War Stories

[Franconicus]

THE CROSSER

Every strategist needs information about the enemy, his strength, his units, his deployment, his moral and, last not least, his plans. Even details can be essential. Without that look behind the lines, General Staff is blind, unable to make reasonable operation plans.

In former time, it was task of the light cavalry to gather information. It was able to operate behind the lines, to spot enemy movements and to bring prisoners. Static warfare made ended this. Fortified positions with barricades and mines made it impossible for the light cavalry to cross the lines. Static warfare almost put out this branch of service.

However, even in static warfare, General staff needs information. Aero planes filled in the blank. Before the Great War, they were only a pet of some officers. However, in the static warfare, aeroplanes were the only ones who could get information about the enemies. Flying over the barricades, they were able to make pictures of the enemy, his deployment and his movements. In some respects, information from air reconnaissance was more accurate and reliable than reconnaissance from light squadrons had ever been before. However, up to now planes could not make prisoners.

Air reconnaissance could not deliver information about the moral of the enemy or about his plans for the future. Staff insisted to get information from prisoner. However, in static warfare it was almost impossible to get prisoners. Man had optimized war machinery to kill thousands in an extremely short time with machineguns, artillery or gas; but this machinery was not designed to capture one individual alive. Defense was deep, made to make it impossible to cross the front. Even ten thousands could pass these death zones only after long bombardment and with terrible casualties.

Here Alfons Hinterseher came into play. He was a high skilled specialist. His subject was crossing the lines and capturing single soldiers. Alfons Hinterseher was a crosser.

Alfons Hinterseher was corporal. No one thought that he was destined for a leading position. However, on his sector he was a virtuoso. Many times, he had crossed the fronts and managed to come back alive. Most times, he brought along captured enemies. A few times this lead to information rated as ‘very important’ by the General Staff. Alfons Hinterseher had more decorations than most of the people in the Staff.

In May 1916, the front was quiet. While Germans and French killed themselves in futile efforts to control Verdun, at the Somme there were no major combat operations. The Germans had been forced to give off troops to the Battle of Verdun. Now it was spring and the German generals became nervous. They knew that the British had superior strength and they feared they would use it for an invasion.

When generals became nervous, they called for more information. And they called for Alfons Hinterseher. Therefore, Alfons Hinterseher got ready. He had his pistol and some hand grenades. In addition, most important, his stiletto. He started his excursion at dusk. The first part was easy. Alfons Hinterseher knew the terrain as he had known the paths in his Bavarian homeland. He passed the barricades and the minefields; he had to bypass some big shell-holes. He passed the advanced positions. Now he was in no man’s land. He lay on the ground and waited. He had to wait a long time and once again, he wondered about this crazy war. So many men died and still the end was not near.

Alfons Hinterseher was not a genius. He did not understand why all this dying and suffering was unavoidable. His company leader had tried to explain it to him. He remembered that it started with the assassination of an Austrian prince. However, he could not recall why Germans and British laid vis-à-vis now, waiting for a chance to kill each other. Smarter spirits than he was had thought about that. Although Alfons Hinterseher did not understand the reason of this war, he would pull his duty.

Alfons Hinterseher was still sitting in his shell-hole. He was waiting. This evening he had to wait for almost an hour. Then he saw what he was waiting for; the British patrol. Five men, slowly climbing through the crater landscape. They were close; Alfons Hinterberger could identify the strange contour of their helmets. He could have killed them with one accurate hand grenade throw. Alternatively, he could have warned the German guards. However, he did nothing. His task was not to kill, his task was to capture alive. Therefore, he waited, until the patrol was gone. Then he continued his route. He crossed the no man’s land and neared the British position. Now it became more dangerous and Alfons Hinterseher pushed himself slowly further. Everywhere a bad surprise could be lurking. The hay-wire circuit had some big holes. Alfons Hinterseher fled from them. These holes were often protected by mines or advanced positions. Alfons Hinterseher made a new hole. This took a while, but it was much safer.

From time to time, a flare lightened the night. Then Alfons Hinterseher pressed his body close to the earth. When the light was gone, he continued his work. Finally, he passed the last barricades. He was now near the advanced positions. Slowly he bypassed them. The men at these advanced positions were much too alert to be taken by surprise. This night his target was the main trench.

Alfons Hinterseher passed a big shell-hole. Two months ago, he had had to spend a whole day there. He had been on a similar mission. However, the Tommies had started to charge the German lines. Alfons Hinterseher had stayed in his shell-hole and pretended to be dead. After two hours, the Tommies had returned. The sun had been raising and Alfons Hinterseher had had to stay in his hole. It was March and the hole had been half-full of water. Alfons Hinterseher had not been able to raise his head because he had been right between the British positions. Therefore, he had had to wait for the night. Then he had returned to the positions of his unit.

Sometimes Alfons Hinterseher reflects on the war. When the war had started, everyone had expected that it would be like the last one, a mobile warfare. Everybody had been enthusiastic, everybody was sure that German superiority in intellect and strategy would win this war soon. Now it was a battle of mass. Dying was automized. The strategists traded ten thousands for some hectares land. Single soldiers did not matter.

Alfons Hinterseher was the exception. While the others fought 'en masse', he fought alone. He had his own night warfare. Alfons Hinterseher liked that. He was a loner. He never had liked the military drill or the commanding. He did his job and he only had to rely on himself.

Alfons Hinterseher reached the main trench. He stopped and listened. Nothing. On his right side, a machine gun began to fire. However, it was several hundred meters away and Alfons Hinterseher did not care. He only concentrated on the trench in front of him. After a minute or two, the machine gun stopped firing.

Alfons Hinterseher waited. He waited for someone to pass by. Someone he could capture. If he was lucky, then it was a single soldier; maybe even an officer who controlled the guards. If he was not, it was a couple of soldiers. Then Alfons Hinterseher had to decide whether he would let them pass or he would kill them. With one exception, of course. Killing someone was nothing special. He had done this many times before. And always it had been in close combat. He would use the stiletto.

Alfons Hinterseher waited for half an hour. Nothing happened. No one passed by. He finally decided to get closer. Cautious he crawled along the trench. Finally, he reached a dugout. It was not big, just enough for four soldiers and a machine gun. Alfons Hinterseher slipped into the trench; he moved silently to the dugout and threw a glance into it. Soldiers had built a table and two chairs out of caissons. One soldier was sitting at the table. Several preserves and a loaf of bread stood in front of him. His gun and equipment were hanging at the wall. There was no other soldier in the dugout.

Alfons Hinterseher looked forwards and backwards. No one was near. He took his stiletto and stepped into the dugout. The British soldier, in fact he was from Northern Ireland, was upset to see a German uniform in front of him. Then he took one of the preserves he had just opened and pushed it into the direction of Alfons Hinterseher.

There were not many things to take Alfons Hinterseher by surprise. He looked at the Irish, and then he looked at the food and back to the Irish again. The Irish slowly took a piece of bread and took a bite. Then he laid the bread in front of Alfons Hinterseher, too.

Alfons Hinterseher sat down. He put the stiletto on the table, took the preserve and started to eat. Both men ate slowly, cautiously watching each other. Them, when they had become familiar with the situation, they ate faster, as fast as hungry soldiers normally do. When the meal was finished, Alfons Hinterseher stood up, took his stiletto and turned around. After some seconds, he disappeared in the night. He was on his dangerous way back.

The Irish looked after him for a while. Then he cleared the table and put away the empty preserves.

[matteus the inbred]

interesting idea...it started to read a bit like Tom Clancy and then we got down to one guy doing what he does. hopefully Alfons will 'eliminate' some poor sod next time instead of sharing jam with him.
btw, did you mean to use the term 'en gros', or is 'en masse' correct?

[Franconicus]

Probably 'en masse' is right. Thanks!

[Ludens]

Impressive. I though the ending was a bit too fast compared to the slow pace of the rest of the story, but otherwise it is very good.

[Vladimir]

A very suprising and touching end. Bloody Irish! Giving away the king's food to the enemy!

[Franconicus]

Impressive. I though the ending was a bit too fast compared to the slow pace of the rest of the story, but otherwise it is very good.

I see. I tried to build it that way: A very general introduction, slowly increasing the strain as he crosses the lines, then when the strain has reached its max there is the unpredictable turn and an abrupt end. I think the story would be boring if I went on with long descriptions.

By the way: I read that this story has a true core. The message is that thankfulness is a very strong motivation. Sometimes it can save your freedom and your live

[matteus the inbred]

By the way: I read that this story has a true core. The message is that thankfulness is a very strong motivation. Sometimes it can save your freedom and your live

you mean it has an ultimately optimistic theme? even a cold-blooded killer can sometimes be motivated to share lunch with an enemy instead of killing him. I agree, it's nicely different from a Schwarzenegger-type mercilessly terminating everyone, eg.

[Franconicus]

MISFORTUNE IN HUNTING

The Merlin was running smooth. Lieutenant James Rutherford was feeling comfortable and safe. The instruments showed that everything was under control. He made a turn and looked around. No other plane was in sight. He re-checked his position. Everything was fine.

He was only a couple of miles away from his parent’s house. He smiled as he imagined that his mother and his father would look up into the evening sky and watch the plane. Certainly, they would think of him. They took pride in him. Her youngest son was lieutenant at the Royal Air Force. A fighter pilot. Fighting for King and Country.

Lieutenant James Rutherford sighed. He had passed his training two weeks ago. So far, his career had been anything but glorious. After two days at his unit, his squadron had had to cover the radar-installations at the coast. He had been flying with them. As soon as they had reached the operation area, there had been Me109 from all directions. The dogfight had begun. The British fighters began turning and soon he had lost contact to his wingmen. Actually he had even lost orientation and for a moment he had not known where was up and where was down. His plane had stalled and he had been glad when his plane had been horizontal again. Right then a volley had hit his plane. The Merlin had caught fire almost immediately. He had tried to put it out, but within seconds, the complete front part had been flamed. He had deboarded. Fortunately, the parachute had opened. He had touched ground safely and besides some burns, he had been uninjured. After five days, he had returned to his squadron.

He looked around once more. No other plane was in sight. He looked at the setting sun. He had to hurry or he would miss his target.

After his return, everybody had been nice to him. At first, he had been relieved. However, soon he had had the feeling that they had treated him like a rookie, like a complete beginner. He was a man. He wanted to fight.

After a couple of minor recon missions, he had had his second combat this morning. The Huns had been sending a bomber group and his squadron was ordered to intercept them. Some Spits were ordered to take care about the German fighters; they should concentrate on the bombers.

This mission had sounded much easier. Attack bombers! They had arisen. Then someone had called “Bombers! In front of us, below!” He had looked around but had not seen anything. He almost had lost contact to his wingmen as they had started to turn. Then there had been chaos in the radio. Everyone had been screaming. Lieutenant James Rutherford had not been able to understand a word. His wingman had made a sharp turn and he had followed. Then a shadow had flashed by. He had identified it as a German fighter. “This was a near thing!” he had thought. Panic had taken possession of him. It had taken a while until he had realized that he had lost contact to the squadron. He had turned his head – nothing. Suddenly he had seen the tracers of a machine gun burst. Right in front his propeller, coming from below. He had pulled the plane up. More volleys from below, coming from different directions, three, four, five different directions. He had made a turn and seen that he was 400 feet over the bomber formation. The Germans had fired at him as if he was a clay pigeon. He had wondered what to do. Sweat had been on his brow and on his hands. He had been too slow. He had had to dive, straight through the Germans! He had heard patter at his engine, and then patter at his tail. For a moment, he had been flying straight through the German bomber group. Then he had been loosing altitude and gaining speed. He had noticed more hits, and then it had been over. He had been flying low. He had turned and had seen many planes turning at high altitude. None had taken care of him. A couple of minutes later the Merlin had announced that he would not work any longer. Lieutenant James Rutherford had to touch down at a meadow, 70 miles from his home base.

When he had returned to his squadron his commander had left no doubt that two lost planes were enough and that the RAF would not tolerate more. He had told the lieutenant that he would get a new chance as soon as possible to make amends.

In the afternoon, he had been ordered to start again. To test a brand new plane. After he had been flying about an hour he had received a message from the air control. A single German bomber had been flying at the coast, direction north. Only a few miles from his position.

This was his chance. A single German bomber! He would shoot him, he would pick him off and then he would return as winner. Nobody would laugh about him; nobody would treat him like a child. Oh, his Mom and Dad would be so proud!

However, first he had to find him. He would have to hurry, night began to fall. He was wondering what a single German bomber was looking for. Was this a false alarm? Or was he a godsend for him?

Lieutenant James Rutherford turned east and decreased altitude. Maybe he could see his contour against the setting sun. Some 15 minutes were left, and then it would be so dark that he would miss him. Lieutenant James Rutherford sat in his cockpit and prayed. He prayed to God that he would send this German plane. That God would give him the chance. He would seize it.

He looked into the setting sun until he saw shadows everywhere. It took a while until he realized that one of these shadows was real. He looked so hard that his eyes began to water. The contour of the shadow was diffuse. It looked strange, like a vision from another world, like a UFO. An unfathomable, supernatural creature. He turned the nose to the shadow. At first he was did not get bigger. At least it stayed. The, slowly, the shadow became bigger and finally his contours became clear. A plane. A German bomber. His German bomber. He could not believe his eyes, but there he was. He cried aloud. He was excited to the highest degree. This time he would make it. No German escort fighters around, no wingmen he had to follow. It was he and the bomber. His bomber. He felt that there was a strong bond that tied their fate together.

He was almost behind him. He raised the nose of the plane and for a moment, the bomber went out of sight. Then he was high enough and he could lower the nose. There he was again. He was relieved. He was much closer than before. He could see the details now. A German bomber. Two engines. A Ju 88. Moreover, a machine-gun at the rear. Lieutenant James Rutherford knew what to do. He had learned his lessons well. First, he would attack at the man with the machine gun. Eight guns against one, not a fair game. His second attack would pick the defenseless plane off.

In his mind, he saw pictures of the burning German plane. A warm feeling of self-assurance took possession of him. The bomber grew bigger and bigger in his backsight. The German shooter started to fire at him. Lieutenant James Rutherford smiled; the smile of a man who knew that he controlled the situation and that nothing could change this. The distance was too big. The German had lost his nerves. He would wait for the right moment.

How he wished his father could see him. Maybe his parents were down there. Maybe they were looking at the sky. Maybe they saw his plane. Maybe they were wondering who this bold pilot was. Wait a few seconds, he thought, then you will see the falling bomber.

He was so lucky. A quarter of an hour later and it would have been to dark to fight. The bomber was still getting bigger. These German bombers were amazingly fast. However, he could not compete with him. He concentrated on his target, the German shooter. The German still fired, still missing the British fighter. The German plane was so near that he could see every detail. He even saw the shooter, at least his head and the shoulders. And he could feel the fear of the German. Lieutenant James Rutherford released the safety of the machine guns. The eight Brownings would tear the German limb from limb. He was ready.

One final look around. It was getting dark. It was getting dark too fast. Maybe he would not have time for another attack. Then he suddenly changed his mind. He would not attack the shooter. He had to attack the pilot, or the engines. The pilot! He lifted the nose of the plane. For a second the cockpit of the bomber was in the backsight. Lieutenant James Rutherford pulled the trigger. Eight machine guns rattled. Then the bomber passed by. He turned the plane.

His bomber did not show signs of hits. The bomb bays opened and black shadows fell down. Then the bomber started to dive. Before Lieutenant James Rutherford ended his loop, the bomber was gone.

Lieutenant James Rutherford was stunned. His bomber was gone. That was impossible. He had to find him. He dived into the clouds. The sky was getting darker every second now. However, Lieutenant James Rutherford was not willing to give up. He made loop after loop, he searched high and low. He was still searching when the bomber was already over the Channel again.

Finally, Lieutenant James Rutherford had to give up. His fuel scale showed that it was time to fly home. He had to return. He was full of self-reproaches. He could have made it. He had to make it. He did not. He screwed it up. He would never pich down an enemy. He was a shame for the RAF. A shame for his parents.

When he finally reached the airport, he made his report and then went to bed. He did not want to talk to anybody. He just wanted to be alone. He did not mention that he had met the bomber.

Two days later, the squadronleader ordered him to his office: “Lieutenant James Rutherford, I have bad news for you. Your parents are dead two days ago. They died when a single German bomber hit their farm in the evening. We have no idea why the Germans bombed that farm.”

[matteus the inbred]

harsh, man. that's harsh.

we're obviously all in a family killing mood at the moment! liked it though, good action, i haven't read one about air war yet. you write very well about the confusion and panic and sweatiness, i've read accounts by actual WWII pilots where that's all they can remember.

[Franconicus]

Thank you!
I played some WW2 flight simulations and I can tell you, I know confusion and panic and sweatiness

[matteus the inbred]

I played some WW2 flight simulations and I can tell you, I know confusion and panic and sweatiness

i know exactly what you mean...!
in honour of this i have written a very short story.

chocks away, hmm, clouds and stuff, enemy sighted, firefirefire, aaaarg, on my six, bangbangbangbang, drrrdrrr, neeeoooowwwww, crash, game over.

[Ludens]

Ecellent story, Franconicus! I really enjoyed how you drew out the tension: I felt something was going to happen, but it did not, until the last paragraph took me by surprise. The abrupt end worked very well here.

[Vladimir]

It reminds me of the old Twilight Zone shows.

[Franconicus]

THE PATRIOT

The heir of the throne murdered! By Serbian assassins! When he heard it first, he did not believe it. Friedrich and his classmates discussed every facet of the situation. Every one realized that this would change the world completely. This time it would not be enough to punish the murderers. This time one had to solve the problems. Now there had to be an end to the terrorism and to all those who support it. This time the sword of war would solve the problems where the pen of diplomacy had failed. Everybody was sure that a quick and decisive action of the Austrian government was mandatory to punish the offenders and to clear the situation on the Balkans once and forever. There was no doubt that the Kaiser would place Germany on the side of Austria. There had been other political incidents, but this time there was no doubt, what was wrong and what was right. No time for compromises.

He and his classmates were surprised about the reaction of France and England. They sided with the terrorists. Well, there had been conflicts and he knew that both nations were jealous about the comet like raise of the German Empire. However, how could they take this opportunity and ally with criminals? Didn’t they have the slightest feeling for justice, for honor? Well, Germania was strong enough to defeat all of her enemies, even if they stand together. German spirit, German discipline and will, German science and technology, German way of life were so much superior in the world. Nothing would stop them. In the end, the Germans would have to rearrange Europe. German nature would be the principle of a new world; a new and better world for all. However, this great goal could only be achieved by sacrifices. Therefore, Germans had to give blood for a better future.

Then, August 6, the director of their grammar school called all pupils of his grade to the lecture hall. He read off the declaration of Kaiser Wilhelm. He explained the need for the war and called on the population to join the war.

At the end, the director made a few personal comments. He said that he expects them to do their duty and that they could volunteer right now. Every one was cheering. Everyone volunteered. There was no consideration. What for? The situation was very simple. He would fight for his country and if necessary, he was ready to die. He knew he was fighting for a noble cause and he was sure that God was on his side.

Father was proud of him. Mother cried the way all mothers cry when their son goes to war. Friedrich was her youngest child. Three sons had already been drafted. Father soothed her. “Not every bullet hits!” he said. “He will be back at Christmas. The Lord will take care of him.”

Somehow, he had expected to come straight to the front. Instead, he came to a training camp. The first day he received his uniform and his gun. He hadn’t been prouder before. Then the training began. How many times did he think of the front? He had two different visions.

The enemy came. They were hundreds, thousands, a faceless crowd surging at the German position. He was standing there, upstanding, bringing his rifle to the present. He was calm; he waited, waited until the faceless creatures were near. He did not hurry. He took accurate aim and pulled the trigger. One shot after the other. The enemies began to slow down. Then they were close. In cold blood, he took his rifle and stabbed the long bayonet into the empty faces. Repeatedly. Hundreds of enemies were falling, new ones appeared. Finally, when his arms became tired, the enemies turned around and fled. He had won. Happiness flew through his body.

In the other vision, he and his classmates were attacking. They were running over a plain. The sun was shining and there were flowers everywhere. He could not see the enemy first. They were running and running. He did not feel the weight of his equipment. He was running with his comrades, he was running for his country and running was joy. Then there were shells. First single impacts, then more frequently and closer. Some comrades fell; however, they rose again and the holes in the rows were filled. Friedrich was running faster. He knew nothing would stop him. He was already hundreds of yards in front. Then there was the enemy. A long line of French soldiers. He recognized the red trousers. Again, the faces of the enemies were empty. When he saw them, Friedrich cheered of joy. He run even faster and jumped straight between the enemies. He was alone among them. He shot, he stabbed, he pushed, he beat. Around him he saw the enemies fall. They tried to hit him but he was invulnerably. Then his comrades arrived and the enemy was crushed. Hooray shouting all around. He was the hero of the day.

Dreaming helped to pass the training. Friedrich was not sporty. He had always like Greek more than Physical Education.

The recruits were more interested in the news from the fronts than in the drill instructions. As expected the German troops proved to be superior. They advanced through Belgium and pushed the French back. Friedrich already feared that the war would be over before he had passed the camp. Then the German advanced slowed down and finally stopped at the Marne. Both sides pumped new soldiers into the battle and so Friedrich and his classmates were ordered to the front.

Finally, they were on a field in Belgium. They were ordered to march to the front and to join the German operation. This operation would defeat the French and English. Afterwards the Germans would turn eastwards, defeat the Russians and the war would be over soon.

Friedrich was happy and excited. He saw the long marching columns to the front and for the first time he felt, he was part of something big, something great. The army was a big and well-organized machinery. The German nation had been an idea, a glorious one, but only here among all the other soldiers it became real. Germany was so great and he was part of it. His own existence became more valuable because he was a part of it. In some respects, the nation gave him his individual value.

They advanced through the fields. The sun was not shining. It started to rain and the ground became muddy. On the left, a squadron of Ulans passed them. Further right artillery marched to the front. Dispatch riders galloped in both directions. His equipment nearly pushed him to the ground.

After a while, they heard a distant thunder, the front. He listened to the noise as is it was music. The closer they get the more exited he was. They passed the headquarters. Signals troops repaired phone lines.

Then Friedrich saw the first craters. And the first wounded. A column of wounded soldiers transported to the next hospital. They looked measly, dull eyes, not like heroes at all.

They passed a column of ammo carts. From the front came another column. These carts carried the bodies of the dead. The dead bodies were covered by a blanket, but their limbs were hanging outside. Sowings and harvest, he thought. They picked up the paces to pass this caravan of dead.

Friedrich did not like what he saw. It was not as it was supposed to be. It was not like in his dreams. It was unreal.

The closer they came to the front the louder was the thunder of the front. Friedrich could differentiate between the single shots. The corporal ordered them to speed up and to keep bigger distance. Then they passed a cart that was hit by a shell just a couple of minutes before. The horses laid on the ground with ripped open abdomens. The coachman’s face was full of blood. He was dead.

Friedrich did not feel invulnerably at all. He prayed to God that he would not be hurt. He would not stand it. He would not want to return home with only one leg, or one arm, or one eye… . He would not mind to give his life for his country, but he would not want to get hurt.

Maybe God answered his prayers; maybe it was just an accident. Friedrich did not see the grenade coming and he did not hear it. He never noticed what happened. The big grenade stroke through his thorax before it hit the ground and exploded. The explosion frazzled his body. When his comrades rose again Friedrich was gone - without a trace. All that was left was a crater.

[matteus the inbred]

Simple and stark, but this kind of story is very effective, and suits your style very well. the fantasies Freidrich has are a bit new though, I like that, he's obviously a romantic daydreamer and represents prewar idealism and the innocence of youth effectively. This reminds of me of something I read, either a primary source by WWI soldiers or a novel (maybe All Quiet on the Western Front?), the bit where all the young men in the classroom are encouraged to join up by their teacher. It's partly parodied in Starship Troopers. Anyway, another good one Franconicus, well done.
Maybe I'd make it a rifle bullet rather than a grenade? German forces advancing against the BEF lines in Belgium initially thought they were facing machine guns, rather than well-trained rifle troops.

Actually, I've just had another thought; did you mean he was blown up by an artillery shell? In which case ignore my above comment!

[Franconicus]

Matteus,

Thank you for your kind words.

I do not like the last one. I wanted to tell two things:

1) The way to the front. It is not like in the old Cesarian days where you stand in line and then the combat begins. Today you cross a deathzone before you meet the enemy. I do not think that new soldiers are prepared to this situation and wanted to describe it.

2) In modern warfare one soldier can kill many enemies. On the other hand that means that many soldiers die without having fought or even seen the enemy. I wanted to describe a soldier who is well trained, not only in a physical sense but also in a mental way, high motivated, well equipped, who travelled a long way to the front and then he dies before even seen the enemy.
If you take the 100 most suceesful German fighter pilots then you see that they picked more than 20,000 allied planes. That means more than 50,000 crew members. Amazing. On the other hand the German losses were very high. So most of the German pilots (at least in the last two years) must have been picked at their first flight.

I think the concept is alright. However, the technic is not. The feelings are too shallow and the end is to obvious.

Nevertheless I posted it to read your comments and to learn.

All Quiet on the Western Front? You are right. I will pay my fee!

[matteus the inbred]

Today you cross a deathzone before you meet the enemy. I do not think that new soldiers are prepared to this situation and wanted to describe it.

That was a bit I liked, that all he sees is his own side's casualties and apparently pointless devastation...we never see any enemies. I'm sure many soldiers never do see any enemies, particularly in modern warfare. It must be very frightening.

If you take the 100 most suceesful German fighter pilots then you see that they picked more than 20,000 allied planes. That means more than 50,000 crew members. Amazing. On the other hand the German losses were very high. So most of the German pilots (at least in the last two years) must have been picked at their first flight.

Just been reading Stalingrad again, about how poor the Russian air force was at the beginning, it's just like that. Major Erich Hartmann scored something like 350 air victories over the Russian Front, so many of those must've been guys who had no idea how to fly and had no chance.

Also in WWI, at the Somme, many British troops were killed before they even got to their own front line, they were shot coming from the reserve trenches! Crazy.
You explore these concepts well Franconicus, keep writing!

[Franconicus]

THE LAST CRUSADER

A man is running in the streets. He is running as fast as he can. His lung is aching. Stress and privation take their toll. He keeps on running. Fear and desperation make him stay the course. He knows that they chase after him. He knows what will happen if they catch him. He does not cherish any illision. He knows they will. There is nothing he can do but trying to extend the remaining period.

He ducks between the wreckage of a house. His face pops up behind debris as he tries to orientate himself. It is the face of a fourty years old man, grey dust coated, looking like a mask, like a death mask. Woes and passions have carved. He has blue eyes. These eyes do not go with the rest of the face. They are eyes of midtwenty, greenly, in good faith. Almost eyes of a boy. They are looking over the the debris and trying to a picture of the situation.

On his right side, he sees the hill with the castle. The castle is burning. He will not go there. The centre of the town will be the first goal of the enemy. If he wants to escape, he has to turn to the suburbs.

Projectiles batter in all around him. Although the town is already devasted and although there is no more resistance, the enemy continues to bombard. He stops and looks around. It is hard to orientate in this field of ruins. He looks behind. He knows that the hordes will pop up soon. He has to hurry.

At his left, he sees soldiers. They lay in defilade behind the wall of a graveyard. They placed a white blanket on the wall to show that they are not willing to fight anymore. For a moment, he wonders if he should join them. He shakes his head. They would not be able to help him. Even worse, they would not try to help him. They would not want to have him around. Maybe they would even fight him.

He makes up his mind. He jumps up and rushes forward. He avoids the big streets. He sticks with the small ones. He expects that a projectile will hit him at any moment, but somehow he reaches the next wreckage intact. Once more, he rests for a couple of seconds. He hears cries coming from the next block.

The cries remind him of long-forgotten battles. Cries of men, cries of women and cries of children. He heard them long ago. How often? They still fill his dreams. Pictures show up, pictures of people who were looking desperately at him; at him and the other knights of the order. Well, they did what they had to do. He did what he had to do. It was his duty. He had taken an oath. He had commited himself to the man, he bonded his fate to the man. He had paid his price. He knows that he did bad things, unforgivable things. However, he had to it. For the sake of all. Those who blame him where just too weak to do the dirty work.

The man was the chosen one. Although his stature was not impressive, his appearance was. He was gifted, no doubt, but what put a spell on him was the supernatural beam in his eyes. This man was not ordinary. He had a vision, sent from up above.

He showed them the way. They followed and they triumphed; so many times. They did things no body had ever dared before. People feared them; people looked up to them. Their appearance made the enemy flee. How many times did they decide the battle, how many times did they quarry out the ordinary soldiers? However, that is forgotten a long time ago.

Then things changed. He cannot remember when they really started to change. The operations stagnated. No problem, they tried again. First operations failed. The enemy already beaten stroke back. He became more and more numerous. In the end, they had to defend against all sides and finally, the defence collapsed.

It does not matter anymore. The man is dead, along with his vision. Everything they have done was invain. Even more, it was wrong. Everything he has been living for is meaningless now. It does not matter if he is dead or alive. His hopes and his dreams are already dead.

Nevertheless, he is still alive and something inside urges him to fight for his live. Therefore, he has to run; run from the hordes he once chased. He knows what will happen if they find him. They will chase him like a rabbit. They will catch him and then they will strike him dead, as if he was a dog. ‘No mercy’, that was his slogan and ‘no mercy’ is what he can expect now.

He still has his weapon. He knows how to use it, but he also knows that there is no use for it. He could fight until the end; he still could kill many enemies. However, that would not change a thing. For a moment, he wants to throw the weapon away. He will not need it anymore. Then he changes his mind. His weapon has been his friend all those years. He will keep it until the end.

The shouting and crying is closer now. He detects it from three sides. He is cut off. The end is coming. If he could get rid of his uniform. This would be his last chance. However, how could he find other clothes here? There are no more civilians. Even if he can find someone, he would not help him. He would only betray him. No hope. All he can do is find a place to hide and wait until the inevitable will happen.

On his left, there is the ruin of a house. Although the ground floor is destructed, a hole leads to the cellar. Carefully he advanves and finds himself in the cellar. It is still intact. It takes some time until his eyes get used to the darkness. Candles lighten the room. It is filled with people, maybe a dozend, all dressed in black. In the middle of the backboard, there is a table with a cloth and a candlestick; a nine armed candlestick. Automatic well-trained hate blazes in his innermost. Jews! He lifts the muzzle of his submachine gun. The Jews turn around and stare at him. He can feel their pain and horror. He hesitates. He feels that they have been chased like he; that they have been chased all those years; by him.
Slowly, he lowers his arms, his hands open and the gun drops to the floor.

Entreating he spread his arms and craves: “Please, rescue me!”

[ArnoldLol]

i like them. im working on something simular as well. about 15 short stories about a hungarian empire. from its rise to its fall and ill tell a story about every king that ruledthe empire

[matteus the inbred]

hahaha, very good, very ironic. it kinda reminded me of the scene in Highlander where Macleod shoots the Nazi...'whatever you say Jack, you're the master race...'

you conceal the period and the setting nicely too, I thought he might be a medieval Teutonic Knight or something at first.

[Marshal Murat]

Thunder of Cairo

Captain Johnathon Knopf settled onto the cushions, the smell of the hookah's and drink filled his nostrils. As a mechanized commander, he was one of the skeptics, but since he was sitting on the cushions of a hamlet cafe outside Cairo, he knew it was true.
Rommel had pushed onto the Suez Canal, poised above the rippling azure waters. There, the British took a stand, and kept the lifeline open. Johnathon could remember the freight train shells pummeling the infantry, the Italians breaking like they usually would. Then, the whirling of dust as the Panzers moved forward, and the Brit Churchills and Crusaders moved in, and the swirling dance of death. The whistling of shells, the dull metallic 'dong' of shells. As the night descended on the desert, Johnathon Knopf counted his losses. Three tanks out of five. Rommel had been stopped. The next day, swirling planes and bombers tumbled across the sky. Junkers, Me-109, 110's, the Italian planes, Heinkels, and the Brit Hurricanes, Spitfires, Blenheims.
A final push had ended in stalemate, as the British sowed the ground with mines and tank traps. Now, Rommel had come back from Germany, armed with three armored and a mechanized division. Oil from the south, rubber from Japanese lands, men from the Deutchland.


Henry Grist felt the wind swirl around his boots. As a SAS commando, he had taken the most dangerous assignments. This was important, hit the Flak 88 cannons, knock them out. Four were in his sector. The only Jerries are two tanks, two anti-aircraft, and twenty or so foot-soldiers. The four commandos would take them down. They would feel the blade before the sword.
As he wafted downward, Henry knew the plan. Strike across from Suez with the armored divisions. Two to Alexandria, three south of Cairo, another two north of Cairo. Then mechanized infantry, and foot-soldiers. The Americans would be in Morocco now, and an American division of foot soldiers were attached to the attacking fores. Green troops, they were going to be useless for anything but defense. Most troops are good for defense, but green-horns were the worst. Slowly apparating, the small hamlet of Hali-al-Barbar, with two cafes, a hotel, and a couple houses. The rest was farmland.

With a slow precision, Henry Grist landed on a house, cut his parachute, pulled out the Sten machine gun, and walked to the edge. Below, a German Panzer Mk 3 sat, covered with palm branches and camoflage. Two crew members were below. Pulling out his knife, Henry prepared himself. To kill Jerries, Nazi's, men who killed his brothers-in-arms. Leaping, he hit the first man on the shoulders and spine, breaking his neck instantly. Rolling over, he trust upward into the second man's throat. Blood spurted out his throat, and out his mouth. Also leaving his body was half-eaten biscuit and water. Crouching, Henry pulled out a mine, pulled the safety, and placed it in the tracks. Moving silently, he sheathed the knife and grabbed his Sten. Ahead, one of the Flak cannons. Two guards. Sneaking around another house, Henry felt a cool blade.
"Henry?" came the startled whisper.
"Yes, Prince, it's me Henry, now get the blade away from me."
A staccato roar sounded. Then a Jerry machine-gun.
Pulling out a grenade, Henry pulled the pin and tossed it into the flak cannon bunker.

[Franconicus]

A tribute to LegioXXXUlpiaVictrix:

THE STAND

I turn around the copse; I see the body, maybe fifteen yards in front of me, and stop. The abdomens frazzled, the bowels lying outside. The forepart unharmed. It takes some time to realize that the horse is still alive. It’s looking at me with the saddest eyes.

Mines! The word shoots through my brain. Mines! I am not a coward, I can face the enemy, but I am no hero in the face of mines. Slowly I look around me, checking every inch around me without moving anything but my eyes. There, three yards ahead, something looks like another mine. At least it could be one. I go on with my checkup. Slowly I lower my head. Then I see it; right there under my left foot; a mine, a small anti-personal-mine.

The shock, caused by this observation, almost disequilibrates me. God, I am standing on a mine. The next motion will be my last, my very last one. I break out in sweat, cold sweat. All over my body, I feel twitches. God, why does that happen to me? I have always been the unlucky one. That is unfair.

Don’t move. Nothing will happen if I do not move! Someone will find me; someone will help me. Even if it beats the odds, I am not going to die here in this minefield. All I have to do is stand still.

After five minutes

I am still standing, but I am loosing the feeling in my left leg. My whole body is stiff and aching. I’d like to move my arms, but I do not dare. How long will I have to wait?

After 10 minutes

My left leg is shaking. I cannot control it any longer. I have a cramp in the calf. Oh dear, the mine will explode. I am going to die. Lord, don’t let me down. Help me please!

After 15 minutes

The cramp is over; the mine has not exploded. I am still alive. The horse is dead. Before it died, it had been looking at me with a reproachful glance. Now I am all alone. Am I the next one? Am I going to die here? Will I die like the horse, a long and painful dead? Or will I die fast? I have to look at the horse, at its frazzled abdomens. I vomit. This leads to an unintentional shifting of weight. The mine! I am holding my breath. Nothing happens! Thank God!! This mine must be more stable than I have thought.

After 30 minutes
It will take long until someone is going to help me. I have to ease my situation or I will not stand for long. Slowly and carefully, I am moving my arms. Nothing happens. I bow my back and feel better. If I could only move my legs.

After 45 minutes

I am getting more courageous. I untie my water bottle and raise it to my mouth. I take a sip. I never realized how good water tastes. No doubt, I can stand here much longer, long enough to wait for help.

After 60 minutes

I am still standing. Big black ravens are digging into the dead body of the horse. I cannot stand looking at it, but I can do little against it.

My biggest concern is another cramp. Slowly, very slowly I take the gun from my back. I dismount the belt. For a moment, I wonder if I shout shoot at the ravens. This could be a signal to anybody out there, too. I wonder, can a shot trigger a mine? I am not going to try it. I take the gun and push it slowly into the ground, right besides the mine. Then I take the belt and tie down my left leg. The result is good; the leg is much more stable now.

After 1 hour 20 minutes

It is getting dark. Will they find me in the darkness?

The ravens are still busy digging into the horse. Some start hopping into my direction. I am afraid that they might trigger one of the mines. Fortunately, nothing happens.

After 2 hours

I wake up and find myself still standing. I must have been fallen asleep. Damned, I have to be more careful. The next sleep may be a very long one.

After 4 hours

I may not fall asleep again. I must stay awake. I think about my family. My parents. They do not know that I am here. Maybe they will never know. I am going to disappear without a trace. I think about my childhood; sunny days in the fields, the cherry pie of my mother, the fairground, my dog Dimitri.

My mother has always prayed for me. Maybe she is praying right now. Oh mother, never before I have been needed your preys more than now.

I am going to prey, too. Mother Mary, see me standing here. I’d like to knee for you, or even fall on the ground, but I cannot. Saints, think about my dear mother. She has always been good. Rescue me for her sake!

After 7 hours

Still standing. My body is aching and I do not know how much longer I can stand it. Maybe I should jump off the mine and make an end. However, I do not dare to, not yet. It is getting cold. The coldness slowly creeps under my uniform and occupies my whole body. My feet are so cold. Even the horse cannot be colder than I am.

I am careening. I cannot control my body any longer. Soon I will loose my balance and fall. Then the torture will be over.

After 11 hours

Everything is easier now. I do not feel any pain. I feel warm and comfortable. I do not feel my legs anymore. Or my back. Or any part of my body. I feel good.

After 11 and a half hour

In the east, I see light. It is getting bigger and closer. Rescue is coming. Soon I will be free. I feel so euphoric, I could jump. I have to keep cool. Relax. Help is on the way. Just a couple of minutes …

The light is still getting bigger. It almost fills the sky. Then I see Her, in the middle of the light, Mother Mary, she is coming to rescue me. No doubt about it, I can even see the child in her arms. She is coming, coming to me. The light is getting brighter, I can hardly stand it. And the picture is getting clearer. I salute You, Virgin Mother! Here I am. I cannot wait to be wit you. I am coming. See, here I am coming to you!

[Ludens]

Nice story, Franc. You captured the experience very well, although the end left me feeling somewhat puzzled.