The Chickens Coming Home to Roost. (Vaalto)

[rspeirs]

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Luz…” The words escaped Speirs quickly. He was suffering from a severe case of writers block attempting to explain the death of George Luz to his family. He wanted to write the usual rhetoric “Your son died valiantly defending America and securing freedom for the World,” yet that was too cliché for Speirs. In fact, Luz did not die valiantly. He died out of his own stupidity, getting himself killed by moving too far out into the open. Speirs knew however, if he wrote that, his family would only be deeply offended and grieve deeper. Speirs dropped the pen and paper, got up from his desk, and walked over to a stack of papers, which on the top, read “Transfers.” Speirs read down the paper-“Machine Gun Team-Edward Heffron, John Julian. Infantry-Bull Randleman.” Speirs sighed, “Well at least one thing good came out of a futile military effort.” Speirs was not content with the victory. He thought he did well for his first time in combat, but well was not enough. He wanted to be one of the best in battle. He wanted to make Captain Patterson proud.

Speirs then moved that piece of paper to the bottom of the pile. The next page read a list of POWs that were now property of the 3ID. At the top of the list was a Finnish Man, Vaalto Laukennan. “Kraut…” Speirs muttered. He had remembered Vaalto vividly. He was one of the four Krauts who were casualties in the 3ID’s defense of Montpellier. “When I am done with that Kraut…he will wish he was one of his friends in that grave…” Speirs scoffed, making a fist out of his hands, thinking of Luz’s death. It was Vaalto who shot Luz, and while the majority was Luz’s fault, Speirs thought that if Vaalto hadn’t shot him, Luz would still be alive.

It was a dreary day in England; always seemed to be during this time of year. Rain was falling as Speirs crossed the base from the barracks to the MP Prison. He knocked on the door, and a small, skinny, and rubicund corporal answered. “Sergeant Speirs.” The soldier said in a high pitched voice as he saluted his superior. “At ease Corporal.” Speirs said in a professional tone. “Tell me, where is the newest POW, Vaalto Laukkenan.” The Corporal nodded and pointed to the right. “Third cell down that’a way.” Speirs nodded as well, saying “Thank you soldier.” He proceeded down the hallway.

The hallway was a dreary place. The sullen, morose mood in it seemed to intensify with the moans of German prisoners as Speirs walked down. He saw a man at the third cell, his head down, trying to rest. The wooden plaque on the wall read the name “Vaalto Laukkenan.” Speirs pulled out a key and opened the cell. The 1st Sergeant was so angry that he wished to strike the soldier, and he moved to do so, but stopped when he saw the two SS bolts on the collar of the defeated soldier. Speirs smiled sadistically, saying sharply “SS, eh? You’re lucky I don’t kill you here and now. We 3ID members don’t take kindly to your ilk. Wherever the SS goes, all you they do is bring death and destruction. You aren’t different from the rest of them. You prey on the weak, yet cannot stand against the strong. I are nothing more than cowards! You make me sick!” Speirs rested himself up against the wall, still profusely angry.

[laukkenan]

People have fought for many things: money,women,land,victory,etc. but there is something different about what Vaalto was fighting for. He continuously asked himself: What am I fighting for? Is it for the Reich, my family, to destroy the Soviets?

The questions had been swarming to his mind ever since he had seen people die because of him. The sight of Damian being killed in front of him had been devastating. It was the adrenaline that kept him running in that situation.

After the battle he had awoken on a stretcher that was being carried by American soldiers. A thought of trying to attack them came to mind by instinct, but Vaalto quickly dismissed it. At the hospital he was being carried to, he had been patched up and would not be able to walk around without feeling pain for aout two weeks.

Back in the Prisoner of War building, he was stuck in his cell that had a small desk in it and a cot with bedding. A decent place to live for the rest of the war. Maybe that was what Vaalto needed, not being able to see people hurt. That too had passed his mind, but was also quickly turned away, due to Vaalto not wanting anyone to suffer because of a war that someone else had started.

As he was sitting in his dank and cold room, an American opened the door and started speaking to him. One comment was probably supposed to make fun of him for being in the SS. Vaalto still stayed lying down, so that he would not increase the hostilities. At that point the American started trying to put him down, with derrogatory remarks about the SS, and things that were totally untrue about Vaalto.

Vaalto stood up with a slight pain in his legs making him wince. "You were the American I fought against in Montipellar? I am sorry for the loss of one of your men. If you need to blame the death on someone, blame it on me." Vaalto had been waiting to meet the man that had captured him, so he could say words like that. He didn't mean for the death of someone who was just doing their job. Vaalto had thought that since people in the military are fighting to end the war, not kill people. Killing the people is just one of the obstacles of the war. Now, not thinking of those who died in battle, is an even larger obstacle.

Vaalto had stuck out his hand to the American after he said his words. His hand was shaking due to the cold in the room. As he stood there he looked into the American man's eyes trying to see what was going on inside his head.

[rspeirs]

The Kraut did not answer Speirs right away on the issue of the SS. Speirs was hoping he would make some remark so Speirs could lament the man further into shame, yet nothing was said. Speirs looked at the soldier in distain, contempt, and astonishment. “So you have nothing to say? Just like every other captured SS man we have dealt with. Your cowardice amazes me Kraut.” Speirs said, rubbing his five o’clock shadow. He muttered under his breath, saying in frustrated sarcasm “What the hell is going through your mind, Kraut?”

Speirs got no answer, nor did he want one. It was a rhetorical question that time. Speirs was still boiling with anger after all that transpired in Montpellier, and the anger only deepened when the soldier spoke the words “"You were the American I fought against in Montipellar? I am sorry for the loss of one of your men. If you need to blame the death on someone, blame it on me.” Speirs closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand in disgust. The remark came off to Speirs as nothing more than a lie; Speirs’ judgment was clouded by anger. He did however, calm himself to speak: “Bullshit.” Speirs remarked. “War is hell. A soldier can’t be sorry for his actions. I sure as hell ain’t sorry for ordering my men to kill yours. I do what I have to, function as I have to, to win this war. I expect the same from my enemy. You ain’t sorry. If you are, you are a poor excuse for a soldier.” Speirs rubbed his nose with the side of his index finger, and then spoke more “ If only it were that easy to tell Luz’s parents that. ‘The enemy says he is sorry.’” Speirs got a laugh out of a remark that wasn’t very well thought out. Your sorrow cannot take back the death of a soldier. It cannot destroy the tyrannical regime that is Hitler, and it sure as hell can’t make Luz’s family feel better at the loss of their son.”

Speirs pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. He lit the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. He then pulled a journal out of his pocket. He flipped through the pages rather methodically, inspecting each page word by word. Speirs laughed, letting smoke from the cigarette exit freely from his mouth. “A soldier who writes poetry? Kid, you make Stonewall Jackson look normal. Here, take your damn journal, it will be your only consolidation while being in the 3ID’s hands.”

[laukkenan]

OOC: I am replying to this only because it has not been closed.


"The reason you don't believe me is because you consider me an enemy. If you were to consider me as a human being just like you, what would you think? If I could change your mind more to let you know that I meant that apology, then please take a seat and read my journal. Then you might get an idea of how I think." Vaalto said as he took his journal and handed it back to this American. Vaalto was trying to be humane, because he didn't feel good about any of the men's deaths at Montepelliar.

"And if you think that I blame you for the death of my men, I don't. I blame those upon myself. You are also right to fight effectively with the men under your command. Then you may be able to end this war quicker for all of those who are suffering. About the soldier thing. Who told you that I was willingly fighting for the German Reich. I am also a Finnish soldier who holds no alliance with the Germans, besides trying to defend my homeland; and to my disgust, I was transferred to the German 12 SS "Nord" Division. From their I was sent to the 2nd SS "Das Reich". Now please, sit with me a while, it would give me great comfort to hear what a "killer" of the Americans has to say to me." Maybe he wasn't thinking for as Vaalto said these words his mind entered a realm of calmness, a place where he could see the "enemy" in the eyes and talk with them.

[rspeirs]

“No” Speirs said to Vaalto as he crossed his arms. “The reason I don’t believe you is because you are a soldier. Every soldier is trained to be merciless; thoughtless. I was, and so were you. Killing is what a soldier does, and he does it well. If a soldier cannot do that in battle, well, he isn’t a soldier; he is a coward.” Speirs said, now rubbing his five o’clock shadow, which had begun to irritate him. Vaalto handed Speirs a small journal, which Speirs had already given back to the Kraut. Speirs flipped through it undiscerning. Speirs wasn’t concerned about what it said; it was not his priority in all of this. Then again, Speirs thought, he really didn’t have a priority. He was only here to tell the man that the Axis has paid a ransom and he will be released soon, but Speirs could not let such a soldier go unscathed. Impudently, Speirs tossed the journal back to Vaalto, saying with a brazen attitude “Take it. I don’t have time to read such frivolous ramblings.”

Speirs put the cigarette back in his mouth, taking in the sickening colloid. Even though Speirs did not smoke before the war, cigarettes did not seem to sicken Speirs. In fact, he had grew fond to them. He tried one when he was in Montpellier to calm his nerves, and now, the young 1st Sergeant was addicted to the sickening aroma cigarettes emit. Speirs took the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled, releasing a plume of smoke from his nasal passages. The tobacco was already calming a flustered 1st Sergeant. Speirs let out a deep breath, and more cigarette smoke exited, this time, through his mouth. It danced with a small draft in the room, and then it seemed to up residency above Vaalto’s head. It hung like a cancer over the Kraut.

“I don’t care about the deaths of your men, Kraut.” Speirs said coldly. He continued onward, speaking with a unsympathetic tone. “You, like all Fritz, seem a tad dense. So allow me to reiterate. In battle, one shouldn’t be concerned with death. Soldiers come and go, that is the way war is. War is hell, simply put. In war, a soldier should act quickly and without remorse for any of his actions. You don’t seem to get that. We are warriors fighting or our own goals. I am fighting for liberty, and you are fighting for oppression. We don’t let death, or our feelings overpower us. If you can achieve this mindset, only then can you function as a soldier is supposed to function.” Speirs put the cigarette back into his mouth. He pulled out a chair from the small, wooden, dilapidated desk in the corner of the room. He propped his right leg onto it, staring intently at the Kraut still.

Then, Vaalto began to talk about how he was forced to join the Shutzstaffel. The Kraut seemed sincere, but Speirs wasn’t inclined to believe him. “I have seen the SS. I know what they have done. They brainwash little children, around ten years old, into becoming Hitler fanatics. They treat minorities without the slightest ounce of respect. They are pompous, arrogant, brash, impudent even…” That last part caught Speirs. This Kraut was not described by any of these words. “…And you are none of these…” Speirs said as he sighed. He felt defeated, so he decided to cut to the reason why he was here, saying “Erhard Stumfelder, the XO of the Waffen SS 2nd Division has paid a ransom for your release. You are free to go.” Speirs said, motioning his finger to the open bars.

[laukkenan]

OOC: If this looks short, sorry I wrote it out in hand during one of my classes. We were watching a movie about Robert Frost.

"Thank you for telling me that, but would you know when I am to leave. If you don't then I would like to leave tomorrow." Vaalto said kindly to this American who was doing his job and decided to blow his top at him. Vaalto understood this though, his men were his friends, and one of them had just been killed. "Don't think you are defeated. You were just wrong, but you are not wrong about what you say about the SS. I have seen things that I don't want to see, and have tried to stop some things." He tacked on dryly hoping the American would become more cheerful.

The aching pain in Vaalto's legs finally gave way making him tumble to the floor. When he hit the floor the coldness bit at him making him wince. A grunt came from him as he pushed himself up and onto his cot. Once he was on the cot he noticed his pant's thigh was wet in the back from the blood.

"So, what is your name? I can't just treat you like this and not know your name." He said trying to start a conversation up again. His hand extended to his journal grabbing it and bringing it back to his chest where he opened it and flipped through the dry pages to a blank one. A pen came to his hand after he leaned forward and grabbed it from the desk. Soon, his hand was to the page waiting for something to be said.

[rspeirs]

Vaalto gave the inquiry of when he was allowed to leave. “Well, you can’t just leave any time” Speirs said. “Tomorrow at the earliest. There are procedures which need to be adhered to; paper work that needs to be filled out by yourself. It’s no easy process” Speirs muttered in a monotone. He looked at Vaalto, who seemed to be in a tremendous pain. The young fin moved back and forth restlessly, gritting his teeth, writhing in pain. Speirs chuckled, saying jokingly “And you might want to get that checked into. Bradley Coleman is the doctor of the 3ID; one of the best practitioners I ever saw. He can fix you up bing, bang, boom.”

Where did that last line come from, Speirs thought? Could this man’s demeanor be rubbing off on Speirs? The thought made Speirs apprehensive. The 1st Sergeant did not want to lose his appellation as tough, cold, and strict. Men respected that, not soft, weak, leaders, as, often times, they were impetuous, acting upon feelings and not strategy. Speirs recanted that last statement in his head. He had seen many a strict soldier fall to a brash, mistake ridden strategy. Speirs thought it over in his mind. “Yes” he said to himself quietly. Discipline was the key; not cold, hard, leadership. However, under certain circumstances, it is better to be feared than adored. Nevertheless, Speirs had an epiphany just now, thanks to Vaalto Laukkenan. Speirs smiled with a calm wryness. “Thank you.” He said. “You taught me a lesson on leadership. Now may I teach you one?” Speirs didn’t wait for the man’s answer. He just pulled out a piece of paper and drew a rough sketch of Montpellier and the positions the men had taken there. “Fight defensively. You split up your men and left your flank vulnerable. Never do that, it’s an automatic ticket to a camp like the one you are in now. Your men should function as one, cohesive unit in war.” Speirs thought back to what the 2nd Armor Commander, George S. Patton, told his men before Operation Overlord, saying the quote to Vaalto: “An army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team.” Never forget that.”

Speirs then decided to address the issue of the SS, which Vaalto continually spoke about. “Corrupt bastard Krauts” Speirs sneered. “The lot of em’. If I were to get a hold of that Fritz Son of a Bitch, Heinrich Himmler, I would rip his balls off and shove them down his throat.” Speirs looked down, thinking, pondering. What made men do such things? He asked himself. Was it ego? No, megalomania was no excuse to slaughter millions of people and invade all of Europe. Was it pride? No, pride only feeds ego. The two are consanguineous; you cannot have pride without ego. What the hell was it? The thought drove Speirs mad with rage. It afflicted and haunted him. “I have seen things” Speirs said, a tear streaming from his eye, “That no man should ever see.” Speirs erupted into a fit of anger, screaming while getting up, “Those servile pigs! How can they treat another human like that! They all deserve death, and damn it, I will give those Fritz sons of bitches what they deserve.” Speirs sat down; his head felt heavy. He placed the palm of his hand on his forehead so it covered his eyes.”

“Oh,” Speirs said, still deeply frustrated. “You asked for my name.” He paused for a few seconds. “Speirs. Ron Speirs.”

[laukkenan]

The anger coming from this man was astounding. He became angry at the thought of Schutzstaffel. The man was nothing like Herr Wolfram of his own division. Of the stories he heard, Wolfram had never lost his temper like that when talking about the Americans or any of the Allies for that matter. Now, I get why this man is not an officer. His hatred for the enemy is what drives him, not his humanity, therefore he will risk every human life under his command in order to acheive victory. A very thing, that Vaalto himself felt when he served against the Russians. Out of his highschool class he was the only survivor, because of his orders.

His best friend had died in the attempt of a midnight raid, when he was sent to take out a Russian machine gun emplacement only to get shot through the head by a sniper. The image still hautned him. This American very much reminds me of myself. I hope that he can change for the better so that he can go through this war with the same men to fight along his side. Vaalto told himself. "Mister Speirs, I was wondering, would you believe me if I told you I wanted to help the Allied cause?" As he said this he was busy scribbling in his journal something.

Throughout the entire conversation he had been trying to get a hold of this man's personality. He had not been able to grasp it yet. But, hopefully he would be able too.

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

Due to the members no longer being on the site, this will be moved to the Archives.

-=[SeeJay]=-