The Ones That Fell

Chapter Three

"Are you sure the partisans are here?" Althaus asked nervously.

I turned over and stared out the window. We've been circling the forest for about an hour and a half now, and still there were no signs of any enemy movement. I was growing impatient, but I knew that a hiding enemy would prolong their attack. They wanted to lure us into their trap.

"Herr Obersturmführer?"

"Just keep on going," I said. "Eventually they'll expose themselves. Just keep an eye on what's ahead of you, since we're the leading truck." Althaus nodded, stretched his fingers, and regained his focus onto the road.

It was a quiet night. If someone took a walk here it would be like any other moment before the war; it would be peaceful. Now the quietness was disturbed by our rumbling trucks, and our headlights blinded fleeing animals. I could hear the dogs barking every now and then from the back. They probably grew impatient too.

How many times had I rode in this truck? I questioned myself. The first truck I rode in couldn't survive the winter three years ago. Nor did most of my men.

I traveled in this truck numerous times, from chasing after Soviet troops or going to a new position. Even tracking down partisans, like now. When we were equipped with new trucks, that was when I was assigned new men. It was mid-spring of 1942, I remembered, and the snow was starting to thaw. I was sent back to Germany during that time, my first visit back since the war started. I came out of the land of ice and ash, worn out from the impulses that the battles forced onto me. I fell deeply into my wife's arms when I returned. I didn't want to leave those arms, nor did I want those arms to disappear.

I was assigned new men and new equipment, given warm showers and fresh food, but still they could not cover the memories that came to me before that winter. They held onto me like any other memory.

I shifted as the truck swerved slightly towards the right.

"Don't fall asleep now, Althaus."

"Sorry, Herr---"

The side mirror glowed with bright yellow and orange. Immediately Althaus stepped on the brakes, and I jumped out of the truck.

The third, and last, truck that was following us was swallowed in flames. Weissenburg and his squad flooded out of their truck.

"What happened?!" Ziegler cried out. "Nothing was wrong when we drove!" His men were gathered behind him.

There were screams that sounded from the truck, and dark figures were trying to escape the fire. We ran over to them, but suddenly gun shoots blared out. The survivors from the explosion were now dead. Their voices silenced by a piece of metal.

"Come on! We're going in to find those bastards!" Weissenburg shouted, and his men slipped into the bushes. I stood still, my eyes were becoming blinded by the flames.

"Herr Obersturmführer!" I jolted and turned over to Ziegler.

"What do we do?!"

"Go in and help Weissenburg, I'll follow behind." Althaus was beside me, his rifle shaking in his hands. Ziegler's squad went into the forest, and I went over to the scene. The heat was becoming more vicious as I neared.

"H-Herr..." A voice came from the fire. "O-Obersturm---?"

"Shh," I said. I dragged Bosch's body out from the area with the help of Althaus. His body was charred, and his face was severely burnt. I tried to kept myself contained. He was dying.

"B-but--"

"No, don't talk. Please. There's no need to talk, Bosch," I whispered, trying to put out the small fires on his uniform and aiding to his burns. My chest was weighing down. He was dying.