The Ones That Fell

Part II: Chapter Six

Mid-November, 1944

A battle between the myriad of pale flakes occurred outside the window.

I could see my breath appearing then disappearing on the glass pane, like a ghost fading in and out of sight. Everything was gray outside. The land was bare from vibrancy and color once again. Yet the war fought by nature seems to be more beautiful than ones fought by man.

My eyes caught on to one speck of snow. I followed its motion as it guided me over the scenery. Eventually it merged in with the clusters of its kind and I lost track of it. I turned around from the window and sank down against the wall. My submachine-gun was held in my hands. Its metal body chilled through the holes of my gloves. They were the gloves that had been with me since the winter of 1941. Every winter that arrived brought back the horrid memories of that year.

Ever since the Standartenführer showed me those photos, they have been haunting me. Those partisans must've dropped them somewhere, and so one of our workers happened to discover them. I've committed a lot that went against them over these years, why wouldn't they want me?

I am still fighting the real war; the war against the Soviets as they slowly leak into our land, but I have to fight another war that goes on under the shadows.

"Hauptsturmführer, the roads are clear." I looked up and saw Ziegler. "We can move out now," Ziegler added, and reloaded his weapon. Two squads flooded in, and some of the men were carrying a couple wounded.

"How many Soviets were there?" I asked as he pulled me up.

"About a dozen. We were able to take them out but we lost a few of ours," he replied, and placed a cigarette on his lip.

"Alright. Tell Rottenführer Hirsch to get his men to start down the road. You make sure those two are patched up, then find us at the village at the crossroad," I ordered, and immediately he went off. I walked over to the wounded men and gave them some reassurance before I stepped out of the shack.

I was blinded for a moment by the brightness of the frozen land. Everyone meandered by with white camouflage smocks; some stained with patches of red and dirt. Rottenführer Hirsch passed by with his squad, and they marched off down the road armed with only rifles.

I spotted Althaus standing alone, with his arms tucked deeply into his pockets and his collars up. White powder started to build up on his overcoat. He depicted a frozen animal caught in a snowstorm.

"Hey," I said. "Why aren't you wearing your winter smock?" He looked up at me, and under all of the clothing he was weeping heavily. His eyes were swollen and red, and his nose ran. "What's wrong with you?" I asked, guiding him away from the commotion of troops.

"I--I had to shoot," he paused, trying to control his crying. "I had to shoot a soldier!"

"Of course you have to. You're in a war," I said to him. His eyes narrowed at me.

"No!" he shouted. A couple soldiers glanced at him. "He was surrendering to us, he was unarmed, and my commander told me to shoot him! I didn't want to, but he forced me to shoot the Soviet!" he cried.

"Who was your commander?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter who was the commander," Althaus said. "The only thing that matters is that when we kill men we seem so reckless!" He sighed and flung his rifle down. "That damn conscription paper! If only I didn't receive it, I wouldn't have been here! What are we fighting for nowadays, huh? What are we fighting for?" He shook my shoulders. "What are we?"

"Althaus-"

"All we're fighting for is defeat, not victory! We're wasting our people and our strength! We fall for nothing!" he screamed, and I covered his mouth as I shoved him against a tree.