Seeing Red

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

April 1945,


American Tank divisions of First Platoon had just been sent along German territory to push forward, our machinery cutting holes as we took land. I remember the bitter-sweet smell of rotting flesh, Kraut Nazis and civilians cluttered the ground. If I close my eyes hard enough I can almost see shots firing behind my lids. Can almost smell the gunpowder.


Light escapes me. I can feel the beat of my heart ramming in my ears. My platoon is down, my position in the front right seat, manning the machine guns had given me the opportunity to escape through the hatch at my feet. Mud is caking my face and hands, my normally light green garments are a stained with bodily fluids not of my own and the earth. The footsteps of the Heer that surround me are making my teeth rake against my tongue. Should I just bite it off? Bleeding out under my own men would be better then being taken prisoner of war. The fire that had grown in a nearby abandoned school-house is now licking the sky, casting shadows along the ground, making me see ghosts. There are thick boots all around me, my desperate attempts to hide myself in a dugout under the only home I've known for four years seemingly impossible. Suddenly a pale face with thick lashes and a slippery smile lowers itself to peer under the US land artillery, his flashlight illuminating my face, reveling my small hide-away. My hands are shaking over my head, finger spread apart. The barrel of a gun pokes under, but he pauses as an SS pipes up loudly.


"Gibt es Überlebende?" Are there any survivors?


My eyes lock with the enemy, and my head rakes from side to side slowly. I can feel my bottom lip quiver uncontrollably, tears threatening to stream down my face. I've seen what a man can do to another man, and prisoners of war generally don't survive after being tucked under the wing of an SS. The situation leaves a sour taste in my mouth, my amber eyes now shut so tightly I'm afraid the skin might tear.


"Nein Ich fürchte nicht." No, I'm afraid not.


"Betroffene aus! Meine verwundet kann warten nicht eingehalten werden!" Move out! My wounded can't be kept waiting!


These foreign words are followed by the darkness sinking in once more, my body vibrating uncontrollably as the army of German soldiers head to the Northwest. I take a few deep breaths, my stomach churning as their breathy marching chorus picks up where it had left off before we intercepted them with a surprise attack. Interesting enough, it had been a garrison of their finest men, and we only let half slip away with their life.


I let them.


I count to one-hundred before clawing my way out from under the muddy tank, her metal glistening with Kraut blood in the fire's light. My heart has thrown itself into my throat and my body heaves. The nerves I'd been holding in for years seem to snap, unraveling as sickness spills from my lips. The face of a comrade is laying next to my feet, the body belonging to it positioned a dew yards to the left. I cover his lifeless eyes with my boot, my shameful vomiting making my brain do flips inside my skull. I spit into the ground, trying to evacuate the taste of bile from my mouth before picking my allies corpses of all things explosive or with the ability to blow a man to pieces. I pick up an M1903 Springfield .30 caliber bolt action rifle and sling it over my shoulder, ammunition boxes being tucked away gently along the inside of my thick camouflaged jacket. An M1911 Pistol finds its way into my hand, a single-action, semi-automatic, magazine-fed, recoil-operated pistol chambered for the .45 ACP cartridge. My mind is spinning with different commands as I gather myself some supplies, the moon hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. An M1941 Johnson machine gun falls into my hands and I tuck it away along my other shoulder. My fingertips have gone numb, the feeling of bodies squelching under my boots has become a daily nuisance, but the fact that these are my men makes it all-the-more gut-wrenching.


I fall behind a few miles from the officers, but the sound of their many feet and booming voices lead me along the thick mud-paved road. I stick to the treeline, eyes wide and unblinking. I should have stayed with the wreckage and waited for more troops to come swooping in. I know there's another wave of them a few hundred miles southeast of me, but I'm impatient and I can feel my humanity slipping as the crest of rage slowly rises. Feet dangle from the occasional wooden pole, decaying bodies of young children hung by meaty rope. A large sign made of oak is draped loosely over their necks. White paint reads: "Ich bin ein Feigling, und weigerte sich, für das deutsche Volk zu kämpfen." I'm a coward and refuse to fight for the German people.


The stench of their rotting flesh makes my hand shoot to my mouth, covering my nose as well. It sickens me knowing the Krauts are using their own children as war pawns, their small lifeless bodies making my chest sink. I wish I could pull them in and hold their frightened souls to stop the nightmares. To stop the pain.


I don't think I can live with myself.


Feet aching, I've followed the troop to a small base on the oitskirts of a farm-house in Saale, the towering mountain that kicked my ass as I had spent many days and nights tearing through it's unpleasant terrain. The sun is burning holes in my shoulders, and I ran out of MRE's a few days prior. I don't know what I'm doing, what my plan is, how how I'll even manage to take on a handful of armed officers in their own home-base. My back is tucked tightly against a tree, the dugout I'd created a few hundred feet from roaring vehicles providing me with some shade. I feel sleep stinging at my head, so quietly breath a goodnight to the ghosts of my comrades and drift into a light sleep.





Fire


Burning burning burning. The smell of scorched flesh and searing hair makes my mouth fill with bile. I swallow hard, the slot in front of my eyes allowing me to see outside of the Rave platoon's tank. I hit the trigger, sending short bursts of bullets tearing into Kraut bodies, their screams fueling my belly. I press down again, and the soft click of an empty clip makes my stomach drop. "I'm out!" I yelp behind my back, only to retrieve an echoing response.


We've all run dry.


The hatch above my Sargent's head opens, and the man pulls out his own pistol, firing into the face of a German soldier. Blood splatters his face as he shoves the body outside the metal home, his hand coning down and wiping fingers across his forehead. "Best job I ever had." He breaths, and that's when I notice the layer of wounds that riddle his chest, scarlet leaking everywhere. Lionman jumps to his feet, hands pressing into the bullet holes to try and stop Wardaddy from bleeding out. In the seat next to me, my subordinate Handcock is without a head, the smell of copper clinging to my clothing. I can feel the sobs shaking my body, but no sounds come out of my trembling teeth.


This is war.


This is the life I live...


The sound of owls above my head ripped me from the unsavory dream, my eyes crusted with sleep. I can see small slivers of moonlight bouncing off the windows of the high-ranking officer's quiet villa, no lights glow in the windows, leading me to believe the pig and his family are sound asleep. Necks ready for the bite of my blade.


I wriggle myself free of the thick underbrush, eyes peeled for men standing Guard. One is positioned along the back door, another sitting with his helmet gently resting over his eyes along the front entrance. The side windows are patrolled by each every half hour, giving me enough time to bound for the french-windows. I use my switchblade to slide in-between the frames and unlatch it with little difficulty. The panes blow open, sweeping a gust of mixing smells into my face. Vanilla, coffee, eggs, and perfume greet me as I quickly slide into the German-occupied home and shut them behind me. Lace curtains hide their prying eyes as I silently stake out the downstairs.


No one to be seen.


I position my machine gun tightly under my right armpit, barrel aligned with my eyesight as I use a chair to block both entrances. I can't help but smile to myself as the floorboards silently sag under my feet, the steps allowing me to creep to the second floor, going unnoticed. The first door on the left ended up being a washroom, making me sigh with frustration. However, as soon as the handle is turned on the first room on the right, the sweet smell of a woman greets me. The soft click of the handle catching as the door is closed behind me makes a staggering impact. I'm here. In the home of the enemy, his daughter or housemaid held gently under the barrel of my gun.

 

[FaithWynters]

If I had still lived in Berlin, I would have been able to go outside and enjoy the beautiful spring weather. I could have walked the streets of my town and enjoyed the smell of fresh baked bread and streuselkuchen. The beautiful flowers bloomed and always added the touch of color that rejuvenated the city. This place was different. We had moved around so much in the recent years that it was hard to keep up with where we were—let alone make friends. Now though, it had been made very clear that leaving the home we lived in wasn’t an option.


It wasn’t an awful home. It was large and beautiful. When we got here, there was already furniture in place so that we could continue living our lives as if we hadn’t moved. With two stories of beautiful wood finish, the best beds on the market, and too many rooms to count, there was always something to explore or do.


I remember finding the most curious picture in a bedroom when we first arrived. I had been given the choice of picking out my room. So, I wandered from room to room looking out the window and laying on the beds. I was very aware that we might not be here for very long, but this ritual always helped me get adjusted to the new home. The picture was sitting just under the edge of the bed. I assumed that it had just been left by the previous owner.


The picture was not one of a whole family. It was only of a small baby and an older man. The baby couldn’t have been more than a year and a half old. Its dark hair stuck up in tiny curls. It was dressed up in a white cotton sleeping gown. I still haven't decided if the baby was a boy or a girl. The man that held the baby had the same dark hair--I assumed that he was her father. His face was rough with years of work. He was tired and the curls on the top of his head matched that of the baby's. It was strange because neither looked at the camera and neither seemed happy to be having their picture taken. I thought it curious. These were two people that I had never seen before and never would see again had left a token of their lives in this home. This moment that had been captured told me nothing about the people. It meant nothing to me, but encapsulated the meaning of so much more to someone else. I had never found something that was so interesting and for the longest time I sat on the bed and looked at the picture. I tried to find things I might have missed in the picture to tell me more about the couple. I even pulled the picture out of its frame and turned it over. The only hint it gave was a simple date: der dreiundzwanzigste Juli 1943. July 23rd 1943


The only thing that drew me out of the room was a call from my mother. Her room had already been decided upon; it was the largest. She wanted there to be enough room for both her and father when he came home. That wasn't quite as often as she would have liked, but it had been made very clear to the both of us that Daddy was leading men into battle not just for the betterment of Germany, but for the betterment of the whole world. It would have been selfish of us to complain about him being gone when he was on the track of such a noble cause.


I brought the picture down to show her and to tell her what room I had decided upon. She was sweet to me, and took the picture. If I were to find any more pictures, it was to bring them to her. It makes me sad to remember the yelling she gave the men moving our belongings into the rooms after she sent me back to my room. I sat on the stairs just to listen. She still treated me like I was only a child—not a backfisch. I deserved freedoms too. She kept things from me and sent me to my room often. It was aggravating to know that my mother still saw me as her own property—her own possession. Once she was done yelling, and she realized that anyone could be listening, I left for my room. There was no point in listening to silence. I never saw the picture of the dark haired man and the beautiful little baby again.


Being inside the house made me restless, and soon, mother and I began fighting. They started as little things, but soon escalated to being more and more frequent. These fights were part of the reason I hardly went out anymore—why I wasn’t allowed out anymore. Any attempt to even venture into the entranceway was grounds enough for a scolding. I was watched constantly, and the lessons I had with Herr Ehrlichmann seemed to grow longer and more frequent. By now I was having a lesson that went from meal to meal. We only stopped to go to the bathroom and to eat.


Herr Ehrlichmann was a nice man, and he was smart. He had been friends with my father since he was a young man. He was probably the smartest man I had ever met. He taught me so much about mathematics and literature. Sometimes, he had to have new and more advanced books brought in on the overnight train so we could continue our lessons. I had a feeling that he was running out of things to teach me.


“Achten Sie darauf, heute Abend gut schlafen. Morgen werden wir ein neues Thema starten , die Ihre volle Aufmerksamkeit benötigen.” Make sure you sleep well tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll be starting a new topic that will need your full attention.


“Gibt es eine Chance , eine Pause für einmal ?” Is there any chance of taking a break for once?


I sat on the cotton bed, running the brush one last time through my hair. It seemed like I saw more of Herr Ehrlichmann than I did of my own mother. It was dark outside, and it was time for bed. The elder gave a quiet chuckle. I had asked this same question every night for the past month.


“Nein.” The elder walked across the room to the small lamp that was still on. He turned around to look at the frown that had appeared on my lips. There would be more lessons tomorrow, and I had learned early on that this little trick didn’t work.


“Ihre Mutter erhielt eine Telegrafen früher. Es sollte eine Überraschung wartet auf Sie morgen früh beim Frühstück” Your mother received a telegraph earlier. There should be a surprise waiting for you tomorrow morning at breakfast.


I didn’t know how I should have felt. I watched him silently a moment before putting the pieces together. Usually, that meant father was coming home for a few days. He would be able to spend time with us. Those were the times that I really looked forward to.


“Papa?” I couldn’t help but grin as he nodded. The times when my father came home were the best times I could remember. I missed being his little girl. I missed being with him and hearing his wonderful stories of battle and helping people.


“Gutten Nacht, Emiline.” Without another word between the two of us, he turns off the lamp and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. I am left in the darkness. It is silent in the house. Most of the time, this is the sound I hear. I don’t bother pulling the book out from under my pillow. The day’s studies have made me quite tired and now, I know I’m too excited to take in anything I might read. Usually I would sit up another few hours just reading. It was the way that I could escape from these studies.


I took a few minutes standing at the window and looking out at the city. I was hoping this would get the bugs out of my stomach so I could rest. It was a pleasant escape, even if I couldn’t get to it. The air outside had cooled the window and I pressed my cheeks to it for a few moments. I sat there over a half an hour before I turned and retreated to my bed to sleep.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

The soft breathing of the girl tucked gently under her snow-white covers makes my eyes go wide. How can they sleep so soundly with the reek of their own demise under their heads? How can they live with the destruction their men have caused, their children and women have caused.


I remember clearly, rolling into one of the decrepit villages, the rubble created by fighter planes overhead. Wardaddy opened the latch above his head, the air filtering in poisonously sweet into Rave. Barely drying the sweat on our faces.


Our Sargent leans over towards an old German man that First Platoon slowly drove by. "Opa, wo sind die deutschen Soldaten?" (Grandpa, where are the Germen soldiers?) He speaks loudly and fluently, as if the language was his first nature.


The old man lifted his cane with his right hand, pointing to the northwe---


Bang!


The old man fell flat to the ground, a bullet ripping through his wise face and blowing off the back of his head. I stated in shock as other men came pouring from around the back of the tank, their arms spurting fire from their teeth.


The Nazis were ruthless.


They were animals.


My machine gun is propped neatly against the side-table, a large pitcher of ice-water calling to me. I take the pitcher in one hand, letting the water silently trickle down the side of my face as I gulp it down. Cold spills into my belly, the feeling of water after so many days without it making my spine roll. I place the empty glass gently back down, pointing my pistol to the side of the girl's head. My hand encloses over her mouth, gripping her face to keep her from making any noise.


"Make a noise and I'll splatter your fucking brains across this wall." I whisper harshly into her ear, my hands reeking of oil, dirt, decay, and tears.

 

[FaithWynters]

I sleep in the silence of the world around me for hours. There are very few times when I awaken at night to go to the bathroom. I do no dream of anything. I sleep in a dead sleep and my mind rolls over about the exciting day ahead of me. The only thing that keeps me asleep is the promise of an amazing day tomorrow.


Being awoken in such a harsh way was not something I had expected. Waking me up from the dead sleep I feel a hand press itself to my lips. Instinctively, as my eyes opened, I took in a gasp of air. It was a mistake; the mixture of smells on his hands almost made me sick.


"Make a noise and I'll splatter your fucking brains across this wall." My eyes widen. English. Why was there someone speaking English in my room? It wasn’t just English. His accent. Not British. No—he was American. Why was there an American in my room?


I had been taking English lessons from Herr Ehrlichmann for almost six months. I wasn’t as good as I would have liked to be, but one lesson a week I was only allowed to ask questions and speak in English. Herr Ehrlichmann thought it would be a good idea to start teaching me English—it was because of the way the war was going, but he would never admit that. It was hardly helping me now. It took me a while to try and decipher what little I could.


“Noise. Brains. Wall.” That’s all I needed to understand with the gun pressed to my head. I press my eyes closed, trying to keep from screaming. Every breath I took in made my stomach turn over on itself. It was a blessing that I getting vomit in his hand. I listen to the silence for a moment. No one knew he was here. He had somehow gotten here undetected. When I open my eyes again, tears fall from the corners. These Americans were monsters. I had no doubt that he would go through with his threat. Slowly, I bring my hands up so that he can see them. My heart was racing. The tears turned the dark shape of the man into a blurry and undistinguishable mess. I know that he will put a bullet in my head. Father has warned me of the allies and their cold—hearted nature. I bring one of my hands to his, a single finger held up to symbolize my silence.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

Her sudden movement makes the back of my neck tingle. My thumb cocks back the cold steel hammer, the soft click making my stomach churn. The innocent girl was doe-eyed and petrified, her finger slowly coming up over my hand to signify she had understood. My fingers release her lips, hand flying back to the knife at my hip. I retract the blade, making sure she can see the hilt glisten in the moonlight. I position myself on the bed, my clothing leaving a thick layer of grime on the freshly washed surface. With the mouth of my pistol resting against the side of her forehead, and the tip of my blade gently laying under her chin, I stare into her solid blue eyes. It almost rips my heart to shreds to see such a pretty young girl in such distress.


My mind recoils. Reminding me that even the little ones can take down a thousand men.


Especially the young.


"Berhnard Schultz" I simply say, naming the SS officer responsible for the deaths of many German man, women, children, and American soldiers. I can feel the fire swelling in my chest again, red tinging the corners of my vision. A few words in German slip into my mind, ones Wardaddy had taught us over the long transitions between operations.


"Ihre Leute sind Tiere. Hängende Kinder, die jungen in sterben für Ihre schmutzigen Land erschrecken" Your people are animals. Hanging children to scare the young into dying for your filthy country


My voice is sharp, almost making myself feel taken aback. The venom in my words almost frightens me. What has this battle turned me into?


A dead man can never die.


The silence that surrounds us makes my nerves start to unravel again, the corners of the room sinking in close. Almost suffocating me.


My hands shake with adrenaline, anger, and anxiety. Her face pulling me in.


"Wo ist er? Sag mir jetzt!" Where is he? Tell me now! I keep my voice down, but the smell of my own body is making speech difficult, the scent of decay making my eyes water.

 

[FaithWynters]

It is only the small movement of my hands that makes him release my mouth. I can still feel the pressure of his hand and the stench is not gone. It drifts through the air. There is grime on my mouth. I can feel my stomach in my throat. It isn’t a relief for the hand to be gone. His weapon is still pressed against my temple. I am so afraid that the tears don’t stop rolling down my cheeks.


Then, the man speaks my father’s name. If my eyes can widen any more—they do. My heart hurts at the thought that this man is looking for my father. He wants to know where he is. I take in a deep breath through my nose and the sound of my sniffles break the silence. I don’t dare make a noise. The cold blade makes me let out the smallest whimper. I grit my teeth and close my eyes; I can’t fight the silent sobs. He speaks in German. It’s not good, but good enough for me to understand the anger in his words. He wants only pain for the German people; I can tell by the way he speaks. I don’t dare say anything. I just lay there and wait for him to kill me. I don’t want to think about the man that fights against the German people and my father.


"Wo ist er? Sag mir jetzt!" The words break my heart. I know that this question means death either way. I could remember the conversation father and I had the last time he was here…


“Wenn etwas passiert , und fühlen Sie sich wie Sie werden verraten Ihrem Land , nehmen Sie diese .” If anything happens and you feel like you will be betraying your country, take this.


“Warum ?” Why?


“Da der Tod durch die eigene Hand ist immer besser als der Tod durch eine andere.” Because death by your own hand is always better than death by another.


I remembered him handing me the small white pill. Just bite into it. It had put it in the drawer of my night stand. I knew that either way I would die from this. Either I give away my father and someone kills me, I kill myself, or I don’t tell this man what he wants and he kills me. I can feel it starting to get hard to breath.


“Please” I try to use the little bit of English I know to my advantage. “I…” The words are getting lost in the sea of fear and sadness. “I do not know where my father is” I take in a deep breath. “Men sign up to fight for our country.” Why did she feel the need to defend Germany in the time when her life was a stake? “They are trying to make the world better.” I can press my eyes closed, trying to keep myself from crying anymore. The tears don’t stop. It wasn't the right answer. He was going to kill me and I couldn't stop it. “Bitte Gott, lass es schmerzlos” Please God make it painless.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

I can feel the sickening laugh threaten to rumble my throat. She actually believed in her ruler, honestly believed that the Germans were trying to better the world. I slip my blade back into my pocket and feel my fingers curl around soft locks, golden hair held tightly in my fist. I see her eyes wander to the bedside table, my combat boot flying up and slipping under the handle. I feel the wood drag open, a small white pill coming into view. My eyebrows raise as I meet her gaze. Within a heartbeat I reach over and swipe the other option from her sight and quickly bring the artillery back to her skin.


"Lies." I murmur, leaning in close. My cigarette stained breath puffs into her face, and I don't feel guilty about the putrid smell. When you've lived with a platoon of over 100,000 men you suddenly stop noticing your own stench. Her whimpers make my jaw set, the tears streaming down her face tearing at the seams holding my heart together. She's pleading now, fear gripping her shaky words. I can almost sympathise.


Almost.


The dangling feet of innocent lives slip behind my eyes for a second, causing the corners of my vision to blur.


Decay.


She whimpers.


"Because killing whoever won't wage your own battles is worth a gold-metal." The sarcasm in my voice is intense, my words feeling foreign in my own mouth. I can't believe where I am, what I'm doing. It feels like a dream, a very long and sickening dream. "Animals."


I find myself standing again, minutes have gone by and the quietness is making my ears ring. My hearing is not use to the gut-wrenching silence, my ears are made to be on the battlefield. I keep my weapon pointed at the SS' daughter, the perfume and cloves in her room not enough to mask the smell of the crusted blood on my cheeks. I use one finger to brush the lace curtain to the side, glancing down into the night for a quick second before pinning my eyes back onto her soft features, mouth stained with the ghost of my fingers.


" Berhnard Schultz" I repeat quietly this time, words soften, however the shaking of my pistol gives away the marrow-churning bitterness behind my ribs.


"You know." I hiss, the monster in my head rising in the sea once again.


"Sie haben keine Ahnung, der Dreck deine Leute getan haben. Ihr Gift." You have no idea the filth your people have done. Your poison.


I use the barrel to scratch the side of my head, the sound of dried blood flaking off my locks unsavory. "Your father deserves to die for what he's done. You all do." I don't care if she can understand me. I can't tell what I'll do next.


I'll stay up all night if I have to.


I have enough ammunition.

 

[FaithWynters]

Time seems to go by in a blur. I don’t know what this American is going to do. He sees me eying the side table and opens it. Maybe he thinks I’ve got a weapon or maybe he knows it’s something else. He seems satisfied with himself as the pill disappears from my vision. It could have been so easy, but he won’t allow it to be as such.


He spits words at me that I can hardly understand. He knows that I am lying. Of course the daughter of an officer would know where her father was. Depending on how soon ago he returned to the home he is either sleeping soundly in his bed or he is making love to my mother. I can hardly picture this man walking in on my parents and killing them where they lay.


“Killing. Battles.” Those are the only two words that I understand and the rest of the sentence is lost on my ears. Had I not been studying the words for such a long time, I might have already been dead. The cold weapon disappears from my head. The man gets up and for a moment I think the stench is gone with him. It’s not. I’m just imagining things. I don’t dare pick myself up from where I lie on my back. I am afraid that any movement will make him shoot me. I am sure he is not afraid to die if he has made his way into this home.


He says my father’s names once again. My eyes close. I don’t need to see him anymore. I don’t want my eyes to be open when this soldier snaps and kills me.


“You know” I nod slowly, trying to show him that I know where my father is. He is right. I stop moving. I have no idea what has happened. I am ignorant to the pain my people have caused.


“No.” I shake my head. I was trying to translate as he went. It was hard.


“Your father. Die. You do.” I bring up a hand to press the tears from my eyes. I can feel the cool wetness running into my ears.


“The sins of Germany do not fall on my shoulders.” I take in a slow breath. “Die Sünden von Amerika nicht auf die Schultern fallen entweder.” The sins of America do not fall on your shoulders either. “Why did you come here if you were looking for my Papa?”

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

Her slow nod cased a ripple of anxious pleasure to rotate in my spine. The beautiful Kraut would help me, and in return the SS officer would probably shoot her square in the face without blinking. Why does this thought bother me so much? Why would she be any use to me, or to the American US Army.


The M1911 feels rough in my hands now, her broken English and shaky German washing over me. " Die Sünden von Amerika nicht auf die Schultern fallen auch nicht. " it repeats in my head, soft sobs rattling my brains. I can feel the memories of the last 4 years of my life slink behind my eyelids, entering me in a silent battle inside my skull. Two men struggle to tear my humanity in half.


Get the information, kill the Kraut.


No no. She's an innocent life.


Kill the Kraut


No


Yes…


Our platoon was being ripped to shreds, bullets flinging from the treeline. A wall of angry metal pelting soldiers from small foxholes and behind trees. Wardaddy is shouting directions to Lionman,


"2 o'clock I can see their snouts poking out of that pig hole!


"Go!" A shout from Diablo.


"On the way!" ---Lionman again.


I stare out of the slot in front of my face. Hands shaking at the thought of killing another man. I've never wanted to hurt anyone, ever. Well, maybe except for myself. Katlyn is singing in my ears as children rain fire in front of me.


Hancock grabs my finger and forces it on the trigger. Shells fling themselves inside the cabin.....


I shake my head, the scene around me coming back. It's dark here, the only glow on the woman's face is coming from the window behind me. The lace drapes a spiderweb of shadows along the floor that leap across her body shivering in the bed.


"Why would you come here of you were looking for my Papa?" I look away from her, biting my split lip. The wound opens and blood oozes into my mouth. I can't bring myself to tell her. Prisoners of War never make it out the same. And I'm not sure I can bring myself to murder this girl.


"Sie wissen. Wo ist er?" You know. Where is he? silent words break my lips apart. I lean down and stare into her blue orbs, my own hazel eyes glossy with the ghost of the hallucination.

 

[FaithWynters]

I had expected at least an answer to my question. I lay there looking at the man that still stood by the window. Something had made him space out. He stood there, looking blind into space with the gun pointed at me. I had never been at this end of a barrel. I can feel a deep warmth spread over me. I am ready for this nightmare to be over.


He never gave an answer. He only questioned me further on where my father was. I took in a deep breath. I knew that either way I was dead. I would betray my country and lose my life or just lose my life. So it was now or never.


"I can not tell you." My English was proving to be much better than I had assumed it would have been. Slowly, I pull myself up from where I was laying down. He was close enough that when I finally got all the way up, the barrel was pressed to my temple. "You don't understand." I close my eyes and feel the tears begin again. "No matter what happens... I am dead." I take in a deep breath. I was sure the world would end soon. "So please just kill me and find my Papa in the house on your own."

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

There is silence again. Quiet, quiet, so much lack of noise. The ringing is back in my ear again, and it makes my eyebrow twitch once. Her head is at my gun's mouth, out faces inches from each other. This isn't the first time I've stared into the eyes of a civilian and shot them down without a backwards glance. This is different somehow. .. she isn't armed. She never killed any of my subordinates.


This girl is a pawn of a pawn in these little war games.


"Übergeben Sie nach Amerika, ich will dich nicht töten." Surrender to America, I will not kill you. I say slowly and carefully as I straighten my posture, keeping her at gunpoint. My hands are now sweating, the sickening absence of noise is playing with my head again. And the shadows feel like my comrades, angry and afraid. However if I succeed, and can stall long enough for Second Platoon....I could very well save her family's lives.


"Erste hilfe. Dann schützen dich." First help. Then I protect you. the accent I have is horrible, and the way I pronounce the words are odd. But I know what I'm saying is clear. I just don't believe I'm saying it...


It's strange though, it makes sense.


I let my gaze fall on her fragile body, her presence feeling foreign. It's been so long since I've seen a woman, I'm finding it hard to focus. I take in her porcelain skin, small chin, long golden hair. The shad of fear that coats her however, is leaving a sting in my chest.

 

[FaithWynters]

I don’t know what I should expect. One moment he threatens my life and the next he is telling me he will help me. What is this man doing? Is he trying to completely confuse me and make me question all that I had been told for the past ten years? These ideas had been ingrained in my mind well before the war. I didn’t know why he was doing this, and this uncertainty was making me question everything that was happening. Maybe it was just a bad dream…Maybe I was having a nightmare. Maybe that was why this American—this enemy—had not killed me yet.


“"Übergeben Sie nach Amerika…” The words ring in my ears. They are the only reprieve from the silence, but I wish that they had never been spoken. My death will never come, and my escape in the night stand is gone. I take in a slow breath. Once again I try to regain my composure and wipe away the tears. Another slow breath.


“Ihre Männer werden meine Familie in einem Graben Linie und schießen uns .” Your men will line my family up in a ditch and shoot us. “Ich bin mir bewusst , dass.” I am aware of that.


I take in a deep breath. I look at the man another moment before moving to pull the warm cotton sheets away from my legs. “But I will help you, because I have no choice” I look down to the pale of my legs. In the moonlight, they look like the legs of a porcelain doll. My nightgown only rests only quarter of the way down my thigh; sleep has pulled it up. “I will take you to my Papa.” The words turn the taste in my mouth sour. I see no other escape from this. Maybe there will be a way I can warn my family before we make the silent trek down the hallway and to the large room at its end.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

I shake my head from side to side, trying to clear my mind as she removes the covers from her body. My vision trails up her leg, stopping at the hem of her dress. But her words are forced into my skull, and are jumbling them. I can prove, as the only man left in my platoon, as a Sargent....


I grab her arm, and stare deep into her eyes. She needs to listen to my words, to pay attention to what I'm saying.


" Vertrau mir. Übergeben werde ich Mutter zu schützen, und sich selbst." Trust me. Surrender, I'll protect mother, and yourself. my knowledge of the language is minimal, and I wish I would have listened to Wardaddy. I've calmed myself, to the point where my voice has leveled. "Übergeben." Surrender


I keep my eyes pinned to her pupils, our stare-down of soft glances almost like a battleground.


A very seductive and tempting battle ground. My head is pounding with so many different things, I just want to end this war. Right here. Right now.


But that's impossible.


"Übergeben." I repeat, soft and gently. The mix of smells is testing my sanity, pulling me in and out of strange states of mind. The haze is starting to try my patience, and the ringing keeps getting louder. I'm half expecting some enemy soldier to reach out from the darkness and slit our throats, but I swallow hard and keep my composure.

 

[FaithWynters]

I am unaware of what could be running through his mind. I don’t know what it is that has made him spare me. I take in a sharp breath as his hand wrapped around my arm. I looked deep into his eyes. There was so much behind the hazel walls that he tried not to let show. There was so much grief and sadness. Anger. So much anger.


He promised to protect both me and my mother. I didn’t know if I could really trust him. He was so angry that he might just kill all of us. Something about what had already happened in this room had made me trust him, but still…He was an enemy. That would have been a tragic end to this night.


"Übergeben." He repeats the word over and over again. I say nothing. I just look into his eyes and beg for mercy. It does nothing. He just watches me from where I sit. He doesn’t let go of my arm. He doesn’t look away or blink. “Übergeben." The word rings in my ears.


Even though I've given him all the signs of giving up, he wants to hear me say it. He wants to know that he's beaten this little German girl. He wants to hear the word come from my mouth so that he knows he has broken me. Maybe he wants to know that there was at least on German that did not go down fighting—no—she went down as a coward instead. I think he's got to get some sick satisfaction out of saying it. It will make him know that I've got nothing left. I was willing to take him to my family in order to save my own life. I felt like vomiting where I lay.


"Übergeben." The word now escapes my lips. There are no more tears that fall from my eyes. There is no more sadness. The word makes me numb with an icy hatred—not for the man beside me—but for myself. Slowly, I pull my arm away from the man’s grasp. It is time to get out of this grimy and stained bed. He is pressed close enough to the bed that I have to turn my body almost around to set my feet on the floor. It is cold. I can feel my humanity sinking away. I run a hand down my legs and across my mouth. There is dirt everywhere. I can feel it all over me. I don’t dare stand, I just sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to order me out of the room and to my father’s.


“Gott verzeih mir.” God forgive me.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

When the the fated words finally dribble from her small mouth I let go of my tension. Air falls from my lungs, telling me I had forgotten to breathe for a second. I watch her slowly sit up and move to the side of the bed, my pistol hovering around her cranium as she does this. Soft Germany falls from her tongue, and it sounds like a plea to God.


My chest tightens more, fallen soldiers tweaking the knobs inside my back and stretching my heart. It threatens to snap.


There is no God.


And we're already in hell.


I take in the soot and mud I've left crawling up her legs, and smeared across her lips. My eyes never fall from her figure as I reach for the machine gun I propped next to the window, slinging it over my shoulder. These weapons feel heavy on my body, ammunition and hand grenades making my thick jacket and many cargo-pants pockets sag slightly. I keep my expression sullen, and calm, but I can't say the same about my eyes. My chin is beginning to itch, five'o clock shadow licking my skin. "Aufstehen" Stand up. I order smoothly, my voice surprisingly warm, and low. The sounds of our breathing is the only company amongst the both of us.


Don't trust her.


I wasn't planning on it.


The little men in my skull have been whispering to one another this whole time, their chatter making it difficult to gage my actions. Am I doing the right thing? Should I just let the Soviets take them, or spare her life?


"Russen weniger Verständnis. Ich kann Ihnen immer zu ihnen." Russians will be less understanding. I can always give you to them. I breathe a warning, stepping aside and placing the gun in my hand in it's holster. I quickly grab my M1903 Springfield rifle and point it towards her, pulling back the shaft and loading the chamber. The mouth is facing her belly now, and I motion towards the door using the muzzle. "Don't keep me waiting."

 

[FaithWynters]

When the words fall from my mouth, I can see the tension within him relax just the tiniest bit. Any smart man would know that the words that come from my lips could be a lie. It was very easy for people to lie. They could smile and laugh when they were the saddest. They could tell you that they loved you when they used you. I was very aware that lies passed easily through frightened lips. The truth didn’t matter if you were dead anyway.


He speaks to me in German. His American accent sends sharp errors in his tongue. He ruins the Germanic language with his tongue. It makes something deep inside of me sad. To know that this man has probably only learned our language so that he can hear our secrets and kill our men. His tone is cool and calm, but I know that he’s fighting a battle inside of himself. I can see it in his eyes.


I remain silent for the longest time, pushing my feet down on the cold hardwood floor. For some reason, as I picked myself up out of the bed, I think of the small picture of the small child and the man. I don’t know why I do, but the image of the two shoots in my mind. A deep breath swells in my chest. I flatten out my nightgown. It remains at about the same length; it had been rather warm the whole day so the house remained warm at night. I was conscious about it, so I tugged at the ends; in my imagination, I hoped that it would lengthen—I knew that it wouldn’t.


“I do nothing to anger you. Why do you threaten me?” The words come out broken and—I’m sure—some of them are wrong. I am sure he feels the same about me speaking English as I do about him speaking German.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

Her English is twisted, even broken somewhat. But the meaning is the same, and i can feel the raw emotions coming from her throat as she struggles to communicate with me. The question strikes hard on the strings attached to my body, making this American puppet dangle.


"Kein vertrauen" No trust


I say it sharp and quickly, like I'm trying to hammer in a nail. She should know, no... has to know that I can't be the enemy. I won't shoot her down for betraying her country, speaking a different language, or trying to save herself. The only reason I would have to kill you, is if you tried to kill me first. That thought rings in my head as I motion for her to move in front of me, my face seemingly sullen. I don't understand myself right now, I can't picture my body standing where it is. It all feels unreal, yet perfectly normal. Like a flashback to hell on Omaha-Beach. Unreal. But existing.


I watch the mud-crusted nightgown sway around her thighs, her pale skin distorted by the lace-curtain's spiderweb shadows. "Stop stalling." My words are a little harsh and I recoil, taking a deep breath.

 

[FaithWynters]

I can only hum in understanding of his words. He didn’t trust me. Of course he didn’t. That was why he continued to point his weapons as me as if I were going to pull some automatic weapon from underneath my nightgown and shoot him down where he stood. Yeah. I was a badass like that.


In reality though, I understood his actions. We were the enemy, but the Germans were just trying to help the country. They were just trying to help the world. His ideals were skewed. They were understood, but skewed nonetheless. Not every single person in Germany was a bloodthirsty soldier. There were normal people—innocent people here. I was one of those normal people. How could he blame me for what my father may have done? Or my uncles? Or any of the Schultz blood that was spilt on the battlefield? I was just a normal kid….But all the same—as I asked myself these questions—I understood why. He was hardwired to hate me. Because I spoke German, was born in Germany, and had a father that was an SS officer. It was programmed in that battle stained mind that I was the enemy. A little girl in her nightgown.


“Fine.” It’s a simple word. I wonder if he thinks that this is easy for me to do. Has he ever betrayed his family? Been the sole reason his father is shot down while he slept? I doubt it. See. The Americans came into our country to kill our people. We never stepped foot on their land.


I begin taking long steps forward, toward the door. In one swift motion I flick my curly hair behind my back. It won’t be in the way there. I can feel my nightgown billowing as I finally make the air—that seemed never to move before—begin circulating my room once again. My footsteps are silent on the floor. I make it to the door, gripping the handle, and turning it.


“Wenn Sie ein wenig besser auf der Suche nach den Männern , du wolltest , um zu töten , würden Sie ihn jetzt gefunden zu haben.” If you were a little better at searching for the men you were going to kill, you would have found him by now. I mumble this part to myself as I wait for him to near me. I don’t want to open the door until he is aware of my actions. He might shoot me if I’m not careful.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

She's slow and silent as she walks to the door, her hand coming up to flick her hair back. It sends a small wave of cloves and perfume over me. My mind goes blank for a second, my eyes watching the light golden locks shimmer. A large clump of her hair is distorted by the grime from my fingertips from a few moments before, somehow making my stomach tie itself. She stops at the door, mumbling something under her breath I can barely catch. Probably an insult, but the fact that I don't know what it is makes my hair stand on end. I take deep breaths, calming myself. She's not the enemy, just a pawn. I repeat over and over in my head to try and silence the infernal screaming. "Geöffnet" Open. The command is silent, my boots making the floorboards creak slightly. I press my weight on my toes, silencing my footsteps as I crouch down. My left shoulder is pressed against the wallpaper, gun positioned to shoot.

 

[FaithWynters]

At the order, I turn the knob to the door. I don't speak anymore. I just count all conversation over between the two of us. I take a few steps forward. I can see the deep shadows that the stairwell created in the darkness. Its almost like a black hole that could swallow you up. I wish I could just jump in and escape from this place. I could try to run to the stairwell; I could try to get out of the gun's sight, but I know the attempt will be futile. A finger can pull a trigger must faster than I can make it to the stairs.


I release the door handle and begin silently through the home. I know where to step to hit every groaning board in the hardwood floor. I hope that this will be enough to wake up my parents; I know it won't be. There is a draft in this hallway. Its on that I've never felt before. A glance back. I know the man follows because he cannot silently walk through the hall without any noise. His shoes and weight will not permit it.


Then, the sound of a cough echoes through the house. I freeze, my foot not even on the ground. I can feel every muscle in my body groan under the tension my fear has put on me. Its a man's cough. I wonder if its my father and if he has awoken in the night after some bad dream. I doubt it. Its probably just a sleeping cough. It still sends fear through me of what the man might do next. So I stand there, as still and silent as a statue waiting for the feeling of the figure behind me to urge me forward again.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

Floorboards sag under the German girl, her slow pace causing as much noise as she possibly can. I know what she's doing, and with every step my armed body takes is like a thousand bombs going off in my head. I'm in the darkness, all doors closed. The only light visible comes from the window on the side of the stairs. The blackness touches my skin, making me shiver because I can taste the ghosts as I walk.


I pause, feeling my imagination grasp my neck. I'm visioning an array of weapons that could be hiding under his pillow, or lying next to a sleeping SS.


It causes a small pang of fear in my gut, twisting it violently.


Wait. Listen.


My ears twitch, the sound of soft breathing mixed with a roared snore makes a smile start to play on the corners of my lips. I creep forward, rubbing the smirk of my face by fitting the mouth of my gun in the middle of the Kraut's back. I don't say anything as we near the last door in the long hallway, the rumbling chest like thick shells go off and ricochets along the inside of the bedroom. The men ring like bells in my head.


Okay what now?


We never got this far.

 

[FaithWynters]

The constant breathing of my father tells me that he still sleeps. Every now and then, the sound of a deep and long snore echoes through the house. There is no hope for them. I am bringing the enemy straight to them. I know that there is no hope for my father. There is no way I can lead the man away when the snores lead us directly to their room. I can’t open the door into a windowless closet and be shot down for not doing as I was told. The man is very aware of where my father is; he really doesn’t need me anymore.


I close my eyes as I feel the cold and unforgiving gun press into my back. I just want this to be over. I just want to turn around and hug the gun until he puts a bullet in me. I want to show him that not all Germans are willing to fight for their country. I want to show him we aren’t so bad. I just want this night to be over.


I begin walking again. We are only about a foot away from the door now. There is no way that I can get the door open completely silent, even if I’m trying to. I hoped that my battle-stained father will wake up at the noise of an intruder. Maybe there is a hope. I take the few steps forward until I am almost pressed against the door frame. I reach up and grab the doorknob. I grip it hard, looking down. I can see my knuckles turning white in the darkness. I close my eyes, taking in one slow and deep breath before beginning to turn the knob.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

The door swings open with a loud hissing squeak. It makes my ears ring as silence rolls in afterwards. A man stirs in the bed, his sheets rustling as he sits up and teaches for the lamp on his bedside table. I quickly shift to the side, pressing my back against the hallway's wall. I keep the gun poised near the girl, but out of sight of the old German man.


I hear him cough softly, and reach for a pair of glasses that he slowly places on the bridge of his nose. "Mein Täubchen, was ist das? Zu dunkel für dich? Angst vor der Sowjetunion kommen für uns in der Nacht? Sie wagen es nicht zu--"


My little dove, what is it? Too dark for you? Afraid of Soviets coming for us in the night? They don't dare to--


I cut him off by peering from the door-frame, my rifle is replaced with the pistol, my other hand gently pressing cold steel against the young girl's neck.


"Auf den Boden. Auf dem Boden jetzt." On the ground. On the ground, now. I say low and steadily, pushing my body and the young Kraut's into the room before closing the door with my boot, leaving a thick print of mud on the surface.


The mustached man with no hair atop his head raises his hands over his shoulders, showing me pale hands free of weapons. I glance over to the lettering desk, a simple unloaded Walther P38 made for the Wehmacht, Luftwaffe, and Waffen-SS German soldiers. I gaze at the woman who has startled awake next to her husband by the sound of the door closing behind me.


" Fräulein greifen die Pistole und bringen Sie es hier. Schnell." Miss grab the gun and bring it here. Quickly.


I say soft and low, motioning with the weapon attached to my left arm. The man gets up from his bed and sits on his knees on the floor. He's wearing only thin night trousers, chest bare and sprouted with fine golden hairs. He is saying something in a rather quick and thick accented voice, thrown towards his daughter. "Was hast du mit meiner Familie gemacht? Schauen Sie, was Sie für Ihr Land getan habe. Sie sind eine Schande! Hast du nichts von diesen Dreck gelernt !?" What have you done to my family? Look what you've done to your country. You are a disgrace! Have you learned nothing of these filth!? his voice is now an outraged whisper, his skin turning red as spittle flies from his teeth.

 

[FaithWynters]

The door creaks open. I can see the movement of my father as his breathing hitches and he wake up. He is not fast enough. He has no idea that a man stands behind me with a gun to my back. I give the largest and saddest smile I can, hoping that he will understand how sorry I am. I want him to know exactly how hard I fought to keep this from happening. He would never forgive me. The man moves and it stops my father’s words in his track. The tears start again. I can’t keep myself from feeling the deepest sorrow for my family. I am the cause for their death. I just wish I had a way out.


He orders me across the room. I am supposed to retrieve the weapon from the table. I am supposed to help the enemy. My father is cursing me. I know that if I was close enough to him, he would try to strangle me with his bare hands. As my father continues, I can feel the knot in my throat threatening to choke me. I walk slowly toward the desk. It hurts me to know that I am doing this willingly.


“Es tut mir leid , Vater. Ich habe versucht, ihn zu stoppen. Er nahm die Flucht aus meinem Nachttisch. Er würde mich nicht töten. Ich bat ihn . Für mein Land, und für Sie Ich bat ihn . Bitte verzeih mir ...” I am sorry, father. I tried to stop him. He took the escape from my night stand. He wouldn't kill me. I begged him. For my country and for you I begged him. Please forgive me...


I’ve made it to the weapon. I have a plan of how to escape this world. How I can show my father that I meant to end everything. I wanted to prove myself to him. I didn’t want to let my country down. I can hardly see the table because of the tears. When I make it to the desk, I run into it. I flinch at the feeling; it reminds me that I am still alive. My hands reach for the gun. I can feel my body shake. I can feel the cold in my hands. I am praying silently to God for forgiveness. I turn around, as if to walk back to the man, and I stop, looking at the two for a moment before bringing the weapon up to my head.


“Bitte verzeih mir, Papa” Please forgive me, Father. I press my eyes closed. Click. Click. Click. Click. ClickClickClick. I cry out, my body falling to the ground. I cannot believe that the gun isn’t even loaded. Tears run down my cheeks and onto the floor. I sob, my head pressed into the hardwood floor. “Bitte verzeih mir” I repeat the words, over and over on the floor. I say it each time for someone different. My mother and my father. Germany. Everyone.


Then, I feel the sadness turn to anger. I cry out again, pulling myself up just far enough to throw the unloaded gun across the room and to the man’s feet.

 

[-.-.Lucifer.-.-]

I stare shell shocked, the girl's failed attempt to commit suicide ending in her cries echoing in the home and an unloaded SS gun at my feet. Everything moves in slow motion, my heartbeat almost stopping.


The door downstairs is kicked in. An array of boots clutter the first floor. American men screaming and yelling in code as they fan out. The sound of their familiar shouts cut the threads holding me in place. The sun was just barely peaking out from behind the mountain in the distance, releasing me from any form of worry or doubt. I quickly lunge forward, scooping up the SS officer's pistol and pocketing it before grasping the downed woman and gently picking her up before slamming my boot into the back of Berhnard Schultz. His nose presses against the floor, showing no signs of distress towards his only child's sudden shift in mental turmoil.


A heavily clad US foot-soldier bursts into the room, making the mother start squealing in panicked German. I stare into the eyes of my Ally and he lowers his M1941 Johnson from my face to the Kraut at my feet.


"Up Opa! Get your ass up!" He bellows and the SS officer is restrained, a gun poised to his shoulder blade, arms behind his back. The girl is pressed to my chest, a lump thick in my throat as the situation leaves my hands. Allowing me to breathe, just barely.


"What about these two?" He asks, Berhnard glaring pale-blue daggers at his fragile daughter.


"They're just related to him. This one tried to kill herself.--" I start but am cut off by sharp angry words.


"Schau dich an, ekelhaft Mädchen. Du wirst in der Hölle, dies zu tun, um Ihren Vater zu verbrennen." Look at you, disgusting girl. You'll burn in hell for doing this to your father.


He spits on her feet, sending a wave of sheer rage power through my eye sockets. It rams in the back of my mind, making my body tremble uncontrollably. Somehow I end up with the girl still encased in my grasp, my other fist covered in a thick layer of the old man's blood. Another US officer has to take the refugee slowly away from my grasp, two other quickly slamming their shoulders into my arms to keep me away from the Pig. My body is shaking violently and I can feel his missing tooth rammed between my knuckles, scraping against bone. They usher us out of the bedroom, my body being half-lifted and half dragged down the stairs as my head swims. Why?


Why did I lash out, simply at a Father's disappointment in their child?


She never deserved to feel that way.


Outside I'm placed on the back of a long Armed vehicle, the two other women of the house sat next to me. The sky is grey and my subordinates have wrapped blankets around them to stop the shivering.


It hasn't helped.


I stare down at my grime-covered hands grasping a mug of black coffee, my pupils pinpricks against my amber eyes. Three men are struggling to shove Germen soldiers into the back of a van, their angry shouts ringing in the loud bustle of combat boots.