Guy Sajer - The Forgotten Soldier

Utterly astounded, I looked around at my companions. The feldwebel had flung himself down on the ground like a goalie onto a ball, and was loading his automatic. The fellow with the freckles was staggering toward me with enormous eyes and a curious stupefied expression. When he was about six feet from me, he fell to his knees. His mouth opened as if he wanted to shout, but no sound came, and he toppled over backward. A second barrage of sound ripped the air, followed by a modulated whistle.

Without thinking, I threw myself flat on the snow. The feldwebel’s automatic crackled, and I saw some snow from the roof of the but shoot up into the air. I couldn’t take my eyes off the freckled young soldier, whose motionless body lay a few yards away.

“Cover me, you idiots,” the feldwebel shouted, as he jumped up and ran forward.

I looked at the freckled soldier’s friend. He seemed more surprised than frightened. Calmly, we aimed our weapons toward the woods, from which a few shots still rang out, and began to fire.

The detonation of my Mauser restored some of my confidence, but I was still very scared. Two more bullets whistled in my ears. Our sergeant, with appalling self-assurance, stood up and threw a grenade. The air rang with the noise of the explosion, and one of the worm-eaten planks of the but disintegrated.

With incomprehensible calm, I continued to stare at the cabin. The feldwebel’s automatic was still firing. Without panic, I slid another bullet into the barrel of my gun. As I was about to shoot, two black figures ran from the ruins of the hut, and headed toward the forest. It was a perfect opportunity. My gun sight stood out clearly in black against the white of the countryside, and then merged into the darkness of one of the galloping figures. I pressed the trigger… and missed.

Our chief had run as far as the hut, firing after the fleeing men without hitting them. After a moment, he signaled us to join him, and we extricated ourselves from our holes in the snow.

The feldwebel was staring at something in the ruins of the cabin. As we drew closer we could see a man leaning against the wall. His face, half covered by a wild, shaggy beard, was turned toward us; his eyes looked damp. He gazed at us without a word; his clothes, of skin and fur, were not a military uniform. My eye was caught by his left hand. It was soaked with blood. More blood was running from his collar. I felt a twinge of unease for him. The feldwebel’s voice brought me back to reality.

“Partisan!” he shouted. “Hein?… You know what you’re going to get!”

He pointed his gun at the Russian, who seemed frightened and rolled farther back into the corner. I too recoiled, but our noncom was already putting his automatic back in its holster.

“You take care of him,” he ordered, waving toward the wounded man.

We carried the partisan outside. He groaned, and said something unintelligible.

The sound of an approaching train was growing steadily louder. This one, however, was returning to the rear. We managed to stop it. Three soldiers wrapped in heavy reindeer-skin coats jumped from the first carriage. One of them was a lieutenant, and we snapped to attention. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” he barked. “Why did you stop us?”

Our noncom explained that we were looking for labor.

“This train is carrying only the wounded and dying,” the lieutenant said. “If we had some troops on leave I’d help you out. As it is, I can’t do anything for you.”

“We’ve got two wounded men,” the sergeant ventured.

The lieutenant was already walking over to the freckled soldier, who was lying motionless where he had fallen. “You can see that this one’s dead.”

“No, Mein Leutnant . He’s still breathing.”

“Ah… well, maybe… But another fifteen minutes…” he gestured vaguely. “Well, all right… we’ll take him.” He whistled at two skeletal stretcher-bearers, who lifted our young comrade. I thought I could see a brown stain in the middle of his back, but I wasn’t sure whether it was blood mixed with the green of his coat, or something else.

And the other one?” the lieutenant asked impatiently. “Over there, beside the hut.”

The lieutenant looked at the bearded man, who was clearly dying. “Who’s this?”

“A Russian, Mein Leutnant , a partisan.”

“So that’s it. Do you really think I’m going to saddle myself with one of those bastards who’ll shoot you in the back any time — as if war at the front wasn’t enough!”

He shouted an order to the two soldiers who were with him. They walked over to the unfortunate man lying on the snow, and two shots rang out.

A short time later, we were making our way back to the road. Our noncom had abandoned the idea of an improvised labor force, and we would now rejoin our unit, which undoubtedly had not made much progress.

I had just been under fire for the first time, an experience I can no longer describe with any precision. An element of the absurd was mixed into the day’s events: the feldwebel’s footsteps in the snow were so enormous, and I, in my confusion, kept looking for the young freckled soldier who should have been returning with us. Everything had happened so quickly that I hadn’t been able to grasp the significance of anything. Nevertheless, two human beings had suffered senseless deaths. Ours had not yet celebrated his eighteenth birthday.

It had already been dark for some time when we finally found our company. The night was clear and cold, and the thermometer was dropping with horrifying speed.

Despite our forced march of nearly four hours, we were shaking with cold, and famished. My head was swimming with exhaustion, and frost from my breath lay on the high collar which I had pulled up almost to my eyes.

For some time before we reached it, we were able to see our convoy, standing out clearly, black against white. Its progress had indeed been small. The trucks had sunk in through the icy white crust over the tops of their wheels, and great slabs of snow clung to their tires and mudguards. Almost everyone had taken refuge inside the cabs. After chewing on their meager rations, they had wrapped themselves in everything they could find, and were trying to sleep, despite the bitter cold. A short distance away, the two fellows who’d been chosen for guard duty were stamping on their boots, hoping to warm their feet.

Inside the cabs, through the frosted glass, I could see an occasional gleam from someone’s cigarette or pipe. I climbed into my truck and felt in the darkness for my rucksack and mess tin. When the tin was propped between my icy fingers, I wolfed down a few mouthfuls of some filthy mixture that tasted like frozen soya. It was so bad that I tipped most of it onto the snow and ate something else.

Outside, I could hear somebody talking. I craned my neck to see who it was. A small fire had just been kindled in a hole in the snow, and was burning with a cheerful brilliance. I jumped down from the truck and hurried as fast as I could toward this source of light, heat, and joy. Three men were standing beside the fire, among them my feldwebel of this afternoon. He was breaking pieces of wood across his knee.

“I’ve had enough of this cold. I had pneumonia last winter, and if I get it again it’s goodbye to me. Anyway, our trucks are visible for at least two miles, so we’re not giving anything away by just lighting a few sticks.”

“You’re right,” replied a fellow who must have been at least forty-five. “The Russians, partisans or not, are all snug in their beds.”

“I certainly would be glad to be home in my bed,” said another, staring into the flames.

We were all practically in the fire, except for the big feldwebel, who was busily reducing a packing case to fragments.