Twisted Fates [Schlegal]

[Heiko Alkema]

Location: Behind Allied lines near Safi, Morocco.
Time: 10:00
Weather: Clear skies, slight breeze, and fucking hot.

Pain stabbed at Heiko's wounds constantly as the American truck shuttered over the nearly non-existent road. He was a prisoner, captured by these American bastards after a bloody firefight. That's not to say that Heiko had surrendered to them. Far from it, he had received grave wounds and had lost consciousness from a combination of pain, blood loss, and grief. As a consequence, he was now in the back of an American transport with his hands tied behind his back and on his way from the frontlines to some sort of holding camp. He wasn't alone however.

There were five other German prisoners in the truck with him along with one French, and two Italian prisoners. Three Americans were dispersed among the prisoners, one near the back of the truck armed with a rifle, and two others with their backs against the cab armed with submachinguns. The two near the front constantly talked among themselves and pointed to some of the more heavily wounded captives, laughing. Heiko didn't understand a single word pouring out of their mouths but their mocking tone of voice enraged him, but he could nothing about it and simply tried to block it from his mind.

You could tell, just by looking, the manner in which each prisoner had come to be here. Each German had multiple bandages all across their bodies from gunshot wounds and burns. They all had gone down fighting like true Germans. He was proud of these men and could only hope they still respected him after the disaster they were leaving behind them..

One of the Italians was also seriously wounded, and leaned heavily against his uninjured comrade. The healthy Italian had the look of a shattered warrior; he was able to keep his eyes up with a soldier's pride and gall but their was no life behind them as they breifly met Heiko's. No doubt the uninjured soldier had surrendered himself and his friend in hopes of receiving medical aide after a rather fierce firefight. The war was over for both men; one in body, the other in mind.

The Frenchman was an altogether different story. He had no visible injuries and shifted uneasily anytime he found the fortitude to lift his eyes from the floor and make contact with any of the other men. No doubt the man had willingly surrendered to the enemy, possibly even costing some of his more strong-willed compatriots their lives in his bid for survival. This man deserved no mercy. If Heiko hadn't had his hands tied, he would have had his fingers around the man's neck by now. Cowards like that did not deserve the air they took in. The fact that men like this lived and those like Kasper had to die was further proof for Heiko that there was no god.

And then there was the SS man sitting directly across from him. He had been there with Heiko during the encounter that killed most of Heiko's platoon. His name was Schlegal and he had left half of Heiko's Heer platoon to their fiery deaths. The image of their charred corpses was etched into his memory and would likely stay vivid and clear for the rest of his days. And it was all this man's, Schlegal's, fault. Or at least that's what the bitter German soldier believed... wanted to believe...

Schlegal hadn't escaped unscathed either, however. For his efforts back on that ridge he had been just as badly burned as the rest of them. A crusty, blood soaked bandage wrapped around most of his face covering a horrific burn, and bandages covered other various wounds all down the side of his body.

With all the bandages across his face, Heiko couldn't translate the man's expressions. He couldn't read the SS man's thoughts like he could the others and that added to his frustration. He hoped that Schlegal was burning inside as well, with guilt and shame. Heiko would all too gladly put the man out of his misery if that were the case...

Heiko suddenly became conscious that he had been staring at Schlegal for what felt like a solid five minutes. He quickly averted his fire-consumed eyes away, turning his rage filled gaze onto the Frenchman near the back of the truck who immediately noticed and predictably fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Heh, look at the little birdies." Pipped up the until now silent American at the far end of the truck. "Doesn't look like an American bird... must be on of those Limey ones..." mused the solider to himself. Heiko had no idea what he was saying but followed the soldiers eyes into what he could see of the sky outside the truck. Three small specks were visible above the convoy and appeared to be a fair distance away, too far to make out the shape. Heiko shrugged it off and resumed throwing flaming daggers with his eyes at the Frenchman.

[Wilhelm Schlegal]

He had failed his country, he had failed his family, he had failed the Fuher, he had failed himself. He had lead men he had only known for a few hours to their death, men who fought together since the early days of the war. Their families were now without fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons. Children would never see their father’s again and would wonder how they died. They would never see the charred bodies of their fathers, the hell that they literally went through that marked the end of their lives. He went through hell, too.

Wilhelm had a bandage over his left eye and bandages scattered throughout his body. The young soldier was in pain, physically and mentally. He was looking at the wooden floor of the American truck that was transporting them to a prison camp. Who knows what the Americans had in store for them. They seemed to be young and arrogant. Matter of fact Africa was their first conflict against the German war machine. The Afrika Korps had inflicted severe damage to the Americans, but the Allies continued their advance. Wilhelm wondered what they had in store for them. Would they kill them all like the SS does to their POW’s? He had to get out of here, but he was in no condition to move, let alone his hands were tied behind his back.
Wilhelm slowly turned his head to the left to look at the other prisoners that were in the truck. There were 5 other German prisoners along with two Italians and one French soldier. He despised the French most dearly. They killed his father in the First World War and they were all cowards. They surrendered to the Germans quickly, relied on British and American support, and had no will to fight. You could clearly tell that they were cowards just by looking at this French scum. Wilhelm looked at the man from the legs to his face, not noticing any scars. While his comrades died, he probably slipped into American lines with his arms flailing in the air, begging to take him prisoner. Priceless.

Wilhelm caught the eyes of the uninjured Italian soldier. His fellow Italian was severely wounded and was leaning against the uninjured one. The young German met eyes with the Italian and nodded, the Italian just staring and not making any acknowledgement towards him, then continued staring at the tarp that covered the truck. Wilhelm then looked down towards the bottom of the truck again, this time thinking what he had done. He lead men on a suicidal charge against the dug in Americans, getting most of them killed and barely escaping alive. He was lucky to be alive for that matter. God must be watching this young man, for he survived with temporary and ever lasting wounds that would affect him for the rest of his life.

There was no way that the SS would take him back, hell for all they know he was dead. Although they would probably care less that Werhmacht soldiers, they kill cowards that surrender to the enemy. Wilhelm worried about his family. His family would get a letter from the German War Ministry that Wilhelm Schlegal had died in an important battle and died with honor. If the SS do find out he is alive, they will kill him and his family. Plain and simple. That was the least of his worries, though. He had to get out of this by any means necessary.

As Wilhelm looked up, he noticed Unteroffizer Alkema staring at him and when the two caught eyes, the man looked the other way. He must have been staring at him for quite some time. The two hadn’t even said a word to each other since their capture. Couldn’t blame the guy really. The American soldier said something, looking in the far distance of the desert. Wilhelm didn’t bother looking, he could care less at this point.