We had arrived at our supply depot destination shortly after noon. We managed to deliver what was left of the supplies without any further incident or any other sightings of the Rat Patrol. Neither surprised me. The Rat Patrol seemed to be the only danger to us in that area of the desert. I would have been greatly surprised if they had hit us again after they had lost a man, effectively reducing their fighting force by half.
"What happened, Hauptmann Dietrich?" Oberst Neumann asked.
I lightly jumped down from my vehicle and saluted him, fully expecting to receive his wrath.
To say that Neumann was angry would have been an understatement.
We had radioed ahead concerning the ambush so no doubt his anger had increased exponentially every minute that he had waited for our arrival.
"Was it the Rat Patrol which hit your supply column? You do know at least that much, don't you Dietrich?"
"Yes, Herr Oberst, I do know that it was the Rat Patrol which hit my supply column," I replied tightly, with just a vague hint of anger that I was feeling.
Neumann looked at me sharply and pulled himself straighter. I knew I was on the edge of being disrespectful to a superior officer, but it had taken every ounce of my strength not to have my answer drip with contempt instead of mere sarcasm. Who else would have been so bold and brazen to hit us so far behind German lines but the damned Rat Patrol?
"That's enough, Hauptman Dietrich," he said sharply. "Your tone of voice and lack of respect are out of order. Now answer my original question as to what happened. And I strongly suggest you do yourself a favor and keep your opinions private unless requested to provide them."
"Yes, sir." I nodded slightly, hoping to seem suitably contrite. But I felt far from it.
Surprisingly, I was angry at my direct German command and not at the commandos. My thoughts kept returning to the belief that the encounter could have been avoided if only I had been able to convince my superiors about the route's inherent danger. If they had considered my proposal for an alternate, none of my men would be dead and the supplies would have arrived safely. What a tragic waste of good men and materials. The Rat Patrol was at least successfully accomplishing its orders regarding the war while the Germans were falling down at theirs.
But most of all, I was angry at myself for failing my men and my orders.
Neumann apparently agreed that I should be the target of his anger and disappointment. "I'm aware you have the eye of Generaloberst Rommel, Dietrich," Neumann was saying, "but he expects you to deliver results the same as I do."
"Yes, sir," I answered again.
Neumann was not to be placated. "And you can forget about your father being able to cover for your failures here. I seriously doubt even his influence would reach this far."
It was like rubbing salt into an open wound for Neumann to insinuate that I would seek shelter and assistance from my father.
"We were hit by the Rat Patrol at the Tmassah pass," I said, removing all inflection from my voice, giving him just the barest fact. I didn't believe it necessary to elaborate at this moment. What else was there to say? The damage spoke for itself.
Apparently the oberst believed more information should be forthcoming since he motioned with an impatient wave of his hand for me to continue.
"We were hit at the Tmassah Pass," I repeated. "I believe the route is well known to the Rat Patrol. They were waiting for us, hitting us at the exact moment to create the maximum damage."
Apparently, finally satisfied that I did indeed know something, Neumann nodded, looking thoughtful. "Continue."
"There was considerable wreckage along the route, at the point where they attacked. The wreckage was other German and Italian supply columns that had been attacked in the area."
Neumann's eyes narrowed.
"Some of it appeared to be recent, while other wreckage appeared much older," I continued. "The route is well known or the Allied intelligence informed them of our movements this morning."
"Doubtful," interrupted Neumann.
"Or, they simply waited for a German column to approach. However, Herr Oberst, the latter does seems unlikely. That strategy would have put them in considerable danger to be observed, so far behind German lines for any length of time." What I didn't add was if our route had been marked with a big red X on a map, they could not have found it any easier.
"And the Luftwaffe didn't spot them? I would think…" Neumann frowned.
"We received no air support," I said as I looked him coolly in the eye. For all its promises and good intentions, the air support I had requested had not been received.
If Neumann had any thoughts regarding the lack of air support, they remained unmentioned. "Damn that Rat Patrol!" Neumann swore under his breath, directing his obvious anger towards the Allies. "They need to be dealt with harshly and their raids stopped!"
I agreed with him whole heartedly.
"Something needs to be done with them once and for all regarding these ambushes! What started off as an occasional nuisance has become a regular thorn in my supply operation. I have to believe that it will only become worse with the passage of time."
Neumann's eyes dropped to take in my uniform. He pointedly inspected me, obviously not liking what he saw. My appearance was so different than the pristine uniform he was wearing. It looked like his clothing had just returned from the laundry detail. While there wasn't a speck of dust on him, I was bathed in it, covered from head to toe in the grit of the desert. The only part of me that was remotely clean was my face where my goggles had been.
This was my first contact with Neumann and I quickly surmised that he was unlike other officers on Rommel's staff. Like Meyer, Neumann appeared to lead from the rear, never coming near the areas where his men were doing the actual fighting and dying. Briefly, I wondered how Rommel would react if he knew how his war was actually being fought in the deep desert.
Apparently finishing his inspection of my appearance, Neumann continued to press for information. "What were the losses, Hauptmann?"
"Two men dead, three wounded. Fortunately, the wounded are expected…"
Now it was his turn to impatiently interrupt me. He waved his hand, cutting me off.
"No, no, no! What were the losses to the supplies, Dietrich?" he asked impatiently.
With supreme effort, I managed to control my facial expression. The rat bastard, I thought. There were German men dead because of this. The supplies were precious to the war effort, but the experienced men were irreplaceable. And I shouldn't even call them men. Most were boys and should have been learning their subjects in school instead of learning of war and dying as soldiers in the God-forsaken desert.
"One truck carrying supplies, completely destroyed," I reported, smoothly. "Two other trucks hit, but salvageable, fully operational within a week. Minimal damage to the half-tracks. No damage to the panzers. I would estimate that seventy-five percent of the supplies arrived here undamaged. I would also estimate approximately ten percent of the supplies that were damaged are salvageable. They were reloaded on other vehicles to be evaluated for their reparability or for their use as spares." My report complete, I fell silent.
"And were you able to inflict any damage upon the enemy?" Neumann prodded realizing that I was not going to speak further.
"One known hit against one of the soldiers manning a .50 caliber weapon."
"Dead?"
"Unknown. I am not sure if he was mortally wounded or merely injured. We searched the area briefly, but did not locate a body."
"Briefly? If he was alive, just think of what he could have told us! If dead, you should have confirmed the kill, Dietrich."
I nodded. I knew the standard procedure but believed that I had a valid reason to move away from it. "I decided that delivering the remaining supplies and getting the wounded to treatment were of more importance than wasting any additional time by searching any further."
Neumann looked unimpressed with my command decision. He struck me for some unknown reason as one of those officers Germans obsessed by body counts of the enemy dead.
"Given the Rat Patrol's reputation, I highly doubt they would have left one of their men behind," I continued to explain, not sure why I should have to justify my actions. "I also firmly believe they would not leave any of their wounded or dead for us to find. It would confirm that they were reduced in strength."
"One Rat hit, perhaps dead. Well, that is a little more than I had expected." Neumann gave a half grin which quickly faded.
I stood there after my terse verbal report saying nothing, waiting for him to express his displeasure with my initial performance.
Neumann didn't disappoint.
"Hauptmann Dietrich, I understand that you have only been in command of your new unit for only a short time. While you have had some success, I would have to think and that you would agree, it should have been at a much higher level." He looked at me with hard eyes. "The results are scarcely different than if Hauptmann Meyer had been left in command. Frankly, I expected more from you given your experience and your family's tradition of military service."
Now it was my turn to pull myself straighter as my jaw tightened at his stinging words. I didn't care for my comparison to the incompetent Meyer. His second reference to my family in the space of only a few minutes I liked even less.
Coupled with his prior reference to my father, his last statement was particularly offensive to me.
I was my own man. I had always wanted to be viewed as such. After all, I had earned my career without any intervention from my father. I had refused any and all assistance that he had ever offered me, from when I first began my pursuit of a military career to the present day.
I had not even requested his intervention when I was nearly expelled from the Academy during my final year.
My trouble had been the result of an idiotic group prank gone seriously wrong. I had been the only boy caught. I had made my situation even worse by first denying my involvement. I then compounded the situation by refusing to name any of the others involved. My father found out about the incident almost immediately. From who, he refused to say. I would never know for certain, but I would always suspect that the culprit was the academy's commandant. He was even more ancient and traditional than my father, if that was even possible, and he had served with my father. I suspected that he had felt that it his duty to notify my father regarding my actions before I was summarily expelled.
I was pulled from the middle of a class, a terse note summoning me to the commandant's office. When the commandant's adjutant averted his eyes from mine and quietly ushered me in without saying a word, I should have suspected something more than just another warning.
My father had traveled to the academy to personally confront me regarding my indiscretion. To say that I was shocked to see my father in the office instead of the commandant would have been an understatement. When I noticed that he was alone, I knew his visit boded extremely ill for me.
My father was a large man, with a large voice, even when he was speaking normally. His voice was more than thunderous when he was angry. And on this occasion, the roar of his voice was truly deafening as I stood before him, the focus of his displeasure. I had no choice but to receive his full wrath as to what he believed was an insult against him and a blemish on the family's honor.
He ranted for several minutes, uninterested in anything that I had to say for myself, not even allowing me the opportunity to speak. He informed me that the prank jeopardizing my academy standing was the final straw in a long line of poor and unacceptable behavior that he had tolerated over the years.
At this point he was merely warming up. He then proceeded to inform me of all my actions he would no longer accept or tolerate.
It was no wonder I had little respect for others since I had such a low opinion and no respect of myself. I would end up being nothing but a disgrace to the uniform I so desired to wear if my actions did not improve in the immediate future. Finally, the way I treated women was demeaning and a disgrace. I showed little, if any honor for the young ladies or me by using them so poorly.
I stood there quietly for several minutes before I had had enough of his condemnation. My own temper rose to the surface and all my incensed feelings towards him from over years came rushing out in a torrent of infuriated and passionate words.
I was unable to control my emotions and frankly, I didn't care to. I broke from my attention stance and took a few steps towards him. My blood was boiling. I began yelling back at him, something I had never dared to do before in my life. I threw his words back into his face, telling him what I thought of him as a soldier, and even worse, what I thought of him as a father.
For my entire life I had felt nothing but complete isolation from him. No matter how hard I tried, it was never quite good enough to earn his respect or approval. In fact, I believed the only thing I had done remotely correctly in his eyes was to follow his career path as a soldier.
And even at that, I still wasn't quite good enough to meet the high standards he had set for me.
Recklessly, words poured from my mouth. I told him that I cared nothing about his so-called accomplishments on the battlefield. In fact, I was God damn sick and tired of constantly hearing about his professional life that now meant nothing in today's modern Germany. Furthermore, I was tired of his surviving woe-begotten soldiers, all wallowing in their sorrow and self-pity, continually coming to him for monetary assistance and living at the estate as free loaders. The attention, compassion, and care that he had focused on them would have been better directed towards our family, and especially towards me. The only thing I had ever desired from him was to know him as my father.
I shared my opinion that if he had been a better father, that he would have taken more of an interest in my life and an interest in, how I actually wanted to live my life. He had never been there when I needed him. I at least wanted to have fun and enjoy life, to have something more than just the Wehrmacht to keep me warm at night and company during the day, to have living friends instead of dead fallen soldiers to remember. I wanted to live for the future and not be dead in the past. It was at this moment I suddenly felt an unaccustomed cruel streak rise in me and I viciously said the final words I would speak to my father for almost a year.
"Perhaps if you had been a better officer, if you had led your men more effectively and had fought harder, Germany wouldn't have lost the war. Perhaps so many men under your command wouldn't have perished for nothing.
In just a few strides, my father crossed the room until he was mere inches from where I was stood my ground so defiantly against him. Without warning he backhanded me hard, twice, across the face. The blows nearly toppled me over from the force. In a voice that barely contained his anger, he said, "Boy, you know nothing of what you speak of and I pray to God you never do."
He turned his back to me and went to look out the window, staring out over the academy grounds. In a calm voice he ordered me from his sight, due to my disrespect for all the German soldiers who had fought with honor, especially those who had not returned, and because of my disrespect to him.
My father then informed me I was not welcome at home and that I was not to return there until I learned how to have proper respect for him, for my heritage, for my uniform, and myself.
I brusquely left, not bothering to ask for his permission to be dismissed. I returned to class with his palm marks still clearly visible against my face, my fellow cadets wondering and staring at them without daring to say a word.
I found out later that it was indeed due to his intervention with the commandant that I hadn't been expelled. He had secured my place by personally vouching for my future conduct. It was something which never should have been his responsibility.
I made a vow at that moment never to find myself in a position again where I would need his assistance.
I did not see my father again until I graduated almost a year later. I didn't even return home for Christmas that year, preferring to forgo seeing my mother and sister than to be in his presence. I have always considered the year that I was estranged from my family a lost year of my life. I remembered very little of it except for my heavy drinking and the many faceless women who had served for one purpose only. I had managed to maintain a high class standing, but it was not at my previous level.
Only when Matthias took me aside, did that I begin to seriously focus on my studies again. He frankly said that he much preferred the arrogant ass that I had been to the stupid fool I was quickly becoming.
I took his words to heart. I ceased the excessive drinking and womanizing. I refocused on my studies and regained my standing. However, I still refused to contact my father.
Due to my renewed efforts, I managed to graduate near the top of my class. I said what little was necessary to my father at my graduation to maintain civility and primarily as a courtesy for the sake of my mother and my sister. The stiff and formal relationship I had always held with my father was even more so than it had been before our altercation. When I was in his presence, I felt a constant tension, which never seemed to relax in the slightest. It angered me even more that my father seemed oblivious to it as he continued our relationship as if the situation had never occurred.
It wasn't until after I had returned from my trip to Benghazi and after my conversation with the fortune-teller that I made a concerted effort to repair the relationship with my father. I learned to contain my emotions, focusing instead on the analytical. I would no longer allow myself to be driven by my emotions and my desires. With that realization, I had matured overnight into adulthood, to dedicate my life to honor of my chosen profession, and to the soldiers who would serve with me.
It was only in hindsight and with the wisdom that comes from experience, both on and off the battlefield, which I had realized the naïve cruelty of the words I had spoken to my father in my fit of anger. Although I always kept my thoughts to myself, I was convinced Germany would lose the war, just as it had lost the previous one. When the war finally ended and if I was lucky enough to return home, I would be living the same life my father had, the one I had scorned with such distaste. I, too, would do my best to take care of the physically and mentally broken soldiers who had loyally served me on the battlefield and who had nowhere else to turn for any type of assistance. I would care for them as one would care for one's family, because like my father, I would always consider the men who had shed their blood with me my brothers and my sons.
Yet for all these noble thoughts and self-realizations, I never could quite generate the courage to speak any words of apology to my father. My soul had a longing, a hunger for his forgiveness, but I myself was never able to admit to him my regret at the stupid and cruel words that I had said. Unable to ask for his forgiveness, not surprisingly, I was unable to forgive myself for my despicable actions. I prayed to someday have the strength to grant myself forgiveness and to finally be able to approach my father for the same peace.
It was only due to my sense of honor that I knew the oberst's words were the truth regarding the expectations for me and my responsibilities. I made no defensive comments or justifications to him. There was nothing else to say. I could not defend my combat actions or decisions. The loss alone fell under my command and I alone should be held accountable.
"Herr Oberst, I stand on my own merits and no one else's," I said firmly looking him in the eye, standing my ground. There was much more to my abilities as an officer than my heritage. I had chosen my own destiny, realizing that it was my will and not that of my father, Germany or the Fuhrer.
"Then see that you do," Neumann replied coolly. "You will need to demonstrate and prove your ability to stand behind those words, Hauptmann. You've had some impressive accomplishments on the battlefield. However, that was yesterday, and you must now prove yourself as of today and tomorrow."
"I understand."
"You will have that opportunity shortly with your next assignment. Quickly you will discover that serving out here is vastly different than the neat and precise battle campaigns that you have participated in the past, where the planning and strategy was done mostly for you and delegated downward. Here, you stand on your own two feet. And no one else's."
"I need to see to my men, Sir." I waited to be dismissed, having heard enough. I had done what I could with what little I had. It had not been enough. I could not help but to feel that I could have done more. Now it was time to see to those who had paid the price for my failure. I didn't even bother to question Neumann about his comment on next assignment. I knew it would come soon enough. It could wait. My men shouldn't have to.
Neumann didn't seem to share my priorities. "My understanding is that you speak Arabic and are familiar with the local Arab tribes, Dietrich."
"Yes that is correct, Herr Oberst." I was rather taken back at his question, or I should say, statement. My background was commonly known within the Afrika Korps and I was suspicious as to why he was now mentioning about these skills.
"Good. You will put those abilities to use sooner than you realize. Come and see me after you've had the opportunity to make yourself presentable, Dietrich. I'll expect you within fifteen minutes. I do hope that's enough time?" he asked, giving my dirty frame the once over again.
I calculated how much time it would take me to see my men and wash up. "Perhaps if I could ask for thirty minutes?"
"I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Dietrich. My tent." Neumann walked away briskly without waiting for my salute.
I watched him retreat before I shook my head slightly and turned to leave. He ignored my statement about seeing to my men, which was far more important to me than cleaning up. I had more important things to do in the next fifteen minutes and I wasn't particularity anxious to learn what he wanted to discuss with me. I quickly glanced at my watch. The fifteen minutes would provide me just enough time for me to check on my men. Cleaning up would have to suffice with my handkerchief wiping my face during the walk to his command center.