My life, as I knew it, ended with the men from the Waffen-SS coming to inspect my Gruppe. We were cold, hungry men - desperate, too. It was the final stretch of the war, the Bolshevik soldiers bearing down on us like hell-sent avengers. So, offered what the Schutzstaffel were if we carried out their task, of course we leaped at the chance.
The task in question? This will sound - what's the word? - like crazy talk. Crazy talk, ja.
We were to head into the Schwarzwald, under direction of the 21st Gerbirgjagers Regiment's finest scouts. We were not to ask questions, or we would be shot and our bodies left in the forest. We were not to tell a soul of what had happened, or we would be shot and our bodies placed in an appropriate public venue. And so on. The SS had refined telling us about how they would kill us and dispose of our bodies to a fine art, it seemed.
So, we went into the dark depths of the forest, trying to pretend we had not been told by our mothers of dark and hungry boogeymen within - half-formed dream and fable creatures of teeth, sharp claws, and shaggy fur. Of course, the Gebirgjagers and their MP-44s were more tangibly present - and we did exactly as they said on the way there.
We arrived at what I would call a hatch of some sort. A short gun-barrel poke to our backs, and we were turning the valves to open it. The most appalling stench came out, a disgusting mix of sulfur and the slaughterhouse. And the source - a pitch-black, yawning void.
The leader of the bunch of our "escorts", who had been silent for the trip, suddenly spoke. His voice was gruff. He clearly was used to getting his way, from how he spoke to us.
"You will stay outside. If you look inside, you will be shot and your bodies will be left in the forest. If you run, you will be shot and your bodies left in the forest. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, do not come inside."
And so we waited. Hans, our unit's resident youngster, had managed to sneak in a pack of smokes, and passed the contraband around. Then it started. It was a dull roar at first, but we heard it. Screams. Moans. The most horrible smacking sounds. Then the hands came up out of the hatches! God, the hands.
Patches of flesh, hanging off like old paint from bone. Sinew swinging about in the air. Only one of those things managed to crawl from the hatch before we managed to force it shut. It latched onto Hans, wouldn't let go. IT ATE HIS FACE, IT ATE HIS FACE! It tore at his face and ripped it off, then chewed it up.
It took three entire magazines of 7.92 Kurz bullets from our rifles to put the damned thing down, and it still twitched for a couple moments. Most damning thing of all, and I'll swear to god about this - it was wearing a tabard, one of the Teutonic Knights's. It was faded from age, but we could all see the faded Eisernes Kreuz.
Long story short, we made sure that hatch could never open again. It was the least we could have done. Our little due to the dead. And so, my story ended. I made myself scarce after that. Couldn't bear to look at the others. Couldn't bear to think about Hans, and worse, his widowed bride.
Couldn't bear to think about something that still is nagging at me for years now: was that the only one? It has to have been. It is the only one. But: could the dead rise once more? Once taken from their sacred resting places, could they unleash the divine wrath, make us reap the whirlwind for our crimes? If so, our only fortress will be Heaven.
The task in question? This will sound - what's the word? - like crazy talk. Crazy talk, ja.
We were to head into the Schwarzwald, under direction of the 21st Gerbirgjagers Regiment's finest scouts. We were not to ask questions, or we would be shot and our bodies left in the forest. We were not to tell a soul of what had happened, or we would be shot and our bodies placed in an appropriate public venue. And so on. The SS had refined telling us about how they would kill us and dispose of our bodies to a fine art, it seemed.
So, we went into the dark depths of the forest, trying to pretend we had not been told by our mothers of dark and hungry boogeymen within - half-formed dream and fable creatures of teeth, sharp claws, and shaggy fur. Of course, the Gebirgjagers and their MP-44s were more tangibly present - and we did exactly as they said on the way there.
We arrived at what I would call a hatch of some sort. A short gun-barrel poke to our backs, and we were turning the valves to open it. The most appalling stench came out, a disgusting mix of sulfur and the slaughterhouse. And the source - a pitch-black, yawning void.
The leader of the bunch of our "escorts", who had been silent for the trip, suddenly spoke. His voice was gruff. He clearly was used to getting his way, from how he spoke to us.
"You will stay outside. If you look inside, you will be shot and your bodies will be left in the forest. If you run, you will be shot and your bodies left in the forest. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, do not come inside."
And so we waited. Hans, our unit's resident youngster, had managed to sneak in a pack of smokes, and passed the contraband around. Then it started. It was a dull roar at first, but we heard it. Screams. Moans. The most horrible smacking sounds. Then the hands came up out of the hatches! God, the hands.
Patches of flesh, hanging off like old paint from bone. Sinew swinging about in the air. Only one of those things managed to crawl from the hatch before we managed to force it shut. It latched onto Hans, wouldn't let go. IT ATE HIS FACE, IT ATE HIS FACE! It tore at his face and ripped it off, then chewed it up.
It took three entire magazines of 7.92 Kurz bullets from our rifles to put the damned thing down, and it still twitched for a couple moments. Most damning thing of all, and I'll swear to god about this - it was wearing a tabard, one of the Teutonic Knights's. It was faded from age, but we could all see the faded Eisernes Kreuz.
Long story short, we made sure that hatch could never open again. It was the least we could have done. Our little due to the dead. And so, my story ended. I made myself scarce after that. Couldn't bear to look at the others. Couldn't bear to think about Hans, and worse, his widowed bride.
Couldn't bear to think about something that still is nagging at me for years now: was that the only one? It has to have been. It is the only one. But: could the dead rise once more? Once taken from their sacred resting places, could they unleash the divine wrath, make us reap the whirlwind for our crimes? If so, our only fortress will be Heaven.
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. As for the second, I had intended them to be Volksturm, so, the correct term would be gruppe. So I am a major fuck-up.
