Sgt. Pauls gripped his Lee-Enfield, now muddied and fatigued by war. On more than one occasion, it had saved his life in the War. He checked his ammunition. HIs face bloodied, sweat trickling down his brows. The trench shook and trembled with the thunderous thunder of the German Panzers. “Looks like this is the end Paulie” Cpl. Harry crouched beside him, smiling. “We are about to be overrun by Germans and you’re still smiling?” Harry gripped his shoulders. “Hey! Look around you.” He motioned to the trench full of men of their Platoon, all waiting like them in the dim light, faces grim. I’m in company with the finest chaps any mamma could produced. Look at her” Harry pulled out his Colt M1911. On the grip was a clear layer, inside a yellowed faded picture of a woman, smiling. “My Rosa. I’m here because of her. So she doesn’t have to live in fear . And we are winning! I’ll be home to her soon. So you tell me why I shouldn’t laugh and smile? I survived till now didn’t I? So did you. Live to fight another day, Paulie.”
Harry nodded, getting up. “ALRIGHT MEN!” He shouted. “Our Colonel and Lieutenant both are out of commission. We have no CO! But what we do have, is our rifles!” He raised his rifle confidently. “And our wits and our will to never give up! The Germans may have tanks, but we have YOU! The finest and bravest lot of chaps, both British and Yanks. Our courage burns brighter than there bloody bombs those goddamn Fritz drop. I know we aren’t much, but when history looks back on this War, they’ll remember us. Our fight. This is it boys!” He raised his rifles and shouted a war cry. The men all responded, as the earth shook more over them. “Let’s slot those bloody Jerries! Charge!”
The entire Platoon rose out and charged out. The riflemen moved slowly, picking out Jerries one by one. The machine gunners led the charge mowing down the incoming Germans. The German infantry was caught by surprise. It had expected an easy victory. But the Allied platoon, charging down on them, having no other choice but to fight to survive, fought like a cornered beast. Paul sprinted from cover to cover, shooting Jerries one after the other. Harry was by his side, working together as a team, covering him when he had to reload. “It’s a bloody good fight mate!” Harry shouted. “We almost got them!”. He left Paul, charging forward with a mighty cry when, the first tank fired.
Paul was floating. The sound of bullets, bombs, screams and shouts, dimmed, as if he was underwater. I’m finally going to heaven he thought. He closed his eye, letting go of his rifle. He felt his body weightless, on the arms of God. He waited, eyes closed, then felt a crash. Confused he opened his eyes. He was still in the battlefield. His rifle lay a little distance away from him, the wood splintered. His faithful sidekick, his trusted partner, now lay broken beyond repair. The sounds were still muffled. He turned to see Harry, his uniform soaked in blood, impaled by a wooden splinter in his chest, his face lifeless, his eyes, empty.
“Damnit Paul! We have to retreat!” He heard someone say. The sounds were getting clearer. He looked up to see Wallcroft’s face looming over him. “Harry’s gone mate! You will be too. Come on, we have to retreat!” Paul sat up shakily. “Bazooka. Gimme your bazooka!” he mumbled. “Are you crazy? You can’t take down–” Paul grabbed Wallcroft’s shirt. “Don’t tell me what to do!” He spat out blood. “I bloody outrank you, give me your bazooka, that’s an order Private” Wallcroft looked at him as if he was crazy. And in his mind, Paul thought he probably was. But he wasn’t going to run away without taking out at least one tank. He grabbed Wallcroft’s bazooka and crawled to a ditch. There, aiming carefully, he fired. The rocket hit the tank on it’s side, blowing it up. “Hell yeah!” He shouted. His hands shaking, he reloaded another one when a tank fired nearby his position. Paul was blown off his feet. He held on to the bazooka, falling, rolling. When he looked up, he saw a tank barrelling straight at him, it’s turret raised at him. He quickly hoisted the rocket aiming it straight at it. He was certain now, his death imminent. He felt calm, an overwhelming feeling of peace. His hands steady, he waited.
The tank thundered down on it’s path. The ground beneath Paul shook, and he stumbled and fell. The rocket misfired and flew away harmlessly. Paul found himself face to face with a 60 ton monster bearing down at him. He closed his eyes waiting for his end, but the thunder suddenly stopped. He opened his eyes to see the tank has stopped a few meters in front of him. The hatch was opening. The Germans were coming out of the tank with their hands raised. “Wait!” They shouted. “Don’t shoot! We surrender!” Paul looked at them shocked. Gradually from the tanks, all 5 of them, had stopped and now the Germans were coming out. The few infantry that were left were looking around confused, but the surrendering Germans called out something in German, and the infantry nodded, raising their hands. The one of the men from the tank stepped forward.
“Don’t shoot! We do not want to fight you!” he spoke in an accented English. Paul approached him cautiously. “Oh yeah? What’s been happening till now?” Paul shouted back. The men that survived all were cautiously forward, weapons ready. The Germans too were poised, but were watching their apparent leader talk to Paul. “Look. We don’t want to fight. Germany has already lost. But our Commander refuses to obey orders and continues to push us more into allied territories. And when your men mowed down our infantry, I radioed the Commander, and he ordered a suicide mission. We are proud Germans. We so not take lives for no reason. We decided to surrender.” Paul looked warily at them. “You are Nazis. How do we trust you?” “NO!” the man cried. “Most of my men opposed Hitler. And now we are forced to fight for him or die. Our loyalty to him was made under bond of death! That’s why the Commander hates us.” Paul didn’t move, eyeing the men. “Look” the German held up his hands. “As a sign of trust” He then shouted an order. The men all laid down their weapons.
“See? We want peace too. Just like you. I know, you think of us as embodiment of evil. And I will not blame you. Fuhrer has done his job perfectly. But we are proud German, proud of our heritage, and we do not wish any harm on any Jew, British, or anyone. ” Paul looked unimpressed. His platoon had gathered behind him, their weapons still poised. “Paul! Let’s slot these Jerry bastards!” A voice called from behind. “Shut it Gary!” He shouted back. “Why now? After killing so many men?” Hans looked down. “We were afraid of repercussions. But seeing so many of men die for Commander’s bloodlust, I decided to surrender.” “What about your Commander?” “My platoon is going rouge. We cut all communications with Base.” “Okay fine. Tell your men to form a columns. My men will check everyone. And Mr-” “In your British terms, it will be Lieutenant. Franz Gruber.” “Okay Lieutenant Gruber, if any of your men does anything that harms my men, my men will kill.” “Understood Mr?” “Sergeant Paul Adams” Hans nodded “Like your General?” Paul nodded.
“Sergeant Paul!” Hans walked to where Paul was sitting in the field. They declared a ceasefire. Both the Germans and the British agreed to stop fighting. The Germans had received intelligence that Axis powers would surrender very soon. The Germans agreed to share their food and supplies if the British allowed them to retreat after the eventual surrender, and not take them as POW. “I believe this belongs to your side” He handed him Harry’s M1911. “A brave man. So were everyone who perished. A lot of unnecessary lives have been lost in this futile war.” Paul wordlessly took the pistol, and stuffed it in his bag. “I have a gift for you. A peace offering, if you will” He held out a grubby dusty bottle of beer. “Beer from breweries of Bavaria.” Paul hesitated. Hans laughed. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll take the first sip” He opened the cork and took a swig. “Ahh those Bavarians! Here” He offered Paul the bottle. Paul hesitatingly took a sip. “It’s- it’s, I can’t even” Paul looked surprised. “Yes. Beer is our pride. What is that English saying you have. Do not buy a book by it’s cover?” Paul laughed a little. “It’s judged. Do not judge.” “Ah makes more sense” he said, offering him some more. “It’s this thing that keeps us Germans from fainting in war. So Paul, what will you do after the War?” Paul smiled. “Get back to my wife and son. Maybe get a job as a teacher. You?” Hans look down. “I had a dream of being a musician. Like my father. He played for the Kaiser once” Paul raised his eyebrow. Hans went on. “He was a violinist. But then Hitler came, and I was forced to join the Wehrmatcht. And now, I’m a war criminal.” “But that isn’t fair. You didn’t want to fight this war.” Paul protested.
“Paul, the world isn’t like that. And I have sinned, even if it was by force. I know God can forgive me, but your governments won’t. It will be like last time.” he sighed. “So what will you do?” Hans looked at his hands. “I’ll escape to some other country. Me and my men. Once Germany surrenders, we will disperse. Belgium, Poland, France. I know Dutch and French. I’ll hide in Belgium. I don’t know of my men.” They sat in silence, drinking the beer in silence. “All Germans aren’t Nazi, you know. ” Hans spoke. “I know you all think that, but it’s not true. Me, my men, we all share similar stories.” Paul nodded. “I know it doesn’t absolve me of what I have done. I should have stood up to Hitler sooner.” “Well the Allied did create a nasty mess of Germany last time. All your Hitler needed was the right words” “Rightly so! People were angry. Hitler promised them blood. But beyond the jagged edges of war, there are still men willing to see through the lunacy, willing to stand against the tide.” Hans took a swig. “They didn’t survive. My brother-” He choked. “Hitler killed many of his own countrymen. I was lucky. I lived. But at what cost?”
“We should hold a funeral for our brothers” Paul said getting up. “What do you mean?” Hans looked confused. “A sign of ultimate brotherhood. German and British troops, burying their brethren together. What do you say?” Hans nodded. “I will speak to my men. Tomorrow at noon, then?” Hans nodded. “No one can know of this. History will paint us as evil Nazis, and deservedly so. But this ultimate testament” “Shall remain hidden, as this graveyard, known to only whose who have seen the horror with their eyes and seen something good come out.” Paul finished, shaking Hans’s hand.
The next morning, after they buried their men, and held proper funeral, Paul’s platoon received the news of Germany’s surrender. Hans and Paul both rejoiced. “So this is it, my friend. We must vanish” Hans shook Paul’s hand. “If you find a good place to stay, my address is 45 Wickwood Avenue, Yorkshire. Write to me one day.” Hans smiled. “Of course my friend. Oh and something for you.” He handed him a paper package. “I know these are quite a collectors item in West, and can fetch a hefty price.” Inside, was a Luger Pistol. “It’s mine. I do not need to be reminded of this War. It’s of no use to me now. But I hope it may come of some help.” Paul beamed. “But you are an Officer, how can you surrender your sidearm, to your enemy?” “Paul, I do not wish, nor want to be any officer. Right now, I am nobody. This is a new life for me. I do not wish to carry any vestige of my past life.”
After Hans and his men all vanished back into the trees, Paul turned to Harry’s grave. “We won Harry!” He knelt beside it. He took out Harry’s pistol. “Here you go, my brother.” He dug a bit and buried Harry’s pistol with him. “You can rest now. Rosa will live free. Because of you. I know we hated Germans, but there are good people both sides. So I thought.” Paul then took out Hans’s Luger, and buried it beside Harry’s M1911. “Here, on your grave, I spark a flame of brotherhood for all humanity. A grave of an fallen British soldier dug by a German and a Britisher, buried with a Luger and an M1911. I promise you Harry,” he said, a tear streaking across his cheek. “I will keep this flame alive. I will unite the two worlds, no matter how impossible it seems. Because no one thought a German tank commander and a British sergeant could ever stand each other. At your grave, we part, friends, for life. Rest in peace.” He got up. “Godspeed, my brother”
Stories are meant to be told 