1. Friedrich H

    Friedrich H Senior Member

    * * * * *

    It was night already and the Von Jolly mansion rested quietly in the darkness. The little ones and the servants were all asleep. There was only light in Friedrich’s bluish bedroom, where he was reading, laying on his bed. There were several books over the sheets and it seemed more that he was just having a look the one he was holding because he passed the pages very quickly. No, he was indeed reading and was resting his back in soft cushions. He was wearing a silken robe and was covering himself with a de-coloured old rug, all sewn, that had kept him warm every single night of his existence. Someone opened the door suddenly. It was four-year-old Karl, who was dragging his Teddy Bear and rubbing his wet eyes with his other hand.
    —What is the matter, Karl? —Asked his father, standing up and running until kneeling before his son, who said sobbing:
    —I was… and heaven… and it was raining… and you… you died…
    —My dear —he hugged him—, do not worry, it was only a nightmare. Come, sleep beside me to-night. I’m taking after you —Friedrich lifted him and laid him besides, putting the books away; he took off his robe. He kissed his forehead and embraced him and lying to-gether he caressed his golden hair and whispered tender phrases to calm him down. They both said a prayer, the Guardian Angel and afterwards, they slept.
    "—Many thanks, private Kretzcinsky —young lieutenant Friedrich von Jolly thanked a very young, short soldier for the tin-cup with coffee he was now holding with his frozen hands, covered with dirty fingerless gloves. Friedrich’s face was very pale, muddy and unshaved. His breath mixed with the steam coming from the hot coffee. He sipped it and sighed of pleasure, closing his eyes. It was a filthy coffee made with filthy water, but in the middle of the wood and mud of the trench and the snow, it was a true, true pleasure. Friedrich got his numb fingers inside his pocket and took out an art nouveau golden cigarette case took a cigarette with a golden strip from it and gave it to private Kretzcinsky.
    —Thank you, lieutenant —Friedrich walked calmly in the trench holding the cup with both hands, trying to warm them. Meanwhile, soldiers, seating on their hills, resting and smoking at their holes or at the flooded floor of the trench, stared at him. The men, dirty and covered with tents’ canvas smiled as he was walking by. That dark-haired man, thirty years old and not too strong looked defenceless and weak with his rag coat, the handkerchief around his head covering his ears and a ruined officer visor cap. His boots were equally awful and of course, the feet inside them. The enlisted men loved to see their company commander in the mud among them. He was the only officer they had seen in the trenches with them. He and a captain —battalion’s adjutant— called Ald von Treuer, who was tall, very handsome, blue-eyed and curly-blond-haired. Friedrich walked towards him and extended him the cup of coffee. He stared him full of lust, with his strange indigo eyes.
    —No, thanks, Fried —he made a sign of refusal and then showed the little silvered can full with Cognac he was carrying— I’ve got this. Very good for the cold —captain Von Treuer was not badly seen by the men because of his Cognac nor many of his officer’s privileges. His sensual lips were purple and his teeth were clashing rhythmically and it was difficult for him to speak. Friedrich remained there in silence, getting lost in his lovely blue eyes. That very silence united them and the rats staring at them from everywhere in the trench made them both feel at home, within the hell they had as home.
    Their eyes were lost and they didn’t put much attention on the strong-whistle over their heads, which then became a strong explosion. Little rocks and dirt fell on them and into Friedrich’s coffee. Everyone kept meditating idly. The telephone inside the trench ‘shelter’ rang and Ald went in to pick it up. It was major Henning, the battalion commander, on the other side of the line, shouting and issuing orders. Ald put his head down every time he said, pessimistically ‘Yes, sir’. He hanged the phone and Friedrich got in. He took Ald from his waist and kissed his neck.
    —What’s up? —Minutes later came into the trenches many men with ammunition boxes and the artillery behind them started roaring. Friedrich went up a wooden ladder and used the periscope to observe no man’s land, which was a desolated land of mud and snow. He clearly saw how the French trenches in front of him, blew-up one after another and how dozens of bursts made everything fly.
    Night fell. The trenches were crowded with men wearing rags and carrying huge backpacks. A lot of them were smoking, others were cleaning their rifles and other were putting on their helmets or putting bayonets in place. Friedrich was walking among them and trying to encourage them, even if he had no will nor enthusiasm himself. He went where Ald, next to the telephone and a simple map drawn by a corporal that had went out on a patrol a week ago and died the previous night.
    —At eight o’clock —said Ald. Friedrich synchronised his watch, put nine bullets into his Lueger’s magazine and kept it away. He looked Ald’s bright eyes and masculine chin. He was full of mud and slovenly; he had let a curly-blond and grubby beard grow that stood above a black scarf, formerly white. He shook his hair, bothering the invading lice in his head and put on the traditional spiked Prussian helmet, which had no spike now.
    It was 19.39 when there was an abrupt silence. All the men stared at each other, astonished.
    —It’s still not eight o’clock! Why does fire cease? —Complained Friedrich to Ald. The latter picked up the phone and when he tried to find an explanation he took only shouting from major Henning, who must have been securely seated on his Louis XV chair, behind his cedar desk at his Château, i. e. the Headquarters. Ten minutes later Friedrich saw through his periscope the dark silhouettes of the Poilus going back to their positions. Then came the whistles and shells started falling onto the crowded trenches. Ten metres from Ald, a medium shell jointed twelve men and left their remains all over the ‘walls’ and on one of the field kitchens. The rats, cynically, didn’t take long to have their fresh meat ration. At eight o’clock, a green torch illuminated the sky and Ald whistled his officer’s whistler. The men climbed up the stairs and got their heads, torsos and legs out of the trenches. Isolated shots and then, the stutter of enemy machine-guns welcomed them. Many men couldn’t even go out from the their own trenches. The weight of their equipment was excessive and made almost impossible to climb the ladder. Friedrich was waving his hands and giving the signal to the men to get out to no man’s land, to darkness and to death. The firing and explosions of French guns lightened briefly the landscape, as well as both sides’ torches. Two minutes later, the fire stopped. Five Germans, out of 350 had managed to get out of their own positions. There were fifty casualties. Five minutes later Ald gave a new order and the man repeated the operation. Same result, another thirty casualties. At 20.14 the telephone rang and then threatens of a court martial for cowardice followed. Ald and Friedrich stared at each other and climbed the ladder themselves. They rose their right arm, shouted and got out. Their men followed both. This time, a good part of the men managed to get out and started running as fast as their thirty-kilogramme equipment allowed it. The open terrain was flying all over due to the French mortars and guns while machine-guns wiped the German lines. The chests of Ald and Friedrich’s soldiers filled with red-holes and the men fell on the snow. Many couldn’t go beyond their own wire. Ald and Friedrich ran to-gether for some twenty metres until reaching the French barbed wire, still intact; then they realised they had only less than fifty men left after them. Thirty seconds later, they were fifteen. Both officers and the rest of the men turned around and ran back to their lines, jumping over still warmed bodies of their just-fallen soldiers and frozen, green and chopped remains of French and German soldiers that had been there for weeks.
    Friedrich ran towards Ald and tried to catch his arm, but suddenly, they were thrown away by an explosion and fell a couple of metres away. Friedrich had dislocated his shoulder and his face landed on a light-blue coat that contained three fifths of a rotten body. Echo and a whistle filled his head and that was all he could hear. The mud, the pain and the flashing lights got him distracted and disoriented him. He then started yelling as loud as he could:
    —Aldi! Where the-hell are you?! —He couldn’t even hear his own voice. He left his cap and pistol aside, stood up and started looking for Ald, exposed in open ground. Five metres away he found him, at the edge of a big crater, without legs and with his abdomen shattered, completely covered in blood. Friedrich kneeled in front of him and saw horrified how Ald’s guts were coming out from his torn uniform and the last glimpse of life fade away from his eyes at the same time he spat blood and expired. Friedrich took him by the neck and started yelling and crying:
    —Aldi, no! Don’t fucking die, no! Not fucking now! —Nor the pain of his shoulder nor the bullets sissing within centimetres of him distracted him; he was weeping and yelling bitterly, shaking that inert mass full of sticky blood, frozen and red snow, that had just been a living, beautiful, young, complete body. A new explosion threw Friedrich away…" and he, eighteen years later, warm on his bed woke up abruptly, sweating cold and with his heart about to burst. Tears were falling down from his cheeks and he couldn’t breath. Karl, sleeping besides him, woke up when he felt the abrupt move.
    —What’s going on, daddy? —Asked the baby, scared. His father didn’t respond because he couldn’t breath and because he was full of panic. He stood up, drank a glass of water and put a young blond German officer’s portrait and kept it away in his drawer. He came back to his bed, hugged his son strongly and tried to sleep again.
     
  2. Gerry Chester

    Gerry Chester WW2 Veteran WW2 Veteran

    Interesting and well constructed story Friedrich, however, is it not inappropriate for a World War II Group? Perhaps Lee may consider expanding to include the Great War.

    Regards,

    Gerry
     
  3. Dpalme01

    Dpalme01 Member

    It was good. This is going to be a part of a bigger novel, correct?
     
  4. Friedrich H

    Friedrich H Senior Member

    Sorry for the late answer but yes, it is only a sub-chapter of the first part of four of the novel. And it is about WWII. This subchapter only shows us a small flashback to exaplain why the main character is out of his mind.
     
  5. STEVEN

    STEVEN Senior Member

    Freidrich

    It looks good,how close are you to getting it published ??.

    Stephen
     
  6. Friedrich H

    Friedrich H Senior Member

    I'm not even close to finishing it! :D Let alone publishing!
     

Share This Page