(Author's Note—Duty, honor, and courage are virtues that adhere to the hearts of all men, whether they be American, British, Russian, or German. This is a story about a band of men, brothers in their own terms, which stand united in a cause. Just like the Allies, there were heroes in the German Army, men who left their wives and children to answer their call of duty. Let this story be a tribute to the voices of many men that have been drowned out by the songs of the victors.)
A Soldier's Honor
Chapter 1
"Verteidigen Sie! Defend!"
Those were the last words of Hauptmann Jonas Merhoff. A second later, half of his face disappeared in a cloud of crimson blood and tissue. A man who had fought and bled for the Fatherland since the beginning of the war—from the blitzkrieg of Norway in 1940 to the defense of Monte Cassino in 1944—a man who, by normal standards, should have died on a hundred and three separate occasions; this same man became, at long last, another tragic statistic of the war.
Somewhere outside, a grenade exploded into a storm of shrapnel, shaking the whole building.
At first, Leutnant Metz did not react to the hauptmann's collapse. Back pressed against the edge of a window, Metz had his entire attention focused on his MP44, spattering bursts of automatic fire at the enemies outside. The violent recoil of the weapon sent vibrations deep into his bones. Even as the chamber clicked empty, his massive frame continued to tremble.
Metz reached shakily for another clip, casting a weary eye over his men.
It was then that he saw Merhoff, sprawled out on the floor. The hauptmann's face was no longer recognizable, but the Iron Cross still glimmered proudly on his chest. Twenty four battles had done nothing to tarnish the badge of courage on Merhoff's breast.
Metz felt all the fiery energy drain from his body, leaving him nothing but flabby muscles to keep him standing. The clip of ammunition in his hands fell to the floor with a dull clatter.
" Merhoff…" His words were slow and confused, drowned out in the thunderstorm of battle. With a sense of disbelief, he stepped away from the window and knelt beside his old friend. Even in death, spread with arms wide on the dusty floor, Hauptmann Merhoff retained his commanding honor and glory. Metz found himself strengthened simply by gazing at his leader.
" You have earned your peace," he whispered. Very gingerly—oblivious to shouts of pain and the angry rattling of guns all around him—Metz removed the Iron Cross from Merhoff's uniform and placed it securely in his own breast pocket. Somehow it would get back to Merhoff's wife and children.
That much, he promised himself.
XXXXXX
Gefreiter Berlitz watched the somber exchange between his two officers, one dead in flesh and the other dead in spirit. He himself was incapable of any emotion. Adrenalin flushed out grief from his heart and replaced it with a pulsing anger. Cupping both hands around his mouth, he shouted across the room.
" Leutnant, get down!"
A hail of deafening bullets smashed into the wall beside Berlitz's head, spraying shreds of wallpaper in his face. He took to the ground, covering his head with both arms, shaking as the staccato of fire swept the area. His ears were filled with the clanging of bullets on metal, exploding vases and pottery, and the splintering cracks of wood being shattered. Tapestries and paintings crashed to the floor, forming a pile of dust and debris. In the corner of the room, an ancient grandfather clock rippled in its frame, hundreds of tiny gears pouring from its new holes like blood from a fresh wound.
When he at last found the strength to look up, he saw Metz lying prone by an overturned table, very much alive. A moment of weakness and vulnerability had seized the Leutnant, but now the cunning savageness of war had reassumed possession of Metz. The officer twisted his head towards Berlitz and nodded, affirmatively, confidently, reassuringly.
" We can't stay here!" Metz called to the other five men. " Hilden and Freud, cover this window."
On his hands and knees, he crept over to Berlitz. " Gefreiter, you and I will exit first through the rear of the building. There's a church two streets down from the edge of the city, with a radio in the basement. We've got to find out where the rest of our division has taken up defenses."
" What about our orders? We were to defend this post-"
" To hell with it," Metz said angrily. " Pick up your gun."
Berlitz was insisted. " Leutnant, the 1st Fallschirmjäger have never disobeyed-"
Another ferocious bombardment of gunfire broke him off in midsentence. A cacophony of American Browning Automatic Rifles and British Lanchester SMGs raked the room. One caught Scutze Freud in the neck, and the soldier went down in a fountain of blood. Metz immediately dragged himself over to the fallen man, only to arrive in time to hear a final breath escape Freud's lips.
With a sudden fury, Metz sprang up over the edge of a nightstand and unleashed an entire clip into the smoky vineyards outside. His determined, soot-darkened face lit up under the flash of the gun's muzzle. Torso shaking, he held down the trigger without pause. After a seemingly endless round of fire, there came a loud click.
Panting, he dropped back for cover and snapped in fresh rounds. He crawled to Freud's body. There was no shame in rummaging for spare bullets.
" If they throw a grenade, we're finished!" Hilden shouted.
" Then let's not waste any more time," Metz answered. " Berlitz, change of plans. Stay with Hilden and provide covering fire. I'll take the other three and head for the church."
Berlitz no longer argued. " Ja, Leutnant."
" Twenty seconds, and you come after us," Metz instructed. He paused, then repeated, " Twenty seconds, do you hear me? No longer."
" Ja, get moving," Berlitz urged.
Taking up a spot near the windows with Hilden, Gefreiter Berlitz watched as his companions hustled out of the room, each tossing him one final look. He had fought with all of these men for the better part of four years now, against the French, against the Russians, against the British, against the Americans. In every harrowing encounter they had been through, never once had this core group been forced to split apart. They had kept guard over one another like brothers. Never would they have imagined that it would be like this.
" We'll see you soon," Hilden said to them, grimly.
Without further hesitation, both soldiers focused their concentration on the enemy outside. If Metz and the others were to escape out the back, the Allied soldiers had to be committed elsewhere.
From either side of the fragmented window, they swung out their MP44s and let loose 35 rounds apiece. Each burst of five was spaced out to buy the most time. The chances of making any contact with such blind spraying were slim, but the point was diversion, not destruction.
" Grenade on three," Berlitz said, when their clips had run dry.
Both soldiers simultaneously removed their last stick grenades and triggered the fuses. Nodding three times in beat, they swung into view of the window and launched their potato mashers out into the field. At the same time, a stray bullet clipped Hilden's shoulder. He fell back cursing, " Scheisse, fickender idiot Amerikaner!"
In the vineyard, the grenades detonated with resonating booms, and clouds of black soil ballooned ten feet in the air. Someone screamed in pain, a sound quite soothing to Hilden.
" How bad?" Berlitz demanded.
Shrugging, Hilden hoisted his machine gun and said, " Just a scratch. Let's go."
Moving as one, they crossed the rubble of the dilapidated room. They had just barely reached the door when several dull thuds echoed off the floorboards behind them.
There was no need to pause for a visual. Both soldiers dove headfirst into the tiny hallway, scrambling around the corner as the Allied grenades unleashed a hellish blast. The walls saved the two Germans from any direct shrapnel but provided little protection for crumpling beams. A portion of the roof caved in behind Berlitz; his head escaped flattening by less than a foot.
Ears ringing from shell shock, eyes stinging at the cloud of dust around him, Berlitz staggered to his feet and grabbed at his friend. He helped Hilden get up, wincing in pain at a sudden agony in his knee. They hobbled down the hall, choking on the air. When they reached the back door, they stopped on the inside fringes and gazed out uncertainly.
Berlitz stared at Hilden, who met his gaze with a wry smile and a cock of his head.
Wordlessly, guns held at ready, the two soldiers stumbled into the fresh air of Italy.