Fireside [Open]

[Heiko Alkema]

Location: German-Occupied France; Frontline Rear Area
Time: Early evening

The glow of a small campfire warmed Heiko's face and food in the dimming light of the evening. Next to the sergeant sat the the remnants of his platoon's leadership, two corporals out of what used to be a lieutenant, an under-lieutenant, three sergeants, and three corporals. Gefreiters Busse and Okras were all that was left. The last few days had not been kind.

Unteroffizier Alkema rummaged through the pack at his feet and produced a small wooden box and a monogramed silver lighter. The box was worn and faded with more than a few scratches along with a stain that looked suspiciously like blood, but despite its battered appearance it still crisply snapped open as if it were brand new. Inside sat three pristine looking cigarettes. Heiko drew one out himself and held the box out to his companions. Busse started to reach for one before Okras before spoke up,

"You know that those things can kill you, right?"

"Oh, that must be what killed the Leutnant, ja? And Teghtmeyer? And Radecke? And all the others," sneered Heiko back at his subordinate.

"That's not fair, Alkema..." replied Okras in a lowered tone as he averted his eyes away from Heiko.

Despite the exchange, Busse still withdrew empty-handed and muttered, "Thanks anyway, Alkema."

Heiko angrily snapped shut the cigarette box and shoved it back in his pack before lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

At that moment the platoon's only surviving marksman popped out from the growing darkness and plopped down next to Okras. With a beaming smile on his face, he presented his prize to the group.

"Managed to sweet talk a pretty little thing from the village to share a few goodies with us. I ate most of them already," he smirked, "but I did manage to save a bit of this pie for the rest of you!" The smile left his face when he caught Heiko's stormy glare. "What's his problem this time?" he whispered to Okras.

"The usual," Okras whispered back. Heiko heard them but ignored it, opting to focus on his smoking instead.

“Don’t lie, Stern. You stole that, didn’t you,” poked Busse. Stern didn’t deny it, only resumed his beaming. The conversation was cut short by the approach of a stranger. All eyes fell upon the new member of their little campfire.

[☠ Kyle Steinbeck]

Midday had come and gone within an instant, the day it’s self was passing quicker by the moment and it was already approaching early evening as the wind-chill picked up a biting breeze and the sky began to dim as the sun headed further towards the horizon. Kyle Steinbeck wearily arose from his sheltered recluse, having slept a good part of the day in a farmer’s barn on the top floor. Peering from the small opening of the window above, he strode a long gaze wayward to the crop fields outside and squinted to stare beyond to what seemed to be a small town; making a mental note to himself, he decided to be sure to head in the opposite direction.

He observed the terrain around himself from the vantage point and decided his next course of action, his next planned route that would hopefully take him back to a more familiar friendly territory. Kyle had been wandering aimlessly for the past four or five days, nearly a week, after becoming separated from his convoy during an aerial bombardment by the Allied forces. There wasn’t many survivors after the carnage and it didn’t take long for Allied forces to push through their surrounding terrain thereafter, having become aware of enemy presence. Kyle didn’t quite anticipate how close to the enemy they had been all along, needless to say it wasn’t his fault, as the convoy was under direct command of Hauptmann Swarz whom was now another statistic of fatalities in this war.

There wasn’t enough survivors to form a counter-attack on the approaching enemy infantry after the aerial bombardment and those whom did survive were a-loss to a limb or numbed sense of feeling. For those able bodied they scattered in haste and disbanded in several directions to hopefully dishearten any means of the enemy making chase. Kyle did stick with two soldiers for a couple of days, but soon found himself alone when they decided to abandon him after the second night whilst he slept; perhaps Kyle being an officer brought too much heat? If they were captured, then the men alongside him would have certainly been detained for ‘further’ questioning to any knowledge they may have been privy to hearing or perhaps they simply didn’t like being around an officer within the circumstances in general. The odds would have been more in their favour to do the dangerous jobs.

Regardless Kyle marched on and decided it would be far safer to travel at night and hide during the day. It had kept him alive the past few days gone, so he was doing something right. Kyle had ditched his uniform many nights ago already, but carried a few ruminants of his old uniform in hope he could prove who he was once he found more accommodating friends. He also retained his Luger pistol and holster, but had it concealed under a small brown jacket he had pinched from the seat of a tractor in the field, the farmer must have left it on the seat for those rainy days he had to venture out to work in the fields.

Leaving the barn he headed through the cornfields and away from the village’s direction and off into unknown terrain. He pulled the small brown coat around himself tightly to try and hold the warmth, his mind wandering onto the subject of hunger as he thought of food, pondering whether he was making a bad decision in heading away from the village. He could have found some food and means of travel? No, he had to be careful - he kept reassuring himself, he was making the right decision, his gut told him so. It didn’t take long until Kyle noticed a lonesome figure walking in front of him in the short distance. He was dressed in what seemed to be a uniform and upon further inspection, he recognised the lapels and colour of the tunic being German orientated - Wehrmacht to be precise. Kyle wanted to run and scream at the man, but suppressed his emotions in doing so, knowing he could startle the soldier and get shot quicker than he could shout for help. Instead, Kyle watched with keen eager eyes and followed the man silently, knowing the could lead him back towards decent military civilisation.

Kyle followed him for twenty minutes, his mouth filling with saliva as he watched the soldier eating food and barely dropping a crumb for him to scavenge. Then he noticed the campfire with other people, more soldiers and they were men cut from the same cloth of the Wehrmacht! Kyle knew what he was about to do next would be testing and dangerous, but there was no other way to do it any easier. Fumbling through his pockets he pulled out his Oberleutnant shoulder boards he’d kept from his discarded uniform and his bloodied identification papers that had became sodden in blood from helping the wounded on the fateful night of the bombardment. It was barely readable now, but through the dried blood the emblem of the Third Reich was distinguishable. It was all Kyle had to help identify himself, them and his Luger pistol…

Approaching the campfire he held his hands up and cleared his throat hoping to gain their attention as he approached, not wanting to startle them one bit. With a German tongue he spoke softly and perhaps a little weakly behind bloodshot eyes and a dry mouth. “Soldiers - brothers” he started, looking to the men one by one, trying not to seem as though he meant them any harm. “I’m…” he went to tell them who he was, but stopped briefly and presented the bloodied identification and shoulder boards he had clutched in one of his hands towards the men, hoping he didn’t make them jump as he swung his arm forwards from holding it up. “I’m Oberleutnant Steinbeck” he stated clearly, knowing by now they would probably would have wanted to roll around laughing as he stood before them in his tattered state. “My convoy was attacked, disbanded. I have been surviving the past four… Five nights alone” he rephrased himself, having lost count exactly.

Keeping one of his hands held up and his other hand held forwards with the shoulder boards and identification, he looked to them in hope they wouldn’t begin ripping him apart and proclaiming him to be some sort of spy. Then again, what spy would do such a thing he was doing? He waited for their response in fear, patiently.

[Heiko Alkema]

They might be relaxing by a nice fire, but there was still a war on after all. The entire party instinctively reached for their weapons as the stranger approached; Heiko’s hand slipped to his hip for his own Luger while the rest put their hands on their rifles. For the most part no one actually drew their weapons with the exception of Okras, ever cautious, who put his rifle in his lap. There was a second of awkward silence before the stranger spoke, holding his hands up limply with papers in one of them. His impeccable German was one mark for him, at least.

“Soldiers - brothers... I’m… I’m Oberleutnant Steinbeck. My convoy was attacked, disbanded. I have been surviving the past four… five nights alone,” spoke the newcomer weakly.

Heiko shared a look with Busse, who had the same skeptical expression. Okras shifted his rifle’s barrel a little more toward the stranger while looking to Heiko for some hint as to what to do. The man looked like he hadn’t eaten for a good while, which again, added some validity to his statement. Heiko looked again at Busse and nodded while making it clear that he wasn’t removing his hand from his holstered weapon, “Check the papers.” Busse stood and approached the man slowly leaving his rifle behind him as a measure of good faith. No need to make the situation worse than it was, besides, Okras was certainly going to have the drop on him if anything went pear-shaped.

Busse carefully took the identification papers and what looked like ripped shoulder boards from a German uniform. Seemingly satisfied but wanting a second opinion, Busse retreated back to the fire with the items and gave them to Heiko.

The sergeant peered down at the papers and the patches. The man claimed to be an Oberleuntant, the papers seemed to corroborate that claim and the shoulder boards matched as well. He couldn’t quite make out the name on the document due to the low light and what was probably dried blood soaked through the few pages, but it did look vaguely like K-something Steinbeck. Heiko took a moment to study the man for a another second.

After the pause Heiko stood up and saluted the stranger, “Heil. Open up a can of food for him, Okras. Stern, any of the pie left? Looks like he’s had almost as rough a time as we have,” Heiko turned his attention back the the Oberleutnant, “I hope you will excuse our suspicion. We had had our own spell of misfortune as of late. Please, help yourself to some of our rations. There’s a friendly supply outpost not too far from here, so it’s no burden to us. Willkommen zuruck, Herr Oberleutnant.”

Okras removed a can of dehydrated meats and a pack of crackers from his pack, the standard halb-eiserne or half-iron ration, and walked them over to the Oberleutnant.

[☠ Kyle Steinbeck]

Nervously waiting within the unpredictable situation, Kyle’s tired and wary eyes watched the men silently as they spoke to one another within the same nervous context. Someone named Busse amongst the three solemn men around the campfire was tasked with checking the papers and ruminant shoulder boards to his once glorious uniform that he had loosely presented to them within one of his hands. Thankfully Busse left his rifle where he was once sitting and approached Kyle with a more mild mannered posture, this allowed Kyle to breathe a little easier for the moment.

As Busse clinched the identification papers and shoulder boards from his hand to make the necessary inspections, Kyle remained silent and merely controlled his fluttering nerves. He knew the odds weren’t exactly within his favour, but he also knew a lot of soldiers had deserted the Reich’s cause once the Allies had made a vast invasion and advance into France. Perhaps these three idle soldiers were deserters? It was a thought that crossed Kyle’s mind ‘after’ he should have made the risk assessment in approaching them, but he was tired, hungry and weak. There wasn’t many choices he had and risks were always going to be a major necessity.

The soldier inspecting his items moved away to a now apparent Unteroffizier amongst the group to show him the bloodied papers and perhaps less than fashionable shoulder boards. Unlike the soldier - Busse - the Unteroffizier seemed to make a slightly longer inspection of the papers and observed Kyle shortly after, then without warning the Unteroffizier straightened up and saluted Kyle with a hardy “Heil“, almost causing him to jump out of his skin as his tiresome eyes widened in fear of danger, thinking he was about to be set upon by the soldiers.

A can of food was ordered and Kyle couldn’t help but feel a little bewildered still. He tried to smile in relief that he had finally found his way home, in a manner of speaking, but all he could muster-up was a vague and weak smile to his new companions. The second soldier - Okras, amongst the three gathered some rations and brought them over to Kyle; he weakly accepted the dried meat and crackers with a gentle grasp. “Danke”[/b] he thanked with a soft tone to Okras, before looking to the Unteroffizier who apologised for having to take measured suspicious steps. “If you wasn’t suspicious, then I would have been worried” Kyle reassured the Unteroffizier as he moved closer to the campfire with shuffled steps. Bending his knees he fell onto his bottom and allowed his legs to fold under himself. The smell of the food given to him was glorious, but he never thought he’d be so happy to have military rations though.

He was just about to dig-in into the food with his dirtied nimble fingers when he froze, looking to the soldiers with an almost affirmative stare he would have given to his enemy. “Where are my manners, what are your names?” he requested, but the tone of his voice most probably made it sound like an order. Kyle wasn’t one to forget good gratitude in a hurry and despite being incredibly hungry, he wanted to know whom he owed his good grace and thanks too. “I’m not sure I would have lasted another day” he mumbled with a sighed breath, dreading to think of the consequences.

[Heiko Alkema]

Heiko sat in a bemused silence as the officer in front of him savagely tore into the rations without an ounce of civility anywhere to be seen. This was probably the closest any of the men there had gotten to catching an officer with his pants down, perhaps better even. Though not everyone sat quietly.

"You shouldn't eat so fast, Herr Leutnant," spoke up Stern in a strangely cheerful way, "Your stomach can't handle the shock, and you'll end up worse still. I did the same thing after getting lost in the Sahara. Not the least bit fun, I assure you." Stern added a solemn head shake with the last sentence.

The comments perked up the officers wits, and regained his composure. Heiko was almost disappointed.

"Where are my manners, what are your names? I’m not sure I would have lasted another day"

Heiko took the reins of the conversation, "We are 2nd Platoon, 1st Grenadier Company, 21st Panzer. Unteroffizier Heiko Alkema, platoon leader;" he then gestured around the group, "Gefreiter Dietmar Busse, 2nd squad leader; Gefreiter Dieter Okras, 3rd squad leader; and Grenadier Jochen Stern, platoon marksman" Each soldier nodded as his name was mentioned.

Then a thought struck the sergeant. "Steinbeck? Leutnant Steinbeck of 4th Platoon? Schisse, your platoon was at the head of the column, we were bringing up the rear a few kilometres behind. We didn't think there were any survivors up front. You are a lucky man, Herr Leutnant."

[☠ Kyle Steinbeck]

The Oberleutnant's stomach growled as the food flourished into his system, sounding almost like a bear awakening from it's long winter slumber. Licking his fingers one by one, he tried to pace himself and slow down, knowing full-well that Stern's words of wisdom were indeed true and the aftermath of the meal he was tucking into, may as-well be poison if he ate too fast at once.

Like a roll-call, the Unteroffizier introduced each man in the small squad and Oberleutnant Steinbeck made an effort to try and remember the names to the faces, he owed them that much and then the Unteroffizier spoke up, as if he had a sudden euphoric moment; "Steinbeck? Leutnant Steinbeck of 4th Platoon? Schisse, your platoon was at the head of the column, we were bringing up the rear a few kilometres behind. We didn't think there were any survivors up front. You are a lucky man, Herr Leutnant."

Giving a winded exhale, Oberleutnant Steinbeck placed the canteen tin upon the ground and looked to the Unteroffizier with a grim reminiscing look, as he remembered the onslaught and carnage of their convoy's destruction. "Ja... I am lucky to have survived. Our convoy was bombarded by Allied fighter-bombers patrolling the skies of the Allied advancements. Hauptmann Swarz was our acting commanding officer, I don't even think he knew how close to the enemy we were. It wasn't long after the bombing, that pesky American infantry zeroed in on our position." he paused to think back for a moment, recalling a snippet of the night it had all happened, like a black and white mono-reel movie where his subconscious had recorded parts of the event unwittingly.

Letting another exhale pass his lips heavily, he looked to the Unteroffizier with a bewildered look on his face. "We had no chance in hell - I did escape with some other men, but one by one, they dropped like flies or deserted" but that was enough of his story, he dreaded to think of it any longer anyhow. "So... What are your orders out here?" he questioned, wondering what their squad was tasked with doing.