The Devil's Blessing (4 page)

“For the differences we have had with those in the west, at least we know and understand that they come from a good race. When they capture us, they greet us with pleasantries, and we have tried to offer them the same. But the other option—” Haas pointed behind him, towards the prisoners—“the other option is to become subjects to those mongrels and their animalistic ways. I’d prefer death over a life under the vile thing that they call communism.

“So that is why I am ordering you to save your lives. Berlin has lost its collective mind. They want us, the German people, to do the work of the enemy, to have us all die, becoming nothing more than a part of written history. Our lives will no longer show proof of who we are, but instead our people will be written about as so many others who have come and gone: as a beaten people.

“I refuse to do that. If Berlin wants us to die, just as the enemy, isn’t Berlin our enemy too?

“That is why, starting tomorrow, with the help of your brave Unteroffizier Ingersleben, we will begin our journey west.

“It will be a difficult and perilous journey. Many German checkpoints will be there, wondering why we are moving west, while so many others are still moving east or staying put. It will be our job, together, to show a unified front. If our German brothers find out we are fleeing to the west, we are to be shot, right there on the spot.

“Men. The war is lost. Death is nearly certain, and we are to be controlled by two very different people. The order I give you today is simple. Live. And live under the more gentle monster than the one who is ready to take our women. Unteroffizier?”

It was a lot to take in. Otto knew the gist of the plan already, of course, but even still, hearing the words and the plan come out from someone in command was unbelievable.

Otto looked around. The men hadn’t moved, but their expressions had changed. One man looked as if he hadn’t breathed during the entire speech, while some other men’s eyes were as wide as plates. No one could believe what they were hearing, and none seemed too happy about it. Yet no one did anything. Everyone just stood and waited to hear what Ingersleben would say next.

“There you have it,” Ingersleben began. “Oberfeldwebel Haas’s plan. I know what many of you are thinking. Are we cowards if we do this? Who are we to follow one man’s plan? Did our friends die, only for us to return the favor by running like women into French or American arms?”

Haas looked around. The men had begun to move now. Not so much, but barely, their bodies slightly swaying back and forth. Teeth were being gnawed and fists were so tight that they looked as bright red as the morning sun. The men started looking at each other, straining to talk to each other, yet unable to open their mouths. But their expressions were talking, and they were communicating the same message to each other. Otto could hear it, but could Ingersleben?

“I have made my decision.” Ingersleben gave Haas a reassuring look, and Haas returned a smile.

“Grenadier Wernher!” Ingersleben barked.

Josef Wernher appeared as if from thin air. He must’ve been crouching on the back of the vehicle.

“Arrest this man on the charge of conspiracy to defect,” Ingersleben said.

Now it was time for the color to leave Haas’s face. He seemed genuinely stunned, as if he had just witnessed the impossible.

“What is the meaning of this!” Haas said. “How dare you--oomph!” The back end of Wernher’s rifle hit Haas’s ribcage, and the pain made him realize that this was all too real. He fell to his knees atop the transport. He looked up at Ingersleben.

“This is madness!” Haas yelled, looking up at Ingersleben. Ingersleben finally responded to Haas by kicking him under the shin, causing him to fly off the transport with his arms flailing in the air. Two happy soldiers came forward and grabbed him as he landed on the muddied ground.

Now it was Ingersleben’s turn to address the men. He did so in a manner that no one had ever seen before. His eyes were rabid, but he also seemed happy.

“Now, listen here, men!” Ingersleben said. “This—” Ingerslben strained to find the right word as he pointed at the man huddled on the ground—“
pig
of man has had his chance! He would not only have us die, but die a coward’s death! Is our situation dour? Yes. But Germany will prevail, and we
are
on course to strike the enemy back. Regardless of what some might say.” He spat towards the direction of Haas on the ground below; Haas was tearing up, realizing his fate was sealed.

“Let us say we do follow through with his plan, and we do make it to enemy lines. Sure, we will enjoy warm food and blankets and have our wounds heal as we no longer fight. But then what? But then, Germany will continue on to her glory! And when the Fatherland retakes its land--and it will--what will happen to those that turned themselves in? They would be no different than a Russian, Gypsy, or Jew. I am no Russian. I am no Gypsy. I am no Jew. I am German! Which means I am more man than all other men combined. Our enemies hate us because they wish they were us! Now, in the hour of our need, in the time our Führer and our people need us most, the time when true character and honor is born, this man would ask you to die a coward. Well, he can have that death all he wants. I for one, will not. Tie him up. Let his trial begin.”

The men cheered so loudly that Otto couldn’t hear Haas’s sobbing as they pulled him away. Otto’s eyes caught Ingerslben’s. They told him that he, too, had heard what the men were thinking.

Haas had stopped crying. Resigning oneself to one's impending death had one positive. It gave one some dignity, or at least the appearance of it.

Otto looked on as Haas was hurried over to a nearby tree that stood, alone, between the prison and the tree line the men referred to as the forest.

Haas no longer fought, nor did he seem to even be there. His eyes were sullen and his jaw drooped, leaving a small gaping mouth exposed. He seemed equal parts stunned and relaxed.

“Oberfeldwebel Peter Haas, you have been sentenced to death,” Ingersleben said, reading from a death warrant that had been quickly written up on one of the older maps.

Haas looked around, as if he was trying to find something from the men who looked on.

He found nothing. He simply said, “Heil Hitler,” as if asking a question, in a soft voice that barely carried.

The men were nearly surrounding Haas, but they made sure to leave one side clear—the side that faced the prisoners. No one had ordered this, but it grew organically, as everyone wanted the Soviets to see what they were willing to do to their own kind. And, as odd as it may have seemed, it was also an unsaid gift between soldiers. The Russians would want to see a German die, and the Germans were more than happy to offer them this little respite.

“Gemeiner Kurt Lafenz!” Ingersleben yelled. “Come here at once!”

Slowly, the young boy made his way through the wall of men and approached the makeshift execution.

“Grenadier,” Ingersleben said, motioning to Wernher. Wernher quickly handed his submachine gun over to Lafenz. Lafenz looked down at it as if he had never seen a gun before. The reluctant child looked up into Wernher’s eyes, pleading with him, as if this was some kind of joke. Wernher just gave the gun a hard shake, insisting that Lafenz take it. Slowly, Lafenz did.

He grabbed the submachine gun into his arms; it looked like a rifle against his small frame. To Otto, it looked as if the boy wouldn’t have the physical strength to pull the trigger. These types of guns, if not oiled properly, could be difficult to use.

As Lafenz held the gun, it seemed to slump in his hands, as if it were the heaviest thing he had ever held. He looked at Ingersleben, who nodded for him to proceed. He looked around to the other men, who gave the same response. For Haas’s part, he just stood there, slack-jawed. Like a drunk man staring at a marionette show.

Quickly, Lafenz lifted the gun and pointed it at Haas, grinding his teeth. He tried to flush his face with anger to help him with the deed, but the tears that rolled past his silent mouth said otherwise.

Again, the world froze. Otto felt bad for the child, because he was certain of two things. One, if he could pull the trigger, his little fingers wouldn’t be able to muster the strength that was needed, and two, the more likely scenario, he would just drop the gun in a vale of tears. Otto knew that the child was in a no-win situation, but pleaded with him in his mind not to shoot. Life would be hard with the men, knowing that he didn’t pull the trigger, but at least he would be one person that wasn’t part of the crime. Maybe the men would forgive Lafenz for not shooting, realizing that he was just a little boy. Maybe they would realize that it would be a good thing to have someone among them whose hands weren’t eternally stained with blood.

The sound of the machine gun was unexpected and startled Otto. When Otto did look back, he saw the gun still in Lafenz’s hands, only this time, smoke filled the air. Otto turned to where Haas had been standing; he was now on the ground, face down. Blood could be seen trickling from his back where some of the bullets had come out.

Yet the child soldier still stood, grinding his teeth into a determined grin . Otto thought he could see Lafenz shaking. Not out of fear, but out of strong resolve. Wernher came over to grab his gun back but was met with resistance. The child was still looking forward, pointing the gun at the now-barren tree. Wernher, for the first time in his life, looked a little nervous; he forcibly took the gun from Lafenz. Still, the boy breathed heavily through a heaving chest.

The men slowly departed from the scene. Some patted the young boy on the shoulder.

Then, suddenly, he turned his manic stare right at Otto. Otto had never seen such ravenous anger in a killer before, and he never thought he’d see it in a child. Otto quickly broke eye contact with the killer and followed the men in a silent walk away from the execution.

That night there was a somber joy around the camp. They had gotten into Haas’s stash of booze, which wasn’t much, but Unteroffizier Ingersleben had provided what little he had of his own. The calm yet jovial atmosphere added to the men’s drunkenness.

That night they broke one of the few remaining boxes and created a sizable fire. The night was like most others, expect that, night, there was some actual warmth, and the sight of shadows dancing from the fire was a welcomed change. Everyone still spoke in hushed tones in small groups, but that night’s sound of crackling wood would be interrupted by the occasional bout of laughter.

Otto didn’t drink, but he felt the effects nonetheless. He could not seem to take the smile off his face. He was happy that the men were happy. He didn’t like the smell of alcohol on the men’s breath as they tried to talk to him, a little too close for comfort, but he did enjoy the smell of the fire.

Otto tried to get up, but realized that his legs were numb from sitting on the ground for so long. He dusted off his pants and the small rocks that had gathered on his hands and moved around to another side of the fire.

All the men seemed to be relieved and happy, yet cautiously so. They were all celebrating that they had killed a coward and would-be deserter, but they also realized they had killed someone of influence inside the Reich. It was unanimously agreed that no one would contact Berlin about Haas’s arrival. It was thought that, if he was a deserter, then no one would miss him, since he would be hunted by the SS. If he wasn’t a deserter, and others inside the Reich had known and agreed with his plan, they were dead as well. It was best to let it be and bury him along with all talk of his visit.

It was another rite of passage for the men. Killing Haas had felt like a private ceremony for the men, to reaffirm their belief in National Socialism and the Führer. It was as if they had all been tested in faith, and had all passed. And for that, every man seemed pleased with himself and those around him.

But Oberfeldwebel Haas had brought more to the camp than the opportunity to reaffirm their fealty. He had also brought doubt.

If a man such as himself, a full fledged Oberfeldwebel, was willing to make a run to the Western Front in fear of Germany’s fall, was there some truth to it? It was the hidden question on everyone’s mind, yet no one dared speak it, regardless how much of the command’s wine they drank.

But still, at the end, Otto was happy. There was a sense of finality to it all that brought some happiness to everyone. This would all end, with them either dead or alive, beaten or victorious. But tonight, they had had a victory.

The uneasy happiness lay in realizing that all the booze was being drunk and nearly all the food was being eaten, as if it was some sort of final feast for them all. It probably was. Their next visitor would either be another Nazi, with real orders to attack, or their Soviet friends beyond the field.

It was nice, Otto thought, looking around at everyone’s eyes that night. There was a glimmer in everyone’s eyes from the fire that burned. Smiles were exchanged.

But then Otto shared a smile with someone that made his heart sink.

The man in question was also smiling and also happy about the day’s events. He knew that the end was near as well, and was also infected with happiness at the prospect of it.

The only problem was that it was one of the Russian prisoners whose teeth were gleaming that night.

There was a hangover at the camp.

The last few days had been a rollercoaster of emotions, but more exactly, a rollercoaster of
an
emotion: anxiety.

Inside anxiety was hope, because without hope, there would be no fear to work against. That hope, however, was fleeting and small, just there long enough to remind you what you were about to lose.

Had they really killed Haas?

Was it a good or bad thing?

Who was the biggest enemy now? The Allies and Soviets crushing them from both sides, or their German brothers?

To Otto, the only outcome seemed to be the one none of them wanted: death. But as the days went on he started to realize that death itself might be a mercy.