Bayonets and Barbed Wire

Chapter 6

Lansing, Michigan, The United States of America

December 23, 1955

9:05 P.M.

"All that happened on Christmas, Opa?" Helga asked at a break in Otto's story.

Otto shook his head, embarrassed by how long he had been talking, "No, Helga, I'm sorry, I just got lost in the story."

Helga reached into the box again, this time drawing a leather strap with a small, metal circle attached to it, "What's this, Opa?" she questioned, cocking her head. Otto took the disk in his old hands and read the worn imprint. Unfortunately, time had worn away everything except for the service number, which was:

J 225

German Front Line, Eastern Front, Poland

July 27, 1915

1:00 P.M.

"They're on the run again, Joachim!" Otto shouted back to his friend as he started sprinting again.

Joachim stood and began running after Otto, "What's new comrade?" he responded between breaths.

The grass green figures which had previously occupied the fortifications just outside the town had now fled and taken up positions within the ruined buildings. As Otto got closer, bullets began to whizz around him. He picked up his pace and got a bit lower until he was able to hide behind the previously-occupied Russian defenses. Joachim joined him a moment later. They were both breathing heavily, for they had only been on the Eastern Front a short time and were not used to all the running they had to do.

Around twenty more soldiers were advancing from behind them under the drizzle of bullets that had begun. "Ready?" Joachim asked. Otto nodded his response.

The duo rose above the fortifications and took aim at a man who was taking shelter in some rubble. Their rifles sounded off in unison as the Russian shot back. The bullet grazed Joachim's shoulder, tearing some of his uniform, but he was unfazed and returned fire. The Russian took the shot in his belly and promptly sank to the ground. His cries gave evidence that he was not yet dead.

They approached the door of a building, slung their rifles over their shoulders, and drew their Mauser C96's. Gunfire echoed from within the house. They nodded at each other, then Joachim kicked in the door. Three Russians awaited them, two at the windows and another in the opposite corner. The latter fired at Joachim, but missed and struck the door just to his left. Joachim was quick to respond and shot both the Russian in the corner and the soldier in the farthest window. Otto dispatched the last one.

As they left the room, Joachim began to speak again, "I swear, the world just wants me dead today," he said, rubbing his arm. Otto laughed a little, but failed to think of anything to respond with. It was just a bit too real of a possibility.

They paused as they reached the exit door of the cabin. There was movement outside, boot squelching through the mud. Otto and Joachim communicated with their eyes, both calm despite the situation. A nod, a kick, and suddenly Otto was in the mud, a Pole wielding a knife atop him. Words which he had no hope of understanding were being shouted at him as he wrestled the bigger man, trying desperately to keep the blade from his throat. Just as his strength began to give out, a boot swang into the man's stomach and sent him rolling onto the back. Joachim was now above Otto, pistol in hand. Two shots rang out and Otto felt a warm substance on his hand. Still in a daze, he took Joachim's hand and stood. There was no sound other than his own breathing and the footsteps of allies approaching through the mud.

Despite these near-death encounters, there was still a job to be done. An old barn stood not far from their position, and would make a good hiding place for retreating Russians. Together, along with two other soldiers, they approached the barn cautiously. Drops of rain fell cold against their faces, and thunder rumbled in the distance. This would make a great horror story, Otto thought when they were around thirty feet from the entrance. Thunder cracked nearby, but the screaming that came after it made it obvious that there had been no thunder. Smoke lingered where the shot had come from, and the entire wall around it was soon riddled with bullets by a German with a submachine gun.

Otto looked down to his left where Joachim now laid on the ground, writhing in pain. He was immediately kneeling next to his friend and tearing open his medical pouch. Tears began to cloud his vision, but Otto knew he had to appear strong for his friend despite the situation. The bullet had ripped through Joachim's chest, and Otto knew he would not see the evening's moon. As he injected the syrette of morphine, his wounded friend began to speak.

"Otto, tell me, how bad is it?" he asked with a croaking voice.

Otto blinked back tears, "It isn't that bad, it only looks a little nasty. You're gonna be fine, Joach."

A slight shake of Joachim's head showed how much he believed that. As his eyes began to glaze over he reached up to his neck, snapped something off from around it, and slapped it onto Otto's arm, "Don't forget me, Otto," he croaked. A moment later his breathing ceased. Otto bent over and, sobbing helplessly, laid his head on his dead friend's forehead.

"Comrade! We found the sniper!" a voice called out from inside the barn. Drying his tears on his sleeve, Otto stood, grabbed his rifle, and jogged inside.

When he had climbed into the loft, he found the two other soldiers with their guns pointed at an ailing Russian. A hundred thoughts rushed into Otto's mind all at once. Should I shoot him? Should we capture him? Should we just leave him here? he asked himself as he stared at the man. He was unsure whether his decision to shoot the Russian was merciful or vengeful, but he did it anyway. With one of the other Germans who had accompanied him into the barn, Otto folded together a stretcher, loaded up Joachim's body and solemnly walked back to the line. As night came he dug a grave for his friend and laid him to rest under a tall, green tree. A hand-carved wooden tombstone read: Musketier Joachim Langenberg - Nie Vergessen. When he stood up, he noticed a leather strap hanging out from the cuff of his uniform. He tugged at it and found a small disk was attached. It was an ID disk with Joachim's service number inscribed in it: J 225.

Lansing, Michigan, The United States of America

December 23, 1955

9:15 P.M.

Of course, Otto had decided not to tell the more sad parts of his story to Helga, instead choosing to give her a shorter explanation of the disk followed by the reading of a letter to his sweetheart, Leni. After that, his daughter Anelie came in to put Helga to bed. She returned only a few minutes later.

"Father, we've talked about this before, you can't be telling Helga these war stories before bed," she complained as she sat down on the other side of his desk.

"And why not? She seems like she can handle them, and besides, pride in our history is important!"

"I understand what you're saying, but at least wait until she is older."

"And what am I to say next time she comes and asks me, 'Opa, tell me a war story'?"

"You tell her that you've run out of them."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes, "Now would you like to hear one?"

"Perhaps in the morning. Goodnight Vater."

"As to you Anelie," he responded as she stood and walked out the door.