Forgotten Soldier (68 page)

Through the darkness and the thick fog we could see large masses of people moving on foot across the northern Polish landscape. At first, we thought we were watching infantry units on the march, but after several good looks we realized we were watching civilians-thousands of them-fleeing through the night and fog to escape the Red hordes who they sensed were very close behind them. We couldn't linger to watch those people, but could easily imagine their situation.

Then we crossed the Prussian frontier, into the home territory of Lensen and Smellens-two pure-bred Prussians, suddenly back on their native soil. Lensen stood up and leaned over the carriage door to get a closer look at his country. The rest of us didn't care so much: the landscape was scarcely distinguishable from that of Poland. Perhaps there were a few more lakes. Otherwise, as in Poland, there was forest.

"You really ought to see it when there's snow on the ground," Lensen said. He was suddenly smiling again. "This way, you can't really tell what it's like."

As we remained silent and uninterested, he spoke up again.

"You're in Germany, for the love of God! Wake up! Think how long you've been dreaming of this."

"East Germany," Wiener said, "practically the front. And then, I don't know if you realize it, but I have a compass, and I can tell you we're moving to the northeast, which is no good at all."

Once again Lensen turned purple with anger.

"You're nothing but a bunch of milksops," he said. "It's your kind of defeatism that's brought us to this. The war is already lost inside your goddamned heads, but you've got to fight anyway, whether you want to or not."

"Shut up!" shouted five or six voices. "If they want us to win the war, let them treat us like normal soldiers."

"You're just a bunch of whining puppies. The whole time I've known you, you've done nothing but whine. For you, the war has been lost since Voronezh."

"For good reason," Hals said.

"You'll fight, whatever the cost, and I'm the one who's telling you because you have no choice. There's no other way out."

The veteran stood up.

"Yes, Lensen, we'll fight-because we can't stand the idea of defeat any better than you can. And we have no choice. I don't, anyway. I'm part of a machine which operates a certain way, and only that way-and I've been part of it for too long."

We stared at Wiener, somewhat taken aback. We had thought he would be able to adapt himself to any kind of life. And now here he was saying that he could live only for the cause which had already cost him so much.

Lensen went on grumbling, and we went on thinking confusedly about the glimpse of the future the veteran had given us. For me, from the vantage point of Prussia, France seemed remote and unimportant. The cause which Wiener spoke of was also my cause, and despite all the difficulties and disappointments I had endured, I still felt closely linked to it. I knew that the struggle was becoming more and more serious, and that we would soon be obliged to face appalling possibilities. I felt a strong sense of solidarity with my comrades, and I could think of my own death without too much flinching, as a soothing veil that would fall slowly over me and all my terrors of the past, present, and future. My head seemed to be filled with a milky fog, which was without joy, but which suddenly made everything easy. Did my comrades feel the same way? I couldn't be sure, but my resignation seemed general. We rolled on for several hours at a reduced speed. Finally we stopped and walked through the gray, foggy morning to a camp of wooden huts, whose appearance recalled the robust military organization only recently lost. We were given an hour to rest, and the chance of a cup of hot water with a few grains of soya in it.

"And to think that some fellows volunteered for the food," somebody muttered.

"There couldn't be too many volunteering these days," another voice said. "Very few are around for long enough even to dream of becoming an officer. There's hardly the time to make obergefreiter, before they're getting a posthumous stripe."

A few were still around for a little longer than that.

Then a major, who was probably the camp commander, spoke to us.

"Proud soldiers of the Gross Deutschland," he said. "Your arrival in this sector fills us with joy. We know your reputation for courage in combat, which gives us a strong sense of support. Your comrades-in-arms in the infantry regiments fighting in the Polish forests near our frontiers feel as we do. Your arrival here reassures and comforts us, and also helps us in the extremely difficult task which has fallen on us: the defense of German and European liberty against the Bolsheviks, who would take it from us, employing the most extreme and bestial means. Today, more than ever before, our unity in combat must be total and deliberate. With the addition of your strength, we shall build a definitive rampart against the Soviet horde. Think of yourselves as the trailblazers of the European revolution, and feel proud that you have been chosen for this undertaking, however heavy it may be. I wish the greatest possible glory for you, and convey to you the congratulations of the Fuehrer and of the High Command. Transportation and food have been specially placed at your disposal to help you in achieving your aims. Bravo, soldiers, and courage. I know that so long as a single German soldier remains alive no Bolshevik will ever tread on German soil. Heil Hitler!"

We gaped at the elegant officer in stunned silence, trying to penetrate the veil of ignorance which hid our valor from us.

"Heil Hitler!" shouted a feld, who realized that the prescribed response to the major's remarks had not occurred.

"Heil Hitler!" we shouted heroically.

"Either I'm crazy," Kellerman muttered, "or he was expecting us to raise his morale."

"Ssht," said Prinz. "We're getting another speech."

This time, it was a hauptmann.

"It will be my privilege," he said, "to take two-thirds of the men in your regiment under my command, and lead them into battle."

We all had known what was waiting for us, but that phrase made us swallow hard.

"The entire division will be operating in a sector to the north of us. It will be broken up into several fragments so that a series of widely scattered attacks can be made against the Russian thrust, which is extremely strong in this sector. I am expecting from you the utmost in courage and actions of distinction and glory. These are essential because we must stop the Russians here. No negligence or hesitation will be allowed. Three officers can constitute a court-martial at any time, and sanction any penalty...."

(Poor Frosch! How many officers decided to hang you?)

"We shall be victorious here, or be covered with shame. No Bolshevik must ever, I repeat, ever, set foot on German soil. And now, my friends, I have some good news for you. There is mail for some of you, and citations, and promotions. But, before giving free reign to your joy, you must present yourselves at the store for fresh rations and ammunition. Dis-miss. Heil Hitler!"

We broke ranks without any clear idea of our situation. "Things are looking up," I said.

"A bastard who'd be glad to see us all killed," muttered Hals.

We were standing in a long line in front of a large wooden building. "So that's what we get instead of Wesreidau. Something tells me we'll be having a few eye openers, Prinz."

"Impossible. We've already seen everything there is to see." "He's another one of these madmen," said Hals.

"He's not. He's perfectly right," said another voice behind us. We turned around in surprise.

"He's right. It has to be here, or not at all. I can't explain why without taking too long ... but he's right."

More and more disconcerted, we stared at Wiener without saying a word, unable to grasp his attitude, which suddenly seemed so changed. "I'll tell you why some other time," Wiener said. "For now, you're too thick to get it."

Paula,

As I write, I'm looking at the letter I've longed for so much, and as I read your lines, I forget the icy ground, and the East, which is still so filled with menace.

Your letter, which is in my hand, seems like a miracle from heaven.

I don't expect anything more from the ordinary world, from which we seem entirely cut off. I read your lines as our comrade Smellens, who is lucky enough to believe in God, recites his prayers.

Nothing can help us any more, Paula. Prayers seem like vodka-they blunt the cold for a moment.

Happiness has become entirely relative, and can mean simply daybreak, because darkness makes us think of death.

I have been promoted to obergefreiter, and although the stripes are still in my left pocket, I already feel that much more important.

I think these extraordinary and difficult moments have made us into men.

I can hear a roar in the east, Paula, but maybe it's only the wind.

I look forward so much to reading another letter. . . .

For several days now, we had been fighting again as we retreated. The Bolsheviks must never set foot on German soil. However, three powerful Soviet armies had already crossed the German frontier at five or six points, penetrating to a depth of some thirty miles. These three armies had rolled over our defending troops, whose survivors were dragging with them through the autumn countryside the last weapons which supported their claim to be part of an army.

To my regret, I am unable to retrace in detail the chaos of those bitter moments. But I can outline the ends of my friends, like Prinz, Sperlovski, and Solma, and of Lensen, who, in spite of everything, was really a friend. And it is Lensen I wish to salute now, by describing the tragedy of his death, which I can still see clearly, through the memories of so many other deaths. Whatever Lensen may have thought of me at times, I am certain that for all of us, and for his country, he was a brave man, who would have sacrificed his life without hesitation to help the most insignificant fellow soldier. The manner of his death fully supports this view of him, and it is perhaps because of him that I am sitting here now, writing these lines.

Lensen could never have accepted life as it is lived today, with all the concessions the former troops of the Eastern Front are obliged to make. Like the order for which he died, he was irreversible. Men who have embraced one idea can live only by and for that idea. Beyond it, they have nothing but their memories.

Our attempt to save the Courland front failed, and the overpowering Russian thrust reached the Baltic at several points, which I can no longer locate with any precision. The Northern Front was cut in two-the far north, around the Bay of Riga, as far as Libau; and the sector to which we were sent, a continuously shrinking front to the west of Libau, in Prussia and Lithuania, clinging farther south to the Vistula, which was the scene of hideous carnage.

The division was split into several small groups which attempted to throw the enemy off balance by attacking simultaneously at many points.

For the most part, these attacks were unsuccessful, and were hastily transformed into defensive actions. At that time, the division was precipitately attempting to regroup, in order to establish a defensive front some forty miles to the northwest. The bad roads, lack of fuel, mud, and faltering communications combined to slow down an operation which, under good conditions, wouldn't have lost us any time. In addition to our other difficulties, we had to contend with enemy aircraft, which had become increasingly active. Each over-flight spread fresh disorder through our already weakened columns. When the order to regroup came through, our officers decided that the retreat should be spread out, and divided into small groups. This idea made sense in that we offered less of a target to planes. However, when an enemy armored unit ran into two or three widely dispersed companies, our chances of survival were at best problematical. It was under these conditions, in a village of scattered houses, that an encounter took place which almost erased our group from the divisional list.

"I'm sure I've been here before," said Lensen, who was shocked by the misery of the country.

"Everything looks so different now that I don't recognize any details, but I'm sure that over that way there are some villages I know. My own village is about sixty miles from here," he gestured toward the southwest.

"Konigsberg is over that way. I've been there several times, and once I went to Cranz, too. It was raining cats and dogs, but we went swimming anyway."

He laughed, and we listened.

Despite the crushing retreat and numbing cold, Lensen seemed to have revived on his native soil. But he felt the anguished silence of this village, whose inhabitants had fled the day before, more intensely than the rest of us. Three hundred of us, exhausted by a march, which had begun at dawn, of twelve miles over waterlogged ground, were sitting doubled up for warmth, waiting for an uncertain eleven-o'clock distribution of food. Only Lensen was on his feet, pacing up and down the length of the stable wall, which the rest of us were leaning against, sheltering from the incessant rain. We heard his voice against a background of explosions which were more or less loud, more or less distant, coming from the southeast. We scarcely noticed the sounds of war any more. They had become so much the ordinary background of our lives that we no longer paid any attention to them unless they were inside a perimeter small enough to threaten immediate danger. Except for the noise to the east, everything was quiet. We were somewhat like people these days who cannot enjoy peace and quiet without a phonograph-who need noise before they can relax. Perhaps they are simply afraid of true silence. Unfortunately for us, we had no control over the volume of noise, and in fact would have been much happier without it.

Except for Lensen's harangue, nothing was happening.

Some twenty-five yards from us, six men were preparing lunch. Somewhat further off, another group were seriously engaged in attending to personal needs. Others were resting, with their eyes half closed, or staring into space, dizzy with exhaustion. The melancholy autumn weather brushed our faces with its damp freshness. We had been through so much misery that we were unable to appreciate conditions which ordinarily would have moved us to pity.