For now, I send all of you my love.
I sealed my letter and, together with the one to Paula, handed it to the postman. Hals, Olensheim, Kraus, and Lensen all had letters too….
Everything was quiet on that summer evening in 1943. After dark, of course, there would be a few clashes between patrols — nothing more. But that’s war.
Some of us were rounded up to distribute supper, which we ate late. We were forbidden to touch the few cans we had, for they constituted our total reserve. Dusk was falling when the feld responsible for our section waved us over to him. We were soon listening intently, as he told us what we would be expected to do. He had a large map of the district, on which he showed us the points we should attain, taking every precaution. When the order was given, we should be prepared to protect the infantry, who would quickly join and then pass us. We were given a list of rallying points and other details which I only partly understood, and advised to rest, as we would not be called before the middle of the night.
We stood and stared at each other for a long time. Now we knew. We were going to be part of a full-scale attack. A heavy sense of foreboding settled over us, and the knowledge that soon some of us would be dead was stamped on every face. Even a victorious army suffers dead and wounded: the Fuhrer himself had said it. In fact, none of us could imagine his own death. Some would be killed — we all knew that — but each one imagined himself doing the burying. No one, despite the obvious danger, could think of himself lying mortally wounded. That was something which happened to other people — thousands of them — but never to oneself. Everyone clung to this idea, despite fear and doubt. Even the Hitlerjugend, who spent years cultivating the idea of sacrifice, couldn’t consciously envisage their own ends occurring within a few hours. One might be exalted by a grand idea based on a structure of logic, and even be prepared to run large risks, but to believe in the worst is impossible.
Finally, night came: a soft summer night, which brought with it a breath of freshness after the torrid day. Everywhere free of the war, people must have been stretched out on the grass beside their houses, enjoying the season with their friends. Sometimes, when I was small, I used to take a walk with my parents before going to bed. My father believed one should enjoy these summer evenings to the maximum, and kept me out until my eyelids drooped with sleep. Hals pulled me back from my thoughts.
“My dear Sajer, be sure to look out for yourself when we get going. It would be too stupid to get killed just before the war’s over.”
“Yes,” I said. “That would be stupid.”
All of us were haunted by so many thoughts that conversation was impossible. And each of us was obsessed by the particular question: “How shall I come through this time?”
In the depths of the covered shelter, one of the Jungen Löwen was playing quietly on his harmonica, and the voices of his companions joined softly in the melody. Then the sound of gunfire made us jump.
“Here we go!” we thought.
But everything quieted down again. Lensen came up to us.
“The first Soviet line is less than four hundred yards from here,” he said. “The feld just told me. That’s really not very far.”
“But it’s not too bad, either,” said the veteran of a little while ago. “At least we can sleep in peace. At Smolensk the Popovs’ holes were less than a grenade’s throw from ours.”
No one answered him.
“I’m commanding Group 6,” said Lensen, “and I have to get right under Ivan’s nose, to keep him from moving when the assault troops begin their attack. You can imagine…”
“We’ll have it about the same,” said the sergeant who would lead us. “According to what I’ve heard, we’ll be right in line with one of their positions.”
We listened attentively, hoping that our part of the enterprise was not going to be too dangerous.
“But the Russian scouts are sure to see us!” cried Lindberg, horrified. “That’s crazy!”
“That will be the hardest part of it, but let’s hope the night is dark. Also, we’ve been advised not to fire before the attack — to get into position without any noise.”
“Don’t forget mines,” said the veteran, who in fact had not gone to sleep.
“The ground was checked for mines by details from the disciplinary battalion — insofar as possible,” the noncom retorted.
“Insofar as possible,” sneered the veteran. “I like that! All the same, you’d better be careful if you see any wires. Don’t go tugging them.”
“If you keep on like this,” Lensen shouted in a threatening voice, “I’ll put you to sleep until the attack.” He shook his stubby-fingered fist under the older man’s nose. The veteran only smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“What if we run right into Ivan?” asked grenadier Kraus. “Then we’ll have to use our guns, won’t we?”
“Only as a last resort,” the noncom answered. “In principle, we’re supposed to take them by surprise, and knock them out without any noise.”
Without any noise! What did he mean?
“With the butts of our guns, or spades?” asked Hals anxiously. “Spades, bayonets, anything. We’ve got to get rid of them — that’s all. And without raising any alarm.”
We’ll take them prisoner,” murmured young Lindberg.
“Are you off your rocker?” said the noncom. “An assault group can’t take prisoners during a mission. What would we do with them?”
“Hell,” said Hals. “You mean we’ll have to skewer them?”
“Lost your guts?” asked Lensen.
“Hell, no,” said Hals, to show that he was a man. But his face was white.
I glanced at the spade-pick hooked to my big friend’s waist. Then we had to stand up so a hauptmann and his group could get through.
“Where are we, exactly?” young Lindberg asked naively.
“In Russia,” said the veteran.
No one smiled at this feeble joke, and the noncom tried to give us a rough idea of our position — some three miles northwest of Belgorod.
“I’m going to try and sleep,” stammered Hals, who was clearly shaken by all these preparations.
We lay down side by side, without bothering to undo our bedrolls. The steel of the spandau which Hals had set up pointing down the length of the trench gleamed with a dull luster. Sleep was impossible — not be cause of the discomfort of a night out of doors, strapped into all our gear — we’d done that often before — but because of our anxiety about what lay ahead.
“Hell — I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead,” said Grenadier Kraus in a loud voice. He stood up and pissed against the wall of the trench.
I lay awake for a long time, thinking and thinking…. Finally, I did sleep, for about three hours, until I was wakened by the distant sound of a motor. My movement woke Hals and Grumpers, the other grenadier, who was lying beside me with his head on my shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” he groaned sleepily.
“I don’t know. I thought maybe they’d called us.”
“What time is it?” Hals asked.
I looked at my school watch. “Two-twenty.”
“What time is dawn?” asked young Lindberg, who hadn’t been able to sleep at all.
“Probably very early this time of year,” someone said. The sound of engines continued.
“If those fucking drivers keep it up, they’ll wake every one of the goddamn Russkis.”