The Devil's Blessing (8 page)

There were at least two men who had been split in half, right at the waist. One looked as if he had been climbing out of the hole with both hands only to find no body below him.

One man lay almost comfortably, with an arm to one side, leg gently bent under the other, as if he was asleep. He would be the spitting image of a person at rest if it wasn’t for the gore that had replaced his head. One could not call it a face, because there was nothing there. Just bits of meat, teeth, eyes without eyelids. There was probably bits and pieces of the men all around him, and it gave him a shiver, like being in a dark room full of roaches.

“Begin to place them in. We’ll get the one that nearly got away,” Ingersleben said.

“Place them in?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Wernher said, as he kicked and shoved a body that was laying outside the hole back down into it. “Place them in. How else are we to bury them?”

Otto knew that, if it had been up to Wernher, he would have been in that hole, as dead as the men in front of them. So why would Ingersleben want him alive? He wanted to know so that he could continue living, of course, but a larger part of him was just dying from the curiosity.

As Ingersleben and Wernher went to go retrieve the man from the field, Lafenz stayed behind without being told. It seemed as if the young man did not want to have any part in what had happened in the field. More likely, he was there to make sure that Otto didn’t run. Whatever the case, Otto was both happy and a little afraid to have the young killer with him.

But having him did prove to be an asset right from the start. Otto, notorious for being unable to take the lead on anything or knowing where to start, followed Lafenz as he grabbed the men, or what was left of them, and began pushing the bodies into the hole.

It seemed as if they were pieces of luggage to Lafenz. He would just grab the nearest part, usually an elbow or a wrist, and pull the body that way. He even grabbed the dead by their skin, something that Otto wasn’t willing to do. He would grab the bodies only above their clothes. He wasn’t sure why, but he would not touch the skin of the dead, no matter what someone told him.

It was a sad sight to see as Ingersleben and Wernher make their return.

They were carrying a dead comrade, something he had seen several times before. Ingersleben had him from under the armpits, while Wernher had him by the ankles. It was as if they were carrying someone they loved and cared for, but Otto knew it not to be so. They had killed the man in cold blood and were now going to bury him in a grave, never to be seen again, like some sort of sick dog on a farm.

They casually tossed the man onto the top of the heap of bodies. It looked as if he had been shot once in the head, and there were bullet holes in the back of his jacket.

After catching his breath, Wernher looked at Otto.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said. “Let's bury what happened.”

Truer words had never been said. They weren’t burying people, per se, so much as they were burying a crime, a crime that Otto was now a part of. But better to be on the side of the crime where one breathes than to be on the side of those who don’t.

Ingersleben was using a small shovel, while the others used their hands to shove the long mound of dirt back onto the corpses. Otto was having a bit of a harder time than the rest of them, and Wernher noted why.

“Put the gun down!” he said. Otto had kept hold of the gun as he moved the dirt. He hadn't realized he was even doing it.

“Don’t worry,” Ingersleben said. “If we wanted to kill you, we would have killed you.”

For some reason that made Otto feel equal parts relieved and terrified.

The burial was more exhausting than originally thought, and they decided to take the rest of the day off. They all agreed to the plan to go west and to turn themselves over to Allied Powers as soon as they came across them, but for now, for them, in the east, that might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

When they awoke the next morning, the ground was covered in an even deeper snow. It had stopped now, but the fact that they were being hounded by monsters from all sides, even the sky itself, was a reminder of how dire their situation was.

The world was covered in a deep, morning fog, almost as if they had just been gassed, as in the previous war.

Since Haas’s arrival, the shift in mood and actions had been swift, so much so that Otto hadn’t even had the time to digest the different events that had put them in this situation. As they prepared to leave, grabbing as much as they needed and putting it all in large sacks to carry on their backs, Otto finally had time to think. Upon reflection, he actually did wholeheartedly agree with the plan, much to his surprise.

Staying and fighting was stupid, plain and simple. It was accepting death for no reason whatsoever. He understood dying for a cause that was winnable, but that wasn’t the case. They were on the losing side. Maybe it was time for the German people to get wiped off the face of the earth, and maybe he was just delaying the inevitable. Nonetheless, Otto knew that the only real option was to survive and live.

They had one transport vehicle, but it was of no use. Not only had the loan mechanic been killed off, they were also out of fuel. There was nothing to eat. Not for the men, the vehicles, or the rifles. Berlin had wanted them to fight without food, gas, or bullets. The next time they saw this vehicle again would probably be with a smiling Russian behind the wheel.

The walk out West was a strange one.

Leaving made for a bit of mixed emotions for Otto. Since he'd first been assigned there, there had been nothing more he'd wanted than to leave that place, and now that his wish was finally being granted, he regretted ever thinking it. It had become his home. A sick, disgusting, gray home, but his home nonetheless. It was filled with prisoners and death, guarded over men who hated him, but at least that was a known to him. He knew where he stood, for the most part, and the days were predictable. A small, predictable hell, but better a hell he knew than one he didn’t. Now, he was leaving that comfort, the comfort of knowing, all for a world that he didn’t know.

But there was one thing this brave new world did promise, and that was a better chance at life. Not a guarantee. No one said it, but most understood: they were unlikely to survive what they were about to attempt, but they had to try. They had no choice.

Another reason that Otto was left alive, he thought, was to help carry supplies. Every man had his own bag with his own needs, which, in a time of war, wasn’t that much, but they had also split the other things that they needed to share. The pots, the ammo. The radio, and Ingersleben’s tent.

After an hour’s walk, Otto nearly forgot about his home, and turned to give it one last look. He could barely even see it. The small group of trees that was their forest was nothing more than a mirage to his eyes. He would remember the site until the day he died, which he hoped was a long while from now.

The walk from the campsite was a terrifying one for another reason: they were put in the open with nowhere to hide. The plan was to take as many side roads and to walk inside the trees as much as possible. The plan was to head to Hanover. Varying reports had placed the Allied troops in or around there, but it was, at the very least, westward. They had to make sure to go around Berlin, either north or south, but there was no way to go through the capital. Even now, between where they were and Berlin, there were areas already taken over by the Red Army.

They avoided detection for only a day.

After spending nearly the entire day inside the ridge of a tree line that followed the road, it ended in an open field with nowhere to hide.

It seemed to them that they were in the free and clear, since they were walking in a valley, and it gave them the false feeling that they were alone in the world. But before anyone could react, they saw a solitary figure standing directly in front of them.

The outline of his helmet was clear: he was one of them, a Nazi, and therefor a friend. But if their friend was to find out what their real motive was, he would quickly become their enemy.

Even from the distance that they were at, he was something of an oddity. He waved to them like a man who was stranded on an island and was happy to be found.

Was he alone? Probably not, since the motorcycle next to him had a passenger cart next to it, and meant that there were more.

“Heil Hitler!” the man said as they approached. He was still too far to make out a decent look at his face, but his enthusiasm was hard to contain.

“Heil Hitler,” Ingersleben said, as well, giving an almost lazy salute, not raising his voice.

“Grenadier Matthias Althaus!” the man said, smiling, extending his hand. His teeth were dark and stained.

“
Unteroffizier
Erich Ingersleben,” Ingerslben said, hoping that his title might cause an impression on the young man. It did. He quickly straightened up.

“I’m sorry, Unteroffizier! I don’t see your markings!”

“Wouldn’t want a Soviet sniper to pick me out, now, would we?” Ingersleben said with a grin, allowing the new Nazi to relax.

“No! Of course not! Even the Finnish have excellent marksmen!”

Which was true. This war was making heroes from all sides, and the stories were leaking out. Instead of making most men angry, it just gave the enemy that much more respect. It was good to know that their enemy was a tough one and not a push-over.

“Where is your commander?”

“My commander?” Althaus said. “He’s over there, on the other side of that church. I’ll take you to him.”

“There will be no need to do that.”

“Sir?”

“Must I repeat myself? You can ask my men. I do
not
like to repeat myself.”

“No, of course not,” Althaus said, all aflutter. It had been days since Ingersleben had put fear into someone. He was happy to be doing it again. It was him in his best element.

“I just thought—”

“You thought what?” Ingerlsben said, stepping right into the upright man’s ear.

“I just thought you would want to rest or eat some food, after coming so far from wherever you were.”

“And where would we be coming from?”

Grenadier Althaus was confused, not sure of what answer to give, or why he was being questioned so. “I’m not sure, sir. How would I know?”

“Exactly,” Ingersleben said, taking a step back from the near-trembling man. “We are coming from the east and headed to the north of here, to meet with men in the other front.”

“What town?”

“What town?” Ingersleben came back to the man’s ear, looking as if he was ready to bite the man’s ear off.

“No, sir. What I mean is, what town were you coming from?”

“And this concerns you because?”

The man was sure to piss himself. He finally shrugged like a child and said, “I dunno. Just curious, sir. I’m sorry.”

Ingersleben took a step back, even farther than before. He gave the frightened man a smile. “No need to apologize, young Grenadier. You must understand, our mission is need-to-know only, from Berlin, and we can’t be sharing information, now, can we?”

“No, of course not.”

They stood and stared at each other for a moment. They all knew the protocol. Grenadier Matthias Althaus was on patrol of this area. He was to ask for papers from everyone, including those in uniform. He knew that, and they knew that. The only question was--would he dare ask for proof of their orders now?

“You will excuse us now. Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler!” Althaus said, with a little too much excitement.

As they walked by the German and made their way farther east, Otto turned to see Althaus one last time. The impromptu grave they had made was no longer the only thing that made him feel uncomfortable to leave behind.

Part II of IV

Week № 14 of 1945

✠

2nd April through 8th April

Schneidemühl

Grenzmark Posen-West Prussia

The run-in with the patrol was a quick and grim reminder of what they were up against.

Fortunately for them, there was more forest and scattering of trees as they continued their way out west, giving them some cover.

For some of them, it was not a blessing. Making one’s way through trees and brushes, all the while traversing uneven terrain was a burden on the men. It felt as if discovery and a bullet from their fellow countrymen would be a welcome relief than to continue like this, day in, day out.

But in one of his few moments of consideration, Erich Ingersleben, the unspoken leader, let the men go at a slow pace, so as to not to rush them.

At first, Otto Kunkel appreciated this rare leniency from a man who seemed to be nothing more than a sadist, but later dawned on him that perhaps the reason Ingersleben insisted on the men going so slow was that
he
needed the break and the slower pace. And if that were so, then perhaps he was hastening their deaths, and not helping them as he had claimed, since time wasn’t on their side, either. For all they knew, the Soviets had already overrun their abandoned prison camp and were hot on their heels. That was the problem with Death. No matter how much you tried to flee him, he was the most stubborn of trackers, and would always find you eventually.

Soon the outline of a town was seen in the distance. Unfortunately for them, the trees also ended. They paused and thought for a moment and talked to each other in a calm and levelheaded manner. Otto was glad to see that even he had a voice in this matter. Everyone wanted the same thing, and that was to live, so everyone’s ideas were heard. In times like this, things like station and rank were of no consequence. All that mattered was that they got ideas, and as many as possible.

Even Lafenz finally said a word or two, something that the men had wondered if he could even do. And even though he had become a murderous man in front of their very eyes, he still had the wonder of a child, and that’s what was needed in life more than anything. A child’s intuition was stronger than any adult’s education.