On Desperate Ground (3 page)

Johann, Johann, Johann
.
 

Sometimes Faust could hear her. It happened often in his dreams and it had begun to happen when he was awake. It was happening now. A gust of wind blew through the branches of the fir trees, and in the low murmur of pine needles he heard the mournful sound of Anna calling his name, over and over and over again. He stopped, pressing his hands to his ears. Still he heard her. It took all of his willpower to start moving again, to not cry out her name into the wind, to not seek her out amidst the green swaying branches.

Guilt ate at him. If he had been honest, if he had confessed all he had known, all he had done, perhaps they would have left. Perhaps it would have been enough for all of them to rise from that dinner, pack their belongings then and there, and head west, away from the Russians and their revenge, away from their son and his crimes.

But he hadn’t. He had remained silent, and now everything he loved was gone. More than gone, it was desecrated, humiliated, tortured, tormented, betrayed. Silence had allowed the crimes to take place, and silence had brought retribution. He could almost admire the horrible symmetry, the near perfect balance between the evil he had served and the evil he had wrought.

He made it to the top of the ridge, mentally exhausted, feeling the tension course through his body. He felt as if he might explode. The mission. He had to stay focused on the mission. A quick hand signal brought one of his men forward. As he reached Faust, he pulled a camera from inside his parka, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before them.

The faced a small valley running between two ridgelines, a roadway plowed out, and camouflage netting set up on either side. Rows of artillery pieces were parked along one side, towed artillery of all sizes, including powerful 152mm howitzers, invisible from the air. On the other side of the road were trucks and ammunition crates, Katyusha rocket launchers, and T-34 tanks. Camouflaged anti-aircraft emplacements ringed the valley.

Faust had been certain the Russians were building up for an offensive in this area, and here was the proof. This artillery park held enough firepower to shatter the German line at any point. The camera made tiny clicks and whirring sounds, eerily out of place in the forest, as Faust counted the artillery pieces. He made notes of the number of each type, estimating what he could not see beneath the netting. As soon as he was done he gave the photographer a look, silently asking if he had enough pictures. Getting an affirmative nod, they began crawling backwards down the ridge, to the relative safety of the cover beneath the fir trees.

Faust felt an initial joy and relief at finding his objective, quickly tempered by the thought that he would have preferred to be wrong. Once the Russians unleashed this offensive, it would be the beginning of the end. The rest of Germany could soon expect the same treatment as Anna and her family had received in East Prussia. Occupied with the slow and methodical crawl through the snow, it took Faust a minute to realize that the voices were gone, and no thoughts of Anna tortured him. The intensity of the last few minutes had washed it all away. He felt clear-headed, alert, and in control. It was a blessed relief.
 

Minutes later, the two re-grouped with the rear guard man and caught their breath. Faust watched the fat snowflakes coating the trail they had left. In less than an hour there would be no trace they had been here. He nodded his head to each man, a job well done. They followed him out, back to the German lines.

Coming to where they had hidden their snowshoes, Faust judged they were far enough away from the artillery park to speak in a whisper.

“Karl, is the camera safe?”

“Wrapped up like a baby inside my parka, Colonel.”

“Good. Stay between us. Wilfred, take the lead. We must make good time. I want to be back to our lines before dark.” It was already past noon, and the winter darkness would descend in a few hours.

For the first hour, they made good time. They moved through stands of pine trees and skirted open fields, keeping to the low ground. During the second hour, fatigue started to set in, the dull, repetitive trudging on the snowshoes wearing on Faust, allowing his mind to wander. Anna’s face appearing in his mind, beautiful and smiling, gazing into his eyes. Then her smile turning to anguished screaming, screaming out his name, screaming for help, for mercy, until finally it was an endless shrill and piercing scream ripping into his soul.

Faust gripped his assault rifle until his hands shook, telling himself the screams weren’t real as he looked around, as if Anna were somewhere close by, and if he could only run to her he could save her, rescue her from the hands of the Russians.

“Do you hear something, Colonel?” Karl had turned around to see Faust swiveling his head, looking in every direction.

“No…I thought I did…but no, it must be the wind.”

“Quiet as a church in these woods, Colonel.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Faust spoke quickly as he let his grip on the weapon loosen. He was breathing hard, stunned that he had nearly asked Karl if he heard the screams. Frosted air flowed out from his lungs in quick bursts, matching the rapid thumping beats of his heart.

I must be losing my mind. God help me, what should I do? What can I do?

Colonel Johann Faust was a decorated professional soldier, experienced in combat. He had killed often, many times close enough to smell the sweat and fear of his opponent. He had learned how to put away the love he felt for Anna and his family, how to close them off so he could win and live on the battlefield. This hard man now walked behind his two fellow soldiers, tears streaming down a face filled with fear and shame, certain that he was going absolutely, totally insane.

As quickly as they had come, the demons receded. Faust felt the calm rational side of himself return, his mind compensating for where it had just gone. The telltale puffs of breath settled into a steady pattern, in and out, matching his strides in the snow. Wilfred signaled a halt, and knelt behind a rock outcropping. Faust went forward.

“Look there, Colonel,” Wilfred said, pointed to a clearing.
 

There was a road with a staff car pulled over to the side, its hood open. Two Russian soldiers were bent over it, working on the engine.
 

“Should we go around them, Colonel?” Wilfred asked in a whisper.

Faust pulled out his binoculars. He studied the men and the car, looked at his watch, turned and summoned Karl.

“There is at least one officer inside. We could use a prisoner, especially a high ranking one. We should have enough time to make it back before dark.”

 
“Enough time if we take them quickly, and if he can make it through the snow,” said Karl.

“We’re close enough, only about three kilometers. I wouldn’t want to try sneaking up on our lines after dark, password or not,” Wilfred said.
 

 
“All right, it’s too good a chance to pass up. We’re far enough away from the artillery park that they’ll never suspect we’ve seen it. Take your hoods off so they can see the Russian fur caps. We walk down the road as if we own it, like one of their patrols.”

Circling the boulders, they came to the road out of sight of the car. They took off their snowshoes and slung them over their backs. Faust hoisted his assault rifle over his shoulder and carried it behind him, so the Russians would not immediately see it was a German weapon. He pulled out his Walther P-38 pistol and checked the safety, stowing it in his pocket for easy access.

“I’ll go first. My Russian is better than either of yours,” Faust said.

“Lead on, Comrade Colonel,” Karl said with a laugh.
 

Faust felt in control, clear-headed. He would not have endangered their lives if he wasn’t. In combat, the voices left him alone, as if knowing their own survival depended on it. He wondered when they might change their mind, or no longer care.

Rounding a corner they saw the car. Faust walked in the middle of the road, Karl and Wilfred behind him, one to each side. They appeared nonchalant, as if they were indeed behind their own lines. With their Russian caps and nondescript white camouflage suits, Faust was sure they would arouse no suspicion. He was right. One of the Russians working on the engine looked up when they were about thirty yards away, said something indistinct and then bent his head back to the task, cursing the engine and the mother of the man who designed it.

Faust walked up to them and stopped about six feet away.

“Comrades,” he said, addressing them in fluent Russian, “do you need any help?”

As he spoke, Karl and Wilfred moved past him, staring inside the car, affecting a dumb curiosity that would not be out of place for a peasant Soviet soldier.
 

“Nothing we couldn’t handle if it was a tractor,” said one of the soldiers. “But this engine is too complicated. I doubt the Comrade Major and Comrade Colonel want to walk back to headquarters, but you might ask them. Maybe they want a car sent back. You are headed there, right?”

“Yes, coming back from patrol.” Faust nodded slightly to Karl and Wilfred. A major and a colonel would be quite a catch, the perfect end to their mission. He put his hand in his pocket, grasping the Walther and taking one last look around. There was nothing but the wind in the trees.

Then he heard it. A scream from inside the car. A woman’s scream. The soldier working on the engine stood up and looked at Faust, leering at him and nodding his head toward the inside of the vehicle.

“Want some, Comrade? She’s a sweet one. I had her once myself after the officers got done with her.”
 

“Damn officers, they take all the blond girls first,” the other man said. “By the time we get a hold of one, there’s not much left.”

The screaming continued. Faust looked at Karl and Wilfred, but they stood there, waiting for him. He could not believe what he was seeing and hearing. The two Russians were laughing at him now, their rough red faces lit up with frenzied lust, while Karl and Wilfred stood silently.

“Johann! Help!”
 

It was Anna’s voice. But that was impossible. His thoughts raced as he pulled out his pistol. He lifted it up to the face in front of him and squeezed the trigger. Could she still be alive? Could she have survived? Brains and blood splattered against the open hood. He turned the pistol on the second man, who was still grinning at him, as if he knew.

“A really nice fuck, Comrade.”

He shot him twice in the chest, then went for the rear door. Karl and Wilfred already had their weapons out and aimed at the car.

“No!” Faust cried out, fearing they would shoot. “Anna! Anna!”

He worked the latch and threw open the door. A fat Russian officer flew out, his hands held up, gasping in shock and falling to his knees. Faust pushed him away and stuck his head inside. He saw another man, holding a young girl’s head by her blond hair, forcing her to suck his penis. He held a gun to her head.
 

“She’s a really nice fuck, Comrade. You want her? We can share.”

Faust couldn’t understand the man’s attitude, nor he could he see the girl clearly. Her long blond hair fell down over her face.

“Anna?” Faust could feel someone pulling at him, pulling him out of the car. He resisted.

“Anna?” He screamed. “Is it you?”

She pulled back her hair, not seeming to care there was a pistol to her head. She looked up at him, caressing the Russian’s penis.

“Johann,” Anna said, “Am I really a good fuck?”

Suddenly everything exploded as a bright flash illuminated the inside of the car, and Faust’s ears shattered as an assault rifle was fired into the car.

“Anna!” Faust bellowed as he turned, trying to shake off whatever was holding him. In slow motion, he saw Karl firing into the car, the spent casings arcing into the air, the muzzle blast spouting death a dozen times over for Anna. He was enraged, beyond reason, beyond understanding, furious at Karl’s stupidity. He threw off the person holding him and fired his pistol twice, and Karl stopped shooting.

He could hear someone calling his name. It was not Anna.
 

“Colonel, stop!”

He stooped to look inside, crying out Anna’s name. The interior of the car was thick with the smell of cordite, hazy with smoke. The windows were red with splattered blood. He tried to see who was inside, but between the smoke, blood and his own tears he saw nothing. He pulled his head out of the car.

“What have you done with Anna?”
 

“Colonel,” Wilfred said shakily, “you’ve killed Karl!”

Faust had no idea who this man was, except that he was the one who pulled him away from Anna. His Walther was still in his hand, and before he knew it he was pulling the trigger and emptying it into Wilfred. It hardly mattered. Throwing it away, he pulled the assault rifle from his shoulder. The Russian officer was still kneeling on the ground, his hands up and shaking.

“What have you done with Anna?” he asked, in Russian this time. No answer. Faust wiped at his eyes and looked back into the car. The smoke had cleared. Slumped against the opposite door was another Russian officer, a pistol in his hand. No trace of Anna.

Faust felt something fall away inside of himself. He had crossed a threshold he never imagined existed. The demons had finally won. As he stood in the blood of his own men he felt cleansed, changed and confident, the killings like a release of a valve under pressure. He looked at the Russian officer, still holding up his trembling hands. Faust understood his previous life was over. He was a new man now, at one with his demons. They had tried to show him the way, but he had fought them. How futile.