The Ones That Fell

Part III: Chapter Eleven

March, 1945

There was a scent of a distinguishable era, an era when everything emerged from the melancholy of prolonged nights and solidified coldness.

In the times when war infested the world, that scent was no longer pure. The bodies that had been buried under the heavy packs of snow were starting to reveal themselves. A hand would appear from under the white sheets or a foot with only three toes, all blue and rotten. The heat and the rainfall of the spring melted away the covers that had supposedly concealed the inhumanities. Our committed atrocities. We were being reminded on what we had done to one another yet again.

There was a parade of trucks that entered the street. Their wheels splashed the water around along with the mixture of dirt and melting snow. I was seated on an upturned crate with no cover from the rain. My coat was starting to become drenched, then down to my tunic, but I tried to ignore the chills.

I watched as the soldiers from one of the trucks started to unload, each of them carrying a panzerfaust. I recognized them, and all from that truck were my own men. I could hear their laughs and their lively voices. Ziegler was watching them with intent, to make sure that each of the men were properly equipped. Then a few other trucks started to have people pouring out. Those people were uniformed boys.

To everyone else, those boys were considered soldiers.

Suddenly the rain stopped and a shadow loomed over.

"Good afternoon, Von Koppel. You're just sitting out here in the rain like that?"

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Standartenführer Lehmann.

"Good afternoon," I said to him in return. "I'm sitting out here because I like the rain."

"Well, that doesn't mean you can become rain itself," Lehmann said with a laugh and kept the umbrella above the both of us. I shivered as I adjusted my coat. The remaining drops of rain were sliding off the edges of my helmet, and I watched them as they appeared before my eyes.

"Do you remember Dominik Gwozdek?" he asked suddenly. I looked over to Lehmann, who sat beside me on his own makeshift chair. "His background was discovered recently," he said as he dug through his pockets and removed a folded piece of paper. "He's a Jew. A Polish Jew, as reported."

He handed the paper over then stood up with a breathy exhale.

"That is his report. He is to be either deported or executed. It is your choice, but I want him out of here before tomorrow," he said. "But be sure to take care of that situation before you and your company head out to the river."

"I thought we were staying behind the lines?" I asked him as I unfolded the paper out to its original form.

"There's no more 'behind the lines', Von Koppel. Everywhere is a front, this whole country is a front!" he said with irritation. He then left without any further sayings and the rain returned over my head.

The report started to become wet and the penmanship was fading. The paper then fell off of my hand and into the puddle below, disappearing into its own void. I stood up, and through the heavy droplets, I started my walk to the headquarters to capture another apparent prisoner.

* * * * * * * *

The rain collected onto the many leaves of the trees and would tumble off as immense drops. They would fall onto my shoulders, my nose, the top part of my boots, and eventually they seeped through my cap. My helmet was attached onto my belt, and each time I took a step, the gears would collide and made a noise. My hand was becoming colder by the second as I held onto the grip of the pistol.