“Shut up!” Hals said. “You’ll never make it home anyway. Ivan’s going to get you for sure. Why don’t you think for a minute of Frösch and the other fellow who’ve been caught?”
“We might as well eat,” said Wollers. “I’ve had enough of giving orders, and sweating, and shitting in my pants like a baby when I’m scared. So let’s get started. If we’re going to die for it, all the more reason to fill our bellies while we can.”
Like hungry beasts, we wolfed down the contents of the tins and the other provisions, masticating loudly.
“We’d better eat it all,” Lensen said. “If we’re caught with anything in our sacks that wasn’t handed out, we’ll be in trouble.”
“You’re right. Let’s eat it all. They won’t slit us open to see what’s inside, although it would be just like those bastards to check our shit.” For an hour we gorged ourselves until we were almost sick. When it grew dark, we returned to the road by a devious route. Lensen stepped out of the brush first.
“Come on, the coast is clear.”
We went on for three or four hundred yards, passing once again the hole with its unexpected windfall which had allowed us to fill our famished stomachs for a moment. There was no one in sight. We went on for another two or three miles, and collapsed at the side of the road.
“I can’t go any further,” said Schlesser. “We’re not used to eating any more, and this is what happens.”
“Why don’t we go to sleep right here?” someone said. “That will help our digestions.”
Toward two o’clock in the morning, a large group of German soldiers came by and woke us up.
“On your feet,” shouted an old feldwebel. “Get going, or Ivan will be in Berlin before you.”
We resumed our trek. This bunch had collected several horse-drawn wagons, and for a while, we were able to ride. At daybreak, we arrived at a town built on the mountainside. Some men were splashing in an icy bathing place. Others were sleeping on the ground or on terrace walls. Farther on, still others had begun their march again, toward safety, the west, the mother country, waiting to receive them, whose true condition they couldn’t begin to guess.
And then there was a tree, a majestic tree, whose branches seemed to be supporting the sky.
Two sacks were dangling from those branches, two empty scarecrows swinging in the wind, suspended by two short lengths of rope. We walked under them, and saw the gray, bloodless faces of hanged men, and recognized our wretched friend Frösch and his companion.
“Don’t worry, Frösch,” whispered Hals. “We ate it all.”
Lindberg hid his face in his hands and wept. I managed with difficulty to read the message scribbled on the sign tied to Frösch’s broken neck.
“I am a thief and a traitor to my country.”
A short way off, some ten policemen in regulation uniform were standing beside a sidecar and a Volkswagen. As we walked by them, our eyes met theirs.
PART FIVE
THE END
Autumn 1944 to Spring 1945
16. FROM POLAND TO EAST PRUSSIA
One September morning, we found ourselves in a farmyard somewhere in the south of Poland.
The horror of our previous experiences had left us entirely without reaction, and we stared about us with the stunned eyes of someone who has been heavily drugged. A short way off an officer was shouting something at us — a speech or a report — which fell on deaf ears. We stared at the sky, to avoid thinking about the earth, which supported human life. Only an explosion, or perhaps a feld’s whistle, could have dragged us from our lethargy.
However, in this district there was at least a semblance of order, and under cover of this last fragment of organization we were trying, as best we could, to recover our strength and some sense of morale.
The Russian thrust to the south was so strong that we had to consider Rumania enemy territory. We should soon be fighting in Hungary too, before Kekskemet, and then in Budapest.
The officer went on with his speech, to talk of a counter-offensive, of regaining control of events, regrouping our troops — even of victory, a word which no longer had any meaning for us. Although we couldn’t conceive of the defeat which lay ahead, we understood that victory was not possible. We knew that we would still be obliged to make intense efforts defending some particular, organized positions, but we had no doubt that we could stop the enemy before the German frontier.
Despite our general unease and near-collapse and all our disillusion, we knew that we couldn’t simply give up. The looming disaster was inconceivable to us. Even today, survivors of that experience find it difficult to accept all the facts. But, despite our unshakable faith, we all felt temporarily unable to continue fighting; some time off, some rest, was absolutely essential. We were in a state of exhausted collapse, capable of nothing.
“General Friesener has re-established the Southern Front,” the officer was shouting. “Our regiments will be re-formed and reinforced by substantial reserves. The enemy must not go any further. You will stop him.”
We were divided into groups, companies, and regiments, and loaded into trucks. It seemed there was still gas hereabouts. The Gross Deutschland units were sent north, which surprised us, as the rest of the division or what was left of it — was fighting with Army Group Center. Some units were already with Army Group North, and the two hard-pressed armies were eventually joined.
The trucks took us to a train which was waiting on a single track, sheltered by a pine forest. There was no station. We left in a long string of miscellaneous cars. My group was loaded onto an open platform like the one which had taken me out of Poland and into Russia so long ago. Today there was no need to fear any future in Russia: the Germans had been chased from that country. Today we were going north, slowly and carefully, as the track might be mined, or the sky full of bombs. The train took us to Lodz, where we saw many astonishing things.
We stayed in Lodz for about thirty hours.
The front was very close, and like all towns near the fighting Lodz was full of troops. As in the south, men were being sorted out and regrouped. Thirty, forty, even fifty percent of the names on the regimental lists had to be scratched off. In some cases, men already scratched off as dead or missing reappeared from the void.
The Gross Deutschland had a rallying point at Lodz — a former candy shop stripped of all its wares, the adjoining room for the concierge, and a long corridor. A large panel correctly painted black on white, and a stylized white helmet, the regimental emblem, hung over the door, which was still intact. Two sentries in correct uniform were stationed on either side of the door.
“Here we are,” Lensen said. “Back at the Gross Deutschland.” For an hour and a half we had been tramping through the city from which nearly all the civilians had gone — looking for this place. Lieutenant Wollers presented the officer at the center with his list of the men with him, including the numbers of their companies, regiments, and groups. There were about two hundred of us.
“Here is the list of men with me, Herr Hauptmann.”
“But you’re bringing me a bunch of Russkis, Herr Leutnant,” the captain said, looking at our motley collection of clothes. Many of us were wearing padded Russian jackets.
“My apologies, Herr Hauptmann. We began to run short of uniforms.”
“Very short,” said the officer, smiling. “I’m going to send you to the store, and you’ll see if there’s anything left. You’ll have to be quick, because you won’t be here long.”