betwenn hell and dawn E-Book

James Miller

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: soldier Piet Höller
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 354

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Piet Höller volunteered for service in the Wehrmacht in Germany during World War II. When he joined the army, he had a very specific goal. His service should be far behind the front lines, far from the infernal bloodshed of the battlefields. The plan works for a long time. He is serving in occupied France and has no contact with combat operations. Until a fateful letter lets everything get out of hand. His journey will take him to Africa and far beyond his personal borders.

Leseprobe

betwenn hell and dawn

TitelseiteI. Isles les VillenoyII. ParisIII. Mazara del ValloIV. LuciaV. Tunisia's coastVI. AirfieldVII. Little LeedsVIII. ManchesterIX. the desert of TunisiaX. LondonCopyright

James Millerbetween hell and dawn

© 2019 James Miller Translation from German 2020

Production and publishing: BoD - Books on Demand,

Norderstedt

The people involved, as well as a large part of the operations depicted here, are fictitious and partly set in the context of the real course of the war. The historical accuracy was handled very freely for the benefit of the plot.

On September 01, 1939 the Second World War began, through an attack by Germany on Poland, which turned into a war in almost all states of Europe, many countries in Asia andAfrica prepared. As a result, 110 million soldiers stood in 60 participating states. The war cost the lives of more than 60 million people and should be a warning to all of humanity how quickly confused ideologies, undesirable economic developments, wrong strategic and political decisions, stubbornness and A loss of reality turns into a bloodbath.

This fictional story describes the course of the war of a propaganda-driven person. One of many war volunteers on the side Nazi Germany.

This is the story of Piet Höller.

I. Isles les Villenoy

His heart was racing and the expression on his face looked like someone had rammed a dagger into his ribs. There he stood now, in November 1940, in the middle of France. He was twenty-one years old and he was actually convinced that the war in France was over for him. The newspapers and reports on the radio were full of news about victorious units and rapid advances in all regions and on all front lines, enemies who were fleeing and the superiority of German weapons technology. Even the air raids by the British on industrial plants did not give them any relief and so in the end the British only suffered considerable losses. The hasty withdrawal and the subsequent surrender of the French armed forces gave Piet the impression that no one could stop the German army. In the first few days of his mission he saw how difficult it was when the front line was advancing faster than the supply was coming. So it indicated everything for everyone to be home again by the end of the year. The question of who was responsible for the war did not even arise for him. You were attacked in Poland, or should be attacked. He wasn't that specific. In any case, the newspapers and radio broadcasts reported that all of this only served to defend the homeland. It had become very convenient for him in France. His unit was stationed about fifty kilometers from Paris. He liked the occasional trips to this metropolis, even if they always required a little organizational talent. Getting to Paris and, above all, back on time was not always that easy. Since the German invasion of France, the French railroad had lost even more of its reliability. There was also little noticeable of the German punctuality. This only worked with the field post. A joke that people liked to tell themselves during basic training, but had meanwhile turned out to be reality. Absurdly, most of the mail came by train. Piet's personal goal after his stay in France was to get back to his village in Schleswig-Holstein unscathed. Ideally, even without having to shed blood yourself. Of course, of course, without shedding his own blood. The dislike of the French was often palpable, but a lot of the girls here were into uniforms and he liked that. It was tolerable that old men would spit at his feet from time to time or whisper insults in French. A girl wasn't waiting for him at home and so he made the most of his freedom. Even if fraternizing with the enemy's wives was forbidden. In his unit, like so many other things, it wasn't taken that seriously. He liked a local girl, but had been annoyed for years that he had never found the courage to speak to her and so his school crush ended up marrying Piet's direct neighbors. In this case, fate was not very good for him. He had to watch them turtle very often. Now of course he could enjoy the evenings and didn't have to worry. He didn’t have to see the pecker that his Else had uncomfortable at the moment either. One more reason to enjoy the evenings here. He just couldn't allow himself to be caught by bourgeois officers who, despite all their freedoms, did exist here. France had made him a man. He gained his first experience in a brothel in Paris. Like many other soldiers. Here the old saying “only war makes you a man” is true again. He had heard this often in his basic training, now he knew what it meant. But now that ... It should go to Greece for him and his unit. New location, new commander in chief. Probably then the looseness was over. Ok, the weather was better in Greece, but what the heck do you want? He could speak a few words in French, but not in Greek. He had heard of Athens, of the Acropolis. He knew next to nothing about Greece and the Greeks. The ancient Greeks were often seen as a symbol of strategy and courage to fight. But how many more were there? Were these stories true at all? No matter. This letter didn't fit into his plan at all. Would they be accepted there just as they were in Paris? Did they even want to have them in Greece? Were they allies or were they occupiers there? Or was Greece a battlefield that he just hadn't read or heard about? Rumors of an imminent invasion of Africa had been around for a long time. Also through Rommel, to whom his troops should be affiliated. Rommel was an old-school soldier and did not tolerate abrasive discipline. In his current unit, the soldier's life was rather relaxed and minor errors were conscientiously overlooked. There was only very seldom any trace of the German discipline that was often propagated. The Italians had been battling the English for a year in the desert of Africa, and less successfully. Even if the flow of information about it was very vague, it was an open secret that Italy would not do without German help. The equipment was out of date, the strategists of the Italians seemed mercilessly overwhelmed with their tasks. Where did he get in? In 1939, in adolescent madness, he volunteered. The wave of exuberant patriotism that swept through the whole country had induced him to volunteer. The school's influence also contributed to this. All the boys from his town volunteered, he couldn't pinch there. Even if he was sure that no one had thought about the possible consequences of the war effort. He, he had to admit it, didn't either. He didn't want to disappoint his father either. He was already doing his service in the last great war and caught a bullet in his left thigh. He saw it as his duty to follow his father's example. Piet's father saw in Hitler a savior, which the country had long been missing. Someone who wouldn't burn them senselessly at the front like the Kaiser had done. He could never really justify this, but his father's words always carried Piet weight. His grandpa, in turn, had warned him clearly. He also fought in the last great war and was hit in the shoulder somewhere here in France. He'd never told him where exactly. The injury was still limiting him today. Grandpa didn't think much of Hitler, and he made no secret of it - at least behind closed doors. These completely different positions often caused stress at the dining table at home. Before he left, Piet lived with his parents and grandparents on his father's side on a small farm. Politics didn't really matter to Piet. He saw it as his duty to contribute to this war and to make his father proud. The fact that both parties were shot was suppressed by Piet in his considerations. Every day he heard in school and read in the newspapers that half the world was just waiting to destroy his homeland, how could he otherwise? It would be the work of a coward not to oppose the enemies of his homeland or at least to help so that others can easily throw themselves against the enemy. He never ended up in Poland, for which he was very grateful. He heard a lot of cruel stories from Poland, besides the Russians were standing there in front of the door and how long the peace with these obscure communists would last, nobody really knew. He was initially to be trained as a reporter and radio operator, but then began training as a paramedic immediately after completing his basic training. However, he could not acquire more than basic knowledge there. His skills were recognized too quickly by the rifle and the medical training was broken off. His skills at the rifle range quickly brought him into discussion as a potential sniper. So far, however, he has successfully avoided it. In the end, his superiors thought he was too soft to be used as a sniper. Sometimes too impatient. They didn't have the time to make a tough guy out of him. Perhaps, on closer inspection, they no longer saw the potential in him. His goal remained to do his service somewhere behind the front. He never wanted blood on his hands; deep down he was perhaps a little pacifist after all. He found himself trapped in this dichotomy since the beginning of his training. The shooting made him friends, but not the idea of having to aim a gun at a person. He wanted to make a difference, but not to end lives. He admitted to himself that this was a rather naive attitude for a war volunteer. But it was for a good cause. At least that was always what he was told. Little had he seen that made him doubt it. What could be greater than fighting for your family and your homeland? After all, the others were the bad ones. In the end, he managed to convince his superiors that he was good at tackling. That he is more likely to be someone who hauls boxes, loads trains and trucks. He was successful with it. The fact that he was now responsible for supplying the fighting units and that he was actually a warehouse worker in uniform was no less important to him. Without him there would be no bullets, no guns, no food or water in the front lines. Besides, where was the serious fighting in France? In fact, they mainly loaded material for the hospitals and the troop rest homes in which wounded soldiers from half of Europe were being cured. So far, the blood on his hands has been avoided, to his full satisfaction. He was involved in two small disputes. However, these took place with angry civilians, when a few bullets were fired over the head they quickly fled. There were no injuries on either side. The greatest evil was a bullet hole in a train wagon, or a window thrown in. This incident was never reported, so the civilians were spared possible acts of revenge and the officers spared a lot of paperwork. The French withdrew faster than the Wehrmacht could advance. That was the variant they were told. So it happened that the French were hardly taken seriously. The course of the First World War was forgotten by everyone. Especially its disastrous end. They hurried from victory to victory, and there was never any talk of setbacks. What could go wrong there? They would hardly see another fiasco like this. Here and there one saw the campaign as a return coach for the terrible course of the First World War, for the Treaty of Versailles. For the subsequent hunger, the collapse of the economy, inflation, in short: for everything. But the majority of the soldiers didn't care about that. With some comrades, you had the feeling that they were on an adventure vacation. A kind of power through a joyful excursion with weapons. However, they all had one thing in common: one was delighted with the cowardice of what they were called here, frog-eaters. In Piet's case, however, with a trace of gratitude. So he was completely spared the sight of corpses and wounded so far. Piet was a strong guy who also had to lend a hand when there was an emergency, but mainly did guard duty. When he thought about it like that, he spent a maximum of one day a week doing his actual job. He spent the rest of the deployment time on a tower, on patrol or at the gate. A look out of the window of his barracks startled him. It was already pitch dark. He was on night watch. So far he has always been on time. He liked the night watch services, the services were quiet. The passers-by in bed and everything seemed extremely peaceful. Nothing almost never happened. During the day you had to be careful that only those people who were actually allowed to enter the area. Occasionally over-motivated officers came by. They liked to nag about posture or a minimally incorrectly fitting uniform, as if there was nothing more important in life. It was not uncommon for the impression to be given that a well-groomed appearance was more important than functioning weapons. At night these complainers were probably lying drunk in bed enjoying the fact that they had given a little soldier an enema in the afternoon. Piet was absolutely convinced that these people were only interested in polishing up their ego by exercising power. Aside from the gun on his shoulder, nothing reminded him on night duty that he was at war. Despite everything, he hardly ever felt a feeling of boredom. The time was used to write letters to his parents in the shimmer of an oil lamp. Or to watch deer passing by at a distance. It always reminded him of home. He grew up on a farm near Kiel and since childhood he had always watched wild boars or deer passing by in the evening or early in the morning. So he regularly got a feeling of homesickness, which he kept as a motivation to come home healthy. The longing for the distance should inspire him in battle, the painful homesickness in the struggle for survival should remind him of what he went to war for. That was how he was told in training and that was how he had internalized it. Lutz was assigned with him. Lutz was actually the exact opposite of him. An old school soldier. personified Prussian virtue, combined with a loose mouth in the wrong situations. Over forty years old and always to be found when going out where there was trouble. The short hair already had a slight gray tint in some places. A few wrinkles and a few scars showed that he already had a lot of experience under his belt. The nasal bone has probably already been broken several times, but the gray eyes had a fascinating depth and gave Piet a feeling of wisdom and trust. His uniform was always particularly neat. Every day he thoroughly cleaned his boots and weapons and placed great importance on a clean uniform. Facial hair was accurately removed daily. He saw himself as a representative of the German occupation. As a role model for all French. Maybe even as a role model for the whole world. Actually the perfect grumbler. But Lutz wasn't that small. He was a little grumpy, often a little taciturn. But if he had something to say, then it was clear and you could rely on it. So far, he has never spoken about his private life. He was wearing a wedding ring, so at least you knew he was married. How many skirmishes he was involved in, nobody really knew. The look with which he observed his surroundings, however, indicated that there must have been some. Nobody got on well with him in his platoon and yet everyone respected him. He had been there since the invasion of Poland and was the longest-serving member of his platoon. Not the best shooter, but with a special feel for where the next bullets hit. He smelled the anger and what was even more important: the rare but annoying rounds of superiors. In the style of a proper bar fight, he loved anger, on the battlefield he always made sure that his sheep remained intact. This is what the soldiers who had accompanied Lutz for a while, always told. He had achieved some sort of legendary status in his platoon. But this could also be because he was one of the few soldiers on site with real combat experience. Piet always resolved to stay near Lutz in an emergency. He secretly considered him his guardian angel. If so many soldiers only spoke positively of him, there must be something to it. Lutz was already standing at the door of his barrack, annoyed.  „Ready to go?“ As already mentioned, he was not a man of big words. A short nod in response and they walked silently to the gate. As usual, the layer had already put on tea beforehand. It was quite cold, so it was obvious to warm up with a cup of tea. One of the advantages of working in France was the decent supply situation. Reports from other units suggested that not everyone felt this way. The supply routes were often very long. In France one could fall back on the resources of an almost undestroyed country. The population had also come to terms with the fact that the German army had to be supplied and at least not noticeably sabotaged the supplies. Above all, it was an extreme advantage for Piet that nobody had to sleep in tents here, there were decent barracks, decent camp beds and no mud that they had to crawl through. Even as a child he wasn’t much of a fan of camping, although he had a strong affinity for nature. Another advantage if the local army offered almost no resistance and did not destroy anything when retreating. Karl and Willi, who were on duty at the gate before them, stayed for a short chat. It was quiet all day. Like pretty much every day before.  hen they were housed, it was an area where baskets were made before the First World War. Since then the site has probably been fallow. When they moved in, they first had to sweep out the dust and rubbish from many unused years before it could be used. In France, too, the great war seemed to have left bad economic times. About two meters high brick walls surrounded the factory premises. After occupying the site, about twenty barracks were built on the lush, open space in the inner courtyard. Ammunition was stored in the former factory hall and the officers' quarters were also housed there. The factory served as a distribution center for supplies, especially to the various bases around Paris that could not be reached by rail.Der Fuhrpark seiner Truppe war auf einem Gelände auf der anderen Straßenseite untergebracht. His platoon was not responsible for that. The machinists were very particular. Both sides had a healthy antipathy. You support each other if you have to and otherwise everyone went their own way. A joint soccer game, which was to bring both troops together, ended in a wild brawl. In retrospect, this was not necessarily the star hour of the Wehrmacht, which was so glamorous for Piet. About 200 men were stationed in this place, the rest of his division was in Paris or in the surrounding towns. Two comrades were patrolling the flat roof of the factory building, the wall was supplemented by a barbed wire fence with bells so that no one could climb over unnoticed. This has already been tried once. A sixteen-year-old boy was caught doing it. He said he wanted to steal cigarettes. Apparently he couldn't afford one himself. His commanding officer let the young Frenchman drag a few boxes until he threw up from exhaustion and then chased him from the courtyard with a hefty kick in the rear. If it had been handed over to other offices, it would probably not have gone so lightly for him. The rumors about how the Gestapo and the Waffen SS dealt with prisoners kept making the rounds. He had never seen evidence of this before and so Piet dismissed it as a fairy tale with a small core of truth. Rather, the German side did not do anything about this makeshift camp. There wasn't even a watchtower. A few towers had already been planned, but so far there have been no orders to erect them. The necessary building materials had been lying around for weeks. Nobody cared about it, however, as long as they weren't in the way, nobody would get the idea to use them. With three floors they had the tallest building in the immediate vicinity anyway and could see everything well. In general, the rules were interpreted here very generously. Meanwhile the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon and it got darker. And therefore also significantly colder. The tea was used up in the meantime and Karl and Willi were probably already in the realm of dreams. The pleasant warmth of the tea still filled him, but Piet was sure that this inner warmth would very soon be covered by the outer cold. Lutz paced up and down the gate, smoking. Lutz's feeling of coldness seemed different, he didn't seem to mind. He himself sat on a rickety wooden chair and listened to the noises from inside the old factory. The radio center was located on the upper floor of the three-story building. There was a lot going on on the radio for the time. The window of the radio center inside the factory was open, so he could follow the hustle and bustle. There have been a few raids on German posts by French resistance fighters. But these all took place about 200km away. These attacks have been increasing for a few months. Especially in more densely populated areas. Since it always remained with small needle pricks, it was assumed that the French resistance was not able to start controlled actions. In addition, all sorts of departments in the security authorities and the military assured that they would deal with the resistance and would soon have nipped it in the bud. Nobody in their camp felt compelled to increase the security precautions. Nothing would happen in the sleepy town of Isles les Villenoy. Almost 800 people lived here. The German troops silently endured most of them. They were not enthusiastic, but they saw that there was no point in revolting against the occupation. At least nothing but a lot of trouble. Piet liked the place very much. An old church, Saint-Maurice, from the fifteenth century formed the center of the village, with many very old houses lined up around it. He had always planned to look inside Saint-Maurice. But so far it has not been possible for him. The houses were neat and partly reminded him of home. The place was on the river Marne and was chosen as a base to secure one of the most important supply routes to Paris in addition to the distribution of ammunition and to keep the vehicles in motion. According to rumors, an airfield for Luftwaffe fighter planes should be built nearby, some of which should also be supplied from this location. But Piet had not yet heard anything tangible about that. The few words of French he spoke helped him on occasional patrols through the town. However, these were so rare that he could hardly improve his knowledge. One didn't like to talk to Germans either. In Paris it was mostly different, but there many French spoke German. Lutz came back into the little sentry box.  „It will soon be uncomfortable“ he muttered and took a sip of water from his canteen. Piet very much hoped that Lutz was only referring to the worsening weather. He was almost always wrong. With everything else, unfortunately, never. He was supposed to be right for once, it got uncomfortable. A hail shower hit the camp and the few soldiers who were still outside the barracks quickly ran back inside. For Piet, who was used to harsh weather from his home country, a little hail was no reason to complain, especially since he was still sitting dry in the dry. Still, he figured that Greece might not be a bad idea. At least in terms of the climate. At some point the hail gave way to heavy rain and large puddles formed on and in front of the area. The view was poor and so the mono-tone layer just got boring. He would not be able to observe animals like this. This late evening turned out to be downright drowsy, today he did not feel the need to write to his family. Most of all he would like to lie down in his bed and sleep until the weather improves. Whenever he was about to fall asleep, Lutz punched him in the side, which Lutz was obviously having fun. Tomorrow he would find thick blue ones here, Piet was absolutely sure. But as long as the bruises remained the only traces of the war, he could endure it. He started again suddenly from the beginning half-sleep. It was now the darkest night. This time not with a punch in the ribs. There were boot steps to be heard. Heavy boots that only soldiers wore. Splash. Someone had stepped into the large puddle that had formed to the left of the camp gate. A short curse. Reassuringly in almost perfect German. Piet thought he could hear a Saxon accent. Lutz still unlocked his weapon and straightened up. „STOP! Who's there? Stop! qui est là?“ he roared into the night. Piet also unlocked his weapon and secured Lutz. The searchlights from the flat roof of the factory building swiveled towards the entrance. „Calm down, comrade, and put the gun away again.“ An officer stepping out of the darkness drove him up, with a weak Saxon dialect, who pressed papers directly to the fence of the entrance gate. „We were on the way to Saarbrücken with the truck and were attacked a few km further. Josef and I are unharmed, but Kalle tore it up. It's still in the car." Lutz still didn't trust the roast and hadn't lowered his gun yet. Meanwhile, Piet radioed an officer over the field phone. Lutz opened the gate a crack and asked for the papers. The officer called on the phone did not come alone, with four other men in tow. They accompanied the still nameless officer and Josef quickly to the dry, after they too had looked at the papers, which had meanwhile been softened. „That’s going to really suck.“ Lutz grumbled to himself as he secured the weapon again and lit the next butt. Annoyed, he snapped the match in front of the warehouse gate, which he then slammed loudly. He was probably already aware that a search party would be sent out very quickly. In the weather, in the dark, it wasn't fun. If the story was then to be true, the peaceful idyll would be over. The impending danger also aroused little interest in leaving the currently safe camp. „If the asshole was right, it will soon be teeming with black weirdos, then this is the end of quiet service. Then things get damn serious here. The girls won't be so nice to you either - Piet.“

Another moment when you wish you were wrong. Piet quickly crept back into the warm sentry box. If they really should send his platoon out into the cold, he would at least want to warm up a little. Lutz put on a new pot of tea and lit the next cigarette. „You know little one, we could now lie in our bed at home and enjoy life. But then the next morning I hate your wife's pissing again. I'd rather freeze my ass off here with the French and do something sensible. You can see how you want, where else it can be poop, so don't get in your shirt and warm up. And when it calms you down, write home again. But you won't freeze to death tonight. Well and bullets will not rush around our ears. The Frenchmen who are responsible for that have already donated, as they always do.“ Piet did not feel more motivated than before, even if he had to admit that this address came as a surprise. He thought about the last few weeks and wondered whether Lutz had talked to him so much during this time. Rather not. Karl and Willi trudged to the gate. They didn't look really satisfied. Both had already shouldered their carbines and were already wearing their helmets. With Willi, he was sitting crooked on his head, which caused Lutz to grumble and look annoyed. The rainwater ran down the helmets and dripped directly into the face. „We don't get our well-deserved beauty sleep because of these fucking French people.“ Mooted Karl as a greeting. Yes, Karl also liked to express himself extremely diplomatically. In the next few minutes more and more soldiers gathered at the guardhouse. The officer who arrived about half an hour ago was also there. Karsten, the direct platoon leader, went to the guardhouse. "Piet and Lutz, get your marching pack immediately. Full ammunition. The morning shift takes over for you.“ So it really went out to look for the truck. What was there anyway? Must be something important, otherwise other units would have been brought in, they would have taken longer, but were more experienced. His troops were never called into combat or search operations and were formally responsible for nothing more than the smooth supply of supplies and their guarding. Most of the people present showed their uncertainty and, above all, the lack of combat experience. Maybe also the tiredness and the lack of interest to march into the French pampas in this dirty weather. The vehicles of the train were not made available. These were too easy a target in the dark and for the short distance the effort was wasted. Piet slowly wondered if it was all happening so close, why hadn't anyone heard shots? Before he could lose himself in these thoughts, they marched off. Often one could hear gunshots for several kilometers. In the meantime the wind and the hail were very loud, but so loud that it drowned out shots? There they were again, faster than he thought. The nameless officer gave the direction. They made very slow progress. Parts of the dirt road were completely sodden and the boots sank deep into the ground. It was a very strenuous march. German curses and the strained snorting of the soldiers who were somehow working their way mingled with the splashing rain. The footprints quickly filled with water and then collapsed. Anyone who got lost here probably didn't find their way back either. At least not before daybreak. They would hardly get through here with a vehicle. And if they did, they wouldn't actually be faster with it. When they had crossed the first field on the outskirts, three paramedics joined the platoon. These came from a hospital at the other end of town. Here, too, there was little enthusiasm. Actually, they should be happy to come from this direction. At least their street was paved and didn't threaten to swallow their boots with it. The rain continued to increase, at least the wind eased a little. „My eggs are freezing off“ Lutz mumbled and lit the next cigarette. Piet wondered how much Lutz was actually smoking a day. It felt like a weekly ration every day.„Shut up! About another kilometer to the goal, absolute watchfulness and silence!“ The officer whispered into the platoon. Lutz raised an eyebrow in annoyance and looked down at the floor again. He felt little interest in falling into a deep puddle. So he would become the mockery of the entire procession. He was happy to leave that to others, especially the less experienced soldiers. Fresh meat always needed a thick skin with them and was quickly at the mercy of the whole unit. The side street to the neighboring town was partially washed away. In the distance you could see the silhouette of a truck lying on its side. The cab was half torn away. A construction made of tree trunks stuck it into this, one trunk had the windshield cut through exactly at the level of the driver. The driver was directly impaled. As a result of the impact, the car was completely warped and thrown on its side together with the wooden structure. The paramedics who were present made sure once again that the driver was really dead and took the identification tag. A gruesome sight. The head was torn from the neck by the tree trunk and lay deformed in the footwell. Half the cab was full of blood and what was left of the head. With what force did the truck have to hit the obstacle in this bad weather? „We had no chance in the dark, when we saw the obstacle, we couldn't brake anymore and then it rumbled.“ Josef explained as if he could read the mind. His officer was already climbing around on the loading area, hastily looking for something. The beam of light from his lamp flew wildly to and fro. There were still a few boxes on what was left of the truck bed. At first glance, the truck still looked completely loaded. However, the officer's reaction indicated that it was not. He became more and more hectic in his search and did not find anything and cursed loudly, which Karsten whispered to a loud „shut up!“ prompted. You must have heard the brief outburst of anger right down to the town. The rain let up a bit and the lapping of the rain no longer covered the gentle wind in the trees. The atmosphere was scary and the senses played some tricks on you. Piet always assumed he could hear movements and voices. However, nothing could be discovered there. Together they searched the ground and the ditch. What did they still not know. If they were to find something, they would already know where to look. With the little light that their lamps gave, the search turned out to be extremely difficult. In addition, the eyes got used to the light of the lamps and whenever they tried to find the cause of a noise it took a few seconds until the eyes got used to the darkness again. The officer became more and more nervous. Something must be very important. Lutz pointed to the open field in the distance and aimed his rifle at the spot. „Something is moving“ The guns were unlocked, Lutz and Piet secured in the direction of the field. Piet could not yet see what made Lutz off. The rest kept looking. Whatever.Now Piet also noticed the movement. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck. The hair stood up. Adrenaline shot through his body. The gaze became more focused and, like in training, the heartbeat and breathing calmed down to keep a steady hand on the weapon.He didn't want to shoot anyone, but he didn't want to end up like the truck driver either. What was his name again? Crack. Something in the field was just awkwardly kicked. You couldn't sneak up like that. Fingers cramped on the rifle and slowly moved on the trigger. I'll have you in a minute, he thought briefly and was inwardly shocked when he realized what that thought actually meant. He suppressed the thought quickly, do not hesitate when the target was in focus ... He could not yet see what he was actually aiming at.At that moment, Lutz pushed Piet's carbine down. „You don't like our food and you want to shoot a deer, eh?“ In the same moment he recognized it too. Did the deer realize just how close it was? Probably not. As fast as it was in sight, it jumped away again. „Would have been a decent breakfast as compensation for our little adventure excursion.“ Lutz laughed and threw his rifle on his shoulder again. Karsten called Piet over. „You go back immediately, no detours, no hesitation. As soon as you can and report what happened here and where it happened. Take Lutz with you. Should there be fighting, the ultimate goal is to carry the message on. No fighting the enemy, just back to camp! The report must be sent to Paris immediately. Go Go!“ He still didn't understand the excitement. His legs had already implemented the order and so they rushed back towards the camp. It was difficult to make progress, the ground was still very slippery and muddy. What should he actually report? A truck was attacked. He understood that, but what was inside? Who was in? Which unit was the truck from? So he rushed back to the old basket factory with Lutz. The way back was much faster than the way away. They were less anxious not to become the mockery of their comrades. As soon as they arrived, they reported. The radio operators also looked at him helplessly at first, but reported the few bits of information to the headquarters in Paris. A few seconds later, they went white as a sheet when the answer arrived. The radio operators hastily issued instructions and summoned an officer. Seconds later the alarm went off. The siren started howling. Again Lutz and Piet were left standing at a loss, while all of a sudden it was very funny around them. Officers ran wildly around each other, further radio stations were occupied. The entire warehouse was suddenly brightly lit, as was the warehouse of the vehicle fleet. The alarm sirens of the hospital could also be heard from a distance. Additional posts were manned. Ammunition boxes distributed. All drivers were called to the factory. Little by little, isolated lights went on in the village. The second and third platoons were fully assembled and ready to move out. „We're getting into the shit here, kid.“ commented Lutz - as usual diplomatically. The platoon leader from the second platoon asked Lutz and Piet aside. „Get yourself a coffee, grab as much ammunition and food as you can carry and get to the trucks to move out as quickly as possible. We'll bring you back to the rest of the guys and then we'll see.“ Everything remained very cryptic. „Go poop again, it's going to be a long day“ Lutz commented and moved towards the latrine. Piet did the same. In all the hustle and bustle, Lutz remained amazingly calm. Just in time for departure, they rushed to the waiting vehicles and joined the second platoon. Meanwhile the sun was rising in the distance. Space was eagerly created in the vehicle fleet. „The boys in black move in.“ Mentioned a new one from the second platoon. Very strange. So far they have not had any points of contact with the Waffen SS. They didn't want to either. They took care of their ego too much, the rumors that were heard about them too bad. Their blind obedience is too dogged. Lutz sank into chatting with his neighbor. The truck convoy, accompanied by two armored personnel carriers, of the special motor vehicle type 251, went to the place of action via the better-developed roads. The route was almost twice as long as the previous footpath, but it was much faster for the vehicles to manage. The few passers-by on the street looked worried. They also knew that something was wrong. Most of them were well aware that this endangered the relatively peaceful coexistence. The driving time was short, you took position around the vehicle and inspected the destroyed truck again as the light increased. At the sight, Piet was very grateful that he had not been in this vehicle. The ominous officer was in a lively exchange with Karsten. They didn't seem to necessarily agree. From the other direction of travel a motorcycle with a sidecar came at full speed, spoke briefly to a soldier who was supposed to control the road and drove, also at full speed, in the opposite direction. He had never seen anything like it either. „In the truck were some pictures from some museum in Paris and some plans. They don't care about the pictures. The loss of the plans is a total disaster“ Lutz whispered to him. „it gets really disgusting here if we don't find them somewhere. I've seen that in Poland. Lots of dead. So damn many dead..“ Lutz's expression changed suddenly. The view seemed downright empty, he must have seen terrible things. Piet ticked it off under the category: classic soldier rumors. At the same time he wondered who the dead Lutz was talking about, but quickly dismissed the thought. What he did not know could not oppress him and, above all, cause him no problems. But it was always the same. Every time something went abnormal, it was about art or plans.Allegedly also once about novel tank weapons that were stolen from a platoon near Trier. So far, however, every rumor has turned out to be nonsense. Before that, however, Lutz had never participated in any speculation. The thoughts were suddenly interrupted. Karsten approached the platoon. „We have to secure everything here. Big animals come from Paris to investigate. A group of the SS will ask around in town. I don't know what was captured either, but I can tell you that they go as far as Berlin, probably even to the Fuhrer's headquarters, the ass on ice. So don't make any mistakes, don't overlook anything. And just shut up when they're there. What is most important: take care of yourself and those around you!“ A ring-shaped position was taken around the truck, and a soldier from the second platoon climbed a treetop. The third platoon arrived and began searching the field in the direction of the village. They made rapid progress and became increasingly distant from the remaining soldiers. The rain had made sure that possible footprints could no longer be seen. The ground around the attack site was just too soft. The traces that were still there were mixed up too much with those of the German soldiers. But every attack, no matter how perfect, had to leave its mark, especially if there was a hasty escape. So most of them were cautiously optimistic about finding something. Especially when they moved a few meters away from the wreck. The truck had sunk further into the muddy ground and was tilted more than it was about an hour ago. At the sight, Piet wondered why the vehicle hadn't driven on the road. It was also unclear to him how to achieve such a speed on the soft road. The vehicles they had brought in meanwhile turned around and drove back into town. If something was really stolen, the thieves were gone, far away. Just where? He hoped that no clues were found in the place and that any clues led to Paris. He cared too much about the people here. Even if that probably met with little approval. The noise of vehicle engines could be heard from a distance. They came closer. Two bucket cars drove towards the scene of the accident. The sun had risen in the meantime and had fought its way through the thick cloud cover. The rain had completely subsided. One could now speak of a fine morning. The tiredness was deep in Piet's bones and it wasn't really warm either. So it was difficult for him to enjoy. Not to mention the fact that he was quite nervous. He really had no interest in locating the attackers and, in the worst case, fighting with them. Officers sat in the bucket car. They didn't talk to the common soldiers, only to the train drivers. These pointed in the direction of the village and as quickly as the officers were there, they were gone again. They were accompanied by the two armored personnel carriers that had stayed behind. „First they go for a coffee in the warm and then come back when it is warmer and we have finished our work. Then they pat each other on the shoulder and tell each other what a great job they have done.“ grumbled Lutz.