Fan Fic

[deutschlandschutze]

Alright guys, I've been working on this for awhile and have decided to post it on here. Following a one Mr. Dickens lead, I've also decided to release this incrementally, (one piece at a time, just in case there's confusion as to what that means). Tell me what you guys think, this is the beginning exerpt. Enjoy!

Dietrich advanced slowly over the broken terrain. Puddles of mud sloshed beneath his black boots as he paced forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the tree line ahead. The autumn rains had turned everything into a giant mud pit. Vehicle support was not plentiful due to the conditions. Few aircraft could even make it off the ground to fly support. The infantry of the Waffen-SS Das Reich Division were largely on their own. Despite the conditions they had made considerable progress and had deeply penetrated the area near Smolensk. Any resistance that they had faced had been light and easily pushed back.
Due to the rain, however, the entire German advance into Russia had been slowed. Morale was surprisingly high and the men had no doubts that the Russian empire would collapse under their boots. Although the lack of vehicle support left them feeling a little more vulnerable it was also welcomed by the men as a chance to prove themselves on the field. Many Heer officers were skeptical of the fighting abilities of the Waffen men.
Carsten Kappel leaned over; a grin spreading across his face, “You see th-” Carsten was cut short by an explosion nearby. Mud and a smoke rocketed into the sky. Dietrich, Carsten, and the rest of the advancing soldiers dove forward onto the ground. Lances of machinegun fire arced out of the forest and wound their way towards the men of the Deutschland regiment. Several of Dietrich’s comrades fell, stricken by the hail of bullets. Small puffs of smoke erupted from the tree line followed by more explosions into the muddy ground. Scharführer Koch slid next to the two men who were hunkering low to the ground trying to avoid being hit.
“The Bolsheviks have AT guns entrenched along their entire line!” He yelled. A voice called out from behind the lead formation of SS troops,
“Keep advancing! The Mg’s will provide sufficient support!” Just then the rattle of several Mg 34’s split the air. Tracers were now flying freely back and forth between the opposing forces. The SS soldiers began crawling through the muck, inching closer to the Russian line. Behind him, Dietrich heard the distinct *thump* *thump* of mortars sending their lethal cargo down range. Explosions burst within the forest ahead; however, most of the rounds were too high to cause any real effect on the enemy.

[Jonas Merhoff]

Oh this sounds pretty good. A bit too short for me to enjoy, but if you would post more of the story sometime later I'd definitely come back and lead. I have thought about forming stories about my own characters... but usually I just cant find myself going to write stories. One helpful tip though, add the spaces when you copy and paste from MS Word. Makes it prettier .

[deutschlandschutze]

Yeah, I'm going to write more I just put the first bit to see if anyone would even be interested in it, and thanks for the tip about MS word! =)

[deutschlandschutze]

Well, I'm going to post the next section despite the lack of feedback... So I guess this is for you Jonas =) Enjoy!

As the men drew nearer to the enemy’s position, the incoming fire became more intense. Dietrich was able to now spot individual soldiers rather than a line of fire. Tracers zipped past, missing his head by a matter of inches. Dietrich scanned his field of view and found the camouflaged machinegun nest. He tried to point this out to Carsten, but his friend had already seen it. They both leveled their Mausers and fired off their shots in quick secession. The tarp covering the nest quivered as the two rifle rounds struck. There was a pause in the fire. Suddenly the position erupted in the flame of the muzzle flash as the angry gunner leveled the weapon at the pair of men. The rounds kicked up mud all around them; it seemed a miracle that neither was hit in the hail of lead. Dietrich and Carsten fired off the remainder of their magazines, forcing the enemy gunner to take cover. More anti-tank rounds plowed into the wet ground, cascading dirt into the air.

Smoke grenades sailed through the air along the entire line of German infantry.
“Men, fix bayonets!” yelled the commanding officer. The order was passed down and the sound of hundreds of bayonets sliding over the muzzles of rifles. Dietrich thought to himself, This is madness… Someone up top must be very desperate to impress the High Command. Carsten had a childish grin smeared across his face, as well as a plentiful amount of mud. Smoke began to obscure the enemy formations from sight. Though he was unaware of the fact, the mortars had begun to lob smoke rounds into the Russian positions, further providing a screen for infantry.

Dietrich grabbed a stripper clip from his magazine pouch and slid it into his rifle. Cycling the bolt, he rose to a kneeling position with the rest of his battalion. The enemy positions were now completely blocked from sight by the thick smoke.

“Steady men, steady!” called Scharführer Koch. Dietrich's heart beat heavily in his chest. “Wait for the signal!” More shouts came across the wind, telling the troops to hold their position. The “thumping” of the mortars came to a halt. “Wait for it!” Dietrich inhaled. “Go!”

The battalion took off at a run. Scharführer Koch’s hand gripped Dietrich by the “Y” strap and thrust him forward. A fierce yell arose from the men as they covered the wet, slippery ground. Dietrich could feel nothing but the pounding of his boots upon the ground and the pounding of his heart upon his chest as he raced forward, rifle and bayonet before him. Suddenly, they burst clear of the smoke and were but a few meters from the Russian line.

All hell broke loose as flames erupted from the Russian trenches and foxholes, taking down many Deutschland men before they could cover the distance. Dietrich leapt through the air, coming down in the Russian trench. A Bolshevik squeezed off a panicked shot but it sailed harmlessly high. Dietrich rammed his bayonet into the man’s chest and withdrew it as he slumped to the ground.

The fighting was horrific and both sides suffered a high price. Soon the trenches and pillboxes were clear with the exception of one. As the remnant of the Russian defense tried to flee they were gunned down by the SS troopers.

Koch tugged at Dietrich’s uniform, “Follow me!” The two soldiers worked their way down the trench until they came to the last pillbox of Russian resistance. Several other men were gathered there waiting to assault the enemy within. The door to the pillbox was through a small concrete tunnel. Three men of the Assault Company placed a satchel charge in front of the door and hurriedly took cover in the trench. Flame belched out the end of the tunnel as the charge blasted the large iron door from its hinges.

Two hand grenades followed in quick succession through the open doorway. After the eruption, the men rushed into the concrete structure. A single Russian lay on the floor, part of his skull missing from a rifle round. On the floor, a hatch lay open leading to a lower level. Scharführer Koch assessed the situation. He knew they could not leave this how it was as it was an open invitation for the Russians to take the unit from the rear. At the same time tunnel fighting was not exactly wanted. Koch assigned several men to watch the tunnel entrance while he went in search of his radio operator; they had become separated amidst the charge. He knew it was sloppy work and scolded himself for it.

Dietrich found Carsten in one piece, leaning up against the trench wall, peering deeper into the forest. The childish grin was still stuck to his face like flypaper. Mist was hanging low reducing their visibility to less than fifty meters. A low rumbling noise reached their ears. Both looked at each other quizzically and waited. When the noise did not seem to get nearer or farther after several minutes and no tanks came into view, a small party was organized to go search. Dietrich and Carsten were among the men picked for the duty.

The eight man team headed out, hunched low and moving quickly towards the sound. Dietrich plodded forward his, rifle at the ready. Fanning out into a thin line the troops continued their advance into the unknown. Through the mist came the outline of a Russian tank. The men halted quickly and dropped to the ground. Much to the relief of the soldiers the tanks turret was pointed in the opposite direction and one of its treads spun uselessly in the mud. Two of the SS soldiers laid the PzB 35 Anti-Tank rifle on the ground and extended the bipod. They leveled the rifle and took aim at the rear of the tank. Carsten stopped them from shooting

“Wait, wait, I got this, save your ammunition,” he said. The same smile spread across his face from ear to ear. Dietrich sighed,
“What the hell,” and trotted after his friend. A Mauser was slung across the man’s back and a pair of grenades adorned his right hand as he climbed atop the tank. Dietrich accompanied him and took up position across from him on the tank turret. Slinging his rifle over his back he placed his hands on the handle of the turret’s hatch. Carsten unscrewed the caps from the back of the grenades. Nodding to Dietrich he tugged the strings of both. At the hands of Dietrich, the hatch swung open and the grenades went sailing into the turret. Dietrich slammed the hatch back down and the two soldiers leapt from the tank.

The hatch rose and a frantic crewman tried to climb from the tank. Both grenades exploded before he could manage to free himself and his torso slid back into the turret. The SS troops waited in anticipation, staring at the tank. After a few seconds there was another explosion as the rounds stored in the turret started to go off. Soon the entire tank burst into a cauldron of fire and shards of metal were sent flying high into the sky.

The squad of men withdrew back to the trench, eager to share their story with their comrades. As they returned however, shouting was heard farther down the line. Loud rumblings shook the forest and the teetering of treads pierced the air.
“Achtung! Panzer!” Several shouts of alarm were raised as the sound drew nearer. Small arms fire erupted on the right flank. Soon enough tanks emerged from ground in front of Dietrich accompanied by infantry. The anti-tank rifle bucked against the gunner’s shoulder as the report sounded. Sparks showered off the tank as the round deflected off the armor and spiraled away. In the next instant the SS soldier's head was nearly cut in half by a burst of fire from the tank’s machinegun.

A call came from down the trench, “The right flank is falling back!” Dietrich squeezed off another round from his Mauser and watched a Russian soldier collapse to the ground. Scharführer Koch ran behind Dietrich, “Fall back! Fall back! Quickly!”

The men hopped out of the trench as tank rounds and machinegun rounds sizzled past. The SS men began their sprint from hell.

[Jonas Merhoff]

Great installment. Now I'm very much interested in the story and the two men. I would like to see how they tie together or how their friendship started as JT has suggested as well as maybe a death to spice up the story with drama? Hehe .

I try I suggested the death as well Jonas *cough Winters cough* oh man, is there a draft in here, we should close the windows.

-JT

[deutschlandschutze]

Well now I'm going to have to change what I had in mind if you all know exactly what's going to happen, but don't worry... background will probably be in the next or the installment after next and don't worry, Dietrich's death will be a surprise to you as you see Koch's radioman is the real main character! Didn't see that coming did you?

[Jonas Merhoff]

Why yes, I did. Now that you told us. LOL!

[deutschlandschutze]

Oh lies... you tell lies to my face...
lol Hopefully I will have the next installment posted before the end of this weekend because I know you are all absolutely dying to read what you already know is coming... lol

[deutschlandschutze]

Next installment has arrived, sorry about the delay...


Soviet tanks and infantry poured rounds into the withdrawing Germans relentlessly. Crouching as low as possible, Dietrich sprinted across the broken terrain. 3rd Company was directly ahead as they had been held in reserve, however, could not shoot yet for fear of hitting their own men. Dietrich jumped over the line of German infantry who at the moment were yelling frantically for their comrades to hurry up. Glancing back, he saw Carsten go down, slipping in the mud. As his friend regained his footing a bullet pierced through his thigh, sending him once more to the ground.

Gunfire raged all around and everything was complete chaos. Mortar rounds were falling on both sides of the struggle and machines guns sang their deadly notes across the battlefield. Dropping his rifle, Dietrich turned and started back across the field. He was covering the ground quickly, boots sloshing in the mud. Carsten had begun to crawl towards the German lines, desperation marked his face. To be captured was to be killed. His hands clawed at the earth, his body following. Great gasps of exertion escaped his lungs at the effort of his exhausted body.

Dietrich felt an impact to his head but he felt no pain. Carsten’s eyes became wide in shock. A hand reached up and felt his brow. Blood soaked his hand. The world became dim and dull. Sounds echoed through his mind. Time slowed to a crawl. One leg gave after the other and he slumped to his knees. Russians appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. A thick cloud of smoke hung over the men, giving their figures a ghost-like quality. A pair of bayonets pierced the outstretched body of his friend. His desperate pleas filled his ears. Tears streamed down his face. The world went black.


Dietrich opened his eyes wide, breathing heavily. Still scared, he reached his dirty hand towards his head slowly. Tapping several times, he discovered no trace of any wound. Glancing to his left he saw Carsten asleep peacefully, wrapped in gray field blanket. Gott in Himmel, he thought. His forehead was dripping with sweat despite the chill that lay over the land. It had been a week since the battle and still he was having nightmares. All of them of what could have very easily happened.

Achieving sleep would be an impossible and unworthy endeavor he knew. He had not had to fight since that first day, but it was enough to Dietrich. He had seen the face of war as his comrades were shot to pieces and it was not what the stories had said. In his mind they were a conflicting mess of emotion. The old stories were of heroism and courage. They were of bravery and a romantic sort of war that was quite appealing. Not now. One minute a panicked soldier digging with his fingertips, the next a quivering mass of flesh, riddled with bullets.

Dietrich stood up and felt the cool air brush across his torso. It felt good, and food. Food would be good right now. He searched amongst the packs on the ground, upsetting a gas mask canister which clunked noisily as it struck a rock. Carsten stirred and rolled over to face the noise. His eyes blinked open, a dazed, still sleepy look across his face. Instantly Dietrich was transported back to military school.

It was a pleasant day; a nice breeze blew across the schoolyard carrying with it a smell of cherry blossoms and the sound of laughter. It was sunny yet not too hot and was in general a great time to be outside. Dietrich was walking across the yard to fetch his books when an odd noise accompanied the wind. Angry shouts filled his ears and he turned to see the source. One hundred meters away stood a group of boys, the same age as Dietrich. Four of them seemed to be surrounding one in particular. Another round of angry words flowed from the mouths of both parties in the dispute.

Suddenly a fist struck out from the tallest of the four. He looked sturdy, like an oak tree perhaps. His torso was thick and he stood luminously as he swung his right fist. With his size however seemed to come a degree of clumsiness as the punch was awkward and much to the delight of the intended receiver, not that effective. He on the other hand was short and well built. Easily he dodged the forlorn punch and countered with one of his own.

It struck neatly on the giant’s chin and sent him reeling back in shock. The other three boys rushed in in a fury. The short defender ducked under another punch and countered to the belly of his assailant, who doubled up, the wind knocked out him. Not turning in time, a punch landed squarely to the side of his head and he fell to the ground. His fourth attacked wasted no time in leaping upon his back. Surprisingly, the boy managed to shake him off and regain his feet. By this time the giant had also regained his composure along with the second attacker. Backing away slowly, the short boy remained ready and licked his lips.

One of the attackers rushed forward but was too hasty in their lunge. An uppercut to the jaw sent him back to the ground. Leaping forward, taking advantage of initiative, the lone boy knocked a second attacker square on his bum. The giant swung another poorly coordinated punch that sailed harmlessly by. The lone boy took advantage and went in swinging fists to the giant’s midsection.

To his dismay, he might as well have been punching an oak tree. The giant seized the boy and threw him backwards to the ground. His head slammed awkwardly down and he lay limp.

By this time Dietrich had covered the distance to the dispute and rushed in from the side. Kicking the legs out form underneath the only remaining attacker not including the giant, who turned to face the new threat. Dietrich’s father had taught him a thing or two about hand to hand fighting when he was a boy and now he was glad for it. Knocking aside two punches, Dietrich closed the distance to the giant and swung a mighty uppercut. The punch caught the boy squarely and toppled him backwards. The other three had fled in panic and thus the giant remained alone, trying to regain his senses. Dietrich leapt atop him and placed his hand at the boy’s throat.

“If I see you mess with him again,” he said, nodding toward the limp figure on the ground, “I will kill you.”

With that he stood and allowed the bewildered giant to scamper awkwardly away. Approaching the body, expecting the worst, Dietrich held his breath. The body began to move and slowly rotated to face him. A dazed look in the eyes of the boy and tears on his cheeks met Dietrich’s gaze. A wry smile crept across the boy’s face as he looked around and slowly rose to one knee. Dietrich gave him a hand up and helped shake the dirt off.

“Thank you very much, my name is Carsten. Carsten Kappel.” The boy said proudly.

“Dietrich Wilhelm,” he answered shaking the boy’s hand. It was the beginning of a glorious friendship.


“Wil?” said Carsten, rubbing his eyes to clear them.

“Yes,” a smile spread across his face.

“What are you doing up?” asked Carsten.

“Can’t sleep. I was thinking about that first day back in military school.”

“You mean the first day of Mr. Eichelberger’s class, when we put a live chicken in his desk?”

“No,” answered Wil, “but that was funny as well.”
“You mean the very first day, when we met?”

“That’s the one!”

“Why should you be thinking of such things as that? There are such happier memories than that one! Like when we tied Ludendorff to the tree and left him there overnight,” stated Kap enthusiastically. Wil chuckled. He had shared many good memories with Carsten, of that there was no doubt. However, his true fear he would not and could not voice openly. He was scared of losing his friend. There were others that they had known from academy and the regiment before ever going into combat. Such as Koch, the squad commander, who always seemed to have a solution for any problem. There was also the Hoch brothers. Twins that had joined up to fight in the same unit, they were always pulling pranks on someone. The closest to both Kap and Wil was Klein Schroeder. He had been known to them the longest and shared the most time with them.

Despite these other men, Dietrich was closest to Kap and feared losing him more than anything. He had become a constant in his life, more sure than the sun and the stars. Kap stared at him with unblinking eyes. A frown crept across his face, an uncommon and foreign thing to be sure.

“What’s on your mind, Wil?” he asked, his tone sympathetic.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just-” His words were cut short by a loud crack followed by a hiss. Both men looked to the sky to see a bright light arcing upward into the dark abyss. It hung there, casting its glow over the landscape. Ahead of the trenches, black shapes filled the land. Wil squinted,

“Is that?” he asked not waiting to hear the answer. He slid into the trench and pulled his helmet over his head and put his rifle at the ready. Several more flares darted into the sky. This time there was no doubt as the dark forms became erect and streamed forward.

“Achtung! Überraschungsangriff!”

[deutschlandschutze]

This one is sort of extended length from normal segments because, well I don't know why. I just figured I'd give ya'll some more to read. I'm posting this one with out any comments on the last one because its been a week. But if you haven't read last weeks be sure to read it before this one. CHEERS!


Gunfire sounded from every corner of the sector. Rifles, grenades, and machineguns roared to life in a fury becoming of a hell storm. Wil placed his left arm outside the trench and rested the elbow on the soft soil. Supporting his Mauser with the hand of the same arm, he poured rifle rounds at the incoming attackers. To his right, an MG-34 had managed to deploy on the edge of the trench. One man stood ready with two spare canisters for the machinegun, the other fired the machine gun in small, controlled bursts. The night was lit by the muzzle flashes of a thousand angry guns.

The Russians had been halted in their advance by the intense fire and now decided it would be more advantageous to return fire from cover. Soon they had locked on and both the gunners were either dead or severely wounded. Another trooper rushed to put the gun back in action as to prevent a Russian breakthrough. After he shot several bursts, fire began pouring at him.

Two rounds struck him in the right arm and a third struck his left shoulder, sending him spiraling backward into the ground. Kap fired off one more round before he made his way down the trench toward the machine gun. Wil followed bringing his 98 with him. Tracers zipped over head, flying several meters high. Never the less, Wil ducked his head lower and continued down the trench. The pair of men reached the machine gun. Kap grabbed the weapon and propped it up on the lip of the trench. Wil put his arm on his friend’s shoulder,

“Wait, wait, don’t shoot! They will kill you just like the last two!” Kap smiled again.

“You worry too much!” With that, Kap pulled the trigger of the machine gun, letting loose a string of fiery lead. A second burst followed close behind before he grabbed the gun and ducked down into the trench. “Grab some ammo cans and follow me!” yelled Kap as he crouched and started working his way down the trench line. Wil did as he said and scrambled after his friend as Russians opened fire at the old machinegun post.

At this Carsten deployed the bipod once more and let out several more bursts of fire. The Russians began falling back across the field that they had just minutes ago been charging headlong over. More rounds followed them, striking several as they exposed themselves to run. Klein Schroeder jumped into the trench next to the men.

“Klein, are you alright?” asked Dietrich.

“Yes, yes, I am fine!” he said, panting heavily. “The
Russians attacked all the way down the line, but it seems they are pulling back now,” he reported.

“And if they come again, we’ll send ‘em runnin’!” said Kap enthusiastically. Klein smiled. Kap made his way down the trench to the original position of the machinegun. Two of the men were dead, killed instantly by shots to the head. The other lay on the ground, tears streaming down in his cheeks in pain. His left shoulder was a bloody mess and his right arm was bleeding moderately. Despite the pain, he made no noise to betray it. Kap knelt down and gently held the man’s head in his hands.

“It’s going to be alright, we’re going to get you help,” he said soothingly. Kap nodded to Wil, who slipped over the trench wall and headed out to find the medic. By the time he returned, Kap had stopped the bleeding in the man’s arm, but the shoulder was too badly torn to be helped with a standard kit.
The medic looked him over.

“It’s too risky to move him. I’ll have to do the work here.” After finishing, he looked up at Kap. “It’s a good thing you got to him when you did. A minute or two longer and he wouldn’t be alive right now,” he whispered quietly.

A load cry drifted across the air: “MEDIC!” Hopping over the edge the medic looked back for half a second, “I have to go, you guys have to get him to the back yourselves!” With that he took off across the muddy soil to find the wounded soldier.

Naturally, the man on the ground, SS-Schutze Drescher, refused to go to rear. Instead he pulled a pistol from its holster and asked that the men help prop his back up against the trench. They complied and tried to make the soldier as comfortable as possible.

The dreaded call came down the line, another Russian attack. Kap slipped back to the machinegun and set the stock against his shoulder. Dietrich and Klein took up positions on either side of him with their rifles. Flares leapt up into the sky, illuminating the entire battlefield in a bright glow. Kap sprung to action, releasing several bursts of fire from the gun. The fiery strings of bullets arced outward, cutting down several Russians in their path. Rifles cracked up and down the line. Other machine guns added their voices to the din of the gruesome song.

Still the Russians charged forward, compelled by a spirit that none could know, possibly not even the Russians themselves. Hurling themselves against the German defensive line, the infantry were cut to pieces and withdrew once more.

Kap was left sweating by the machine gun, his limbs still shaky from the experience. Dietrich offered him a drink from his canteen. He took it thirstily and downed a mighty gulp. Kap wiped his brow with his field gray sleeve and sighed loudly.

The trench on either side of them was emptier than it had been. The men of the unit were spaced out, trying to cover the entire span of their sector. Out of the night like ghosts came the figures of more Russian soldier. The battle raged fiercely. Twice the Russians almost managed to make it into the German trenches before being repulsed by the German will. A half hour passed. An hour. Dietrich lost track of time. His eyelids felt like bricks, an uncontrollable burden. He longed for sleep with every inch of his being, like every other soldier in the unit. Klein had managed to fall asleep, his cheek still resting against the stock of his rifle. Kap slid next to Dietrich.

“I figure they are done Kap,” Dietrich said. Carsten looked at him a moment.

“I suppose you’re right, they would have come by now,” responded Kap. The burden of his eyes became unbearable. Dietrich lowered his head and allowed himself to fall asleep.


In his half-dazed state, Dietrich did not recognize the buzzing in his ears. Kap had responded instantly by tearing the sleeping Klein down into the trench and lied atop him. As the first shell landed in the early morning mist, Dietrich’s eyes snapped open. The earth shook violently from the impact, throwing him backwards into the trench. The shell had landed perhaps two meters from where Klein had been. More like it slammed into the earth flinging dirt and shrapnel through the air. The men pressed themselves into the earth, as if they were clinging to life itself. Drescher had managed to roll himself over painfully, but it was better that then death. The bombardment lasted for several minutes and all was panic and confusion amongst the troops. Most had fallen asleep after the adrenaline rush of the last attack. That is, with the exception of Kap, who seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of energy, and Drescher, whose pain had prevented him from attaining it.


Dietrich felt as if he would suffocate beneath the horrendous barrage that assaulted his senses and stifled his lungs. As abruptly as it began, so it ended. The men looked around, dazed by the trauma of the shelling. An eerie sound drifted across the early morning field. A sound of terror. A sound of rage. A cauldron of fury swelling until it billowed out of the fog itself. Except now it had a shape, the shape of a demon. Of a thousand demons, clad in overcoats and armed with the anger of a hundred generations came bursting forth, plunging headlong with the eyes of wolves, of hunters.


Fear, a crippling fear, bulged within, paralyzing the men where they stood. Dietrich, wide eyed and feet planted, stared, mesmerized. Kap pulled the trigger of the machine gun, cutting a swath through a handful of the demons. The noise jarred Dietrich and hey threw up his rifle in time to parry the blade of a Russian bayonet. He tried to swing the butt of the rifle back up but it was knocked aside and a fist followed to his jaw. He was toppled backward onto his back. The two Russian soldiers closed in for their kill.

A pistol shot rang out knocking one of them to the ground. Two more shots brought the second to his knees. Another pair into his chest and he was done in. Dietrich regained his footing and his rifle. Smashing his stock into the face of one the attackers left a shock vibrating through his arms and to his core. Before the body had hit the ground, another had taken its place. Dietrich thrust forward with his rifle, driving the steel bayonet into his chest. The bayonet wedged between the ribs and became stuck.
Dietrich pulled the trigger in an attempt to blow the body off but it was unsuccessful. He dropped the rifle and pulled out a combat knife from his boot, it was the one his father had given him. A Russian leaped off the lip of the trench and lurched towards Drescher, who was trying to reload his pistol. Dietrich hooked his left arm around the Russian’s neck and spun him around before slashing his throat with the blade of the knife. Blood shot out, spraying across Dietrich’s face and coating the blade.


The sound of the machine gun cut out abruptly as Kap gave a shriek of pain. He turned to see a bayoneted rifle protruding from himself just above the right hip. In a considerable amount of pain, he placed both hands on the rifle and tugged it out of himself and towards his attacker. The Russian jumped back still clinging to the rifle. As Carsten lunged forward his right leg gave out and he collapsed to the trench floor. Another volley of pistol shots killed the Russian and the lifeless body fell atop Kap, the gun slamming into his wounded hip.


Klein fought his way over the dead bodies, toward the silent machine gun. The Russians were scrambling frantically out of the trench and running across the open field. He reached the machine gun and let loose upon the fleeing attackers. Several fell beneath the withering stream of bullets, but after a few short bursts the machine gun had expended all of its rounds. For now, ‘Das Reich’ had held.

[Daniel Brennan]

Ah, I like it! Sehr gut!
Write more, plz.

[deutschlandschutze]

Cool winds blew across the land, taking up loose dust and debris along its path. They swirled together to alight upon the ground, only to be taken back up by the next gust. Detached eyes followed their path through the dimming sky. A million thoughts and memories competed for space all at once, amidst the sea of his loneliness. The letter lay in his quivering hand, the paper tarnished by tears, for while Dietrich had been fighting for his life, so too had his mother been fighting for hers. Only, his dear mother did not have a Private Drescher to shoot away her attacker. No, her attacker had been much more determined and much more successful. Kap could offer no solace as he too battled infection which had begun to spread from his wound. He lay on a filthy cot, miles away in a sea of blood and limbs.

No, Dietrich was alone now, sitting in the soft soil, staring into the darkening sky, as clouds gathered over head. Rain drops formulated far above and at the right time, let themselves go, descending to the earth below. They splashed against his face, doing little to displace the dirt that was caked there from a week of constant combat. He wanted to move, to stand, to go home, yet he could do none of them. His muscles refused and his gray jacket turned darker as the rain picked up. A full downpour had arisen and rain fell in sheets soaking everything that lie below. That is where they found him two hours later, in the darkness of night, still clutching the piece of paper. Only now, its letters were contained only within his brain and no longer resided on the parchment.

Stooping low, Klein plucked the paper from his friend’s hand and stuffed it into his breast pocket. Rain drops dripped from the edge of his steel helmet only to be replaced by a dozen more. His field gray tunic had been turned nearly black by moisture contained within it. He lifted Wil up, wrapping his arm around his side, and supported him with his shoulder as they walked back towards the line. It had been an hour since Klein had begun to look for the lost man and he was worried up until he found him. The worry returned as his friend spoke no words and stared fixedly and blankly at the ground ahead.

The pair reached the company bivouac, which was about seven miles behind the front. Warm glows of light poured out the windows of the small huts, whose inhabitants had long fled the area. Several soldiers waved to Klein and he responded with a nod each time. His main focus was on getting Dietrich to bed. He could not let anyone else see him either; the low morale of the unit would sink even lower if they saw him in his condition.

Seeing the two coming, one of the Hoch brothers hobbled to the door of their hut on his crutches and opened the door. He waved with his head to bring Dietrich in. Inside was small and a little cramped for five men but it was cozy and had a fireplace against one wall. A small table stood against the other and a wood burning stove resided in the corner. The door closed and the men were sealed off from the cold outside. Klein eased the dazed man onto a small cot that sat in the corner near the stove. Several field gray blankets were pulled over top of him in an attempt to warm his cold body.

Klein and the Hoch brothers sat around a small table, playing cards and talking.

“Do you think he is O.K.?” asked Emmerich Hoch, looking at Wil. Markus Hoch, with the hurt leg, responded first,

“I think he will be fine. Give him a day’s rest and he will be back to his normal self! It’s Dietrich we are talking about. The man can hold his own you know.”

“After he gets back from home he will be better. I don’t know if he will ever be his normal self again,” piped in Klein.

“Home?” asked Markus.

“Yes, while I was at headquarters today I overheard them chatting and they made a mention of giving him leave,” said Klein.

“Ah, then he is a lucky one. I get a bullet in my leg and I don’t get to go home,” remarked Markus.

“His mother died,” added Klein in a hushed tone. “He has leave to go to her funeral.” Emmerich and Markus both stopped talking and looked at the cards they held in their hands. Klein rose from the table and walked outside. The air was cool after the rain and reminded him of home, a home that Dietrich would be returning to shortly, only a much different one than he had left. A brief wind tousled his hair as he paced, his hand reaching for his breast pocket. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. Reaching into his other breast pocket for his lighter, he stopped. Wet paper met his touch. The folded parchment slid from his pocket as he unfolded it. The ink had run together and very little was intelligible from the page. Klein shredded the paper into tiny bits and threw it into the wind.

The cigarette failed to light several times in the wind. Moisture in the air did little to help him in his endeavor. He threw the cigarette to the ground angrily. His thoughts drifted to his own mother. How long had it been since he had seen her delicate face? Surely it could not have been long, however, it seemed like an eternity. His sister too, he wanted to see his sister. She was a pretty thing, nineteen years old. All they could do was argue as children and now he wanted nothing more than to see her young face and brown hair.

The war was changing him. At first it was not so bad. After this week, he knew that he was different. They all were different and none would ever be the same. The look in a man’s eyes when he knows in a few moments he will breathe his last breath haunted him constantly. In combat, they were not humans on either side. Man became animal, and animals killed to survive. He was not proud of what he had seen or done. It was what was necessary to keep himself alive. These were the thoughts that filled his head as he made his way slowly back toward the hut.

Klein pushed the door open and found Emmerich and Markus still talking at the table. Removing his cap, he sat down next to them.

“Any word of Carsten?” asked Markus.

“Yes, they say he will be back in a day or two,” answered Klein. He was usually the first to find anything out as a result of his close proximity to a number of people at headquarters. “The medicine worked better than they expected and his recovery has been quick.”

“I think it has less to do with the medicine and more to do with his spirit,” said Emmerich. “He is a brave little devil. I haven’t seen him shy away from anything!”

“I miss him so,” said Markus staring at the ceiling. “He always manages to cheer things up a bit. Well I’m tired; we ought to be getting to sleep.” The men rose from the table. Klein blew out the two lamps that were on the table while Markus hobbled painfully over to his cot.

Klein rolled his field gray coat up and put it at one end of his cot to make a pillow for himself. Gently, he laid his head back against it. At the touch of something hard, he suddenly remembered his treat. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a hartkek, a sort of biscuit, which he had saved from his rations. He lay awake, gnawing on the biscuit losing himself in his own thoughts for about an hour. When the hartkek was gone, he rolled over on his side, shut his eyes, and waited for a blessed sleep.

Dietrich awoke early the next morning, before any of his comrades in his hut. He had cried the last night, listening to the others talk when they thought he was asleep. Now he was ashamed of himself, a man now, crying himself to sleep. He studied the thatching of the roof above him. It puzzled him that humans could live in things such as these, and for the time being he was quite glad he was not a Russian. His arm was terribly sore and he was tempted to lay in bad and not get up. It was warm in here, he knew outside would be a different story.
Eventually, his need for fresh air overcame his need for warmth and he convinced himself, grudgingly, to go outside. The air was cool on his face and to his surprise was actually refreshing. He stretched out, glad to be out the cramped quarters of the hut. Placing his cap on his head Dietrich made his way deeper into the village. Few men were up yet. Most were exhausted from the units combat. Even though they had been off the line for a week, the men had not been able to achieve a restful night sleep. As of now, the last night was the first that he could remember being a good full sleep.

A courier came into the village ahead and made eye contact with Dietrich. He approached him quickly,

“Schutze Dietrich Wilhelm?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” said Dietrich, puzzled.

“Here you are,” said the messenger handing Dietrich a letter. Wil quickly read through the letter. He was going on leave back to Germany for seventeen days. When he looked back up, the messenger had vanished, but was replaced by a new sight. His lost friend was walking towards him, a giant smile occupied his face. Dietrich ran to greet him.

“Wil!” yelled his friend.

“Kap! It’s you!” he said excitedly. As he reached the man he wrapped his arms about him in a brotherly embrace. Kap’s eyes searched his face. “I was scared that when I came back you would all be dead,” he whispered in a low tone. For once Dietrich saw him without a smile. Not knowing what to say, Dietrich looked to the hut.

“Come, Kap, I will show you to the others! They have missed you so,” he paused. “I have missed you so.” The brothers set off to be reunited with their other friends.