The End

Source

"We look pathetic," Lang sighed as he looked at the column.

Without weapons, equipment and helmets, shaggy and unwashed, their greatcoats stained with mud, the platoon didn't look like soldiers anymore. Krafft had to agree with Lang, they looked pathetic.

But they were alive.

Backus had radioed his superior in Magdeburg concerning the prisoners he had gathered up. He didn't tell the man that they had come across the Elbe. His commander was a lazy man who would have told him to send them back to the Soviets, rather than have to deal with them himself. So that little detail was left out.

As it turned out, Backus' commanding officer had met a lady in Magdeburg who he was spending a lot of time with, time he'd rather spend with her than with doing his job.

"How many of the bastards did you bag?" the man wanted to know.

"Roughly forty, Sir. They were separated from their unit, had no support and were tired of fighting, I guess."

"You guess, Captain? The army doesn't pay you to guess."

"Does it really matter what their motivation for surrendering was, Sir? We've got them, I propose to take 'em to Helmstedt, according to messages I've received the army is setting up a collection point for refugees and POWs there."

"Helmstedt, huh?" there was a pause on the line, Backus swore he heard a woman giggling in the background. "Fine, take your whole platoon, we're pulling out anyway, the entire outfit's pulling back to the area around Brunswick."

Backus checked his map, yup, what the American army called Brunswick was Braunschweig to the Germans. It wasn't far from Helmstedt. "We'll pull out tomorrow morning, Sir. Can we get a couple of trucks for the POWs?"

"Hell, Backus, I'm looking at my map, it's like what, 40 miles? Hell, the bastards can still walk can't they?"

"Well, yes, but ..." the line had gone dead. The last thing he'd heard was a woman calling for his commander to "come back to bed."

Niemeyer looked up as Backus came into the shed by the ferry landing, "You look like you've seen better days, Herr Hauptmann."

Backus nodded, "I have but that's a story for another day. Have the prisoners ready to move out tomorrow morning. We're marching to Helmstedt."

"That's sixty kilometers, that's a half-day's walk, in your trucks you could do it in a couple of hours."

"Unfortunately all I have is the two trucks parked outside the townhall, for my men and equipment."

"But certainly you could use them to move the prisoners, they aren't going to run away and ..."

"We're leaving as well, Herr Niemeyer. We've been ordered to pull back to Magdeburg, but you didn't hear that from me. Now if any of your folks need a ride to Helmstedt ..."

"But why would ..." then it struck Niemeyer, the Amis were leaving them to the mercy of the Red Army. "This is insane, Herr Hauptmann, you're leaving us to the verdammte Kommunisten¹!"

"Not my call, Herr Niemeyer. You know as well as I do, 'Befehl ist Befehl.'"² Backus was obviously not happy about this situation. "How many people are left in the village, Horst?"

Niemeyer was surprised, Backus had never addressed him by his given name before, "Perhaps a hundred and fifty, more or less."

"How many capable of walking, oh let's say, sixty kilometers?"

Niemeyer looked at Backus, he wondered if the man was proposing they evacuate their homes.

"Most of them, there are seven or so elderly who might not be able, but we have carts ..."

"Let me make it easy for you, Horst. Have those who wish to accompany us to Helmstedt form up in the village square, by the church, at first light tomorrow. Make sure everyone understands that to stay here is to possibly live under the Russians. It's not certain, but that's what we're hearing."

"When can we return?" Niemeyer had a sick feeling deep in his gut.

"Who can say? I would plan for a very long wait before you could return, if ever."

Niemeyer nodded, "Danke, Herr Hauptmann, I will speak to the people. I will see you tomorrow morning at any rate."

Captain Backus, United States Army, looked over the crowd of people. Well, perhaps a hundred people, not much of a crowd, but in the small square, it seemed like a lot. Horst Niemeyer had told him before sunrise that none of the villagers would be leaving.

"After all, we survived the Nazis, I'm sure we can survive the Communists. There are those in the village who will welcome the change. They say you Americans are too ill-disciplined and Germans need a firm had over them."

Backus shook his head, "Well, I don't know about that, but I understand that people don't want to give up what they know."

"I also have a personal favor to ask of you, Herr Hauptmann."

"And that is?"

"Can you overlook the loss of two prisoners?"

"Krafft and Schmitz, the two love birds, correct?"

"Yes Sir, that is correct."

"Are they staying here?"

"For now, I suppose. They wish to be married by our pastor, as soon as possible."

"I see. Very well, my boss doesn't really care for that matter, so perhaps I shouldn't as well."

"Thank you, if you ever come this way again ..."

"Danke, Herr Niemeyer."

"So I guess this is it." Lang said as he looked around, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"I suppose it is." Krafft was also struggling to keep his composure.

Lang nodded, then snapped to attention, "It has been an honor, Herr Stabsfeldwebel," as he snapped a very crisp army-style salute.

Krafft came to attention as well, returning his old comrade's salute. "Take care of yourself, you old reprobate."

"I will and I have no doubt that Liesl here will have you fully domesticated within a month or so."

Liesl smiled, "It may take a little longer than that but ..." she then hugged Lang, hard. "Do take care, Kurt. Find a good woman, settle down."

Lang was blushing fiercely, he stepped back, gave a short bow and said, "I will, gnädige Frau. If I can find one as special as yourself that is."

Then he turned and walked to the head of the column of German prisoners of war. He stopped and faced the column and barked out the orders. When the column stepped off, though they still looked bedraggled and hard used, pathetic was not a word anyone would use to describe them.

They looked like soldiers.

¹ Damned Communists.

² An order is an order.