation about 5kms east of their current location. The mine was set to receive a contingent of 500 German civilians to work the mines. They were to set the charges, wait for the trains to enter the mines, and detonate. He and another Maquis member were to take up a position 1 km out and stop any patrols from discovering their current operations.
They had gotten reports that the Germans had increased security over the rail lines. He guessed that after numerous successful attacks, the Germans were reeling from the lack of equipment and food resources that the resistance had either taken control of or destroyed. They had also gotten reports of the swift retaliation in response to such attacks. Civilians in the vicinity of any attack on the rail lines were often rounded up and killed in response to their operations.
Looking up from the path they were walking, he saw Mr. Johnson signal to stop. Mr. Johnson had joined up before him. His wife had been rounded up for “looking like a Jew”, and sent to one of those rumored camps they sent people to in
“John, Mitch, to the front,” he ordered softly.
Walking up, he felt nervous. Most would, and he was no exception.
“Alright you two, take up position overseeing the tracks about 1 mile east of here. It will be another 15 minutes to your destination. Keep your eyes sharp, but don’t give away your position unless absolutely necessary. We don’t want to alert German authorities to our presence here”
It sounded like good advice, but he was hesitant.
“Sir,” he said, “What happens if we encounter troops that we can’t hide from?”
“Then you bloody well better finish them off before they have a chance to radio out”
“This operation is important John; we can’t risk any chance of failure”
“Right,” he replied, bolstered by the man’s self-confidence.
Starting off in the direction of the tracks purposefully, he nevertheless glanced back quickly to re-assure himself that Mitch was following him. He didn’t want to be out here alone, and after-all, two eyes were a hell of a lot better then one, and he wished fervently that it would be enough to spot any movement in the night.
They were following a beaten path, and he surmised that it must have been an old road used by local farmers to lead back in to the nearest village. The general direction was right, so he thought he was probably right. Along either side of the path, the trees and brush made it hard for him to see more then 15 feet to either side. There was a light fog engulfing their surroundings, a mist that covered the surrounding area making it even more difficult to see. It was the best thing that could have happened. It would be hard to spot anyone in these conditions, and it bode well for their safety on this night.
Mitch was right beside him now, probably drawn closer by the danger that they both were facing together. Mitch was a year younger then him, and judging by the expression on his face, and his gait, a hell of a lot more nervous. His eyes were constantly shifting, from left to right, and he walked jerkily as if every step would be his last.
“You think we’ll be alright Chris,” he asked
“It looks awfully good for an ambush”
“Don’t you worry about that,” John replied, abruptly.
He was in no mood to coddle anyone. A soldier needed to be strong, hard. Stupid questions like that showed lack of strength, a lack of will that would get them killed.
“Just watch my right, I got your left. We do this job quick and good, alright?”
“Alright,” Mitch replied, with a shaky smile.
Well, that was something anyway. Mitch was younger then him, and he knew the situation might be a little more difficult for him to handle. He was only a year older, but he had been through a lot. He had learned to be steel that wouldn’t bend. Tears were for later. Now, that just had to stay alive.
Spotting the tracks up ahead, he silently raised his hand up sharply, signaling an immediate halt. He directed Mitch to a spot on his right, covered in bush that would be perfect concealment for lookout. Five yards up ahead, he stationed himself behind a stump of a tree. It was a perfect spot. An un-obstructed view of the railway-lines.
Time drifted by, moving slowly as he tried to stay alert. The coffee that was provided before they set out helped to stay awake, but it didn’t help that much. Looking out at the lines, he noticed that part of the tracks had recently been replaced. It must have been from one of the previous attacks made to disrupt the rail lines. It was an interesting contrast when viewed from his location.
Still staring ahead, lost in thought, he was unprepared for the two Germans who came into view. He had not heard them approach, and glancing behind him quickly, neither had Mitch. The two soldiers were alert, cautious in their every step. They must have known of the dangers of guard duty along these tracks. The Maquis had killed many of them
He motioned for Mitch to take aim on the German on the far right, as took the one on the left. He was about to give the signal to fire, when he noticed blue eyes. Big, startling blue eyes from the soldier he was taking aim at. It was the man from his mother’s rape!
John couldn’t believe it. The chances that he would ever encounter this man again were flimsy at best, and now he was within shooting distance of one of the guys who had committed that brutal rape of his mother.
Seconds went by, his fingers on the trigger of his rifle, barrel of his gun pointed squarely at the man. He was hesitant because this was the man who had spared his sister of the rape had he turned them in. There was no choice to make though. He could not allow him to proceed further and jeopardize the mission. His comrade’s lives were at stake. Taking aim, he fired.
The bullet sizzled through the air with deadly accuracy hitting the blue-eyed young man in the shoulder. As if on queue, Mitch, on his right, brought down his man on the right with quick, rapid bursts of his rifle. In seconds it was over. The brief, violent encounter had ended.
Leaving his concealment after a few moments to make sure that they were safe he walked up to the Blue-eyed German who was clutching at his wound, and face deathly pale. On first glance, the wound looked alright. It had penetrated straight through the shoulder so he was going to be alright. A piece of cloth would be needed to stem the flow of blood.
What a predicament he was in. What was he going to do with the man? He couldn’t just leave him, he was the enemy. This man would put the mission at risk, and furthermore, this man knew who he was and where his family lived. He couldn’t take the chance that this man would keep his mouth shut.
Realizing his intent when his rifle came up, the German looked up at him, hands coming imploring up to the barrel of his gun, he spoke haltingly in French
“Please no,” he said, as his hand came up lightly to touch the barrel of the rifle.
“Please, spare my life, I don’t wish to die. I’m a good person.”
And he knew he knew he had his way out. This man didn’t recognize him! Turning his rifle around, he struck out with precision, hitting the man squarely across the forehead with the butt of his rifle. The man toppled over instantly as he lost consciousness.
“Tie him up Mitch. Make sure you gag him; we don’t want any Germans finding him until after the operation is over. And check to make sure the bleeding has stopped.”
“But Chris, we can’t keep him alive.”
“Just do what I say Mitch,” he growled, cutting off the argument before it proceeded any further.
He wasn’t in the mood to give any reasons. He wasn’t in the mood to fight. He just wanted this night to end so he could go home. After the German was tied up and the other body thrown into a nearby ravine, they carried man to a location back in the brush where he was hidden, and continued their surveillance of the tracks. They didn’t have long now until the mission was over, and they were going to complete their task and move out before the Germans had any clue as to what they were doing.
Morning, September 26thth, 1941
The mission was a success. The charges had been laid, and set off with organized precision. The contingent carrying over 500 German workers were trapped underneath a cave in. They weren’t expected to live long. The blast had been immense, and those not crushed by the sub-sequent cave in would probably die when the remaining pockets of air were used up. A decisive victory had been won for the allies, and he had been a part of it.
He permitted himself a smile or two when he arrived back at their place of refuge. Drinks were handed out and he took one to pay homage to the two men they had lost. Mr. Johnson had been one of those men. That man was someone he highly respected, and he drowned his glass in remembrance to gruff, out-spoken man that had always looked out for him.
He spent the remainder of the night sleeping in one of the vacant coats provided by the Maquis and woke up early morning to make his way back home. He missed his family, and wanted to see his mother and sister. Since his father had died serving in the army, his family became much more important to him. He wanted to spend every moment with them that he was allotted.
About to set off, he was taken back when Mitch came barreling in with a wide-eyed look etched across his face. Mitch had left late last night, saying that he wanted to see his family right away. He was worried what Mitch being back represented, and glancing around, he noticed that the other men had looks of worry as well.
“The Germans, they they’ve taken the town,” he sputtered, not finding the words for that which he sought to speak.
Max Purdue, the eldest of the bunch, moved over to him quickly, putting a re-assuring arm on Mitch’s shoulder
“It’s alright Mitch,” Max said, walking him towards one of the vacant logs that by the fire they had going.
“Tell us what happened. The Germans have been in control of
“No, it’s not that,” stuttered Mitch.
“They have brought in a battalion of Germans, and they’ve rounded up everyone in my village. They’re killing my friends, my family, and they’re shipping off the women and children to the camps.”
Immediately, the whole room sprang into action, momentary diversions forgotten, rifles picked up and slung over shoulders. Most of these men had families in those villages. He did as well.
The Germans always met any attack on their own with swift and violent retaliation. Often, they killed two or three people for every German that was killed. They had killed 500.
He was unable to think any longer. His mother and sister were both in danger. With his rifle already slung over his shoulder, he, he dashed out of the encampment and on to the path that would lead him to his home. He heard the shouts of men saying it was too late, but he ignored them. He was going to find some way to get his family out of there.
The path he was on was well hidden from view, and it had made a perfect location to setup a Maquis camp. They were close to town and targets of interest, and the path helped them move quicker among the surrounding terrain. He was only 15 minutes away, and he thought that if he could get their in time, he might be able to get his family out. His mama and Marie were probably in the secret place they had made, safe from view and harm.
There was smoke coming from different locations in the sky now. The Germans must have launched attacks on other villages in the area as well. It looked like they were sparing no expense in their retaliation for last nights attacks. It meant that he had better get his family out quickly.
He reached the edge of the village, and threw his rifle away, not caring where it landed. He would be arrested on the spot, or perhaps openly fired upon if he entered with it slung across his shoulder. Best if he just arrived with his clothes and nothing else. Stealth was his best chance at saving his family.
He turned a corner leading into the town square and was surprised by what he saw. Bodies were everywhere. Most were lined up in military precision in rows along the center square. He was taken back by the way the amount of death.
He saw his friends in those neat, orderly lines and he sank to his knees vomiting uncontrollably. He couldn’t help himself. These were friends his age, most no older then 16 who were sprawled lifeless, arms rigid in the aftermath of death. There were so many. Through eyes that could shed no more tears, he stared on hopelessly, unable to act, unable to will himself to do anything.
A soldier was coming towards him. He didn’t care. He saw this soldier had blue eye, and indifferently realized it was the man he had decided not to kill yesterday. The Germans shoulder looked better, although his face was severally swollen from the hit with the rifle butt. The man’s arm was wrapped in a small sling, but he was still able to hold his rifle erect, a rifle that was now pointed at his chest.
With a jerk, the soldier motioned him to follow and they made their way past the town center towards the direction of his home. He acceded, and they walked a short distance until he was abruptly stopped with the butt of the man’s rifle. The man gestured towards a group of villagers that had formed up in to a line, and he got the point. They were going to shoot him. Oddly enough, the only thought that came to mind was at least he could see his home from here, and it looked like his family was still safe
Rudely, a shovel was thrust into his hand, and he was gestured to dig. He stared at the ground, shovel in hand, and realized they were asking him to dig his own grave. The other men understanding as well, reacted in different ways. Some pissed themselves, losing momentary control over their faculties, other were shaking violently, unable to hold on to their shovels. Rifles were cocked and aimed, and they all got the point fast. They picked up their shovels and they dug. They dug because they didn’t want to die.
He glanced once again at his home, and he saw movement coming from inside. He heard the screams of his family as they were discovered. NO, he could not allow this!
He threw his shovel at the blue-eyed soldier and made a dash towards his mom. He never made it..
The blue-eyed soldier was shaken by the events that had just occurred. He never expected this kid to make a run for it. The young man had seemed so tough, so cold harded when he had to beg for his life. He had dodged the shovel that was thrown at him, and fired because he couldn’t let the man go free. He had his order that he had to follow and couldn’t let him go.
He glanced back in the direction he had heard the screams come from. It was the home where his superior Officer had raped the Jewish women. It looked like they had found the cubby hole he had first spotted when they had arrived there. It must have been that little girl they were now leading out that he had seen looking back at him.
He shed a tear for her. The girl was going to be carted off to one of their brothels, and she was too young. It was a fate he would never have put on any child. He had a sister at home just like her, and he would have lost it if he saw his sister being taken away to be used as pleasure for other men.
Glancing back towards the line, he saw that the other townsmen had been sufficiently cowed at the death of the young men. They still had their shovels in hand, and they continued to dig. They were all so full of life, a life he was going to be ordered to end, and he wished there was some way he could stop it.
He knew he would never be the man he once was. He didn’t know how he could go back to his own life after this, with the things he had done, the people he had killed, but he wanted to try. He wanted to try for the family he had back home that cared about him, but he wanted to try most of all for his little sister who was so full of life and laughter. A life and laughter that was now being stripped away from that little girl being carted away.
No comments:
Post a Comment