Bayonets and Barbed Wire

Chapter 10

Lansing, Michigan, United States of America

December 23, 1955

11:25 P.M.

Otto gently placed Anton's worn book back into his box. Even now whenever he saw the thing it gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. It felt like something had been ripped out of him and taken far away. He did not cry though, at this age he had done enough of that for more than a lifetime. Instead, he pulled out one of the object at the very bottom of his box, a small, circular container with a blue, white, and red rooster inside it.

Le Quesnoy, Nord-Pas-de-Calais, France

November 4, 1918

3:55 P.M.

"Over there! In the bushes!" Ralf called out to the machine gunner. His request was granted and soon the hedges were trimmed by bullets and any enemies that had been hiding within them were dead.

They were exhausted, hungry, and running low on ammunition, but their orders to hold the town of Le Quesnoy still stood. Otto was sure that even if they did somehow manage to hold this town, they would lose in the long run. He had come to the realization in the past few months that the Empire was running low on resources, and that soldiers could not keep fighting under these brutal conditions. For now though, he tried to ignore the politics and hunger cramps and focus on doing his duty.

There was a small bit of movement in a ditch down the road, but before Otto could even raise his rifle, the machine gunner was strafing the entire ditch. It was quiet in the town, which was strange considering the siege, but so far all that had happened were a few probes into their defenses. Just as he thought this, he heard an all-too-familiar whistling in his ear. Grabbing Ralf in a death grip, he scurried as far as he could before the mortar shell detonated where they had stood only a moment ago, flinging the gunner from atop the ramparts and sending a wave of heat over him and Ralf. They did not let this stop them from running though, where one shell fell, more were due to follow. Together, they darted into a house as mortars bombarded the defenses.

Ralf took off his helmet and set it on a table, "I don't know how much more of this I can take. It's just-" he resisted the urge to cry, "It's all so horrible."

"It's almost over. Any day now they'll end the war. I made you a promise back in Champagne, and I won't break it." Otto responded, doing his best to appear strong for his brother.

"And then what will happen? Things will just go back to normal? They can replace the borders, the villages, even the fortifications, but what about the people? We'll be going home knowing that the people we met in this war are dead. Even Anton is gone."

Otto wrapped an arm around his brother's slender shoulders, "Just because they died does not mean you won't make it home. I miss them too, and I'll never forget a single one of them, but we can't change what happened."

"That's the problem, it never should have happened. All those people are dead because of what? Some idiot Serb shot an Archduke? Millions of deaths for one man. It's like we don't even matter.

"Ralf, when we get out of here, we'll change that. We know what war is like now, we can stop the old fools who put us here in the first place from ever doing it again."

"I sure hope we can," he replied as he fastened his helmet's chinstrap.

The brothers walked out of the house when the barrage finally ended and made their way up to the main gate. As they approached, they heard shouting and pleading. A group of captured Germans was begging the garrison's Unteroffizier to surrender and stop the bloodshed, and the Unteroffizier, despite his soldiers' obvious willingness to surrender, was yelling back that the great German army would never bend to the Entente. A few more words were exchanged, then, with one final rejection, the Unteroffizier sent the soldiers away. Otto and Ralf left the area at that point and found a spot on the outskirts of the fortified town to sit and rest for awhile.

"He just damned us to death," Ralf stated.

"Don't be so sure, they'll probably ask again later."

"Yes, but after how many more die?" he stood and walked in front of Otto, surveying the walls of Le Quesnoy. After a minute he turned to face his brother again. His mischievous eyes gave away that he had been plotting something, "We could scale down the wall and surrender to the first Tommy we see."

Otto chuckled, "Do you really want our final act in the war to be desertion? On top of that, say we get down the wall without breaking our legs, how do we know they won't shoot us on sight?"

"It's better than just sitting here waiting to d-" There was a gunshot from the ramparts behind Ralf as his speech was cut short and his lifeless body fell forward onto Otto. He caught his brother and laid him softly on the ground, too stunned for words.

"Ralf? Ralf! Ralf please answer me!" he cried. It was obvious at that point. Ralf was dead. Blood was leaking out from behind his head, and, upon checking, Otto found a bullet wound at the base of his skull. He had died a quick and painless death.

He sobbed into Ralf's chest, the tears quickly soaking the grey uniform they both had sported so proudly four years ago. When he looked up, his eyes hurt, his head was throbbing, and every muscle in his body was shaking uncontrollably. Quickly, he pocketed his brother's notebook, identification disk, and the little gallic rooster he had received on Christmas morning, 1914. With tears still fresh in his eyes, he lifted his brother off the ground and turned to walk away; however, when he turned all he saw was a group of British soldiers approaching him, rifles ready. He could not understand what they were yelling at him exactly, but he got the point. Gently, Otto dropped to his knees, laid Ralf on the ground, and raised his hands in the air.

Unknown Prisoner of War Camp, France

Unknown Date

Unknown Time

After the New Zealand troops had taken Le Quesnoy and forced the garrison to surrender, Otto had been marched around with the rest of the troops until they were finally taken away in trucks. He had no idea of what time it was now, and absolutely no clue of where he had been taken, but it appeared to be an internment camp of some sort. French soldiers ushered him and the other prisoners off the truck and through the gates. Once inside, they were checked in via an hours-long queue. When he finally reached the front of the line, Otto noticed a spark of recognition in the eyes of the man who checked him in.

"Otto?" he asked.

Otto cocked his head, "My name is Otto Schneider, yes. How did you know that?"

"It's me, Sylvester. We met during Christmas back in 1914." Only then did Otto see the resemblance. Sylvester had grown a lot in the last four years.

"It's good to see you Sylvester, I'm happy you made it," he did his best to smile at his old friend. No matter how sad or angry he may be, what happened to Ralf wasn't this Sylvester's fault.

"As am I. I'm glad to see that you didn't have to die in the fighting."

Sylvester went light on his check, and did not take the gallic rooster from Otto's pocket. All he did was ask for identification. After that, Otto was released into a yard full of captured Germans. It was then that he noticed a man with strawberry-blonde hair approaching him. He almost fainted when he realized who it was.

"Krzys?"

"Otto?"

They embraced each other. Krzys was the first to speak, "I didn't think I would ever see you again! The Fro- French caught us undermanned at Douaumont. There was no getting out of there alive, so we surrendered. How's the war going? W-" he stopped for a minute to look around, "Where's Ralf?"

Otto's heart sank, but he did his best to stave off the tears and stay focused, "The war's over. We lost. Ralf is dead."