They died in numbers.
One. Two. Then three.
They fell after being struck by the enemy's bullets as I stood helpless. My men--or should I say boys--trembled beside me as they watched their comrades die before their youthful eyes. Two survivors managed to reach the other side of the street, struggling to set up their machine gun since it became too heavy and large for their weak bodies.
None of my boys were over the age of seventeen. They were half my age yet they endured horrors that were too immense for their pure minds.
It was 1945, and almost a decade had passed since I had been in service. The symbol that etched on my helmet now faded over time, fading parallel to the outcome of our war. In the capital was where we were caught in, defending for nothing but our lives.
They were nothing but vulnerable. Their mothers and fathers were not with them, and all they depended on was me.
YOU ARE READING
The Ones That Fell
Historical FictionIt is 1945. The war in Europe is nearing its end. Tjaden von Koppel is giving his all to defend those who are under his command, but the war only shows them a vivid defeat. Borne into the trenches and battlegrounds with a troubled background, Tjaden...
