Necessary Evil

Personal Project for high school

Prologue

Promises

 

“Aren’t they amazing?” Astor smiled. Two brothers sat on a lonesome road watching the stars whirl by overhead. The younger of the two pulled the cloak tighter around his shivering body as he sat on his brother’s lap.

            “Bruder, I’m cold, can we go home now?” Bernhard turned his head toward his fourteen year-old brother. His ice blue eyes shimmered with tears from the cold winds and his pale blond hair was tussled, falling over his wind nipped face.

            “But the stars with be lonesome without us,” his elder looked at him gently and pulled the slight seven year-old closer to him. “You can go to sleep though; I’ll keep the stars company tonight.”

            The shivering boy sighed and curled up against his brother. Looking down at the young boy in his lap Astor felt a lump form in his throat, this world was so cruel. His brother should be at home, warm in his own bed, not trembling on a long forgotten road under a god forsaken sky. The older brother turned his head toward the soft glow their home a little ways off. His pale blue eyes glimmered in its far off firelight and another blast of freezing air tousled his light blond hair.

            It was nights like this he dreaded, their father lay in pain, his body seizing as he was wracked by episodes of coughing. Their mother ran frantically around their drafty but warm house spooning what little medicine they could afford into his mouth. Warmth was only paces away, but he couldn’t let Bernhard watch as their father gave into another spasm of coughing and blood spattered the kerchief their mother held to father’s mouth, it just wasn’t fair. So here they sat, seen only by the cold stars, felt by only the icy winds and solemn ground beneath them.

Bernhard shifted uncomfortably against his brother and trembled, clutching at the ragged cloak wrapped around his shoulders. “Bruder, I am so cold,” he whimpered, but did not open his sleep heavy eyelids.

“I know, I am too,” Astor replied running a gloved hand through his sibling’s mussed hair. The winds picked up and a soft, low tune began to play on the elder brother’s lips.

 

“Sleep, baby, sleep

Thy father tends the sheep

Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree

And down fall pleasant dreams for thee

Sleep, baby, sleep

Sleep, baby, sleep

Sleep, baby, sleep

Our cottage vale is deep

The little lamb is on the green

With snowy fleece so soft and clean

Sleep, baby, sleep

Sleep, baby, sleep

Lu-la-lullaby,

Hush, my babe, and do not cry

In your cradle now you swing,

Until you sleep, I’ll softly sing,

Lu-lullaby”

 

Astor rested his chin gently on top of Bernhard’s head as he felt his brother relax slowly and give into the long night’s cry for sleep. Tilting his face toward the unforgiving stars he made his vow. Frostbitten tears rolled down his ice stung cheeks as he murmured, “I vow, not to God, never to God. I vow to my brother, with the ever present stars as my witnesses, I vow to give my brother everything he deserves and nothing less. Everything, even if it requires my own life, even if it means I must dip my hands into blood, I will give him everything, everything he should have had. Bernhard, I swear this to you, if you ever doubt me, ask the stars, they do not lie.”

Astor wrapped his arms around his brother sheltering him from the lashing wind that fell upon them as he finished his vow. “Let that be remembered!” he howled into the driving wind. “Let the stars record that God has forsaken me and sent his wind to destroy me! God! Hear me now! I renounce you and all your works!”

Once again a frigid rush of air battered the two, but still Bernhard slept, held tightly by his sobbing brother. Astor’s frozen tears pattered lightly on the sleeping child’s wind-bitten forehead. “I will not die until my vow is fulfilled! I will not die until I have given everything to Bernhard!”

With that the wind halted. Astor pressed his face into his brother’s pale hair and sobbed gently into it before returning his gaze to the night sky. The stars blazed brightly, unfaltering, unchanging. He looked to his now godless skies and smiled. And the stars smiled back, from this day forth, in the year 1900, the stars would watch these two brothers, but for now they were content to simply watch the siblings as they slept on the cold, forsaken road, their futures flickering like the Berlin lights just miles away.

 

Part I

Letters and Memories

            It seems cruel doesn’t it? To throw you into something such as this. Cruel to make you the reason for my murders. But this was best. I wanted only the best for you. Bernhard, forgive me for these things, but remember, I sinned to make you who you are today. Don’t blame anyone but me for the things that haunt your past. I dipped my hands in blood of my own free will.

So it seems we must begin. Should I tell you my tale, mine and yours? It is unfair that I must write these letters for you to know our story, but you are in Belgium commanding men in the trenches. How does it feel? To have such power, I am so proud. As for me I have been following a general as his aide. He is likely one of the most stubborn men I have ever met and entirely impossible to control. I hope to see you soon, then maybe I will be able truly tell you our story. As the Americans say, “Give them hell.”

                             Sincerely, your brother,

             Astor Schreiner

 

***

 

            Astor heaped the final burlap sack of potatoes into the worm-eaten, wooden cart. He sighed, his work was not yet done, these potatoes would have to be sorted, any that weren’t too frostbitten or rotten would be taken to and sold on the outskirts of Berlin.  The rest would be their supplies for the rest of winter.

            “Astor!” a boy’s voice called out, followed by peals of laughter as the little blond haired boy tripped over his tattered scarf, hanging loosely at his throat.

            “Bernhard! Are you all right?” Astor turned quickly toward his younger brother. He took a step forward to help him but stopped as Bernhard leapt up again and continued running to him.

            “Astor! Have you finished your chores yet?” Bernhard halted in front of his elder brother and stared up at him pleadingly.

            His older brother heaved a sigh and turned toward the cart piled high with potatoes. The crop was already months late, but late into these winters even the most rotted food could fetch a fair price. Glancing back down at Bernhard he smiled slightly, seeing his brother was like looking down at his own reflection, pale blue eyes reflected his own, though Bernhard had a much broader face, unlike Astor’s sharp, almost fox like, features.

            “We can play for a little while,” his younger brother’s face broke into an even bigger grin at that, “But you have to promise you’ll help me sort the potatoes afterward.”

            Bernhard’s smile disappeared and his watery blue eyes froze like ice. “I promise,” he replied in a solemn tone.

            Astor almost burst out laughing, seeing such a serious face on such a young boy. Closing his eyes he began to count, Bernhard’s cue to run, “One, two, three…”

            He peered out of his half-closed eyes, still murmuring numbers, watching Bernhard dash away, his boots crunching in the snow, scarf now tightly wound around his neck. Shutting his eyes quickly Astor resumed counting loudly.

            “Ten!” he shouted spinning around, expecting to see the ends of Bernhard’s scarf disappear into the trees, but the boy stood stock still. Astor called out to him, “Bernhard?” something was wrong, his brother stared straight ahead at something at the edge of the woods.

            “Bruder!” Astor sprinted towards his sibling desperately stumbling through snowdrifts. Reaching Bernhard he saw the village beggar lying half buried in the snow.

            The man moaned, he was alive, “Please, help me,” the wretch croaked. 

Astor’s eyes flashed, “Bernhard, go inside. I’ll help him on his way,” he said without glancing at his younger.

“Astor?” Bernhard stared at his brother’s strangely lit eyes.

“Go, I’ll help him along,” Astor replied, his tone slightly more commanding. Bernhard nodded his head quickly and dashed off. Hefting the beggar off the snow covered ground Astor made his way down the forest path, the man leaning against his shoulder.

“Thank you, boy,” the beggar breathed, his face so close to Astor’s the boy could smell infection on his putrid breath.

Astor had a decision to make, though he had already made his choice on that cold road. He weighed options; he could either take this wretch of a man, known for drinking and stealing from poor farmers, to the doctor’s house not too far from there or keep his promise to Bernhard. Take this man to a place where he would have to pay for the beggar’s medication and house the sick man or ensure that Bernhard had enough food this winter.

  Heaving the ragged man off his shoulders Astor made his choice. The beggar’s head bounced off a tree trunk with a satisfying clunk.

“What are you doing?” the beggar with no name snarled, trying to lift himself up, but Astor pushed him down easily with the toe of his boot.

“So, you are my first test, I imagined it to be much harder than this, but why should I question the stars?”

 

            Astor twitched restlessly in his sleep a few weeks later. Nightmares gripped him in his sleep. The same one had been plaguing him for days. He stood in a blank snowy landscape, the wind was howling and snowflakes whirled around him.

            Turning he saw Bernhard racing towards him, “Astor!” he called out desperately. Astor strained to move his feet, to run toward his brother, but his boots seemed to be frozen in the ankle deep snow.

            Bernhard cried out again, “Bruder!” they were close enough to touch, but suddenly Astor was flying over the snow, away from Bernhard, bumping and pitching as if he were in an old mule cart.

            Astor flung his hand out to his brother, “Bernhard,” he screamed, “Take my hand!” their fingertips almost brushed, but whatever force was carrying Astor lurched forward leaving Bernhard stumbling after it, sobbing uncontrollably.

            Astor wailed, his brother was but a speck on the dream’s horizon but he could still hear the child’s choking sobs as Bernhard staggered through the snow trying to catch the nightmarish cart.

Suddenly Astor’s dream plunged into blackness; he was kneeling alone in front of a dark pool. A face appeared as he bent over the water, but it wasn’t real. It was a mask with a laughing face, a bright smile, and a spatter of blood on its right cheek. Somehow Astor knew this mask was his face. Reaching up gently he removed it with his gloved hand, now he stared down at a new face, Bernhard’s.

The face belonged to a young man in his twenties, but it was so similar, like looking into the future, this Bernhard stared up at his brother with weary eyes. Astor nearly shrieked when he saw the long scar running down Bernhard’s left cheek, opposite of the blood on the mask.

“Bruder, Astor, help me,” Bernhard moaned, his ice blue eyes were dim, emotionless. The reflection raised his hand toward Astor, Bernhard’s eyes seemed dead, but they begged Astor to pull him up from the wretched pool.

Astor wanted to throw both arms out to his brother, to pull him out of the dark, suffocating waters, but the dream only allowed him to reach out with one arm ever so slowly. His fingertips brushed the glasslike surface, Astor could almost feel his brother’s hand. The pool rippled and a sudden pop seemed to blow Astor away from the water, the dream shattered and he snapped up, his skin crawling with cold sweat.

Panting, he found himself once again in his bed in the drafty loft with his brother. The room was pitch black, but Astor could see his brother’s sleeping form in his mind’s eye. Bernhard’s soft breathing filled the room, Astor smiled slightly, everything was just fine. Swinging his feet off the edge of his cot Astor set his sheets aside and crept across the creaking wooden floor. He slid into Bernhard’s cot and wrapped his arms around his brother.

Bernhard groaned and pulled slightly away closer to the wall, “Bruder, get off me,” he moaned, half-asleep. Astor curled closer to his brother anyway; the nightmare had left him trembling. He felt his brother’s breathing slow once more and hugged Bernhard’s sleeping body closer to his.

“Bernhard, I’ll always protect you,” Astor murmured, his voice muffled by Bernhard’s hair. Tears streamed slowly down his face as he finally fell into a deep sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part II

Winter’s Morning

Bernhard stretched and blinked the sleep from his ice blue eyes. Turning on his cot he looked out the small second-story window, the sun was just beginning to peek over the snow covered horizon.

“I’m late,” Bernhard growled. He hadn’t gotten much rest after Astor had crawled into his cot and fallen asleep almost on top of him.

Rushing down the rickety stairs he mumbled good-mornings to his parents through a mouthful of watery oatmeal.

“Guten Morgen, liebling,” he heard his mother whisper, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, he knew what he would see. His father would be huddled on the cot nearest the fire, his grayed face hopefully hidden in the shadows that the high bones of his face now cast. Franz Schreiner, the once handsome and seemingly infinitely strong, head of the family was now a dead man. His body had been wracked by disease only two years ago, since then Franz had been reduced to nothing but an awful mass of skin and bone. The little medicine that they were able to afford for him merely kept him alive, it did nothing for the pain.

Bernhard’s once beautiful mother had also become thin and fragile, Sascha Schreiner, however dire the situation had always been fierce and determined, there were moments now when she swayed and had nearly broken, but her flashing aqua eyes had never shown weakness to her sons or husband. Her ash blonde hair had turned snow white and she hid her weight loss with layers of ragged clothing, but still she took the worst of what the world had to offer with a smile.

Sascha’s hopeful face made Bernhard think that maybe, one day, everything would be perfect once more. Scraping the spoon around the edge of his bowl Bernhard wondered if they remembered it was his birthday today, the extra sugar he tasted in the oatmeal told him that his mother would never forget her own son’s birthday.

“Is Astor still here?” Bernhard asked as he pulled on boots much too big for him.

“Yes, Bernhard, he said he would wait,” his mother smiled, watching her youngest son’s unchanging face. He had always been like that, Bernhard almost never smiled around his parents, only his elder brother could seem to bring happiness to the now eight year-old boy’s face.

Sascha turned toward her son as he leapt to his feet; Bernhard looked back at her with pained eyes. Behind his icy façade his mother saw straight through him, he was just a boy with an aching heart.

“Just like his father,” she thought, his broad shoulders and face, eyes like ice, even the way they acted mirrored each other.

Suddenly Bernhard was beside her, his eyes glistened and she could hear the small whimpering noises he was making in his throat. Biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling Bernhard stood shaking beside his mother.

“Ich liebe dich, Mama,” he murmured hurriedly and kissed her cheek before wiping his eyes with his baggy coat sleeve. Spinning on his heel he dashed out the door, his scarf fluttering behind him.

“Ich liebe dich, Bernhard,” Sascha whispered knowing that she wouldn’t be heard, but Bernhard did not need her to tell him that she loved him.

Slamming the door behind him Bernhard called out to his brother, “Astor!” He launched himself into the snow and ran easily through it.

His brother turned and smiled, “Bernhard! I’d thought you’d never wake up,” he laughed as he waved his arms animatedly. Bernhard gave a slight smile as he reached his elder brother. He was used to these greetings; Astor always seemed to have a smile on his face for his younger brother, even when trying to dig an old mule cart out of the snow.

            Reaching Astor, Bernhard managed a cracked laugh, “Do you need help, bruder?” he asked, his voice still trembling slightly, but he tried his hardest to hide it.

            Astor looked down at his younger, he nearly reached out a hand to wipe the tears off Bernhard’s tear streaked cheeks, but that would only annoy his serious brother.

            “Yeah,” Astor smiled, “I need some help.” Immediately Bernhard set to digging out the cart’s wheels from the icy snow. Astor knelt down and began digging as well; looking across at his brother he watched Bernhard’s serious face as his brother dug frantically at the frozen wheels. He wished he could make Bernhard smile more, let him be a child, after all the burdens Bernhard carried were no fault of his own. Finally the wheels were free and Astor leapt up.

            “Ready?” he asked Bernhard, pressing his gloved hands against the back of the cart. Bernhard nodded.

            “Eins, zwei, drei!” Astor shouted and they pushed the cart out of the rut, it clattered onto the road and went no farther. The brothers smiled at each other and chased after the wagon.

            “Bruder, I’ll help you pull the cart,” Bernhard said quickly.

            “Nein,” Astor scooped his brother up and placed him on top of the potatoes, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

            Bernhard opened his mouth to complain only to clamp it shut. He was not one argue with his brother.

 Astor gripped the wooden poles where the mule should be hitched and trudged toward the village. The brothers traveled in silence watching the pale landscape pass them by.

Finally they reached the poor village on the outskirts of Berlin. Astor dropped the cart on the corner and stood heaving in the street for a moment. Bernhard leapt down from the cart, landing heavily on his feet. When Astor had caught his breath they took up their positions, Astor behind the cart selling their meager wares and Bernhard in front.

Bernhard blended in perfectly with the other boys on the street. Occasionally an all-too cocky urchin would attempt to snatch a potato from the wagon only to be met with a sharp smack on the hand from the younger brother. Usually Bernhard’s sudden appearance was enough to frighten off the thief, if not they could expect a hefty blow to the head from the alerted Astor.

But not all Astor and Bernhard’s customers were petty thieves, many were all too happy to pay the price of a mark for two potatoes, especially the baker’s daughter, who would often swap her father’s bread for a few potatoes.

“Four potatoes, bitte,” Kreszenz smiled meekly, looking up at Astor. Although she was the same age as Astor, fourteen, she seemed so much younger. Most likely because she always had food on the table when she returned home. Zenzi, as the village called her, watched Astor closely as he plucked four large potatoes from the cart. Bernhard knew this ploy well, most villagers bought by the system of fair trade, if Zenzi felt they were giving her more, they were more likely to receive extra bread, and maybe even a few marks on the side.

Zenzi smiled shyly up at Astor once more as she took the potatoes and handed him two loaves of bread and two marks. Astor did not return her smile; he stared down at her with the same indifferent look he gave to all their customers.

Smiling again Zenzi nodded, “Danke!” she giggled and took off. Astor and Bernhard watched her until she disappeared around the corner.

“Zenzi likes you, bruder,” Bernhard commented looking up at his elder.

“Ja,” Astor nodded without smiling, if anything he looked somewhat annoyed by the girl’s behavior.

“But you do not like her?” Bernhard said still looking straight at Astor, searching his brother’s eyes for any hint about his feelings, but he only saw himself reflected in Astor’s icy eyes.

“No, she is a fool,” he laughed, “But I am grateful, this is more bread than is fair.”

The hours slid by slowly, the brothers ate their lunch, some of Zenzi’s bread and their own cheese from home, and continued selling their potatoes until the daylight began to dim. Astor towed the nearly empty cart down to the butcher’s store and handed Bernhard a few marks for soup bones and a little meat.

The butcher had a soft spot for little children and would often give Bernhard the best of what was left over from the day. Bernhard smiled sheepishly as the butcher handed him the bones and meat and thanked the man profusely.

Rushing out of the shop Bernhard tucked their dinner into his jacket to keep it from freezing. Astor threw a few ragged burlap sacks over the remaining potatoes; they would sell the remainders tomorrow. Bernhard reached into the back of the cart and pulled out a tarnished lantern, lighting it he caught up with Astor at the front of the cart.

Bernhard swung the lantern gently back and forth illuminating the path home with flickering orange light. Walking down the old dirt road, the same one Astor had made his vow on, with the silver-blue moonlight and smoky orange flame light as their only guides among the icy blue snow the brothers looked like characters from a storybook. How they wished they were characters from those tales. After all, those characters always had a light waiting for them at the end of their stories, a happy ending.

But there is a difference between Astor and Bernhard’s world and those bedtime stories, it is reality. It is the truth, death, life, lies, and love all bundled together. It is the monsters, fiends, and devils of the world that are hiding in the dark woods, not the simple wolf. But these thoughts were far from the brothers’ minds as they walked down the godless path.

The wind began to sing as it blew through the darks of the night. Soft, feathered snow danced across the road and Bernhard sang along with the winds. Low and mournful it reached the stars and echoed.

 

“Laterne, Laterne,
Sonne, Mond und Sterne,
brenne auf mein Licht,
brenne auf mein Licht,
aber nur meine liebe Laterne nicht.

 

(Lantern, Lantern,
Sun, moon and stars,
Burn, my light,
Burn, my light,
But not my dear lantern.)

Laterne, Laterne,
Sonne, Mond und Sterne,
sperrt ihn ein, den Wind,
sperrt ihn ein, den Wind,
er soll warten, bis wir zu Hause sind.

(Lantern, Lantern,
Sun, moon and stars,
Shut the wind in
Shut the wind in
It must wait until we're home.)

Laterne, Laterne,
Sonne, Mond und Sterne,
bleibe hell, mein Licht,
bleibe hell, mein Licht,
sonst strahlt meine liebe Laterne nicht.”

 

(Lantern, Lantern,
Sun, moon and stars,
Keep bright, my light
Keep bright, my light
Or my dear lantern won't shine.)

 

            The wind died as the song ended and the two stomped the snow off their boots on the front stoop. Astor smiled gently as he watched Bernhard lovingly blow the flame out in the lantern. Opening the front door they rushed inside, careful not to let the icy air into their warm home. Taking their coats, scarves, gloves, boots, and several pairs of socks off hastily they threw them over the fireplace to warm the clothing rather than dry it. Sascha smiled as Bernhard handed her the meat they had bought.

            “Thank you,” their mother smiled as she filled a pan with a few strips of meat. Astor and Bernhard nodded and set to work cutting some potatoes that they had saved for their family.

            When all had eaten Sascha spooned the final dose of medicine into Franz’s mouth and frowned.

            “Boys, tomorrow, when you come back from selling, please go to the doctor’s home and buy more medicine for your father,” she looked up at them and smiled something it seemed that the rest had forgotten how to do.

            “Yes, Mutti,” Astor nodded. Reaching down he took Bernhard’s hand in his own and began to lead him towards the stairs to the loft.

            Franz coughed and his head fell limply towards his children, “Bernhard,” he rasped. A feeble smile crept over their father’s face.

            Pulling away from his brother’s grasp Bernhard flew across the room and fell to his knees beside his father’s bed. He gripped Franz’s bony, callused hand as his mother began to whisper prayers, crossing herself feverishly.

            “Yes, Vati?” Bernhard choked out.

            “You have done a good job, Bernhard, help your mother, she needs you both,” Franz’s graying brown hair fell thinly over his glazed blue eyes as he looked up at his eldest son, Astor.

            Astor stared straight back at him; his blue eyes cold as ice as he watched is younger brother cling to his father’s hand. “Yes, Vater,” he growled back, anger leapt in his throat. He wanted Bernhard back; his brother would only be hurt if he clung to his father.

            But Franz did not hear the snarl in his son’s voice; he only saw the face of a young man, his ice blue eyes illuminated by the blazing firelight. He only saw the boy that he had left behind two years ago, young and vivid, the son that would someday take his place as head of the Schreiner family. Neither Bernhard nor their mother heard the contempt in Astor’s voice either.

            Astor’s voice softened again and he extended his hand, “Bernhard,” he murmured as their father’s head fell back onto the pillow and his eyelids fluttered shut, falling back into a deep sleep.

            Bernhard loosened his hand from his father’s grip and clutched Astor’s out stretched hand. Rubbing his teary eyes with his rough sleeve Bernhard followed his brother up the stairs to their beds.

            As the brothers curled up in their separate cots Bernhard whispered across the quiet room.

            “Bruder?”

            “Yes, Bernhard?” Astor replied turning over to face his brother.

            “Mutti was praying tonight, she hasn’t prayed for a long time. Should we?”

            “No, Bernhard, we shouldn’t pray to God,” Astor ran his fingers through Bernhard’s feathery blond hair until the child fell asleep.

            Astor turned over and curled up against the wall, “No, Bernhard,” he whispered, “We should not pray to God, not unless you want to be disappointed.”

            With that he gave into the darkness of sleep.

 

Part III

Broken Faiths

            To hate someone’s own father, not just to hate but to despise. I despised our father for being such a weak man. He left us to our fates. And our mother, to cling to God as she did, she was a fool, an idiot. But as low a man as I am not even I can kill my own parents. Besides, every child needs his parents. Correct, Bernhard? It would have been cruel to take them away from you.

            You are probably disgusted by what you read here. Disgusted by the thing I have become. I would give anything for you to see me as you did all those years ago. I feel as if you have been taken away from me, or have I left you behind? Like in those awful nightmares, they still plague me. Your face mirrored in the water haunts me; it stalks me like the wolf in the night. Come back to me, Bernhard.

            I think I truly came to hate our father when I nearly lost you. I still have not received a letter from you; I hope you are reading these at the least. Hope, such a silly word isn’t it? Hope.

Sincerely, your brother,

                          Astor G. Schreiner

P.S. The general could not read my signature on any of his papers; I had to order a stamp. What are your thoughts? I can’t even read my own middle initial, but the general is pleased.

 

***

 

Bernhard unfolded his body from its curled position and unwound the blankets from his small frame. Glancing out the loft window he watched the first few rays of dawn creep over the snow and the day unfurl.

Hurrying down the stairs Bernhard was pleased to see Astor just finishing tying his boots with an old string, probably torn from a burlap sack.

“Guten Morgen,” Bernhard greeted his family and plopped down to eat his hurried breakfast.

Astor grunted a reply, slightly more focused on the string that had snapped off in his hand. Their parents still lay asleep in their cots.

Watching Astor out of the corner of his eye Bernhard studied his elder brother closely. Something had seemed odd about him the other night. Had he been upset by their father? No, it couldn’t have been sadness he saw.

Bernhard stopped eating for a moment and stared off into the distance. When was the last time he’d seen his brother upset? Astor was always so cheerful; he rarely showed emotion other than somewhat out of place happiness and concern for his brother.

“Bernhard?” Astor’s voice shattered his thoughts, “Are you all right? You’ve stopped eating.”

Bernhard turned around quickly, towards his smiling brother, “Yes, I’m fine; I’m just tired is all.”

Astor cocked his head like a dog who didn’t quite understand. “If you’re not feeling well you can stay home and I can-”

“No!” Bernhard cut him off his voice sounding high-pitched and squeaky, “I mean, no, I feel fine.” Bernhard almost trembled at the thought of Astor leaving him alone, he needed his big brother.

Astor still looked a little confused but he smiled, “All right, I’ll wait for you here,” he said and sat close to the fire, warming his clothes before they had to trudge through the icy snow once again.

Bernhard nodded and continued eating quickly. Once he had finished he tugged on his boots and Astor helped him into his heavy overcoat. Waking up their mother the brothers bid their farewells and slipped outside.

Astor pulled Bernhard in the wagon once again along with the remaining potatoes. They reached the village faster than the day before now that they had so few wares to sell. Taking up their positions they waited for customers.

The villagers that visited were few and far between, many of them had bought a surplus the earlier day. Finally as the soft glow of sunset began to reach the skies Zenzi spun around the corner and dashed toward the old wooden cart her dirty blond hair whipping around her face.

Astor stared in surprise as the panting girl halted in front of them. Zenzi’s cheeks were bright red from the icy wind and she was gasping for breath her lungs aching from the cold air.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she finally managed to choke out. Now the Astor truly was confused. Bernhard laughed quietly, had it only been him who noticed that Zenzi bought from them at the exact same time every day they sold potatoes?

“I’ll buy whatever is left,” she smiled broadly up at Astor who quickly regained his composure. Handing Zenzi the last five potatoes she gave him two and a half loaves of bread and three marks, once again more than was necessary. Astor took it without a second thought.

“Danke!” Zenzi thanked him. Suddenly she blushed and dropped her gaze to the ground. “Astor?”

“Yes?” he looked down at her trying to make sense of the situation.

“There’s a puppet show tonight in the village square,” Zenzi said quietly as she played with the lace on her clean white apron. “Will you go with me?”

Astor raised one eyebrow, “I’m sorry, but no, we have to buy medicine for my father.”

Zenzi’s head flew up and she stared into Astor’s ice blue eyes in disbelief, “That won’t take long, will it?”

Astor opened his mouth to reply and was promptly cut off by Zenzi, “When you’ve finished please come.” With that the girl took off, her apron and hair billowing out behind her, she clutched her wicker basket to her breast, and her soft shoes padded on the cobbled road as she ran down the street. Astor stared coldly after her.

Bernhard proceeded to stare seriously up at him, “Bruder, what will you do?”

Astor didn’t look down at him, “Bernhard?”

“Yes, Astor?”

“If we have time, do you want to go see a puppet show?” turning he grinned cunningly down at his brother.

Bernhard nearly laughed, “Yes, I would, bruder.”

Picking up the handles of the cart again Astor and Bernhard walked towards the forest path. The village’s doctor, a rather old hermit, lived inside the secluded forest.

The wagon bumped and jolted on the old path and Astor became slightly agitated. The beggar was beginning to worry him. Surely the body hadn’t been left there, had it? And the blood, did it stain the trees?

As they turned down the road Astor felt relief wash over him, nothing remained of that day. The snow had washed away the blood and the body had since been removed. Bernhard could not have possibly known what had happened here.

Reaching the doctor’s home Astor dropped the cart and they walked up the doctor’s front door. Knocking loudly Astor called for the man, “Herr Doktor?”

Almost immediately the door was opened by the little white haired doctor. “Yes? Oh, it’s the Schreiners again,” he said to no one in particular. “Have you come for your father’s medicine?”

“Yes, Herr Doktor, we have,” Astor replied.

The old man opened the door wider, “Come in, come in!” he welcomed them, the doctor was slightly confused and the brothers were used to these kinds of greeting.

“How much do you need?” the old doctor asked as he began to rifle through his cabinets.

“The usual dose, Herr,” Astor smiled, poor old man, they had been coming for two years and still he forgot what Astor and Bernhard came for.

“Such good boys,” the doctor muttered as he mixed the medicine and poured the doses into a little bottle.

Handing the liquid to Bernhard the elderly man straightened himself and stared straight at Astor. Extending his hand he opened his palm, beady black eyes searing into Astor’s icy blue.

Astor contained his laughter, no matter if the doctor forgot what they had come for he would never forget what the brothers owed him. Reaching into the folds of his jacket Astor produced the little purse. Smiling he counted out a few marks and placed them into the doctor’s open palm.

The doctor eyed the bills carefully and counted them out again.

“Don’t trust us, Herr Doktor?” Astor laughed. His face fell when the doctor looked back up at him coldly; the man had no sense of humor.

Suddenly the doctor switched back to his normal cheery self. “Well you boys have a good day.”

Astor and Bernhard stood dumfounded for a moment; the man’s mood swings were quite frankly awesome.  Astor laughed awkwardly, “Thank you, Herr Doktor,” and they turned toward the door.

“Oh, Astor, stay for a moment,” the doctor had turned away from them and seemed to be flipping through that pages of a book, “Bernhard could you please wait outside?”

“Anything you have to say to me you can say to Bernhard,” Astor retorted angrily.

“This is not for his ears, Astor,” the old man snarled back, he had stopped paging through the book but still was bent over the desk.

Astor furrowed his brow, “Go on Bernhard,” he said softly and ushered his brother through the door. Bernhard stared up at his brother and reached for Astor’s cloak but his brother closed the rickety door too quickly.

Turning away from the door Astor turned his smoldering gaze upon the elderly doctor, “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled.

“Astor, that is no way to speak to your elder,” the gnarled man did not turn toward the boy.

Astor ground his teeth, “My apologies, Herr Doktor,” he growled softly.

The doctor paused for a moment acknowledging the apology before continuing, “Astor, when was the last time you saw the village beggar?”

The young man stiffened, “Two or three days ago, Herr,” he replied coolly.

“I found his body not far from here; someone had put a bullet in his head,”

Astor reached slowly into his coat, his heart was beating frantically now, he could feel the cold metal of the gun pressed against his chest. Questions and answers flashed in front of his eyes.

If the doctor did know what would he do? Kill him.

What then, after the doctor was dead? Run, take Bernhard and run.

The thing was back again; Astor could feel it, beginning in his chest, tightening around his heart, the wave, the thing, the monster, the wolf, his eyes gleamed blood red and his hair shone snow white, blood and gunfire. Suddenly reality began again and Astor was thrown back into the room, his hand clutched the pistol under his jacket.

“I want you boys to be careful out there, you never know who is lurking in these woods,” the doctor turned slowly from his desk and Astor pulled his hand quickly out of his coat, “I didn’t want to scare Bernhard.”

“You don’t have to worry about us, Herr Doktor,” Astor grinned back at the smiling old man.

The kindly man smiled back, “I still do, now go, take your father’s medicine; it won’t do him good if we stand here chatting,” the doctor’s face fell again, “Or if he loses a son.”

Astor nodded politely, “Thank you, Herr Doktor,” with that he left.

The wind slammed the door behind Astor as he walked out into the snow; Bernhard was leaning against the cart fiddling with the small glass bottle that held their father’s medicine. Hearing the wooden door bang he spun around.

“Bruder, what did the doktor say? Was it about Vati?”

“No, it wasn’t about Vati, the doktor just wanted us to be careful, there are dangerous people in these woods now.”

Bernhard studied his brother carefully, “We’ll be all right, right, bruder?”

“Yes, Bernhard we’ll be fine, Herr Doktor was just exaggerating,” Astor smiled, “Let’s go.” He hefted the cart’s yoke onto his thin shoulders once again and swerved onto the smooth river road.

The setting sun was now but a sliver on the white horizon, the path was darkening but as long as there was still light in the sky the brothers could not waste precious oil on their lantern.

Astor watched the ground carefully as he placed each step. This road was known to be dangerous in winter, black ice gathered on the banks.

 Suddenly Astor heard Bernhard gasp as his leg shot out from under him. Hitting the cold ground Bernhard let out a small squeak and the little bottle spun out of his gloved hands.

 “Bernhard!” Astor dropped the cart with a loud clatter and raced to his brother.

 But Bernhard had already risen to his knees and watched in horror as their father's medicine slid down the snowy ravine and onto the ice covered river.

 “Bernhard, are you all right?” Astor knelt beside his brother, following Bernhard's terror filled gaze he saw the glassy outline of the bottle glimmer amid the frozen waters.

 “Don't go after it, the water might not be-” Bernhard stood before Astor could finish his warning and dashed to the gully.

 “Bernhard!” Astor grabbed for the boy's flapping coat, but the fabric slipped through his hand like sand.

 Sliding down the embankment, Bernhard could barely hear his older brother's shouts over the roar of blood in his ears. He felt his gloved hand wrap around the cold bottle as the ice began to creak.

 Astor stood calling over the ravine for his brother. He watched as Bernhard gripped the tiny bottle.

 The ice screamed and where Bernhard had once stood there was only a black swallowing hole.

 Astor screeched and leapt down the shore. He plunged into the icy river choking the freezing water as it was forced into his nose. His knee connected with something solid; dragging himself deeper into the river he reached out for his brother and ripped their bodies from the water's pull.

 Lifting Bernhard's head above his, into the night sky, Astor broke the surface of the bubbling, black water to the lamp lit air above. Sputtering he saw the villagers lining the shore screaming and shrieking in terror. The brothers’ shouts had roused them from the nearby village and they had run from the square where the puppets and puppeteer now lay forgotten.

 Zenzi stood with them, lantern in hand, screaming Astor's name. Astor rolled the shivering Bernhard onto the solid ice near the shore and dragged himself after his brother's heaving body. Water sprayed from his nostrils and he felt his sodden arms churning the dark waters below him.

 Finally he pulled his torso above the sharp ice, feeling it dig into his flesh like knives beneath his drenched coat. Pushing Bernhard higher onto the ravine he dragged his water logged boots behind him.

 He felt the villagers' hands grab at his coat and arms trying to haul them both back up the gully, but Astor pushed them away and took Bernhard into his arms. He stumbled up the sides of the river on his knees and struggled to stand once he reached the top of the bank.

 Zenzi grabbed at Astor's soaking coat sobbing like a child, “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” she screeched.

 Astor pushed her hands away, his confused mind telling him it was her fault. It had to be her fault. She was apologizing.

 Astor hugged Bernhard's trembling form closer to him and began to wail. Loud, choking sobs wracked his body.

 Bernhard felt his brother's arms around him and felt Astor’s shaking body, but the water had frozen him to the core, he could only slump against his brother’s chest as Astor filled the night air with angry shouts.

Cursing at Bernhard for being stupid and shaking him violently to wake him Astor bit back frozen tears. The terrified villagers and their glaring lamps confused his mind and eyes and he found himself staring at the surging black water that he had just saved himself from.

Suddenly the voices stopped, Astor could no longer hear them, his mouth was agape, in the water, floated the mask. In a sudden flash of firelight it changed to Bernhard’s face.

But it couldn’t be possible, his mind screamed, he was holding his brother, nonetheless Bernhard still struggled in the water. Spinning away from the crowd Astor realized it; the river still wanted his brother.

“No, no, no, no!” Astor ran down the path towards their home, “You can’t have him!” he shrieked. “He’s mine!”

Bernhard lay limp in his arms, water leaked from his nose and mouth, the little bottle was still clenched tight in his gloved fist.

The river veered away from the path now, but still Astor ran. His water logged boots had begun to freeze although water still spurted from them as they pounded against the ground. Reaching their home Astor flung open the door and his mother screamed at the sight of her two half-drowned children. Astor stumbled as the door slammed and Bernhard nearly dropped from his weak arms.

Sascha tore her youngest son from his brother and began hurriedly peeling off his soaked clothes. A thin layer of ice had hardened on Bernhard’s clothes and the soft fabric creaked as it was tugged away and strewn on the floor.

Pulling the warm shawl from her shoulders Sascha began frantically drying Bernhard’s small frame. The young boy still failed to move but his shallow breaths filled the room seeming to rise over the sobs of his mother and the cackling of the fire.

Astor tumbled into his mother’s cot and listened to the laughing flames as the water seeped from his clothes and soaked the canvas beneath him, dripping through onto the floor. Finally cold overtook him and sleep settled on his eyes.

Still Sascha carried on, having wrapped her child in the shawl, rocking him back and forth she sobbed a lullaby.

“Sleep, baby, sleep… Thy father tends the sheep… Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree…Sleep, baby, sleep… Hush, my babe, and do not cry…Until you sleep, I’ll softly sing… Lu-lullaby…” she broke. The song no longer held any meaning to her. For the first time in her life, Sascha Schreiner cursed God.

The small bottle lay on the floor glimmering in the firelight, cracked, and forgotten.

 

Part IV

Promises and Lies of the Heart and Soul

Astor awoke with a gasp. Leaping out of the cot his eyes fell on Bernhard, who lay on a cot most likely brought down from the loft. The fire next to the small feverish boy had since died, embers crackled and popped among the ashes, and the pot of stew now hung cold, untended.

Astor’s mother knelt beside Bernhard, lost in sleep. Her hand gripped Bernhard’s own and her head rested limply on the edge of the cot, white hair fell like snow around her face. Even his father slept on peacefully as the morning star climbed into the skies.

Without bothering to put on shoes, Astor slid out of the house. Gathering firewood from their store he felt the soft, icy snow beneath his feet, crunching softly and morphing with each step. Before he re-entered his home Astor looked out over the vast white land. It sprawled like a blank canvas; the sky was a misty white, darkened only by the skeletal trees reaching their claws to the heavens.

This was his land, the land that gave and killed, and he had barely escaped its fierce grasp. His face remained unchanged, indifferent as he turned on his wet heel and returned to the dying warmth of his home.

Small puddles followed him across the room as he walked to the fireplace. Once Astor had stoked the fire he removed his sodden socks and hung them over the flames to dry. As he watched his woolen socks drip and steam he realized that his clothes were dry. His mother had stripped him of the icy clothing and even removed his boots, which now hung upside down over the hearth.

Astor knelt beside his sleeping mother and watched Bernhard’s tiny chest rise and fall. Turning then to Sascha he softly tucked her snow-white hair, falling over her eyes, behind her ear.

Standing Astor gazed down at his mother, “Weak woman, why do you cling so?” he whispered. Her love of God was irrational, her faith in Him. A sharp knock on the door awoke him from his thoughts. He considered simply not opening it, but then again, the doctor could have come to check Bernhard.

Opening the light wooden door he stared down at a young girl with glass green eyes, Zenzi. Astor felt anger swell in his chest leaping in his throat, irrational.

“I- I’m sorry about last night-,”

“Leave,” Astor cut her off, a snarl escaped his throat.

“But-,” Zenzi began again tears marred her light green eyes.

“I said leave,” Astor felt his anger pulse in his heart, irrational.

Zenzi let out a cry and leapt off the stoop, dashing off down the path, free of black ice. Astor shut the door, hearing the wood creak. Turning toward his still sleeping family he leaned against the door. Irrational, his anger was irrational, but he could not help it. She was the one apologizing, it was her fault. Astor’s head swam, black spots swirled before his glazed eyes, but still he gently lifted his mother from the floor and placed her form beside his brother’s. The two slept on as Astor, fatigued and defeated stumbled to the opposite cot. His legs gave and he fell into the ragged blankets. Sleep engulfed him.

 

***

 

 

I was so afraid, so afraid for you. I was angry, I was angry with everyone. The baker’s girl, our mother, our father, myself, even you. Have you forgiven me? Such a silly question, asking if you’ve forgiven me for that, you surely don’t forgive me for my murders.

Do you remember the French I taught you? Or is it just another reminder of me that you’ve forsaken. Don’t try, don’t try to lock me away, I won’t let you forget me, I love you too much.

I was right, wasn’t I? I told you that France would be a country we would war with soon, among others. How goes the war on your front? I’ve heard the oddest rumor, that a battalion in your area has a Belgian captive, a woman! Imagine that! It seems to be only a rumor though; the general does not concern himself with such frivolous searches such as this one. I hate that fool.  Lucky woman if she is real!

 

 Sincerely, your brother,

                          Astor G. Schreiner

 

***

 

When Astor awoke again night had fallen. He stood and stoked the fire, tossing and a few logs. The stew still boiled; though it was evident his mother had removed before so that it did not spoil. Sascha had since fallen asleep once again.

Watching the flames Astor felt his chest tighten; anger flitted and danced like the fire in him. As if he was possessed Astor snatched a thick branch from the pile and set it aflame. Leaving the branch halfway out of the fire Astor tugged on his boots and tied the laces tight, feeling the fibers fray in his hand. Gripping the wood again he flew out to the house.

The flame was hot so near to Astor’s hand, but he ignored the heat as he walked swiftly down the dirt path, towards the village.

The makeshift torch lit the cobbled corners of the poor village. Finally Astor reached it the baker’s home. Built like so many others, wooden skeleton with a thatched roof. Pulling his arm back Astor prepared himself to hurl death upon the home. Suddenly he halted; in the dark window he saw his reflection. But his reflected eyes were not filled with hatred and anger; they were alight with fear and pain.

The face of a boy stared back at him, shimmering against the glass and torchlight, a face once forgotten. The boy let out a silent scream, broken, pitiful, and Astor felt the sound resonate in his soul.

The torch fell from his hand and the flame was snuffed by the wet cobblestones. Steam and smoke rose from the dying embers of the branch. Astor stared at his reflection in horror. What was he doing? How could he even for a moment believe this was right?

Reaching up his fingers tore at his face, “No,” Astor gasped. “No, no, no,” he would not give himself to the wolf tonight. He spun on his heels and took off, his boots splashed in the puddles among the cobbled lane.  The torch lay smoldering; it would be reduced to char and splinters the next morning by a passing cart.

The wind nipped Astor’s face as he ran down the path. What had he become? This monster? As he neared his cottage he stopped, his head was once again cool. Turning slowly he looked out towards the village; freezing rain marred his view and soaked his hair.

“I must be more careful, for Bernhard,” he whispered to the rain as it fell, its sound like thunder. He continued on towards home.

Opening the door he shook the rain off his shoulders and hung his wet coat above the door. He took a few steps towards the fire to dry his boots over the hearth. Halfway he stepped on a small form, he heard the item creak slightly and lifted his toe to reveal a little glass bottle, his father’s medicine. Picking up the little vial, he tilted it, watching the firelight illuminate the cracks, stretching out like spider web, but not a drop had spilled. 

Astor turned toward his father, whose eyelids twitched as his body strained to stay asleep. Taking a beaten wooden spoon from a drawer Astor seated himself on the edge of Franz’s cot. Prodding his father gently Astor woke the sick man just enough to pour a small dose down his throat. Pushing the cork back into the mouth of the bottle Astor stood and placed the spoon above the fire, on the mantle. He would have to boil it later.

Staring out the window Astor watched the moon as it rose high into the sky. Tonight it was but a claw hanging among the stars. For several minutes he watched it lost in his own thoughts. Bernhard had once told him his favorite moon was the full moon, but not the type that one saw often, with one side seemingly lopped off. The nights with the moon was as perfect as a coin, perfectly round and bright.

As Astor watched something began to happen, the moon began to change. Its silver light tinted and it became a rusty orange. Astor continued staring at the starving moon. It changed from the light orange to a blood red. Now the moon gleamed with malice and a sense of foreboding overtook Astor. He had heard many times of the heavens telling of the future.

As the dagger draws back bloodied after each kill it is stained a darker red. Its master’s hands the same. So it would be for the rest of Astor’s life. As the knife moon climbed higher into the sky it became a deep crimson.

Turning swiftly from the window Astor removed his boots and forced himself into a restless sleep.

But the moon fell, tormented, from the skies and once again it became pure. Tormented it fell into the deep white snow.

 

***

 

The soft chime of tin plates and cups woke Astor. Sitting up slowly he saw his mother carefully pouring out portions of stew for their breakfast, there was no reason to make oatmeal that morning.

Astor swung his legs over the side of his cot, “May I help, Mutti?” he whispered solemnly.

Sascha nodded and Astor fetched the wooden spoons from the drawer. Then taking the kettle from the mantle he boiled water, adding a pinch of tea leaves, barely enough to scent the air. Astor sat beside his mother as he ate the rich stew. Very few times in the year did they have a thick stew, only after harvesting and selling the potatoes could the Schreiner household afford enough meat and other ingredients to make a hardy stew.

Tilting his head back Astor drank the hot tea quickly, inhaling the slight, sweet aroma. He placed the tin cup down and turned toward his mother.

“Has Bernhard woken up at all?” he asked quietly.

Sascha looked at her son gently, “No,” she shook her head. “He has a fever now, but he hasn’t made a single noise since you brought him back.”

Astor tightened his grip on the tin cup, it dented slightly. Looking over at his brother a strange calm enveloped him though pain stung in his chest. Standing he stepped into his heavy boots and began pulling his arm through the sleeve of his coat.

“Astor, where are you going?” his mother whispered.

“Out,” he replied incoherently.

Sascha said no more as her eldest son walked out into the snow white world, the winds slammed the door behind him. Astor walked down the worn forest path. His figure flitting among the skeletal trees, his tattered scarf fluttered behind him. Astor kept his pale blue eyes to the ground, taking in every detail of the land under his feet.

Tree roots spider webbed the path, here and there they rose from the dirt like a corpse’s fist as he grasps his treasure. Snow gathered in dips in the ground and curled up beside the little knolls made by the roots.

Raising his head slightly Astor could see the snow as it clung to the sides of the birch trees, thrown there by the wind. The soft frost nestled in the birches’ depths, where their branches split from their trunks. The birches’ skin was brittle and peeling revealing the black underneath. It fell in wafer thin pieces, curling like dying leaves; the creamy bark hid the darkness beneath.

Finally Astor reached it, a dilapidated cottage deep in the forest. Rapping on the flimsy wooden door with his fist Astor called out, “Herr Doktor!”

A loud thumping erupted within the cabin and a little white-haired man stuck his head out from behind the door craning his neck to see Astor’s face.

“Astor?” the doctor looked quizzically at him, but as usual the puzzlement eroded from his face and he held the door open wide.

“Come in, come in,” the doctor smiled, “What can I do for you?” Suddenly the old man rushed over to his desk and began flipping through a notebook.

“I have been keeping a log!” he exclaimed, “To help me remember when I forget, when I remember to write in it. Ah!” The doctor pointed to an entry scrawled on a page; looking up at Astor through his pince-nez he studied him closely.

“You are here for your father’s medicine, are you not?” the pince-nez flashed, hiding the doctor’s eyes with a silver light.

“No, Herr Doktor, I am not. Bernhard and I came for that two days ago,” Astor smiled to himself; the doctor had forgotten to mark down their last visit.

“Oh, yes, I, I must have forgotten,” with a slightly disgusted look the doctor threw the log down on his unmade cot. “Well, then, what are you here for? And where is the little one, Bernhard?”

Astor’s face became gray and his eyes dim, “Bernhard fell into the river the other night; I came to get him a book.”

The doctor’s eyes flashed from pity to suspicion. “No medicine?”

Astor shook his head, “We only have enough money to get my father through this winter, we cannot afford anymore medicine.”

 The doctor eyed him harshly, “And what will you pay me for a book of mine?”

Astor reached inside the folds of his coat carefully removing a worn item. Gazing down at it Astor ran his fingers over the canvas cover dented and ragged. He remembered the nights his mother would read from it, when Bernhard had been but a little child. His father would come in and warm his frozen hands by the fire, his cheeks pink from the howling winds.

When Franz was warm again he would take the old book from his wife and read Astor’s favorite poems from it. So it had been their nightly routine. When his father had fallen ill Astor would take the little book and find those certain poems and read them quietly with Bernhard in his arms. As Franz’s sickness worsened Astor no longer read from the book, he took to simply sleeping with it under his pillow. The years went by and the family heirloom was faded but the words still legible. When it had become apparent that Franz would never recover the book was left on a high and dusty shelf, far from the warm hands it had once known. A decaying symbol of forgotten happiness.

“I can give you this,” Astor said holding up the cover to face the doctor. The embossed lettering on the book was worn, but still visible, it read, “Des Knaben Wunderhorn.”

The doctor took it quickly and as the book passed out of his hands Astor knew that there was no going back, their days of happiness were over, the last reminder of what was would be left here.

“‘Des Knaben Wunderhorn,’” the little old man breathed, “And a very old one at that! Where did you get this, boy?”

“It’s a family heirloom,” Astor replied. There were very few books in the Schreiner household, not because they were poorly educated, in fact the children had been schooled as long as possible, but because of the rarity and expense of books, they were considered a luxury. Books were their treasures.

The doctor looked up at Astor with a broad smile, “For this, I’ll give anything in my collection, take what you’d like!”

Astor forced a bitter smile, “Do you have any arithmetic books?”

“Of course! Give me a moment,” and with that the doctor rushed up a flight of rickety wooden stairs. Astor knew that the room above contained the doctor’s experiments as well as ingredients for his outdated herbal medicines. The doctor did not trust the modern cures. Even if he did what person would be able to afford such things here?

The smell from the plants and any other odds and ends in the upstairs room was overpowering. The doctor slept downstairs because of it, if the smell hadn’t already ruined his nose.

Astor stepped over scattered papers and toppled chairs. The old man had no sense of organization, but his cleanliness was spectacular. Taking a few books from the several stacks scattered about the room Astor placed a near empty beer bottle, its contents dripping onto the floor, upright again. The doctor could cure just about anything, except his own alcoholism.

The old doctor re-emerged from his, “laboratory,” carrying a stack of four books, “Here you are!”

Astor smiled and took the heavy books, “May I take these as well?” he asked showing the doctor several French language books.

“Of course, of course!” the doctor exclaimed, “Now go on, your brother needs you.” The old man waved a dismissive hand

Astor bowed his head quickly, “Thank you, Herr Doktor,” and he turned toward the door.

“One more thing, Astor,” the doctor called him back.

“Yes, Herr?”

The doctor looked up at the boy with soft eyes, “Take care of Bernhard and tell him I wish him well.”

Astor stood surprised for a moment before nodding, “Thank you, Herr Doktor.” With that he opened the door quickly and left.

 

***

 

The winter nights were brutal. The howling wind contended only with Astor’s pained curses. Bernhard lay dead to the world, his blood boiling with a fever, sickness leaked from between his lips. His brother knelt beside him clutching at the young boy’s blankets.

“Wake up, verdammt! Wake up!” Astor cried over and over, “You can’t leave me!” Throwing back his head Astor’s frozen blue gaze tore through the roof of their home, into the skies above. His pale blond hair fell ragged around his face and, despite the temperature, beads of sweat clung to his cheeks.

“It’s you!” Astor screamed at his mother’s God, “You want to take Bernhard from me! You can’t have him! Bernhard is mine! He’s mine!”

Falling forward Astor buried his face into the rough blankets and sobbed loudly. Sascha looked on with pity shimmering in her eyes. She herself had once done the same, but her husband still lay diseased. A bitter smile was permanently fixed on her face. Part of her wanted to tell her eldest son that it was useless, such pleas and curses would do no good. But Sascha stayed silent, she knew that her words would have no effect on Astor.

Astor’s shoulders still shook with weeping, but his shouting had stopped. Now he simply whispered to his feverish brother.

“Stay here, Bernhard, I brought you some books. We can study this winter. When the snows stop I have just enough money to send you to school. Doesn’t that sound good? You’ll be able to go back to school, and then maybe we can move to the city when you’re older. You can get a good job in Berlin, Vati will get better, and Mutti will stop crying. Doesn’t that sound good, Mutti will stop crying, Mutti will stop…”

Astor trailed off and a low wail began in his throat. Sascha gazed at her children with blind eyes and listened to her son with deaf ears, she sat on the edge of Franz’s cot stroking his cold hand, lost in the fogs of memory. Memories of what was and what should have been. Suddenly her eyes grew wide, what had she just felt?

It was if a watch had just been wound, the soft heartbeat of a clock had begun, and it wouldn’t stop until it had made full circle

A soft moan filled the room and Bernhard twitched. His eyelids fluttered and his small hand shook.

Astor lifted his head from the blankets and stared at his brother in awe. Bernhard’s head lolled to one side and he opened his pale blue eyes, murky with sickness. They reflected Astor’s own, glazed and lifeless, but even so the boy spoke.

“Astor,” Bernhard’s lips didn’t seem to even move as he formed the words.

“Bernhard,” Astor gasped as his brother spoke.

“Astor, I’m sorry,”

The elder brother laughed out of sheer fear and joy, “What for?”

“For falling into the river, and being stupid, and worrying you,” Bernhard’s lower lip trembled and his bit down on it hard. Squeezing his eyes shut Bernhard held back hot tears; he tasted blood in his mouth.

“Bernhard, you don’t have to be sorry,” Astor choked on the lump in his throat. “It’s not your fault.” He had forgotten that his brother was but eight years old, he was always so mature, even more so than fourteen-year old Astor.

“But-” Bernhard began again.

“No, Bernhard, it’s not your fault,” Astor cut him off, “Rest more, it’s not your fault.”

Bernhard opened his mouth again to speak but again sleep dragged him down and his mouth closed slowly as his breath evened again.

Astor leaned gently over his brother and kissed his forehead, “You don’t have to be sorry.”

 

***

 

I must write only a short letter today. The general has left me several stacks of work that I must complete before his return. He left for a, “day-trip,” apparently to inspect several new platoons. If that’s what he calls visiting the brothel in the town over, disgusting man.

I shouldn’t trouble you with my petty problems though. I was overjoyed at your return to me. For a moment I let my faith falter in the stars, but you still needed me. I often think of the sign of the moon that I received, very true now isn’t it? So many murders.

Remember those cold winter days when we studied all hours? I taught you everything I possibly could using those books. Though I’m certain that you weren’t grateful for that work when you were so small, I’m sure you are now. I wonder, is that old doctor still there in his rickety old house?

I’m sure you remember that day though. The day I left you. I have since forgotten the date; it seems so long ago now. Can you believe it? I left home at sixteen and joined the military, but already you are leaps and bounds ahead of me, even after thirteen years here I still only hold the rank of Hauptmann. I joined seven years before you.

I have let this letter run on for too long. I must return to my work. I hope to hear from you soon.

 

Sincerely, your brother,

                          Astor G. Schreiner

 

***

           

            A clean white envelope sat on his desk unopened. He was almost scared to open it. If it had come from where the secretary had said the letter had come from it had to be from him. Astor reached out his leather gloved hand and gently picked up the little white sheet.

            Taking the letter opener from his drawer Astor slit the top of the envelope with a quick slice. Very carefully he reached into the packet and removed the folded sheet of paper.

            On the paper was scrawled one line, while most people would have been disappointed by such a short, cold reply Astor smiled. Bernhard was reading the letters.

 

November 30, 1902

 

                             ~Bernhard Ludwig Schreiner

           

The fact that his brother had even signed the letter surprised Astor, but he was happy nonetheless. Folding the clean white sheet again Astor tucked it back into its envelope. He took a small silver skeleton key from his pocket and unlocked a small drawer almost hidden in the corner of the desk. Inside lay only two items, a yellowed photograph, the only one of his family, and a gun.

Astor picked up the pistol, delicately and set it down on the desk before him. He placed the letter next to the faded photograph and replaced the gun. Closing the drawer he locked it once again with the little key, listening to the click of the lock as it shut. He dropped the silver key back into the well-hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket.

Leaning back into his chair he shut his eyes and remembered. November 30, 1902, it was cold, the snow was deep, the fog was thick.

 

***

            “You can’t leave us, bruder,” Bernhard growled, he stood watching Astor tie the laces of his boots, the shabbiest pair.

            “It’s too late, Bernhard, I’ve decided, I’m joining the military,” Astor stood and took off the heavy coat he was wearing.

            “What about Mutti? What about Vati?” Bernhard snarled, “Do you not care about them?”

            Astor turned to his brother as he pulled on a thin summer coat, “I’m doing this for you.”

            “No, you’re not! Do you think I don’t know you?” Bernhard shouted back, “I see the gleam in your eye when the soldiers pass by, do you think I don’t notice you watching their ranks? You don’t stare at the leaders, you look past them! You see yourself up there with them, you want their power!”

            “Bernhard!” Astor lashed out angrily, “That’s not why I’m leaving!”

            “You can’t fool me, Astor!” Astor flung open the door to the howling winds and marched out, Bernhard followed, angry tears streamed from his eyes. Astor felt the snow seep through the thin shoes and the wind tear into the light coat, but he had left his heavy clothes for Bernhard.

            As they neared the road Bernhard turned on his brother again, “All you want is power! You don’t even care what happens to any of us!”

            “Shut up!” Astor spun around suddenly and slapped Bernhard. Pain flew through his veins as his right hand connected sharply with Bernhard’s cheek. His brother staggered back dazed by the blow.

            Astor’s eyes widened, but he did not speak; instead he turned quickly and disappeared down the road, lost in snow. Bernhard stood unmoving in the cold, his ice blue eyes blazed like flame.

            “Astor, bruder, you promised you would stay,” Bernhard whispered, “Liar!” he screamed, his voice lost to the howling winds.

 

***

Astor sat on a hard wooden bench, bumping and jolting as the train roared down the track. Had Bernhard been right? Was he really only after the power?

Pressing his forehead against the cold glass of the window Astor smiled bitterly. He could tell himself that his family had come first in his decision, but he would be lying to himself. He really had done it for the power and glory, but once he had those things he could give an even better life to Bernhard, one that his brother truly deserved.

He had complete faith that his ten-year old brother could survive, the potatoes had been sold and he had left enough money to last until next harvest. Once Astor had joined the military he could send home his paycheck as well. And, because he had educated Bernhard, his younger brother could get a small job in the village if he wished to.

Astor looked down at his hand; he still felt the sting where his palm had connected with Bernhard’s cheek. Cradling his right hand he stared at it in silence, how could he have done that? How could he strike his brother? Gripping his hand tightly Astor almost doubled over, guilt seared through him like pain. He clenched his teeth tightly and took in a deep breath, it was for the best.

Once again Astor turned to the frost coated window watching the white landscape whirl by. He could have walked to Berlin, and saved the money, but in this weather he would have never made it. Besides it was much quicker to take the train and it was quite exciting, Astor had never ridden on one. Leaning back he closed his eyes and his mouth curled into a small smile as he fell asleep.

 

***

Bernhard opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He shook the snow from his shoulders and removed his coat. As he hung it on the nail driven into the wall his hand brushed Astor’s old winter coat. Bernhard drew his hand back quickly, as if he had been burned. But still he gazed at the tattered coat, despite everything he could not stop the overwhelming loneliness that he felt rising in his chest, it choked him.

“Bernhard,” his mother’s cheery voice awoke him from his thoughts, “I’m finishing your breakfast, do tell Astor to come in.”

“Mutti,” Bernhard began harshly, but he softened his voice and did not turn to her. “Astor has left for…”

Bernhard stopped, he couldn’t tell her what Astor had done, she would be devastated.

“Berlin, Astor went to the city for a job.”

Sascha’s mouth danced for a moment, flitting somewhere between a broken smile and a frown. “Oh, he’s left,” she bit down on her lip, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

With that she turned back to the steaming oatmeal.

Bernhard turned to her, “I’m sorry, Mutti, Astor’s gone.”

Sascha did not look up, “It’s not your fault,” she whispered, but she continued to stare, smiling, down into the boiling pot.

 

***

A piercing whistle awoke Astor and his head snapped up. After glancing around for a moment he regained his bearings and stood to exit the train. Everything moved slowly, each step seemed an eternity. As Astor stepped off the car the world suddenly started again.

Men shouted orders to the others aboard the train, metal clashed and screamed, people dashed up and down the bustling streets. Astor hurried through the crowd of people, slipping through the fog that gathered on the platform. Reaching the information booth he asked for directions to the military barracks and rushed off in the direction the man pointed.

After a few wrong turns Astor finally arrived at the military office, his fabric shoes were soaked through. Astor stood at the doors for a moment, not moving, this was it, his new life awaited him beyond these doors, he was sixteen and he could do this. Taking a long, deep breath he flung open the tall wooden doors and marched inside.

He stood tall over the man at the desk, ignoring the bustling, uniformed men around him. Astor wasn’t tall, but he loomed over this man.

“I’m here to join the military,” he said abruptly and rather informally.

The man at the desk stared up at Astor coldly, but opened the aluminum drawer and removed a thick stack of papers.

“Name,” the man commanded sharply.

“Astor Gilbert Schreiner,”

“Age,”

“Sixteen,”

The man stopped writing for a moment and muttered something to himself before continuing, “Date of birth.”

“November seventh, eighteen eighty-six,”

The man tilted his head back to look up at Astor, “Education?”

“To seventh grade,” Astor replied calmly.

Now the man seemed pleased, “You can read and write?”

“Yes,”

“All right, I need you to finish filling this out with your parents’ names and any other information areas that are blank,” the man slid him the papers and the fountain pen.

Once Astor had finished the man flipped to the last page and laid it out on the table, “Sign here and you’ve joined the German Army.”

Astor bent over to sign the last page in his spidery handwriting, but the man suddenly reached out and caught Astor’s hand.

Astor looked up at the man indignantly, but he simply stared back, “Boy, are you sure you want to do this?”

Astor looked straight at the man, “Yes.”

With that the man released his hand and Astor signed the paper. When he had finished he stood up straight as the man behind the desk rose from his chair, “Welcome to the army.” He saluted quickly to Astor with a grim face, but a smile flitted across his face as Astor tried to mimic the salute.

The man suddenly called out, “Corporal! I want you to take this man to the barracks and issue him any supplies he needs as well as a uniform and a pair of boots.”

The corporal swung around and saluted, “Yes, sir, Hauptmann!” He motioned to Astor and hurried down the hall. Astor followed the light-footed corporal down the twisting halls, nearly losing him once or twice to the bustling crowd of soldiers. Finally they reached a stock room. The corporal threw him a jacket, trousers, fatigues, and socks.

He pointed at a curtain hiding a little room, “Go change,” he ordered. Astor looked a little flustered but did as he was told. After changing he folded his wet clothes and held his sopping shoes in the one hand.

Looking at the corporal a bit awkwardly Astor held out the dripping shoes, “Uh, what should I do with these?”

The man took them from his hand swiftly and tossed them against the wall. Astor cringed as the canvas shoes thumped heavily against the hollow wall and tumbled to the floor. He stared at two of his most prized possessions as they lay, mistreated, on the tile floor.

“And these,” the corporal plucked Astor’s tattered clothes from his hands and held a good length away from him, “Will be burned, in case of lice.”

As the soldier was about to throw the bundle into a canvas hamper Astor cried out,

“Wait!”

“What?” the man snarled back stopping.

Astor hurriedly snatched the light coat from the corporal and began digging through its pockets. Finally he found what he was looking for and thrust the jacket back at the corporal, who looked at it disgusted.

Taking the coat carefully the man tossed the clothes into the hamper and called for an orderly. Then without warning he threw a pair of high-laced, leather boots at Astor and turned him out into the hall with instructions on where he was to sleep.

Astor raced down the hall, embarrassed, in his socks; the corporal hadn’t given him the chance to put on the boots. Finally he reached the sleeping quarters.

He skirted the men already in their cots, smoking, reading, and talking. Finding a mostly empty bunk, a few others had claimed the lower cots, Astor clambered up to the highest bunk and sat, his legs dangling off the edge. Compulsively pulling on and lacing the heavy boots Astor listened to snatches of conversations that other new soldiers were having with some of the veterans.

They would most likely get dog tags and shaving kits the next day, as well as a haircut and shots. The lice weren’t troubling during these harsh winters so the haircuts and checks were put off until the next day.

Astor lay back in his cot and pulled to rough wool blanket up to his chin, without shedding his jacket, trousers, or boots. This was the warmest he had ever been. Raising his head slightly he looked down at the photo he had saved from his coat pocket.

It was a family portrait, his parents, unsmiling, as was the tradition, stood rigid against the snowy background. Astor stood in front of his father, although his eyes stared at the camera coldly a smile played at the corners of mouth. Bernhard, who had been about five at the time, gripped the corner of Astor’s coat tightly, despite much coaxing from the photographer to let go. His younger brother glared at the camera, his light blue eyes piercing, they nearly blended with the snow.

Astor smiled, in just one month after this photo had been taken his world shattered. His father fell ill, his mother could be considered just as sick as her husband, Sascha never left the house. Bernhard and Astor could only depend on each other.

Sliding the yellowed photograph back into his left pocket, over his heart, Astor lay back on the thin pillow. He smiled, one day Bernhard would understand and they would be happy. Fatigue closed his eyes and Astor, warm, fell into a deep sleep.

 

Part V

Old Ghosts and Deaths in the Family

Pale blue eyes tore into the rafters above them; the first rays of dawn were streaming in from the slats. The boy’s eyes looked deathly white as they reflected the sunshine, gleaming like ice. It had been seven years to date, seven years since that foggy morning.

He had been awake for hours now, but his internal clock told him it was not yet time to rise. The rising sun shone on the pure snow, making o’ dark thirty seem as bright as day. He lay on is cot lost in his thoughts of the past, but now the day had caught up with him and he felt something stirring within him. The winds had changed and he knew something was happening he could feel it in the air.

Now. The ice blue eyes flashed and Bernhard sat up quickly. It was time to begin working. The old wooden floor creaked beneath his weight as he crossed the room to dress. It was a bone-cutting cold outside and Bernhard wore several patched and tattered pairs of socks. Pulling on his boots and tying the laces so each was taut Bernhard stood and stepped softly down the stairs. His parents slept by the dying fire.

Bernhard quietly placed a few logs on the fire and filled a bowl of oatmeal prepared the night before. He ate his breakfast in silence before standing and pulling on his heavy winter coat. The other coat still hung on the other nail, unused for seven years. Bernhard stared at the dusty, faded fabric.

“It’s been seven years, why have you finally decided to haunt me now?” Bernhard hissed at his brother’s coat. Why was it that after so many years the feeling had finally returned? The aching loneliness. No reply came from his brother’s ghost.

“You were always one to prophesize; tell me, dear brother, what will happen today? Why do I feel this change so suddenly, and today of all days?” Bernhard growled, once again no answer came from the dusty coat.

“Bah,” the seventeen-year old snorted, “What am I doing talking to a coat?” he smiled suddenly. “It seems I’ve gone as mad as you, bruder,” Bernhard laughed as he threw a long scarf around his neck and marched outside.

Gazing out onto the snow covered fields Bernhard suddenly felt utterly helpless. The crops were late and it hadn’t just been the Schreiners’ land, the entire village was running low on food and crops had spoiled everywhere.

Bernhard sighed and marched out into the snow strewn field. He had shoveled most of the snow off the ground and broken through the frozen dirt the day before but hadn’t enough light to plow. Not only was the ground almost impossible to plow and the most of the crop ruined, but he had to harvest it all himself, he no longer had his older brother to help him.

The thought of Astor made Bernhard work faster. He was nothing like his elder, not anymore. He now stood much taller than his brother, his shoulders were broader, even his face was broader than Astor’s thin fox like own. Bernhard gritted his teeth and pulled harder, he wasn’t anything like his brother.

But he couldn’t escape reality, not with all the strength in the world. And reality was their eyes, ice blue, pale like deep snow.  The eyes mirrored each other, looking into one set meant one also saw the other.

Bernhard turned sharply and smiled to himself. His eyes were different, at least, now they were. They had changed the day Astor left, once they were pools of water, flowing, swirling with emotions. Now they were chips of ice, no secrets escaped, Bernhard showed nothing but cold indifference.

He stopped, Bernhard bent over and rested his hands on his knees, his breath was labored and heavy. He stood like this for a moment before his heart rate returned to normal. Straightening he gazed out over the field, he had finished. Still panting he surveyed the land, his face red from the effort and the winds that pricked his face like cold needles.

A wail shattered his thoughts and Bernhard’s head snapped towards his home. The wail came again, this time low and mournful, dying. Bernhard launched himself onto the fields, stumbling over icy, churned dirt and exposed blackened potatoes.

As he ran Bernhard could almost see his brother on the stoop. Astor beckoned him to the house, an almost mocking smile light on his face. As he drew nearer Astor craned his neck and peered into one of the windows before turning back. The smile had fallen from his face and he watched Bernhard with a gray look of pity.

  He leapt onto the stoop and lurched forward his nose almost touching his brother’s, for a moment they locked eyes, and then Astor was gone. Bernhard stood still on the stoop, the vision had been so real; even the ghost’s breath had fogged around him.

Bernhard threw open the door and stumbled inside, his head swimming with confusion. The aqua eyes that turned toward him, brimming with tears, snapped him back into reality.

“Bernhard, your Vater, he’s…” Sascha collapsed into sobbing once more, her wails piercing and heart wrenching as she clung to her dead husband’s hand.

Bernhard’s face remained unchanged, but the pain in his heart was excruciating. Stepping forward he fell to his knees beside his father’s cot. He reached out and touched the old man’s hand, cold as ice, Franz’s chest rose and fell no more. Bernhard bit back tears as he listened to his mother as she whispered to her beloved.

“Don’t leave now, my love, stay with me. Please, don’t leave me, please.” Sascha gripped her husband’s hand tighter and turned toward her son. “Bernhard, your Vater, he’s so cold, so cold… And I cannot warm him…”

Bernhard looked at her with gentle eyes, “Vati was a good man, Mutti, I won’t ever forget that.” He pulled his trembling mother close for a moment before standing, “I will fetch the priest, is that all right?”

Sascha nodded not tearing her gaze away from Franz’s almost peaceful face. Though it was gaunt and gray, the man seemed calm; his brown hair fell in strands around his face, and his light blue eyes were closed to the world forever.

Just as Bernhard had opened the door his mother suddenly spoke, “Bernhard, do you still believe in God?”

Bernhard stopped and turned around, a soft, almost childish smile on his face, “I cannot say that I do, Mutti.”

Sascha stared up at her son, when had he become so tall? And his shoulders so broad? Wind rushed through the open door carrying snow in its hands, the ends of Bernhard’s scarf fluttered on it as his coat flapped around him. This was how Sascha wanted to remember her son, surrounded by silver light, rays reaching into the dark house. The cold air felt good as it brushed against Sascha, refreshing, renewing. Her son smiled blissfully down at her, his eyes closed for a moment before they opened again, clear pools of ice, his hair ruffled in the winds, rimming his head in a gold halo.

She knelt there for some time after his footsteps had faded; smiling, Sascha stood and lay down in the cot next to her husband’s. The corpse beside her gave no warmth, but she lay beside it anyway. As her eyes fluttered shut she thought of her sons, how proud she was of them. And finally she drew her last breath.

 

***

Bernhard gazed at his parents’ lifeless bodies as the priest placed a hand on his shoulder.
            “I am sorry, my son,” he murmured, “She must have died of grief, but it was God’s will that they be together.” The priest stepped forward to give the couple Last Rites.

Bernhard watched silently, his face impassible, he couldn’t tell the priest what he really believed, but that was beside the point. This meant that he had to go, and his brother would be waiting for him, that was certain. The priest helped carry his parents outside and lay them in their coffins.

Bernhard dug the graves himself and he, as well as a few villagers, lowered the caskets down into the ground, the priest muttering prayers alongside them. The ceremony ended and Bernhard stepped back taking in the sight of it all.

The snow gathered around the freshly dug graves, their gray headstones engraved with, Franz Gilbert Schreiner and Sascha Nadja Schreiner. Bernhard had built a short fence around the graves as well.

“Bernhard?” a voice came through the gray silence. He turned to see Zenzi behind him.

“Yes? Is there something I can do for you?” Bernhard replied calmly looking over his shoulder.

Zenzi flinched slightly, confused by his response, “I’m sorry.”

Bernhard looked at her for a moment, “Sorry for what? Stop saying that, everyone is apologizing, none of them have done anything wrong.”

She looked at Bernhard even more confused, even though she was almost five years older than he was, Bernhard was always more mature.

Zenzi opened her mouth to apologize again, but quickly shut it. “I was just wondering, what you will do now? And Astor, does he know?”

“Astor does not know and I will be leaving. I am joining the military.”

Zenzi trembled, “Be careful.”

“Zenzi, there is something you must promise me. When spring comes, place flowers on their graves, I want them to be remembered.”

She nodded, “Of course.”

“And because I’m leaving I have no need for this land any longer, take it.”

“You can’t be serious!” Zenzi cried out.     

Bernhard nodded, “I will not be returning, I entrust it to you, all the equipment too, as well as this year’s crops.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

Bernhard smiled fleetingly, “Goodbye, Zenzi.”

“Farewell.”

 

***

Bernhard opened the door to the little cottage and stepped inside. The air was empty and a sort of grief hung over the home, shadows skittered in corners, shrinking from the light. The candles were all dead, extinguished; dust seemed to have settled on everything. Bernhard stepped forward and picked up the object he had come for.

A little picture frame, its brass sides were tarnished, the crevices filled with dirt from years gone by. The pattern still shone brightly though, ivy leaves entangled with cornflowers blossoming in every corner, the petals looked as if they could simply drop to the floor they had been carved so delicately. But the frame itself was empty; the picture it once held had been taken from it years ago. The glass was dusty and dirt crept in from the corners, like shadows.

Bernhard smiled slightly, the photograph still fresh in his mind. It had been of his family, his late parents staring solemnly into the lens, while he himself clung tightly to Astor’s coat. He ran his fingertips lightly over the dirtied glass, tracing thin lines in the dust; his older brother must have taken the photograph with him when he had left.

Setting the frame down Bernhard turned towards his parents’ cots, the blankets were ruffled and lay in folds, but the impressions remained, where two corpses had once lay. Bernhard couldn’t bring himself to make the beds; the thought brought a lump into his throat as he climbed the stairs to the loft. The room above was pristine; there were no personal belongings that held little if any sentimental value. One could not have imagined that two young boys had once lived here.

Bernhard sat down on the edge of his cot and gazed around the tiny room. He tried to take in every last bit of it, his childhood was imprinted here, and it would be left here. On the little wooden nightstand that separated the two beds someone had cut into the wood. In childish scrawl it said, “Astor and Bernhard.”

Astor had carved it into the table with a little blade when they were both very young. A large star had been scratched in as well and it hung over the two names. Bernhard stared at the tarnished wood simply remembering.

 

***

“Bruder?”

“Yes, Bernhard?” Astor looked at his younger brother halfway through carving in their names.

“Will we be together, always?” Bernhard looked up at Astor, the little boy’s watery blue eyes gave the impression that he was crying.

“Always,” his brother smiled as he finished his own name.

“Forever?” Bernhard squeaked his eyes wide.

Astor turned toward his six-year old brother and ran a hand through Bernhard’s hair, “Forever and ever, you can trust in the stars.”

Turning back to the table Astor carefully carved in a star above their names and Bernhard watched diligently, clinging to his brother’s soft sleeve.

 

***

His eyes snapped open and Bernhard turned back to the table, he had carved the little stars around the names later on. For a while Bernhard stared straight ahead at his brother’s cot. Cold air curled around him, he shivered. Finally Bernhard stood and walked towards the stairs.

He felt tears well in his eyes and his throat tightened the fact that he had nothing to take from this room upset him. Only the memories were left, rising like mists, fleeting like shadows. Bernhard descended the creaking stairs, feeling the wood give slightly under his heavy boots. As he reached the door a thought overtook him. Had he told his parents he loved them? It was painful to think that his parting words to them had not been that he loved them.

Bernhard smiled, they knew. He reached for the doorknob and stopped, he looked over his shoulder to the left. A coat still hung there, dusty, but not forgotten. He stepped forward, not taking his eyes of the worn winter coat.

Bernhard’s pale blue eyes shimmered as memories danced in them. Flashing as fire and flitting like shadows. Memories of a young boy, younger than his brother by nearly seven years, standing in snow, the wind flying around him. Astor stood smiling in front of the boy laughing. The boy took hold of Astor’s sleeve, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

Memories of the brothers walking in warm summer air, the green leaves rustled above them, dappling the path. The fresh scent of new life and warmth floated around the boy and his older brother. Blue skies and warm air, gray nights and frosty wind, the two stood among it, swirled in with the snow.

Suddenly Bernhard awoke from his daydreams and, against his better self, buried his face into his brother’s coat. He gripped the soft gray fabric and simply stood there. The cloth smelled of icy air, black starlit skies, deep earth, sooty flame, and home. Everything Bernhard had ever known was here, and he knew he must leave it behind.

Bernhard drew his face out of the fabric and uncurled his fingers from the cloth. This was goodbye, with deliberant footfalls he walked out of that world and into reality.

 

***

The snow swirled outside the train’s window spastically. Frost seeped from the corners and Bernhard’s breath fogged the cold glass. Berlin, he would arrive there soon, he would march across the same platform, climb the same stairs, and stand before that same desk just as Astor had done seven years before.

As he stepped off the train Bernhard stood in awe of what lay before him, steam rolled across the glistening cobblestones. People ran from one platform to the next, gray and brown blurs as their long, clean coats flapped after them.

Bernhard walked to the end of the station, his footsteps lost in the clatter of boots as the Berliners charged up and down these station paths. He followed the directions given to him by the ticket master to the military office.

He found it without any trouble, his boots falling where Astor once had walked. Bernhard climbed the stairs and opened the tall wooden doors. Walking swiftly through the stream of military men he looked down upon a slightly older Hauptmann.

Glancing at the man’s rank Bernhard addressed him, “I am here to join the military, sir.”

The man looked up and opened his mouth to say something, but, realizing that this was not the same man, shut it again.

“Name,” he commanded, pulling out a thick stack of papers.

“Bernhard Ludwig Schreiner,”

The Hauptmann opened the desk drawer again and began scrolling through files, “Siblings?”

Bernhard looked at the man confused, “Astor Gilbert Schreiner.”

The man pulled out a thick file, “Your brother has made quite a name for himself here, I’m sure you’re proud of him.”

Bernhard had heard nothing of his brother besides the occasional paycheck in the mail, but he lied, “Yes, sir, quite, sir.”

The man smiled down at the papers as he copied the information, Bernhard stared dumbfounded; everything was there, even his birth date.

Finishing the man slid the papers towards him, “Fill in any blank areas.”

Bernhard bent down, seeing his parents’ names he marked, “Deceased,” and filled in the date.

             As he flipped to the last page to sign his name the Hauptmann spoke up, “I asked your brother this as well, are you sure you want to do this,” the next word was slow and quiet, “boy?”

            Bernhard stared at the man, “Yes, sir.” The pen scratched the paper and the trail of ink it left sealed the brothers’ fates.

            The man behind the desk stood, clicked his heels, saluted, and said “Welcome to the German Army.”

            Bernhard drew up his heels and returned the salute.

 

Part VI

The Brothers’ Wars

Miles away, a secretary entered the general’s aide’s office. A first lieutenant sat behind a lavish mahogany desk, his scrawl covering the papers in front of him as the pen dashed rapidly about the forms. The man’s blond hair fell around his face in somewhat unkempt strands. The room was exquisite to say the least, every detail was finely etched, thick plush carpet coated the floor, and the room itself was much like a small, elaborate library. Nothing but the best for the general, after all his office was directly behind this one and he must make a good first impression.

At first the secretary had thought very little of the man writing behind the large desk; in fact he almost seemed out of place in such a serious environment. But she soon learned that First Lieutenant Schreiner was a force to be reckoned with, he was a man highly regarded and for good reason. Although he was often viewed as the general’s, “dog,” he had an agenda of his own, men who worked closely with him soon realized this, and had enough sense to warn any new soldiers of him.

At least once a week the first lieutenant could be heard throughout the hallways shouting at a man who had not done his work correctly. Astor Schreiner demanded perfection, he would settle for nothing less, men feared being called into his office even more than the general’s. Despite all of this the first lieutenant with icy blue eyes was followed, almost the point of worshipped, by those under him.

Paperwork that could take weeks to go through the system took only a few days if it had the sharp signature of First Lieutenant Schreiner. If a corporal was sent to fetch classified documents from the vault he could walk straight up to the guard, look him straight in the eyes, no matter what rank, and say,

“I was sent by First Lieutenant Schreiner.”

The guards were known to almost flinch at his name and skitter away from the doorway; the corporal could walk in, get the papers, and walk out with his head held high. The power the lieutenant’s men held was never abused, after all abuse was returned with abuse.

The secretary still stood by the open door, not daring to step over the threshold. The lieutenant was firm, but not as strict, with the women who worked in the offices as well. Nonetheless she dared not move until he called her in, there was something about him. On good days peals of laughter erupted from his office and the broad smile on his face was contagious, but still.

There was something in his pale eyes, something horrid, merciless, murderous. Only the scratching of the lieutenant’s pen could be heard, the room was dead silent. But the secretary did not utter a word; it could be a while before he noticed her. Finally the pen stopped quivering and First Lieutenant Schreiner looked up at her, pushing the paper to the top of his desk.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Um, sir,” the secretary stuttered and squirmed under his gaze, “Sir, your brother has joined the military.” She took several quick paces forward and set a large file on his desk, a photo was clipped to the corner of the file folder. A man much like First Lieutenant Schreiner stared icily out of the picture.

“So this is what my brother has become,” he said quietly to himself and the secretary suddenly felt as if she should not be there. They stared at the photo for some time; the secretary noticed the slight differences, such as the younger’s broad face and shoulders compared to the slight man sitting in front of her. But what especially caught her eye, were the brother’s eyes themselves, she prided herself with being able to read anyone by their eyes alone, but this was impossible. There was no emotion in these eyes, no life; they could have almost belonged to a dead man.

The lieutenant suddenly opened the file and lifted a page, the secretary noticed that by both parents’ names it was marked, “Deceased.”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” she murmured, the man was still young to have already lost his parents.

“No reason to be sorry,” he replied.

“Did your brother send you a letter?”

“No,” he said calmly, as if it were nothing. The secretary stood dumfounded, it almost seemed cruel that his brother hadn’t even told him that their parents were dead.

“Fraulein Weiss, take these papers to the office,” First Lieutenant Schreiner said and handed her the forms he had been working on.

“Yes, sir,” the young secretary took the papers and opened the door, but he called her again.

“Fraulein Weiss, do you have plans for this evening?”

Her hand gripped the doorframe as she turned, “No, sir.”

“Then, how does dinner sound?”

“I would like that very much, sir,” the secretary replied smiling, the first lieutenant smiled back and closed his eyes for a moment. She hated that; she couldn’t read his emotions with his eyes shut.

“Good, I will escort you there as soon as the office closes.”

This time she simply nodded as he stood and walked across to his piano. She hurried out of the room, she didn’t personally trust First Lieutenant Schreiner, but a few other girls in the office said he wasn’t bad at all. The young secretary slowed her pace; she had seen him move towards the old piano he kept in his office.

First Lieutenant Schreiner was very good at the piano and on rare occasions he would sing quietly as well, though it wasn’t as good as his playing. The notes were low and mournful and Fraulein Weiss only caught snatches of the verses, something about being a bird. What an odd man, but what a story this would make during lunch break.

 

***

Years passed and on a certain day of a certain year a young major trudged down a hall. Normally he wasn’t this slow when he was called up by a general, but today was different; today he was getting a new assignment. Anxiety fluttered in his belly, his boots felt loathsome, and his step slow.

What would he meet outside those doors? He had been in charge of men before, but this was different, something was odd. Maybe it was the events that were encompassing all of Europe at the moment, war was spreading like wildfire. Today, it was all about to blow and the world would be entrenched in something the young major had never foreseen as long as he lived.

Placing his gloved hands on the heavy metal doors he threw them open to the world. Immediately the warm sun soaked his tunic and the general greeted him excitedly.

“Major Schreiner! I am so happy to have been given this honor!” the warm military man clapped Major Bernhard Schreiner over the shoulder and shook his hand vigorously. There was not a salute to be found.

“Sir?” the major stared out at the gleaming fields, reflecting the pale sunshine. In the fields stood ranks of men, all standing at attention.

“This, my young major, is your new assignment; today you will command these battalions. In addition you will skip a rank.” Before Major Schreiner had a chance to respond the general had gleefully torn the rank from his collar and pulled the shoulder boards off. As quickly as it had happened Bernhard Schreiner was decorated once again.

“Today, my boy, I greet you as Colonel Bernhard Ludwig Schreiner!” the kindly general clicked his heels and saluted.

Colonel Schreiner immediately ramrodded to attention as well, his heels clicking loudly, his hand flew up into a salute.

“Sir! Thank you, sir!” it was the only thing the young man could even utter. He stood completely astonished as the general fell back into uproarious laughter, he was lucky to have fallen under the command of this soft, old general.

“Enough of that for now! Major Asche!” he bellowed and an old major came rushing up, despite the hot sun already beating down on the men the old major wore a heavy, gray great-coat. It billowed out behind him like the wings of a bird.

“This is your second in command, Schreiner, Major Fredrick Asche!”

“Sir, it will be an honor to follow you!” the gray major barked and saluted, the new colonel returned the salute smartly.

The general spoke now, “Major Asche is in charge of artillery and skilled with military dogs.”

The major stood at perfect attention his gaze fixed on his new superior, a man who, just a moment before, was his equal. Colonel Schreiner watched as the major’s gray eyes flashed at the mention of his fields of expertise. In an instant the young Colonel Schreiner knew that this was a man he wanted at his side.

The general suddenly threw an arm around Bernhard’s broad shoulders, nearly throwing him off balance. But the colonel’s feet stayed firmly planted at attention, his body only leaned slightly under the general’s weight.

What was he, drunk? What was the general thinking, embarrassing him in front of men he had only just gained command over? A thought struck him suddenly; the general wanted him to gain these men’s respect on his own. His pale blue eyes flashed and he glowered at the old man out of the corner of his eye.

“You conniving old-” Colonel Schreiner snarled under his breath.

The general fixed his gaze on Bernhard Schreiner, cutting him off. “That’s enough, you’ve had it easy up to now, I want you to take control now. I see big things in your future; I saw it the moment you walked into my office with nothing but, ‘Private,’ chasing your name.”

The young colonel suddenly felt profound respect wash over him; everything the old general had ever taught him was meant for this day and for every day after it. “Thank you, sir.”

The old man winked and pulled off of the young man’s shoulders. “Major Asche, are the men ready for inspection?”

“Jawohl!” the old major barked back and saluted the colonel again. As Colonel Schreiner returned the salute Major Asche hissed quietly, “Show me what that conniving general has taught you, sir.” 

The young colonel suppressed a smile; it was hard enough not to laugh. He marched out into the field with a riding crop that the general had slipped into his gloved hand. And in an instant he noticed a line of men snap even further to attention. He had trained these men before and they knew what a riding crop across the knees felt like.

Colonel Schreiner wondered if any of them still had bruises on their knees and arms, if a man wasn’t standing correctly during his training a sharp crack against the shins or forearms was issued.

He knew the general, he must gain the men’s trust and respect; therefore, he did not go to the line of men he recognized, they had already been through his training. They knew their faults; he must now keep the other men in line.

After what may have seemed like hours to the now sweating men, the inspection was finally completed. Colonel Schreiner had done his job; he turned back to the general and the major.

Major Asche looked as though he were on the verge of uncontrollable laughter. His men had never been trained in this manner; they had never seen this coming. A few men stood with pained looks on their faces, it took all their training not to even squeak.

“I am impressed, sir, and here I thought you were just a helpless sod,” the major whispered lightheartedly as he saluted the grim faced colonel.

Several meaningless words were repeated mechanically and the officers saluted and turned like machines in this strange military dance. As the men were dismissed Colonel Bernhard Schreiner stood stiffly beside the old general. The sun was falling, drenching the sky in night and a cool wind crept across the emptying fields.

“General Heiden, you still haven’t explained to me what this is about,” Colonel Schreiner said without turning toward his superior. Both men kept their gaze on the shifting horizon, the leaves of the trees danced with the grass in the fields.

“You’re a good man, Bernhard,” the general switched to his young friend’s first name, “And an even better soldier.”

“But that’s not the reason, Isaak,” Bernhard said solemnly, “Is it?”

Isaak Heiden sighed, “No, it’s certainly not.” Their eyes never fell from the night outstretched before them. “Bernhard, tomorrow is July twenty-eighth, tomorrow a good many men will find their graves, good men, Bernhard, good men.”

“What are you saying?”

“Tomorrow will begin the war, this day will live forever, this is the day before. The day we will all look back on and wonder where this has all gone.” Isaak sighed again, “Some of it will have gone to the trenches; most of it will have gone to the grave.”

Bernhard clenched and unclenched his fist, “You’re avoiding my question, Isaak.”

“We all know that war is coming, you’re not stupid, Bernhard, you know it too.” Tomorrow you and me, and thousands of others, are bringing about the imminent,” Heiden’s head turned quickly towards Bernhard. “Tomorrow will begin the invasions of Belgium, Luxembourg, and France. The Austro-Hungarian Empire will invade Serbia as well.  And Russia is already on the move, I can feel it, Europe is about to become hell on earth.”

Bernhard Schreiner turned slowly to his old friend, “So begins the war.” He paused for a moment, before saluting the old general, “Thank you, sir, I wish you all the luck in the world.” The general returned the salute and the young colonel made his way across the dark fields, into the forests.

General Heiden was about to call him back, offer him dinner, or at least show the colonel to his quarters for the evening. But something held him back; this was something the newly appointed colonel needed to deal with himself. The general himself had contemplated and chased his own demons the night before over a bottle of cognac. The bottle still sat in his office, its contents drained.

After a quarter of an hour of silence, General Heiden gave up waiting; he walked stiffly to the officers’ quarters. He doubted the young man would return before sun up.

Bernhard Schreiner kept walking, there were no paths in these woods, and there was barely enough moonlight to cast even the slightest shadow. The summer air blew damp wind through the trees and the moldering leaves silenced his steps.

He had wished the general all the luck in the world, but even that wasn’t enough, the both knew this all too well. No, there wasn’t enough luck in the world that could see them through this war, and there wasn’t enough God to go around.

All of Germany could send their well-wishes and their fare-thee-wells, the priests could say their God-speeds and may-God-be-with-you’s, but nothing could save them.

Bernhard’s knees were weak, his step was weighted, even his heart-beat seemed to have become slow and throbbing. Finally he pressed his back against a towering oak tree and slid down the trunk slowly until the seat of his pants met the wet leaves. Raising his face to the stars his hat rolled softly off his head and hit the ground with a hollow thunk.

Bernhard’s arms hung limply at his sides and his gloved hands brushed the forest floor. As his feet slid slowly away from him to a more comfortable position Bernhard felt fatigue begin to envelope him. The sky was dark against the leaves tinted blue in the moonlight. The stars peeked through, watching Bernhard with untiring eyes.

Tomorrow the young colonel, barely twenty-two, would lead others to their deaths, and he would watch them die, and he could not save a single one.

So, with his light blonde hair tangled in the rough bark, a self-proclaimed killer felt the darkness rock him softly and his consciousness peel itself from his body. Colonel Schreiner fell asleep.

Part VII

The Major Ponders: Little Tin Soldiers and Prisoners

Ypres, their next target was Ypres. A year, maybe more had passed since that day, Colonel Schreiner had since lost count. He and his men had been thrown into countless scraps, all of them meaningless to the colonel. He could not even find a pattern to predict where they would be sent next. There had to be a method to the madness he thought, but Bernhard Schreiner had yet to find it.

On this day in 1915 he sat behind his desk mapping the armies and where they would attack next. Without taking his pale blue eyes off the charts he reached out a hand and took another swig of the beer beside him. Colonel Schreiner certainly wasn’t a drunk, in fact he wasn’t even close, but the alcohol helped. It helped him forget that the little pins, toy soldiers, and bars that he was moving were living men.

A loud growling could be heard outside, an old gray truck was moving across the compound. It was Asche and Weich returning from the mission that Colonel Schreiner had sent them, as well as several other men, on earlier.

The scouts had reported a frontline hospital not far from the area as well as a large barn. The colonel had ordered the inhabitants chased out or captured. Any supplies that could be found were to be taken and the structures burned, from the excited shouts of the men, Colonel Schreiner knew that his orders had been followed.

But there was something else, Bernhard could hear the scuffle of boots and quick snapped orders. A prisoner had been taken as well. He listened until the noises died away before turning back to his work. Major Asche would work it out, and if not, Colonel Bernhard Schreiner was always happy to deal with a prisoner.

An hour later both Asche and Weich were in his office. Major Asche leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his gray mustache drooped and he looked a bit like an old thug. The room was warm but as always the major’s old greatcoat hid his uniform.

First Lieutenant Weich, in contrast, stood at attention, though there was no need. The thin man was trembling slightly, though he was far from frightened. Colonel Schreiner hadn’t been sure about the wide-eyed First Lieutenant when he had first met him. He had thought of him as too soft and much too nervous, but if there was paperwork to be done Weich was his right-hand man. Besides it was only his exterior that was trembling and the dark brown eyes were open wide because they took in every detail. Otto Weich was known to have quite the temper when provoked, but most days he carried on happy and carefree.

“I’m assuming this is about our prisoner?” the colonel said critically.

“Yes, sir, she won’t talk,” replied the old major.

“She?” Colonel Schreiner raised one eyebrow.

Now the loyal dog, Weich, spoke, “Yes, sir, the major and I cannot agree on what to do with her. She refuses to talk; Major Asche thinks it best we put her in front of the firing squad.”

Bernhard turned quickly to the thuggish Asche, “And what does Weich think, Asche?”

The gray eyes rolled, “He believes we should take the girl with us, onto the front lines, not to a POW camp.”

Weich broke in now, his face red with indignation, “She’s just a child, Asche! What do you think those camps will do to her! And we can’t let her go, we burned those buildings!”

The colonel’s brow knitted thoughtfully, he seemed unfazed by the two men at each other’s throats before him.  “Killing her is out of the question, Asche,” the old major harrumphed, but Schreiner continued, “Weich, how old do you estimate she is?”

“She can’t be more than seventeen, Colonel!” Weich’s face lit up, the odds were in his favor now, “We can’t just send her to die! She would be safe here! We could keep her in-”

“I’m going to stop you there, Weich, I must speak with the major now, we will decide what to do.”

Weich shut his mouth in mid-sentence, his teeth clacking, “Yes, sir,” the words were crude and a bit snappish, but as he walked out of the office the lieutenant’s face had become light once again, he had won.

Once Weich had left Major Asche turned quickly to Colonel Schreiner, “Bernhard, you can’t seriously be thinking of keeping her with us. She would only be a burden!”

“Weich is right about the POW camps, Fritz, she’s too young,” Bernhard addressed Major Asche with his nickname.

“So we let her go?” Fritz growled his gray eyes flashing.

“No,” Colonel Schreiner began and Asche launched himself toward the field desk, taking the room in a few massive steps.

“Sir! This is madness! You can’t expect-”

Colonel Schreiner leapt up from his chair, smashing his gloved palms into his desk. The wood splintered under Bernhard’s weight, “Watch your mouth, Major Asche! You are challenging your superior officer!” The two men stared at each other with smoldering eyes. “I am not putting her out on her own, I have known real loneliness, I will not allow another to share the same fate if I can help them.”

Major Asche relaxed his position and took a step back, “Yes, sir.” Schreiner stepped out from behind the desk and made his way to the door. As he opened it Asche called out to him without turning.

“Are you sure you won’t regret this, sir?”

“I have never once regretting anything in my life,” the colonel replied glancing over his shoulder as he held the door open.

“Not even your brother?” Major Asche still did not turn.

Bernhard’s grip on the door tightened, “Not even my brother,” with that he strode out into the compound slamming the door behind him and leaving the major in gray darkness.

The day was bright and the air clear, it seemed almost repulsive that a war was being fought just miles away. Colonel Schreiner strode into the concrete building and placed his hand on the cold handle of the steel door to the interrogation room. He paused and smiled to himself. These doors almost gave him comfort; he had learned to appreciate such trivial items. In just a few hours these strong barriers would give way to nothing but mud and wire.

There would be nothing between Bernhard and Death. Death the loyal and almost loving companion seemed to walk among them. Every soldier knew him, or her, for Death is a character created differently by each of its lovers. It could be that cruel bony man with his black cloak who haunts his victim’s dreams. Or maybe Death is a woman, an escape, a maiden clothed in light waiting for her sons and daughters with open arms. The brothers, however, knew a Death of a different sort.

Colonel Schreiner flung open the heavy door and his shadow fell over the young girl sitting solemnly at the table. He watched as her eyes snapped up to meet his darkened face. She was ragged, her face smeared with dirt and her blue peasant’s dress faded and spattered with soil. Her face was almost hidden by her long copper hair, clean except for a few strands choked with new mud, but her petal blue eyes blazed with defiance. They seemed afire amidst the shadows.

As the door shut behind him and his face was uncovered by the light, the colonel saw the girl’s face suddenly change to mocking laughter. Anger surged in his belly, he was saving this girl, he did not deserve any of her impudence.

 “Do you find something funny, girl?” he snarled. The girl didn’t respond and he leaned forward, his ice blue eyes smoldering. “Major Asche reported to me that you are despondent to his questions, so I will be questioning you now.” Schreiner saw her twitch slightly in an effort not to flinch from the alcohol on his breath. “Good,” he thought, “A little fear never hurts.”

He watched as she broke, she knew how it would end if she did not answer his questions. “Major Asche did a good job intimidating her,” Schreiner thought to himself. He reinforced what he thought was fear by demanding this “Anne Marie Bauer” addressed him as “sir.” Suddenly her eyes flickered, had she just rolled her eyes at him? Colonel Schreiner found it hard to believe she was feigning fear.  

Gauging Bauer, Schreiner smiled to himself, her home, he saw her next weak point.

“Better, now, what business did you have behind German lines?”

 “I lived there, sir.”

 “In the fields?”

 “No, sir, in the barn,” the ragged girl replied, Colonel Schreiner had expected that, certainly her appearance gave it away. He was just waiting, leading her toward the little trap he had laid.

            “Good,” the colonel seemed rather satisfied. He watched as Bauer’s face flickered to confusion. Suddenly he realized that he had not made her speak in German, she must know how to speak it if she could respond to him. An old face flashed before his eyes, Astor, his brother had taught him French, so long ago.

“Why do you say that, sir?”

“I'm the one asking the questions, Bauer,” he growled, her voice snapped Bernhard back into reality, “but if you must know it is because you have nowhere to return to if you ran. I ordered it burned more than an hour ago.”

As soon as those words passed through his lips Schreiner wanted them back. The look on her face was awful. He hadn’t realized to what extent he could hurt her, but now, she was weak, helpless. His heart throbbed; he almost wanted to tell her he had felt these kinds of things before. That emptiness that filled her heart, Bernhard had felt it all before.

Though time had seemed to slow, there was but a hair’s width of time between Bernhard’s fatal words and the words he was now writing. “First name, Anne, middle name, Marie-”

“Sir, my first name is Annemarie, my middle name is Laurel,” Annemarie suddenly cut in.

Colonel Schreiner glared up at her, what cheek she had piping up like that. “First name Annemarie, middle name Laurel, last name Bauer,” he paused, waiting for another objection, before continuing, “You are being held for spying for the Kingdom of Belgium behind German lines.”

Suddenly the girl’s eyes flashed like flame, the colonel was taken aback, though it wasn’t visible in his stone features. The anger he saw swell and ignite was awesome, a quick twitch of the eyes gave away what Bauer was looking at.

Colonel Schreiner was suddenly grateful for the Luger he kept at his side. This girl looked as if she would claw his throat out if ever given the chance. And spying! What a wonderful accusation he had thought of! This insured that she could be kept there for a considerable amount of time, as long as the colonel played his cards right.  

“You will be contained here until further notice.” He stood quickly and called for the major waiting outside the door, “Major Asche!” the door swung open and once again the colonel's face was lost in shadow.

            Asche flew in saluting, “Sir!”

“Take the prisoner to her cell,” Colonel Schreiner commanded placing his hat on his head, covering his mussed, blond hair.

“Jawohl!” Major Asche responded and took Annemarie by the shoulder, leading her down the hall.

Bernhard could feel the girl’s bright eyes on him as held the bill of his cap between two fingers. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right decision. Major Asche surely didn’t think so, although that did not bother the colonel as much as it could have. No, instead it was the girl that concerned him, would she be safer with them, so close to the front? Or safer on her own?

Bernhard would do his best to protect her from the brunt of the war. If he left a few soldiers with her a few miles from the frontlines where he commanded his men, she might just escape without seeing the horrors.

If he had released her, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t be recaptured by a man more brutal than he. In fact there was even less of a chance she would be able to survive on her own. Weich would undoubtedly make sure she was well taken care of. Otto knew better than he about these sorts of matters, what with two young girls at home and a wife waiting.

 So this is how Bernhard justified his decision. How little he knew at that moment, that moment when another strand was woven into his tapestry of life. This strand was soon to become the essence that created the final image on this vast cloth.

And so the little weaver wove, his fingers flying and his needles clacking. And so he wove endlessly on, and so he wove endlessly on…

As Schreiner trudged back to his office little First Lieutenant Weich scampered up to him and began squeaking about rations for Bauer and camp clothes.

The colonel issued him a form and sent him to supply to receive the items. Finally he sat down at his desk and lost himself once again in the battle plans spread on the table before him. But now he moved the figures feverishly, Bernhard now had to take into account the fact that he would have to leave a few trustworthy men behind to see to Bauer.

Colonel Schreiner moved his toy soldiers amongst the hills and fields that were just lines on the paper. He studied the map until the words were gibberish and he could see the hills as they truly were, dotted with trees and fields blossoming with poppies. The night darkened the room and still the lamp wasn’t switched on.

So this was how Major Asche found him. His hat lying amongst the battalions and batteries. Bernhard’s hair was mussed and sticking up at odd angles. A toy soldier pointed its tiny little rifle at the officer’s forehead as he slept long past the dinner bell.

The major placed a solid hand on his commanding officer’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Sir, you must wake up,” the gray soldier muttered, a little disturbed by the way he had to wake up the younger man.

Schreiner murmured softly before raising his head from the table, staring up at the major with soft, innocent eyes. For a moment the older man was struck by the childish face, he had forgotten just how young the colonel was. Asche couldn’t help feeling pity for the boy turned soldier, it almost wasn’t fair. The tips of the major’s mustache quivered in a rare smile. The barrel of the toy soldier’s rifle had made a little red circle in between Bernhard’s eyes. The mark gave him almost a comical look, like a child who had pressed his face against something while sleeping.

“Sir, you must eat, you’ll need all your energy for tomorrow.” Major Asche lifted his hand from the young man’s shoulder as the colonel leaned back and stretched, his back and shoulders cracking.

“Oi, Fritz, why did you wake me? I was having such pleasant dreams for once,” Bernhard’s tone was playful but he looked up at Asche with cold eyes once more.

“The dinner bell rang a quarter of an hour ago; I let you sleep for too long. Besides they sent us good food, wurst, fresh bread, and a little extra margarine.”

The wonderful food should have lightened Bernhard’s and Fritz’s moods, but it only meant that battle was imminent. “Real coffee as well?” the colonel grinned sleepily, reaching for his hat.

“Yes, sir, no dandelions,” Fritz laughed at the thought of dandelion coffee and Bernhard joined him. It was silly to see the men trying to brew their own coffee surrounded by the dancing little flowers.

The thought of real coffee made Colonel Schreiner move faster, gathering up a few papers that needed to be signed and cover his mussed blond hair with his officer’s cap. “Wonderful, Major Asche!” Bernhard strode toward the door. “Have you had dinner, yet?”

“Yes, sir, I have. I’m sure I’ll join you later though, I’ll finish the charts if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Major, you know better than I do where to put the howitzers,” and with that Colonel Schreiner disappeared behind the office door.

Major Asche smiled lightly to himself as he watched his commander leave. That small face he had seen earlier reminded him of his own son at home. But as he turned his hard gray eyes back to the plans he wondered if he would ever see those smiling gray-blue eyes again. The thought of his only son without a father almost made the major’s heart stop.

            Reaching out his large paw he held the little toy soldier up to his face. The sad little tin thing had a delicately carved face, but its mouth drooped eternally in a grim frown. It wasn’t military issued; the colonel had found it among the ashes of a little house. Major Asche had watched as the young man had held it delicately in his perpetually gloved hand. The young soldier’s face looked regretful as he gazed at the blackened little toy.

            It really was a wonder that the forgotten thing hadn’t melted in the flames. Asche had often wondered if Bernhard had seen something in the toy soldier. But now he knew for certain that the colonel had seen himself mirrored in the face of the sad tin soldier. Colonel Schreiner had attempted to clean the ash from the toy, but soot still caught in the crevices and grooves of the rifle it held, little hand wrapped around the barrel and its finger eternally at the ready, waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger.

            The major’s heart throbbed, for weren’t they all just tin soldiers? Persistently toyed with, yes, one day they would all fall, like toy soldiers off a child’s nightstand. And just like the tin soldier they would all remain the same as the day they had been casted, their stiff tunics stuck fast like another skin, guns clasped in their hands, and faces grim from killing. But others might not be even as lucky. They could be tossed aside, cracked and broken, scratched and shattered, worn and forgotten. Within their metal faces tears would be trapped, never spent or spilled.

            Trapped inside their little tin breasts their little tin hearts would never beat. Major Asche had since forgotten the plans spread before him and became lost in the desolate eyes of the toy soldier. These toy soldiers would march endlessly on, never remembering, never forgetting, ever the same.

***

            Bernhard walked almost excitedly to the mess hall. Inside the air was warm and moist from the soldiers’ breath. Welcome smells wafted from the cook’s vats and inside was everything the major had promised, although, the coffee was a bit watery and had a slight hint of dandelion.

            Taking his tray over to the table where First Lieutenant Weich was sitting he called some of the men to at ease, most of the others were too preoccupied with their food that they hadn’t noticed the colonel’s entrance. Not that it really mattered to Bernhard, the dinner was really too good to ignore.

            Sitting down beside the lieutenant he watched as the man scraped the crumbs and grease off his tray. There was plenty of food for seconds, maybe even thirds. But why let the tidbits go cold while waiting in line?

            With a mouthful of food Schreiner narrowed his eyes at Weich who seemed lethargic in his attempts to clean the tray completely. Swallowing he turned toward the first lieutenant, “Any particular reason you’re not yourself today, Weich?”

            First Lieutenant Weich looked at the colonel as if he had just appeared beside him. “The girl is completely ungrateful, sir, Bauer completely ignored the fact that you saved her.”

            Colonel Schreiner almost smiled at the dog, Weich, “She doesn’t think we’re saving her, Bauer thinks we’re holding her captive,” he paused for a moment before adding, “Which we are.”

            “Sir, she even questioned your authority,” Otto looked up at him with soft, brown eyes, despite the fact he was older than Bernhard his appearance and demeanor gave him the look of a new soldier.

Schreiner’s mouth twitched slightly, not even Weich knew that he was not the son of a famous general. In fact Bernhard hadn’t the slightest idea of who started that rumor, but still he didn’t care to stop it. A son of a poor farmer was hardly to be respected in such conditions.

“I would expect that, Weich, don’t let a girl like that upset you, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. You have girls at home, you understand, don’t you?”

The first lieutenant smiled at the thought of his family, “I wish I could say so, sir, but my girls are much younger than Bauer.” The man laughed, “But my Aloïsia was so much like her when I left, and her sister…” Otto’s voice drifted, “They are the only things that keep me alive.”

Bernhard smiled apologetically as he stirred the mashed potatoes on his tray, he couldn’t understand how exactly Weich felt this way but he respected it. “She trusts you, Otto, I’m sure it’s just been hard on her.” Standing abruptly Colonel Schreiner pushed his untouched coffee towards the lieutenant. “Have some real coffee for once and then get some rest.”

“But, sir, you’ve barely even touched your food, where are you going?”

“I’ve lost my appetite, I just need to sleep,” Bernhard replied and waved over his shoulder to First Lieutenant Weich as he strode out of the mess hall.

The compound had become quiet besides the buzz of the mess hall and the heavy boot treads of the sentries. The officer dragged his feet with his face to the stars; he was dead on his feet. Opening the door to his quarters Bernhard took off his high leather boots, placing them in the corner, and stripped to his fatigues. Finally he hung up his uniform and cap and slid into his bed.

The colonel pulled the thick wool blanket up under his chin, he wouldn’t have anything like this blanket, or any mattress for that matter, for an unknown length of time and the colonel wanted to make the best of it. In a matter of seconds he was asleep on the soft feather pillow, although what should have been a peaceful sleep was riddled with nightmares.

                      

Part VIII

A Nightmare and a Reality

His heart felt as if it were about to burst, his chest was tight and fear ran through his veins as ice water. Darkness surrounded him; the air was suffocating and disgustingly warm. Bernhard could do nothing but stand amidst the loneliness and try to breath.

A scream ripped through the thick air, piercing and loud, it tore through the blackness like a knife through canvas. Bernhard’s head snapped toward the scream, searching for its source. But nothingness was all that stood before him as the wretched man’s scream died away echoing, it’s owner dead.

Turning back slowly Bernhard caught his breath, Astor stood where emptiness once was. He was dressed in black and his pale face looked deathly amid the dark void. Astor’s ice blue eyes looked surreal in the soft glow of his face, like the moon in the sky.

“Where is he? Take me to him!” Bernhard snarled suddenly, not in control of his own voice. Who he was asking for he had no idea, but something in the back of his head that he must find the man quickly.

“You cannot help him, bruder, he is past helping,” Astor replied calmly, his words hung in the air like a death sentence.

“Take me to him! How can you know that?” Bernhard snapped back, he had to find this man and save him.

Astor shook his head slowly, “No, bruder, you cannot save him.” The older brother raised his head slowly to look his younger straight in the eyes. “You were the one who killed him.”

Bernhard’s eyes widened and he looked slowly down at his trembling hands. What he saw made his belly lurch and bile rise in his throat. Blood seeped between his fingers, still warm, it poured to the ground glowing red. Sticky it seemed to pulse as if still in the dead man’s veins, adding to the horror of it all the blood caught underneath Bernhard’s fingernails and dried.

“No, no, no, bruder! Help me!” Bernhard’s head flew up, his eyes wide and pleading. He called out for his brother, but Astor stood still, staring but not seeing. Pale blue eyes became dark red and faded to pure black.

Bernhard gazed in horror into the sockets of the skull, vomit caught in his throat. Suddenly a bright white halo enveloped the air around Astor’s head and a long red rectangle gleamed behind that. A vision of the future swirled before Bernhard’s eyes.

“You killed him, Bernhard,” Astor’s mouth formed around the words slowly, his maw eternally black. Although only the brothers stood in the void thousands of other voices joined Astor’s all condemning Bernhard, “You killed him.”

Astor spread his arms wide like the wings of a raven and fell slowly back, Bernhard could feel the air gusting around him as his brother fell softly into the black and empty void. Astor’s face was almost peaceful as he gave himself to the emptiness.

In an instant Bernhard was alone in the dark place but the blood flag still waved before him, beckoning, condemning.

Suddenly he was running Bernhard’s boots stuck in the mud as he ran each step he took was laborious but still he carried on. He had to escape the dogs snarling behind him. The sides of the trench were narrow and his shoulders brushed the sides, barbed wire loomed above him, coiling and twisting. Once again Bernhard was no longer in control of his limbs and he looked back at the pack of dogs swarming behind him.

The black and tan coats rippled as they ran as one, the dogs snarled and howled as they chased their victim. Saliva ran from their bared fangs as their paws ate up the ground beneath them, churning the mud and ice under their long claws.

At times Bernhard had to weave between long steel spikes that rose from the ground, piercing points at the tips. Although the man had to turn swiftly as not to be disemboweled on the spikes the dogs simply leapt over them, sometimes seven feet into the air. The metal that should have slit their tender underbellies wide open simply passed through the dogs, not a drop of blood fell from these monsters. Though this was no great feat for them, many ran parallel to the ground, their paws carrying them along the sides of the trenches. Each animal competed for their spot at the front of the wave, flashing teeth and tearing fangs inches from ripping into Bernhard’s tunic.

So he ran from these monster dogs outlined black in the dark blue sky. Rain fell but slid off the glossy pelts, eyes of every shade of green and amber illuminated their faces. Suddenly Bernhard realized that the long steel spikes had morphed, no longer were they metal, but human flesh. Arms reached for the sky, their fingers curled as rain fell into their palms. Dead arms, black and shrunken, each another man lost, murdered.

Bernhard gazed in horror as he saw the trench end suddenly. A blast had destroyed a shelter and its remains blocked the way. From the mud and concrete arms were outstretched, reaching for freedom. Legs kicked among them all that were left of the men still trapped inside.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and Bernhard wailed at the apparition standing on the ruins. Death, the wolf, his black coat was windswept and matted with mud and blood. His fangs were white flames, smoking and sputtering. Eyes of crimson, they gleamed horribly in the firelight, the wolf’s liquid eyes dripped blood and the tears ran down Death’s face and poured from his thickly furred chest.

Bernhard watched in horror as the wolf leapt down from his post, huge paws thudding in the mud, its long black claws sinking into the dirt. Death bared his fangs and crept toward Bernhard, slowly. Suddenly his bark split the air and the pounding of huge paws could be heard again as the German Shepherds caught up with their prey.

The wave overtook the man and the surging dogs crushed Bernhard in an instant. At once the warm bodies merged and their huge chests lost their soft fur and became water, clear, dark blue water. For a moment the wolf, Death, stared down at Bernhard with huge bleeding eyes and faded.

The man was left staring into the pale blue disks of his brother’s eyes. For just a moment their fingertips brushed before Bernhard sank slowly further into the icy water. The river was clear and he watched Astor’s unmoving face and still body until it faded like the light of the moon.

Bernhard plunged into blackness, falling and screaming. He jolted awake. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and his fingers clutched the warm blanket. Not a moment later the door seemed to explode and swung nearly off its hinges, cracking against the wall.

Major Asche stood behind it, pointing a Luger into the room, “Sir, are you all right?” he shouted seeing the colonel.

Bernhard stared wide-eyed; it had all been a nightmare. Turning toward Asche he saw Weich behind the major; pistol in hand, dark brown eyes as large as saucers as he scanned the room for intruders.

Colonel Schreiner glanced around the room, still not sure if this world was real and not another chapter of his dream. His heat skipped a beat and time seemed to stand still, bright green eyes peered through the window across the room, gleaming like the dogs’. The green eyes moved and the colonel recognized the face of a new Lieutenant, the Englishman, Brennen. The man’s hair stuck up in odd ways, much like the ears of a dog, he must have leapt straight from his cot.

Suddenly finding himself cool and levelheaded once more, the colonel reminded himself to commend Brennen for thinking so clearly and going to the window with his weapon. He turned toward the major.

“Everything’s fine, Major, forgive me for waking you,” Bernhard said breathing evenly once again; he noticed that the sky was only beginning to gray with sunlight. Major Asche was wearing the old greatcoat, but it was buttoned unevenly and Asche’s fatigues peered out, in fact a rather disheveled crowd of soldiers had begun gathering, awakened by the commotion. Most were still in their fatigues, some weren’t even wearing their boots.

The only men completely dressed were a few dopey looking sentries, the colonel weren’t surprised they were some of the last on the scene; most had been up all night.

The major lowered his Luger, “Are you sure, sir? You were screaming,” Asche’s brow furrowed.

“I’m sure, Major,” Bernhard replied realizing how childish this all must look, the men’s, “fearless leader,” waking everyone up because of night terrors.

The older man nodded and waved off the gathering crowd, he gave a few brisk orders and the men dispersed, either to sleep again or prepare for the day. Even the bright green eyes of Lieutenant Brennen had vanished from their post in the window.

Left alone in the quiet room, the colonel stared for a long while at the wall before him, his grip loosening in the thick wool blanket. On a sudden thought Schreiner took the army knife from his bedside table and pushed the pillow away from the wooden headboard on the bed.

In quick deft movements he carved words into the polished wood where the next man would see them if he so happened to move the pillow in any way.

“I am going mad,” the headboard now read and Colonel Schreiner leaned back and examined his work. Placing the pillow back against the words, he swung himself out of bed and splashed a few handfuls of water onto his face from the basin before taking his towel, bath slippers, and uniform across the compound to shave and shower.

As Bernhard walked back to his quarters afterwards, feeling refreshed, he stared straight up at the sky above him. Many of his men knew this habit and kept their distance so that he didn’t bump into them as he walked by. The air was cool and clean, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Soon the howitzers would warm it with their churning mechanical parts as they flung their bullets into the cannon fodder below. The dry rattling of the machine guns would ignite the wind as they ripped apart the ground and men the bullets struck. The clean air would be contaminated by the smell of gunpowder and mustard gas.  And Death would hang in the air, bloody eyes and flaming fangs.

Reaching his tent, Bernhard tossed his damp towel across the already made bed and exchanged his bath slippers for high-laced boots. Throwing the wet towel onto the bed was not a concern; the bed would most likely be exchanged the next day, to suit the needs of some pompous general. He left the tent for the last time and walked across the compound to the command tent.

Opening the door Colonel Schreiner watched as Major Asche spun from the map he was finishing and greeted the colonel with a salute.

Schreiner returned it smartly, “Is everything prepared, Major?” he asked briskly.

“Everything is ready, sir!” Asche replied, dropping his hand.

“Good, collect your men and form up,” Bernhard ordered, “Where is the first lieutenant?”

“In the stockade with the prisoner, sir!” Fritz barked back, the excitement was driving their voices to shouts; their words were clipped and military.

With that Colonel Schreiner turned on heel and left the office once again. His strides were long and quick, the air was buzzing with excitement, battle was nearing. With a sharp push Bernhard flung the heavy steel door open and called out to First Lieutenant Weich seated on a stool in front of Bauer’s cell.

“First Lieutenant Weich, prepare, I'm moving the battalion out,” the colonel commanded returning Weich’s salute as the loyal soldier leapt from his stool.

“Jawohl!” Otto replied and hurried out of the stockade.

“Bauer, you will be moving out with us, of course,” the colonel grinned sourly, “Another soldier will be guarding you in place of Weich.”

“Yes, sir,” he heard Bauer reply tentatively, “Are you invading Belgium?” she asked quietly.

            “We have already penetrated the Belgian border, Bauer. You should have realized that, we are pushing forward,” the officer growled coldly. He turned and left the girl there for a moment peering around the steel doorframe. Seeing the man he wanted he called out to him.

            “Corporal Steif!” the small, stocky man turned quickly towards his commanding officer’s voice.

            “Sir!” Steif replied, saluting, his cold hazel eyes in a perpetual scowl. 

            “Help me escort the prisoner to the trucks,” Bernhard commanded and turned back to the girl. He unlocked the cell door and the corporal bound Bauer’s hands. They lead her across the compound and Steif helped Bauer into the front seat of the truck before following her in behind the wheel.

            The engine started with a roar and they drove off. Colonel Schreiner watched as they passed the columns of men marching along the road. A few officers walked alongside them, chatting or giving quick orders, usually to clear the road for the truck’s path. The cavalry trotted along at a respectable pace, the horses’ massive heads nodding with each step. Sabers and rifles clanked, in the distance a slow growling of wheels could be heard as the sluggish artillery made its way down the road at the back of the surge of men.

            Soon Ypres was in sight, a burned shell of a once towering city. Craters encircled the city from the previous bombardments and slit trenches could be seen scattered about. Except for the advancing troops there was not a sound to be heard. Schreiner could feel the girl tense beside him, the scene must have been horrendous to her, but he had seen it all before, he brought such things upon cites, town, and villages like this one. And so he watched the ruined world slide by with cold indifference.

            As the trucks emerged from the tattered city the broken cobbled streets gradually became smooth dirt roads, well worn from farmers past. The incessant thumping of tires bouncing on stones quieted and the colonel’s sharp ears, not yet destroyed by the blasts, picked up on a rather unsavory conversation between two soldiers.

            One laughed merrily as he made perverse jokes, the other glanced back and forth between the laughing soldier and the piercing blue eyes of the object of the jibes, the colonel himself.

            Bernhard felt anger swirl in his mind, such crude jokes he would expect from a Russian soldier, not one of his own men. The train of men stopped near a large farmhouse that had already been scoped by scouts, enemy forces were somewhat close but quiet.

            As the battalion halted Schreiner opened the cab door and swung his long legs out, landing neatly on the dusty ground. The innocent second soldier noticed his approach and nodded goodbye to the crass other before taking flight in the other direction.

            The remaining soldier, with a broad smile on his face turned to rejoin his platoon, not expecting to come face to face with his broad-shouldered commanding officer.

            “Uh- Sir!” he stuttered raising his hand in a clumsy salute.

            “What is wrong with you, soldier?” Bernhard snarled, his eyes burning with anger. “What kind of disgrace are you trying to bring down on my battalion?”

            “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t-”

            “You know exactly what I’m talking about, soldier! I would expect such behavior from a member the Czar’s army, but not a German soldier! How dare you disgrace the Fatherland!”

            The soldier blushed with embarrassment but that did not dissuade the officer’s wrath.

            “You are a disgrace to the Kaiser, to this man’s army! I am more disgusted by the utter crudeness you displayed than the horrid comments you have made about me and your questioning of my morality!”

            “Forgive me, sir,” the soldier mumbled meekly.

            Schreiner reached out and cuffed the soldier neatly upside the head with his gloved palm. The man winced slightly before peering up at the scowling face of his superior officer.

            “No more crassness, is that understood?” Colonel Schreiner growled softly.

            “Understood, sir, it won’t happen again,”

            The officer nodded, “You are dismissed,” and the sore soldier scampered off to put himself to good use.

            Colonel Schreiner stalked back to the vehicle. “Corporal Steif, take Bauer to her new quarters,” he commanded.

            “Jawohl!” the corporal replied and jerked Bauer by the arm out of the truck. Bernhard watched as the prisoner was led to the abandoned farmhouse before dashing off to find Major Asche to begin following their plans.

            A few minutes later the colonel knelt as he unlocked the trapdoor to the house’s basement and made his way down the creaking stairs. Bauer was seated on the edge of her cot watching the flame dance in a kerosene lamp on a rotted table.

            “We are currently setting up a temporary camp here, you may not receive your rations until later in the day,” the officer growled stopping halfway down the steps. “Until we set up a latrine you will not be allowed out for that either,” Bauer seemed to simply stare uncomprehendingly up at him. Bernhard turned to leave the dank basement but he turned toward her again, “If you hear gunfire stay where you are, do not try to escape.”

            With that he pushed the trapdoor open once again and locked it behind him. Major Asche strode across the hollow floor towards Schreiner as the officer stood again.

            They saluted hurriedly, “Is everything prepared, Major?” Bernhard asked.

            “Jawohl, everything is ready for the advance,” Asche said slowly, much different than the snapped replies of that morning.

            “Good, commence that attack.”

***

            Gunfire split the air and Bernhard hurled himself back into the muddy trench. He lay on the ground a moment with his hands holding the steel helmet securely on his head. He stood at the sound of heavy boots running towards him.

            “Sir, are you alright?” Major Asche asked watching his superior officer stumble as he tried to raise himself from the dirt.

            “Fine, thank you, Major, I was looking for that missing scout.” Earlier a five man patrol had set off; when they had returned one man had gone missing in the mists. The major shook his broad face mournfully.

            “Sir, the gas attack was launched when the four men returned, the other has most likely suffocated, or he could have been captured.”

            The colonel glared at Major Asche, “Why must you be so cynical?”

            Asche’s eyebrow shot up, had his commander already succumbed to madness? “This is a war, Bernhard, you can’t-”

            A shrieking human scream cut the gray major off and before Fritz could stop him, Colonel Schreiner had turned and run down the narrow trench pushing past the soldiers filing through. Near the machine gunner’s position Otto Weich was peering carefully over the edge of the muddy trench, using his hands to pull himself up to scan the no man’s land because of his minuscule height. Hearing the colonel’s approach, Weich’s hearing was acute even over the roar of guns, the lieutenant dropped down from the wall but didn’t salute, as such courtesies were wasted time on the battlefield.

            “Sir! The missing scout is in sight, but he’s become entangled in the barbed wire,” another scream rose above the roaring guns, but it was weakening, fading slowly. The first lieutenant shook his head solemnly, “It’s sickening to think that he made it this far only to get stuck up there.”

            Bernhard didn’t answer he gazed for a moment at the top of the trench wall. He made his choice, with a sudden jerk of his body; he leapt from the ground and swung himself over the side.

            “Sir!” Weich screamed as he watched his commander disappear over the looming trench wall. The colonel’s appearance caused an uproar among the machine guns, suddenly the few who were firing near the entangled soldier were joined by another chorus of dry rattling and dirt erupted from the ground as it was riddled by bullets.

            The boy’s screams had died out but the boy still writhed in his barbed coffin. Bernhard hit the ground and continued crawling toward the bleeding soldier. Gripping the boy’s shoulder firmly Schreiner pulled the wire cutters from his belt and attacked the rusty steel with gusto.

            “Stop struggling! You’ll make it worse!” Bernhard screamed at the scout as another barrage of bullets swept in front of them, it was pure luck that neither had been shot. The soldier suddenly went limp and for a few horrified moments the colonel thought the boy had died, but the scout was still whimpering as the barbs tore into his belly.

            As Colonel Schreiner worked to release the soldier from the wires, another gun answering became apparent beside him. His eyes flitting to the noise next to him Bernhard recognized First Lieutenant Weich lying on his belly, firing his rifle at the enemy machine gunners.

            Turning back to his work Schreiner shouted over the roar to Weich, “You should have stayed in the trenches! What the hell are you doing?”

            “I am protecting my commanding officer!” Weich replied as he reloaded and fired again, “Besides, I didn’t hear any orders telling me otherwise!” The lieutenant smiled cunningly and fired another round. His heart leapt up in his throat as the glint of the pair of binoculars he was firing at disappeared and a man tumbled down off his perch, “Gotcha,” the soldier muttered under his breath, grinning.

            As Schreiner broke through another wire he noticed the bark of the enemy machine guns had lessened slightly.

            “It seems our boy got one of them!” Weich grinned and turned to wave at the machine gunner behind them. The man waved cheerfully back, most of his face was hidden behind large goggles and a dirtied green scarf wrapped almost entirely around his head like the motorcyclists wore. Finally the wires were cut and Bernhard lifted the barely conscious scout off the stakes and eased him back into his arms as he crouched supporting the dead weight.

            “Soldier, can you walk?” the colonel growled, but the boy’s head could do nothing but roll limply on his shoulders, a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of the scout’s mouth. “Verdammt, boy,” Bernhard hissed, the barbed wire had ripped through the soldier’s tunic and shredded his insides, but against all odds the scout’s chest still rose and fell with shuddering gasps.

            “First Lieutenant Weich, cover me, I’ll have to carry him!” Colonel Schreiner ordered and Weich nodded sharply. With a grunt Schreiner heaved the scout over his shoulder, feeling the scout’s warm insides against his shoulders as hot blood soaked his tunic. Running as quickly as he could, crouched with the scout over his shoulder, Bernhard made his way back to the trenches.

            Otto Weich kept his weapon trained on the machine gunners, firing as much as he could while retreating with the colonel. Reaching the edge, Bernhard recognized the tall broad figure of Major Asche watching from the trench.

            “Major Asche!” he called out, “I’m tossing him to you!” His muscles whined as Schreiner pulled the boy from his shoulder and dropped him into the waiting arms of Major Asche below. As the major cleared the way for Bernhard to leap down a shout came from Weich as he hit the colonel into the trench with his body and they both tumbled down onto the dirt as a grenade exploded just behind them.

            They both lay sprawled on the ground for a moment as rocks and clumps of dirt rained down on them. When the ringing had quieted in his ears Bernhard stood and brushed the dirt from his tunic, but when he pulled his hand away from his shoulder it was sticky with the scout’s blood.

            “Sir! Are you injured?” Asche called out.

            “No, Major, it’s the boy’s blood, we need the medic,” as he finished he turned in the direction of the trench hospital and screamed the top of his lungs, “Medic!”

            Although it couldn’t have been more than a minute, the medics seemed to take hours to arrive and bind the soldier’s wounds.

            The boy moaned and Bernhard walked over to the stretcher, “You did well today, soldier,” he reassured the scout, “You’ll be home in no time.”

            The scout shook his head and reached up a hand to the officer, who took it gently. The boy squeezed hard and Bernhard felt his hand sting where the barbed wire had bitten through his leather glove.

            “Sir, there are enemy reinforcements coming this way, I saw them on the ridge, but they’re unprotected at their flanks, we can encircle them!” color returned to the scout’s cheeks as he recalled what he had seen and grew excited once more at the prospective of battle.

            “Wonderful work, soldier! Rest and get well, you’ll need your energy for your next mission!” The scout’s eyes fluttered close and his breaths became even.

            The colonel looked hopefully up at the medic who smile briefly but shook his head gently, “We’ll see what we can do, Colonel, but if the damage is extensive.” The medic paused for a moment here, “And there’s no telling what was on that barbed wire,” he averted the subject of death rather clumsily.

            Schreiner nodded solemnly, “Do your best,” he said quietly and the stretcher was carried away. The machine gunner had taken a break from his post at was chatting with the major and First Lieutenant, the battlefield was quieting.

            Weich turned to the colonel, “It’s a good thing those Brits didn’t think of using grenadiers until too late,” he grinned.

“Of course we did have plenty of help from our friend here as well,” Asche nodded at the machine gunner in his scarf and dark goggles.

“You were magnificent, Brennen,” Schreiner laughed as the lieutenant removed the large goggles and grinned happily above the oily green scarf.

“It seems our dear friends didn’t like the taste of German lead,” the green-eyed officer smirked, the guns were dying out and only short bursts of fire came from the Germans’ side, no response came from the British guns.

“Do you think they’ll attempt a charge, sir?” Otto squeaked.

“No, it’s gotten too dark for that, it’s over for tonight but I want sentries posted to keep watch, they may attempt it at dawn.

            The major nodded, “Sir, shall I give the final orders for tonight?”

            “Yes, Major, but be prepared another barrage may begin during the night, the enemy doesn’t seem to have set firing times.” Asche rushed off and Weich went to post the sentries while Brennen left for his machine gun position.

            Bernhard stood alone in the cool trench, the sky was dotted with stars but they were swept away by the curling fingers of the black smoke. He watched the ever-darkening skies and faced Death as the soldier’s blood cooled and dried in his shoulder. Schreiner tried not to think about the fact that the reinforcements seen by the wounded scout had most likely been the men they had been fighting, that the boy may have lost his life for nothing.

            As soldiers breathed slowly and others gasped for air a strange silence crept among the bodies on cat’s feet. And the screams of wounded men in the trenches were silenced by a dark breeze that filled the lungs of every man.

 

Part IX

The Orchestra

            Bernhard sat quietly at his desk, head bowed and hands clasped together as if in prayer. A pilfered record player blasted out none other than Mozart’s “Requiem” and the growl of tires joined the chorus.  

            Another village had been taken, as well as a cowering soldier who had lost his platoon. Asche and Weich strolled lazily in, almost dragging the shaking man as their boots fell in step with the music, drumbeats echoed. Their heels came together in front of the colonel and trumpets bellowed before dying out as the salutes fell.

            “Enemy soldier found hiding in the basement of a house, sir!” Major Asche almost shouted as he tried to make himself heard over the roar of the music, but Colonel Schreiner made no attempt to remove the needle from the record.

            “Have you conducted an interrogation?”  Bernhard replied fixing his piercing blue gaze on the limp soldier whose head lolled about his shoulders.

            “No, sir,” Weich answered, his boyish voice mingling with the choir, “We thought it best to conduct it while you sent a message to Headquarters.”

            The colonel nodded his head neatly, “Take the prisoner to the interrogation room and begin, I will contact Headquarters.”

            As the colonel’s men drew themselves up into salutes the trembling French soldier lifted his head slowly to stare up at his judge with brown eyes glazed in horror, and the Requiem screamed.

            Major Asche, having finished questioning, led the emaciated Frenchman into Annemarie’s cell, locking the door to the room and nodding to the saluting Corporal Steif.  The soldier made his way to the cot on the far side of the room, but stopped when he noticed the young girl crouched at the head of it.

            As if he had no more strength left in him, the young man sunk slowly to the ground as the music faded momentarily. He stared at Annemarie with wide eyes, until she turned slowly to him watching the soldier with filmy eyes from her perch.

            He spoke, “Are you a prisoner here too?” the soldier murmured and Annemarie’s petal blue eyes softened as she blinked at him.

            “Yes, are you a French soldier?” her voice was soft and she hugged her knees closer to her chest as if she could not get warm.

            He nodded his head, “How long have the kept you here?”

            Annemarie’s forehead creased as she thought about the question, “I’m not sure.”

            The soldier suddenly seemed concerned and he crept closer to the cot, “They, they don’t hurt you, do they?”

            A small bright note trilled as Annemarie smiled, “No, they’re not that cruel.” She turned away from him, “My punishment is being kept here, they need not do more.”

            The Frenchman tilted his head, “You are Belgian, correct?”

            Annemarie seemed to glow at the thought, “Yes, I live near Ypres, or at least I did.”

            He smiled, “It was such a pretty city,” Annemarie nodded happily. They sat in silence for a moment as the record murmured around the encampment.

            The question came from the young soldier’s mouth as a ghost of a whisper and haunted the room, “Will I live?”

            Annemarie stared sorrowfully at the dirty blond soldier and her blue eyes watered, remembering those of the past, “Only if you have found favor with God.”

            The young man replied shakily, “And who is God?”

            “Here, he is the man with ice-blue eyes.”

            The soldier trembled, “I have not found favor with him.”

            The Requiem replied with its hollow and melodious voice, “There is no repentance.” Annemarie watched as Asche opened the wooden door and called out to the prisoner of war.

            “The orders from Headquarters have arrived; you will face the firing squad. Before you face your executioner, have you any last requests?”

            The man stood and faced the major, “Save the girl.” His shoulders no longer trembled as he was led away by the gray major.

            A whisper brushed past his ears, “We are trying,” the Frenchman turned and saw an officer with wide brown eyes walking beside him. The lieutenant fixed the condemned man in his gaze and turned his head toward the commander’s tent, nodding.

            The French soldier understood as the Requiem played on, Annemarie had found favor here. They stopped in front of a platform where the colonel gave his platoons orders. Bernhard climbed the wooden steps, his footfalls heavy and determined. He turned swiftly to look down upon his men and the ragged prisoner, a breeze swept through the field, the grass rippled, and the world seemed to hold its breath as the song carried on. Colonel Schreiner tightened his grip on the riding crop behind his back, his leather gloves creaking.

“General Headquarters has sent its orders for this man’s execution; those orders will be carried out. Major Asche, has the prisoner made any last requests?”

The major shook his head, “No, sir, there was no request that hasn’t already been done for him.”

Schreiner nodded, “First Lieutenant Weich, if you would please blindfold the man.” Weich took a pure white kerchief from his sleeve and wound it tightly around the young man’s head. Another breeze shook the silence that followed, loosening the dirty blond strands of hair from underneath the kerchief; they hung limply over the unblemished cloth, swaying in the wind.

“Firing squad, form up!” the colonel snapped his orders, the morning was breaking. Five soldiers stepped forward with their rifles; sunlight adorned their heads with halos of dawn.

“Will the prisoner please begin walking?” the young soldier did as he was told and with weightless footfalls he walked out into the green fields. The sun was warm on his face and his cheeks blushed with the light. The day opened and infinite blue sky stretched before him as the Requiem groaned its last notes.

“Achtung, fertig, Feuer!” The rifles cracked with a deafening sound and under the canvas cot Annemarie flinched, holding her hands tightly over her ears she bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out as tears streamed down her face and she trembled with the echoes of gunshots.

And he fell, under the vast blue sky, watched by cold blue eyes, he fell. The blood rose from his back, droplets seeming to catch in the air, marring the white watercolor clouds. The warm air gushed around him lifting the blindfold gently from his face, freeing the tears from his fading brown eyes.

As the droplets spun away from his face he murmured, “Save the girl.” The body plunged into the tall green grass and, landing with a soft thud, he died.

The five men drew themselves back to attention; one’s face was spattered lightly with bright blood, the other four’s tunics were stained with the life blood as well. But above it all he stood, his gloved hands unsoiled, his blue eyes emotionless, the conductor of this gruesome orchestra.

The dead man lay, as though sleeping, as the record ended and the needle hopped, crackling, on the ridges, endlessly repeating.

 

Part X

Grave Mistakes

          The two men standing in Bernhard’s office hung their heads pitifully as their commanding officer glared at them in disgust. Although Major Asche tried to keep his head high, the pencil thin First Lieutenant Weich trembled as Colonel Schreiner’s voice boomed around the room.

            “How could you let this happen? Did you not notice the enemy cutting our phone lines? Or were you both too busy with sending the scouts in the wrong direction? We have no communication with the front! For all we know this is the front!” The colonel pointed angrily down at the ground. “I would expect this from a new enlisted soldier, but not from two highly experienced officers!”

            “Please, sir, this wasn’t the major’s fault,” the poor First Lieutenant squeaked, “It was entirely my fault the lines were cut.”

            “It is as much his fault as yours, Weich,” Schreiner growled, narrowing his ice-blue eyes and fixing both of them in his scathing gaze. “He was the one who gave you faulty orders and you put those orders into action without noticing the mistakes.”

            Asche bowed his head as if to an idol, “Please excuse our errors, sir, we apologize.”

            Colonel Schreiner seemed to growl in the back of his throat, “I don’t want your apologies I want this fixed, immediately. Now go, you are dismissed.”

            Both officers straightened and saluted their commanding officer but dropped the salutes awkwardly when Schreiner did not return it. They bowed their heads apologetically and, wringing their field caps, scrambled dejectedly out of the tent.

            Bernhard lowered himself slowly down into his chair and sighed heavily as he ran his gloved fingers through his mussed blond hair. The telephone lines had been cut and they had to send messengers to the front to carry orders and news back and forth. It was extremely inefficient and if there was one thing Bernhard hated more than this war, it was inefficiency.   The couriers often got lost and the messages were scrambled and out of order if they did arrive. The last messenger had not been seen for hours but from the previous notes, all was quiet and several trenches had been captured. Bernhard had to make a decision, and quickly, Headquarters did not look kindly upon those who could not make choices under tremendous pressure.

            He stood quickly and strode out of the tent, seeing Lieutenant Brennen he shouted to him, “Brennen, get this message to First Lieutenant Weich and Major Asche, ‘We are moving out, begin marching to the last known front,’ that is all!”       

            The green-eyed Lieutenant nodded sharply and took off running. As the colonel turned back to his tent the head medic’s assistant scurried up to him.

            “Um, sir, the head medic has left for a period of time to acquire new supplies; we need an officer to direct us to the front. Some of the patients are in delicate states.”

            Schreiner paused and thought about the situation for a moment, “Fine, I’ll stay here, the other officers can move the battalion forward.”

            The pale medic smiled and nodded his head rapidly, “Thank you, sir!”

 

***

            Bernhard stood dumbfounded as the little medic read off rapid instructions for each patient. He struggled to keep up as he jotted each word down onto the clipboard he was holding. When medic said, “direct,” the colonel thought he would be the one directing the medics. But now he felt as if he were back in Berlin as an enlisted soldier, trying to take notes as generals made rapid fire decisions as situations changed on their little wooden battlefields.

            “Got all that, sir?” the chipper medic asked.

            “Y-Yes,” Bernhard stuttered his pen still flailing as he finished the prescription.

            “Wonderful! We can move out now!” the medic leapt from his seat on the edge of a cot and flew into a cheerful salute. “At your command, sir!”

            The best Schreiner could do was try to keep his jaw from falling open as the chirpy medic let out a childish giggle and took off running to alert the other orderlies. Sighing Bernhard handed a slightly frowning nurse the clipboard and left her to decipher his sharp, dark handwriting. As the colonel tugged off the little white coat, it was tight and much too short on him; he pondered the pale medic’s laugh.

            How could a man who nursed Death in his beds be so… Bernhard stumbled for a word. Happy? Chipper? Full of life? Schreiner could not find a word to describe the little man.

            He shook his head and opened his sharp blue eyes, the ice in them flashing; he could think about this later, right now he had a job to do.

            In a matter of minutes the medical station was organized, the patients were loaded into the buses and the convoy rumbled away from their muddy clearing. As the colonel led the trucks down the sun-cleared dirt road a lone messenger trotted up to the commander on a scrawny horse that immediately began sniffing along Bernhard’s own mount.

            Swaying back and forth upon his horse the scout handed Colonel Schreiner a scrap of paper. “News from the front, sir, the enemy has begun to dig under our trenches; most of the officers believe that the digging is too far under to cause any damage.”

            Bernhard read the scrawled note as the scout finished, he didn’t like it. Something was about to go horribly wrong. “When were you given this, soldier?”

            “About a half hour ago, sir,” the scout’s brow creased, “But the other officers said-”

            “Stuff what they said!” Bernhard suddenly burst. Crumpling the note violently in his gloved hand the colonel slammed his heels in to his horse’s side and took off at full speed towards the front. Leaving the dumbfounded courier to try and calm his startled mount.

            The damp wind snapped and hissed as Colonel Schreiner drove his horse through it. Hooves pounded and tore apart the ground beneath them as the horse panted and snorted heavily. The reins were pulled taut in the broad officer’s gloved hands and his boots never let up on the horse’s side. Finally the trenches came into sight and Bernhard pulled his mount to a halt. He stood atop a ridge listening to the only sound that rose from the mud, the shouts of men and clang and crunch of shovels.

            Once again the colonel kicked his horse hard and the animal flew down the gray hill. As the massive frame of Major Asche came into view Bernhard slowed his mount into a slow trot and called out to the major.

            “Asche, what is happening? I want my men out of those trenches now!” Colonel Schreiner yanked his horse to a stop beside the major, leaving the tired animal swinging its head in frustration and chewing at the bit in its mouth.

            “I’ve already begun the evacuation of the battalion out of the area, but other commanding officers are ordering their men to stay where they are.” Major Asche replied, and, as Bernhard leapt down from his horse and began his verbal tirade, Asche called over Lieutenant Brennen and ordered the evacuation to be sped up.

            “Damn those fools and their damned stubbornness! This is about human life, not their images!”  Bernhard snarled unrelentingly into the gray skies.

            As the last of his men trickled out of the trenches, Colonel Schreiner watched grimly as Corporal Steif led the prisoner out as well. What little morality was left in this war was summed up in the soft dragging of the girl’s feet and the tight binds on her wrists as she was led away from Death.

            And then the earth screamed, or maybe it bellowed, for the sound was one that no man could describe. The dirt seemed to churn like waves in the ocean as the trenches collapsed. Schreiner felt his feet leave the seemingly liquid earth as the explosion rumbled in the fields. Landing heavily again he stumbled awkwardly so not to tumble to the ground. Gazing up in horror he saw nothing. And that nothing sent his heart plummeting into his guts like a stone in a lake. Bile rose in his throat as the hot wind of the explosion reached him, it felt like warm summer breezes as they trailed through the trees, but it smelled of death.

            Men screamed as mud spurted from the bubbling earth as the heat rose from the depths of the buried trenches. Hands shot from beneath the destruction clawing for a way out. Soldiers rose from the earth dragging their dead comrades with them, still clutching to a hand or an arm or a leg. A few stumbled confusedly across what once was safety and many fell to their knees weeping and cursing God with their bloodied faces clutched in their hands.

            Above the deafening silence a thin wail arose, coursing through their souls and stopping their beating hearts. Bernhard rushed forward and caught the girl as she tore herself from Steif’s grasp and wrapped his trembling fingers across her face so she could not see. Bauer fell heavily back against his chest and he stumbled to hold her up with his other arm across her chest. The prisoner slumped forward and her head hung uselessly, her hair drooping down towards the barren ground before her. Bernhard let her slide gently to the ground with her back leaning against his legs.

            The corporal composed himself and hefted the girl up onto his shoulder. Bernhard turned to him.

            “Take her to the medical convoy moving towards here, tell them to halt, there’s nothing more to be done here.”

            Steif nodded, his voice still escaped him as he lifted Bauer up onto the colonel’s horse and sped away.

            In the moment Bernhard turned to give his orders to the corporal another set of pounding hooves had arrived in the silence and Bernhard, expecting to find some other officer or courier, was met with a sight that drained all the color from his face.

            Soft boots struck the ground as a little white coat disappeared over the side of the scout’s scrawny horse. Before the colonel’s mind had even a moment to compose itself, the pale medic had rushed out onto the now steaming wasteland and stopped in front of a wounded man lying upon the ground. Blind to the enemy soldier who stood just yards away.

            “No!” Bernhard screamed lurching forward but was silenced as a shot rang out.

Blood spurted suddenly from the medic’s temple and he swayed, falling slowly back. Another bullet buried itself deep in the medic’s heart, slamming the man down in a flourish of a pure white coat. 

A machine gun rattled from the forest on the hill, its bullets making soft thumping noises in the flesh of the man who had killed the medic. And all was quiet on both sides as the men’s blood spread out in rivers beneath them.

***

As darkness fell the enemy soldiers retired and allowed their opponents to collect the dead that they could find. Colonel Schreiner walked slowly toward the cold, crumpled body. The medic looked even smaller among the folds of his coat. His legs were splayed and arms outstretched at his sides, as if welcoming Death into his arms. The blood that had leaked from his skull had dried in fine red streaks upon his forehead.

Dark blue eyes stared at the black sky above; the whites were glazed and yellow. The blood from his chest had formed a pool beneath him and spread out in rivers, it mixed with the dead British soldier’s. Bernhard gazed gravely at the scene as a whole, two bodies, the third man, whom the medic had rushed to save, had already been taken away to the medical station, dazed and confused.  The medic’s fingers were curled as though reaching for the enemy soldier’s open hand. Their hands nearly brushed, and, as Bernhard’s head throbbed painfully, he swore he saw the dead medic turn his head to gaze at the man who had mercilessly killed him, and was murdered in return.

Yes, even in death the medic’s life drained eyes sought only for wellbeing of others. The colonel blinked again to find the darkened blue eyes had returned to the sky above him.

“What do you think, sir?” a stretcher bearer said gloomily, breaking Schreiner’s thoughts as he walked stiffly up to the bodies, a cigarette bobbing in his mouth. It was unlit, so not to attract enemy fire.

“Dead before he hit the ground, soldier,” the colonel remarked indifferently.

The stretcher bearer grunted a response before he and his partner set down the stretcher to place the medic on. The two men crouched, one at the dead man’s feet and the other gripping his arms, they lifted him from the cold, wet mud and onto the dirtied off-white canvas. Blood dripped from the back of medic’s coat and puddled in the dry dirt, staining the slight man’s white coat tails as they dragged under him. The man was stiff and the bearers had some trouble placing his arms against his sides. The little medic lay as if attention, thumbs at the seams of his trousers.

As if on impulse Bernhard brushed the medic’s eyes closed with a light slide of his hand. He stood again and waited expectantly for the stretcher bearers to cover the body with a water proof sheet, but realized that they had run out of those to cover the dead.

So he was forced to stare momentarily at the yellowed whites of the medic’s eyes that still peered out beneath his slitted lids.

The dawn was breaking and the first stretcher bearer covered his lighter as he reached up and placed the flame to his cigarette. He took a few drags and puffed the smoke into the wind blowing toward the enemy trenches.

“Huh, let them smell that, real tobacco, maybe they’ll join our side for a couple of smokes,” the bearer muttered under his breath before picking up the stretcher’s poles. “Best you not stay here, sir,” the man’s heavy Berlin accent grated Bernhard’s ears, “It won’t be safe in a few minutes when the light is better.”

“Thank you, Sergeant, I’ll be back in a moment, you go on ahead,” Bernhard gave the broad stretcher bearer a convincing smile.

“Whatever you say, sir, let’s go Private,” the sergeant nodded to the second stretcher bearer and the two men sauntered off with the dead medic swinging gently between them in his bloodstained cradle.

The colonel watched the light of the Berliner’s cigarette fade into the dense morning fog before turning to the British soldier still sprawled on the bloodied mud. Crouching down slowly Bernhard reached out and closed the man’s cold eyelids, covering the dimmed black lights.

Standing once again Bernhard set off into the static, gray mists, whistling a low tune, notes confused, belonging to no song. And like the night he melted away.

 

***

Two men entered the colonel’s tent of their own accord. They stopped together in front of Schreiner’s desk with their hands behind their backs. Bernhard glanced up at the both of them with a look of dulled surprise.

“We have come here to apologize once again, sir,” Major Asche spoke up, “We are to blame for allowing the medical convoy to the front.”

The colonel raised a fair eyebrow, “Were any of our men causalities in the trench collapses?”

The major was taken aback, “No, sir.”

“And Bauer was saved as well, therefore, neither of you are to blame.” Colonel Schreiner said calmly, politely, “I take the medic’s demise entirely on my shoulders; I should have prevented his death.”

“But, sir-” First Lieutenant Weich squeaked, but was silenced by the mere wave of a gloved hand.

“I will not have it, Weich, it was my fault and neither of you, nor anyone else for that matter, can convince me otherwise.” 

“Yes, sir,” the first lieutenant answered slowly.

Bernhard suddenly stood and turned his back on his two officers, “Good, now, about those telephone lines…” He trailed off.

“The repairs are under way, sir!” the major barked and slight smile leapt onto the soldiers’ lips, glad to see the fire had returned to the commander’s voice.

But, had they stayed but a moment longer, the two officers would have heard a soft patter as glimmering droplets of salt water fell onto the colonel's boots. Bernhard's shoulders shook as tears streamed down his pale cheeks and he wept silently and contemplated grave mistakes.

 

Part XI

Sky Blue Soldiers

The explosion thudded behind them and ringing erupted in the colonel’s ears as he was thrown to the ground. Shrapnel whistled by and metal shards rained down on his steel helmet, clattering uselessly to the ground. Bernhard lay on the bottom of the empty trench pressing his face into the ground until the ringing faded and the explosions became muffled by the distance.

 Rolling onto his side in an attempt to get up, Schreiner heard the flattened gray coat beside him moan and gripped Major Asche’s shoulder to shake him back into consciousness.

“Fritz, Fritz, get up. Are you hurt?” Colonel Schreiner watched as his friend stared up at him with unfocused gray eyes.

“Caught a piece in my arm,” was all the half-conscious major could mutter before moaning again and reaching for the darkening bruise on his temple.

A string of curses fell from the young colonel’s mouth as his ice blue eyes fixed on the growing stain near the major’s right shoulder. Suddenly the noise of the barrage filled the air around them and snapped Bernhard from his foggy thoughts.

He grabbed the major’s bleeding arm tightly, ignoring Asche’s pained scream, and pulled the man from the dirt. “We need to get to shelter now!” Schreiner howled over the deafening roar of the barrage that was now upon them.

The major growled something incoherent but followed the colonel, his heavy boots thudding on the trench floor. Spotting a sturdy dugout Bernhard shoved Asche in and followed as another explosion shook the ground.

Panting heavily Bernhard drew up to the major and once again wrapped his fingers around the gaping hole, feeling warm blood trickle down his hand and pulse between his fingers.

“Oh, gott,” Fritz gasped and he stared blankly past the colonel.

“I’m sorry, Fritz, but-” Schreiner sighed focusing on the wound.

“Mein gott,” the once solid major began to tremble and Bernhard turned to the wall behind him. In an instant he realized why these trenches were empty.

Five bodies lined the wall. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall or leaning on their comrades’ shoulders. Their eyes were open and their mouths gaping as if in conversation. And they were blue, sky blue.

Bernhard’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the swollen purple lips. Dark red lumps lay spattered on the ground around them, the soldiers’ burned, coughed up lungs. They had been caught in a gas attack, and now they lay still, for eternity.

Tearing his gaze away from the bodies Schreiner reached for the medical pack on his belt with the hand that wasn’t holding the major’s skin together. His blood ran cold and his skin felt clammy as he grasped at nothing but empty air. The bag was not there. Stopping himself short of a gasp Bernhard gave into the fact that their lifeline was gone.

“Fritz, do you have your medical bag?” the colonel almost pleaded, hoping that his friend did not hear the desperation in his voice. The old man shook his head in dissent.

The commander took one of the major’s hands in his and pressed it above the bleeding wound in the gray coat. “Major, I need you to put pressure on your wound, no matter how much it hurts you cannot let go. That is an order, Major.” Asche actually grinned, he grinned, though it was more like a dog baring his teeth. The major’s eyes were shut in pain and sweat beaded on his bruised temple. A low rumble was emitted from the man’s throat as a chuckle, amused by the colonel’s tenacity.

“Jawohl,” the gray officer growled through his clenched teeth, the maimed smile would not fall from his lips.

Colonel Schreiner released the bleeding arm and Major Asche clamped down on it, and a feral scream tore through his throat. The blond man scurried away from the other and began to loosen a medical pack from one of the five corpses’ fingers. The dead hand was covered by a dark glove but Colonel Schreiner could imagine the cold flesh beneath it, the blue, bony hand, as he wrested the bag from its grip.

Once the bag had been freed from the dead man’s clutches, Bernhard returned to his friend’s side.  After a moment of frantic rummaging he finally produced a vial of morphine and a syringe.

Asche growled almost inaudibly at the drug, “No, no morphine.”

“Major, this is going to be extremely painful,” Schreiner protested, inserting the needle into the top of the vial.

“No, I can handle this, no morphine,” Fritz responded adamantly, his gray eyes flashing.

Bernhard finally nodded and placed the needle and vial back into the tarnished bag. Schreiner rolled up the tattered sleeve of the major, revealing the gaping wound in his arm. Once again he reached into the pack and removed a dark bottle of alcohol. Removing his gloves Bernhard poured some of the clear liquid over his hands. Handing Asche a rolled rag to bite down on he began to empty the contents of the bottle onto the wound.

The burning liquid trickled down Major Asche’s arm, mixing in with blood and dirt as it cleaned the flesh. The major screamed into the cloth but did not protest.

“Damn,” Bernhard growled under his breath, “I’m sorry, Fritz, but I have to get the shrapnel out.”

Fredrick Asche could barely nod his head. With a sudden twist of his hand Bernhard reached inside the burning flesh, feeling the muscles convulse around his fingers. The major bit hard into the rag and Bernhard feared that the cloth would not stop Asche from biting off his tongue. Finally amidst the boiling flesh the colonel felt the sharp metal and wrapped his fingers around it, gripping it tightly.

With a ferocious pull Colonel Schreiner ripped the splinter from its resting place and dropped it as blood gushed from tear. The major’s breaths were trembling and forced as Bernhard began to sterilize a needle and thread with the leftover alcohol.

“Now do you wish that I had given you the morphine?” Bernhard snarled inaudibly as he pierced the broken skin with the needle and began to shut the wound.

Finally the major slumped back onto the dirt wall, letting the cloth fall from his mouth as he panted heavily. Bernhard rocked back onto his heels to admire his rather clever stitching, although any real medic would have fainted on the spot from the sheer inadequacy of the job. In fact most women would have fainted at the sight of such nice thread misused and maimed rather than the torn flesh hanging from it.

Dark chuckling arose from the major’s throat, “I never knew you were such a wonderful seamstress, sir.”

“Ha,” the colonel replied loudly, “My Mutter would have smacked me for ruining good thread.”

“It’s a wonder why I don’t,” Fritz growled sarcastically as he looked over at the tangled mass in his arm. With a few odd hops and shuffles Bernhard positioned himself beside the major’s bad arm, where he could not reach.

“Just try it, Fritzy,” Bernhard smirked as the major groaned at Bernhard’s rather feminine nickname for him.

“The alcohol has gone to your head, Bernhard, get some rest, I’ll keep watch.”

 The colonel shook his head, blonde strands falling around his blue eyes, spotted with blood. “You’re the one who needs rest, Fritz.”

“Sleeping is what’s worrying me at the moment,” the older man sighed.

“How so?” Bernhard questioned, the air becoming serious once again.

The old major suppressed a sigh, as brilliant a man as Bernhard was there were moments when he wondered how their dear General Heiden thought it would be a good idea to let someone not even half the major’s age command a battalion.

“I hit my head, I’m worried I may have gotten a concussion,” Asche replied reaching up and brushing the dirt from his mustache.

Bernhard let his long legs unbend and flopped down against the wall in defeat. “It certainly wouldn’t be easy trying to sleep with them just across from us,” he nodded at the wide-eyed corpses.

“You still should try,” the concerned major sighed.

Bernhard forced a faded smile before letting it drop from his face. Both their bellies were growling but the putrid flesh across from them silenced their hungered thoughts, as if the fact that they had no food hadn’t already done it.  

“How did we get ourselves into this, Bernhard?” Fritz finally spoke, breaking the silence and desperately trying to keep himself from blacking out. “I thought the Prussians were supposed to be good mapmakers.”

“It’s not a Prussian map, its French,” Bernhard growled in annoyance as he produced the tattered scroll.

“And those soldiers over there are most definitely English. It’s a wonder why we haven’t taken Paris already; the French haven’t a clue if they’re marking empty British trenches as German.”

“France and Britain have been enemies for so long it’s no wonder,” Bernhard snorted as he threw the map down, satisfied as the paper bounced and rolled away into the growing shadows.

After a pause Asche spoke again, “How did you come to learn French, Bernhard?”

“My brother taught me,” the answer was void of any emotion.

“Ah, the elusive story of the brothers Schreiner. How is your elder? I don’t think I ever learned his name.”

“According to his letters, Astor, that’s his name, is doing just fine. He has a cushy job working as an aide to a General Schreiber.”

“My, my, your brother is the infamous First Lieutenant Schreiner?”

“Infamous?” Bernhard gawked at him, “I haven’t heard much about him from anyone and he very rarely writes about his job.”

“I heard quite a few stories from General Heiden when I was working closely with Isaak before the war. It’s a wonder why I didn’t make the connection sooner.” The good major stood and feigned sword fighting across the dugout, “They say he cuts down lowly corporals with one fell swoop of his pen, that sergeants know the sound of his boots and scream like children when his sneezes. Yes, he-”

Fritz suddenly stopped as pain raced up his right arm and he dropped back into a sitting position beside Bernhard. He stopped shouting excitedly and his tone returned to normal, “In other words if anyone displeases your brother their career is over. He is extremely respected but spoiled by General Schreiber who will fire anyone who dares anger First Lieutenant Astor Schreiner. And I’m sorry about that outburst, sir; I’m trying to stay awake.”

Bernhard waved off the apology, “That certainly sounds like Astor, a perfectionist to the end.”

“Very much like you, sir, of course you have a great deal more mercy.” Fritz replied calmly.

Bernhard snorted and rolled his eyes, “Why thank you, Fritz, but I am nothing like my brother.”

Silence enveloped them for a moment, “What estranged you from him, Bernhard?”

For what seemed like hours there was no response from Bernhard and the major began to think he would never answer as the colonel turned his head away from his friend. Finally the response came as Bernhard ran his fingers through his damp blond hair, leaving ruddy streaks of blood in the cornstalk-colored strands.

“He left me, Astor left me alone, he abandoned our parents, he left us with no hope he would ever return. And he never did return.”

“But, Bernhard, your father, I was told he was a high ranking officer.”

“Did Heiden tell you that?”

“Yes,”

“He lied.”

The silence was deafening as Bernhard stared at the corpses that seemed to be creeping closer. Sky blue soldiers, their fates were stealing closer, soon Bernhard and Fredrick would become like them, sky blue soldiers.

“I am the son of a poor farmer; General Heiden spread that rumor to expedite my career. Astor and I were born on the far outskirts of Berlin on a potato farm. Astor left us when I was nine years old, my mother and father died seven years later and I joined the military that same year.”

The old major ground his teeth slowly, the noise painful to Bernhard’s ears. “And you kept this from me? Did you think you’d lose my respect if you told me?”

“Fritz, it’s not like that,” Bernhard began but Major Asche did not allow him to finish.

“Are you really that conceited? Don’t look at me like that! Your officers, me, we all truly care about you, but you decided that you had to hide your past? How dare you.” Fredrick’s eyes flashed with fury as he hissed out those final words.

“Stop being childish, Fritz! I’ll admit it was stupid, but it wasn’t because I thought I would lose my officers’ respect!” Bernhard’s eyes pierced the settling darkness and for a moment the old major wondered if their cold blue light illuminated his face.

“Then what was it, Bernhard? What compelled you to lie to me?”

“I never lied to you, ever, but there are some secrets that are never meant to be known, there are some doors that are locked for a reason and its best you never try opening them.” Bernhard growled these words deep in his throat before seeming to realize the volume his words were reaching and deflated with a sigh. The blonde’s shoulders sunk and he slumped once more against the wall.

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t have your fair share of skeletons in your closet. Secrets, like war, are necessary evils and that rumor was just one of mine.”

The major breathed out and calmed himself as well; it would do them no good to fight about things as trivial as that. “I respect that, Bernhard, but somehow I doubt all of those evils are yours.”

He felt the broad shoulders beside his draw back in surprise, “I am right, aren’t I?”

“How did you know? What do you know, Fritz?” Bernhard finally managed to choke out.

“Letters, sir, are not the safest mode of communication, one or two of your brother’s letters may have accidently,” he stressed this word, “found their way near a light.” Bernhard could feel his friend smirking in the darkness. “But I honestly don’t know anything about your little familial feud; I only saw a lot of very sorry sounding words, Astor must have done something truly horrible.” Fritz looked at his light blonde friend as if expecting an answer to a question.

“It’s not entirely what he has done but what he is capable of, my brother,” Bernhard stopped here and swallowed, “My brother has the will and the means to get whatever he wants.” He paused wondering if he should go on, but he could feel the older man’s gray gaze upon him and continued without a second thought, he needed to know. “Astor is a very dangerous person, Fritz, I suggest that you stay well out of his path, he chose it and now he must walk down it alone. Like I said there are some doors never meant to be opened, I say it again my elder is extremely volatile and my secrets are made to keep you safe, all of you.”

Fritz once again felt illuminated by Bernhard’s gaze, at that moment he decided that he would never read Bernhard’s mail again; he hoped he wouldn’t have to explain too much to Weich and Brennen.

The ice blue flames faded and died out into embers, the major felt his face once again swallowed by the darkness. For a moment he almost wished for the brightness of the young man’s eyes to return and fill the bunker, but that would mean revealing the soldiers that lay against the wall.

“I’m sorry, Bernhard,” Asche murmured,

“None of this is your fault, Fritz, you needn’t be sorry,” Bernhard’s lips twisted into a momentary smile and night fell upon them.

 

***

The crashes grew louder as the barrage fell closer to the two men dug into an abandoned trench. Rockets leapt into the black sky and soared into the hazy smoke clouds that rolled lazily in the heavens. The sharp noses pierced the dark with bright flashes of light in every color. The small shells spread and whistled along the ground and the heavy artillery slammed behind the trenches with stunning force.

Bernhard and Fritz watched in silent horror as the corpses that lined the walls swayed and some fell in a horrible mimicry of life. Suddenly vibrations coursed through the living soldiers’ veins and their lungs felt as though filled with the sound. For a moment Bernhard wondered if he could spit the vibrations from his chest the next his thoughts were plunged in to sticky darkness.

Without speaking both officers ran towards the entrance with their spades in hand and attacked the collapsed wall. A shell had landed on or close to the bunker, the colonel and the major did not care to find out, and rubble had blocked the entrance.

Bernhard felt the spade break from its handle and began tearing at the wall with his hands. He wished suddenly that he had not removed his leather gloves earlier as the rock began to tear his fingernails and the tips of his fingers began to bleed. As he dug deeper his remaining fingernails scratched at something cold and soft, immediately he drew his hand back as if burned. Schreiner lunged back at the wall trying to forget the feeling of dead skin and flesh from beneath his nails.

 Blue moonlight flickered between Bernhard’s fingers and he flung down dirt and rubble until it streamed into the bunker filling the dugout with fresh air.

“Fritz! Over here!” Bernhard called and the old soldier rushed to help his commanding officer free the entrance of rubble.  Once the opening was clear the soldiers sat back against the opposite wall and watched the full moon as wisps of haze and smoke crept across its face. In a way the shelling had been a good thing, Fritz was fully awake but Bernhard could not stop staring at the five soldiers now twisted and broken on the ground.

Sky blue soldiers. Is that what they were all destined to become? Sky blue soldiers. The three words echoed in his head, condemning, prophesying. There was a body for him and a body for Fritz. Splayed on the ground with his face buried in the mud was Otto and half buried in the rubble was Edward Brennen. Curled in the corner was clumsy Albert Steif, the only soldier’s face he did not see amongst the gore was that of his brother’s, yes the sixth body was missing. Sky blue soldiers, they lay still, sky blue soldiers, they would never wake, sky blue soldiers, a cruel death for each.

Quivering tears appeared and marred the china blue eyes but they vanished without a trace into the darkness. He would not cry, what good was it? They were dead, suffocated, murdered, he was alive. Bernhard would not give himself to the sky-bound soldiers just yet, and he would not allow them to take the other four.

A melody began to hum on his lips as sleep crept into his limbs, but in mid-note it broke, he could not remember the words or the notes. Who had sung that to him? Bernhard grasped at the thoughts and memories through the steadily encroaching fog of sleep. He couldn’t recall, but as his ice blue eyes faded a sudden vision flashed before his eyes. Astor turned to him slowly, a smile brightening his face, light burst behind him and the rays seemed to cause his coat to flutter around him. A halo of soft blonde hair waved in the warm breeze as the smile closed his sparkling light blue eyes.

The beating of wings broke the warm silence and dark birds blocked the sight of Bernhard’s brother from him as Astor began to sing, “Oh, if I were a bird…”

The vision faded to be forgotten before Bernhard awoke.

 

***

The shouts of men slowly melted into the foreground of Bernhard’s half-conscious mind and soon following were the heavy thuds of boots striking the bottom of the trench. Major Asche leapt to his feet rather agilely for an old soldier who had been awake all night. The major’s hand rested on his sharpened spade for a moment before recognizing the familiar voices along with a very loud accented one.

Leaning himself out of the dugout Asche waved wildly as Bernhard clambered to his feet. “Brennen, Weich, Steif! Over here!” The major’s booming voice rang out and Bernhard groaned as his ears began to ring again. The three men cried out again as they raced towards the officer. Whooping, Weich and Brennen threw themselves at the uncharacteristically happy major and greeted him with loud claps on the back and overly-exuberant handshakes. Albert Steif kept his distance awkwardly and clumsily welcomed the major back into the world of the living as Bernhard, still sleep laden, tried to make his way out of the bunker.

Seeing their commanding officer the two Lieutenants were thrown into an even more excited frenzy and lunged at the bewildered Bernhard, though Otto momentarily glanced at the body splayed before him and daintily stepped over the British corpse.

For that instant Bernhard wondered at the grim greetings, his officers were congratulating him on living, how many had failed to receive this welcome? All dark thoughts vanished as he was nearly toppled by Lieutenant Brennen’s crushing hug. Schreiner spluttered and nearly choked on the oily green scarf that Lieutenant Brennen wore around his neck in the English fashion, it was a good thing Edward wasn’t wearing his goggles as well or else the colonel would have come out of the embrace with a broken nose.

Bernhard squirmed out of the Englishman’s arms with some trouble before chiding his friends, “Get off me! What are you all, soldiers or schoolgirls? Have you bought a bouquet of flowers too?”

Brennen looked ready to correct the German slaughtering of the French word, “bouquet,” and the wide-eyed Weich began to sniffle quietly. Steif stood his ground and shook his head as if he had known this would happen.

After a tense moment Bernhard could not hold back the grin any longer and the icy façade disappeared from his eyes, “What, Brennen, don’t you recognize your own droll humor?”

Edward burst into laughter and Weich’s sniveling stopped as soon as it had begun and once again the two men were upon their colonel with beaming grins and bone crushing handshakes. Now it was Albert’s turn to be completely stunned.

“We thought we’d never find you, sir!” Otto cried out as he tried to keep himself from tugging at the colonel’s dirtied sleeve like a lost child.

“Terribly sorry this happened just before your birthday, sir,” Brennen chimed in, his British accent caused the German words to become muddled on his tongue, but after a few months of working with the out of place Englishman, Bernhard understood him fairly well.

“Corporal Steif didn’t believe we’d find you alive, Colonel,” Edward turned his signature toothy sneer towards the fumbling man following them down the trench. “Albert was sure that he would get a promotion when we got a new commanding officer, he was even trying out new shoulder boards!”

Steif’s hazel eyes became huge accenting the light brown rims around his pupils, “Please, sir, I was not! Lieutenant Brennen is mistaken!” As usual amid all the fuss the stocky corporal refused to break rank and did not accuse his superior of lying.

“You know you were, Albert, don’t deny it,” the lieutenant’s bright green eyes sparkled with mischief and in an instant he was upon the shorter man who began to try and wrench himself from the officer’s embrace. “The loyal Corporal Steif had doubts in his leader, what kind of soldier are you?” Yet another man fell victim to the suffocating green scarf.

Major Asche spoke up as Otto Weich joined Edward in trying to drown the flailing man in olive drab. “Brennen, Weich, stop molesting the poor corporal and get us out of this trench!” Asche’s gray eyes were hard but his mustache twitched in barely contained laughter.

“Me?” Edward shifted his eyes upward at the major in a vain attempt to look innocent. “Sir, I have a girl to go home to. Me, molest the corporal? Not I!”

Weich did the same, letting go of the gasping corporal and stood beside his partner in crime. “I have a wife and two girls, me, molest the corporal?” he smirked at the snickering Lieutenant, “Not I!”

“Not I, said the fox, not I, said the dog,” Bernhard mused and shot a sarcastic warning glare at the two officers who burst into laughter at the reference to the children’s story. Seizing his opportunity Albert skittered away from his tormentors, nearly sending himself flying as he tripped over a stone and fell in step with the broad major, red faced and huffing.

“If you two don’t help us get out your family will see you again in a pine box,” Fritz snarled.

Weich and Brennen nodded and tried to wipe the staining smiles from their faces. Bernhard watched as Edward ran ahead to a frayed rope ladder and peered over the trench wall into the no man’s land that stretched out before them.

“Our trenches are to the east, we’ll have to cross here,” he caught a pair of wire cutters that Corporal Steif tossed up to him. “Careful, Corporal, are you trying to put out my eye with those?” The Englishman pointed towards a bright green eye.

“Sorry, sir,” Albert called up but Edward was already consumed by his work. Wires creaked and snapped and soon a gap appeared.

“What about the facing enemy trenches, Lieutenant?” Colonel Schreiner called up to the fox with glowing green eyes. “We were nearly torn apart by them yesterday; the major’s arm is proof enough.”

 “Ah, therein lies the excitement, sir,” replied the grinning fox as he launched himself over the side of the trench, the dog followed, his dark brown eyes narrowing in concentration. Next the old German heaved himself over with creaking bones and their leader began his ascent up the wall but turned his head towards the mangled dugout. A gloved hand was all that could be seen of the sky blue soldiers and Bernhard could almost recall the melody that played on the breeze as it tugged at his blood streaked hair. A hand pulling at his bootlace chased away the memory and Schreiner looked down upon the stocky Albert Steif.

“Sir, it’s time to go, are you ready?” For a moment Bernhard stared at him with uncomprehending ice blue eyes.

Reality rushed back to him, “Yes, of course, Corporal,” and with that the man leapt into the wasteland and almost smiled as a spurt of bullets erupted from the opposite trenches. Yes, he would return to the realm of the living, and just let the sky try to claim him.

 

 

Part XII

How to be Brave

“But, sir, I must protest!” Major Asche pleaded but his commanding officer simply shook his head.

“And I must insist, Major, your shoulder needs proper medical attention; you are not in any shape to continue on the frontline.” Bernhard closed his tired blue eyes and shook his head slowly once more, heaving a shuttering sigh. “I will have no more of this argument; the medical convoy is leaving soon and you with it.”
            The major's shoulders drooped, causing the man to wince slightly, “Colonel, please, both of us have just been through hell and my leaving will worsen your situation, we're short of men even without me.”

Schreiner looked up at his second-in-command and his lips twitched in a momentary smile before falling from his face like a stone in water. “All the more reason you leave, I am still young, Fredrick-”
            “Don't you dare bring my age into this,”
            “Stop, just listen. You are getting in that truck, you will stay in the hospital until your shoulder has healed completely, and you will not come back until you have slept all that is necessary. That is an order, Major Asche.”
            “But-”
            “No,” Colonel Schreiner growled warningly.
            “Sirs, the medical convoy is ready to leave, Major, are you ready?” A medical assistant had appeared next to them, the boy glowed with health and the colonel sensed he was new.
            Major Asche glanced at his shoulder and then back at the polished doctor, “Yes,” he sighed in defeat, “I'm ready to leave.”
            “Wonderful, sir, if you would remove your greatcoat, your shoulder seems to be bleeding again.”
            Asche rolled his eyes at the sickly sweet manners, and shot a glance at Schreiner, “Do you see what you are doing to me?”

“I think some diplomacy would do you good, my dear Major,” Bernhard flashed a killer's smile.
            “Please, sir, your coat,” the assistant parried with a young girl's grin.
            “No, I will go with you, but I must keep my coat on.” Major Asche replied defiantly, his glare knocking the smile from the assistant's face violently.
            “May I inquire why?”

            Fritz gagged.
            “Because I'm cold that's why,” he snarled, gray eyes flashed.
            The young man glanced at the colonel but the tall blonde could only shrug his shoulders.      “I suggest you let him keep the coat, or else you may never get him on the transport, Major Asche is always cold.”
            “If we don't leave now the convoy will leave without us,” and with that Asche stalked off, his gray coat billowing around him.
            The medical assistant began to follow suit but Bernhard called out to him, “Medic, you're new here, correct?”
            “Yes, sir, I heard about you before I arrived, I was a friend of the head doctor's assistant, the one that was killed,” the smile faded slightly but Bernhard still saw the innocence in the assistant's face. That was the difference between this new medic's smile and the older men's. Few of the doctors still smiled, only the best still did, but a certain sadness lingered in their haunted eyes, innocence long since faded if not brutally taken.
            “Tell me, what was his name? I intend to write a letter home to his family,” those words stung, he had not even known the man's name.
            “It was Markus Von Russland, sir, but there's no need to worry yourself with a letter. There would be no one to receive it, he lost his family many years ago.”
            “Oh,” Bernhard suddenly could not manage even a full sentence, “Thank you...”
            “Wladimir, Wladimir Bach,” the medic nodded.
            “Thank you, Wladimir,” Bernhard smiled at the name.
            The medic, Bach, returned the smile, “No trouble, sir, now if you would excuse me I have some fickle patients to deal with.”
            “Of course, I hope to see you back,” Schreiner saluted.
            Bach returned the salute, “Unfortunately I cannot share your sentiments, the number of faces hidden by sheets in the trucks seems to grow every day, I hope to return under better circumstances.” The medic said all this and then left with a bittersweet smile.
            Bernhard watched him go, brushing past a young woman sitting neatly upon a battered crate. Annemarie stared blankly at the medical truck as Bernhard started towards her.
            “What am I going to do?” he sighed.
            “What's wrong, sir?” Annemarie asked quietly.
            “Didn't you just see Asche leave? He's in charge of artillery,” Schreiner replied coldly, “Without him I'm out of a right-hand man...” The colonel stiffened his shoulders to keep them from slumping in defeat.
            “I'm sure you have plenty more pawns, sir,” Bauer bit back.
            “Do you see another man in that damned gray coat?” he snarled, “There isn't anyone else like him here. Weich is fine behind a desk or carrying out orders, but he can't fire a howitzer and keep his composure.” Inside a part of him flinched, Schreiner hadn't meant for his reply to be so bitter.
            “And what about that Corporal, sir?” Annemarie did not waver under his stony gaze.
            “Oh, he'll fire the gun alright, straight through the Kaiser’s window,” the colonel answered sarcastically, thinking back on Albert's poor eyesight. Colonel Schreiner sighed impatiently, “Asche will be back soon anyway, no reason to fret,” he turned to leave, best quit before he said anything he would regret.
            “Sir, I apologize for this inappropriate question, but-”
            The colonel cut her off suddenly, “Spit it out, Bauer!” That did it, why was he being so crude?
            “Why does Major Asche wear that coat?” Bernhard caught a slight roll of her petal blue eyes, he smiled inwardly, the girl had some fire.
            “I've asked him several times myself, Bauer,” Colonel Schreiner sighed, “Especially since it is extremely inapplicable for warmer conditions, but he simply replies that he is cold.”
            Annemarie tried to hide a smile, “He must always be cold then.”
            Colonel Schreiner caught the slight twitch of her pale lips and turned away quickly with a nod. Seeing Weich he found his escape, “First Lieutenant! Begin the movement to the front; we must start rebuilding the trenches.”
            Behind him a soft mutter echoed, “Dummkopf,” and Bernhard's heart fluttered weakly in his chest as a soft smile crossed his lips.
            Weich's head bounced in a violent nod and dashed away leaving his commanding officer once again alone in the gray compound.

    ***

            Cold rain fell in sweeping sheets as Colonel Schreiner ran blindly through no-man's land. His breaths came in harsh pants and fogged in the winter air. Suddenly the ground disappeared beneath his feet and his shoulder struck the soaking dirt with a dull thud. Standing the man attempted to wipe the dark spatters of mud from his long gray trench coat.
            Surveying the desolate trench the officer groaned. He and First Lieutenant Weich had been mapping the trenches the army had taken that week. Unfortunately sudden artillery fire had separated the colonel from the lieutenant and the enlisted soldiers with them.
            The shelling had ended as suddenly as it began; leaving Bernhard to believe their enemy was running out of ammunition. But such deductions were worthless as long as Schreiner wandered what could possibly be enemy territory. Turning towards the east Bernhard began his slow march towards his last known location. As he did a pain raced up his left side and the soldier realized he had landed on his holster.
            Reaching down Bernhard pulled out his usually shining Luger. Mud had leaked into the holster and choked the mechanics. Some of the steel parts had bent slightly, Bernhard slammed the butt of the gun into his gloved palm and rolled his eyes, this was ridiculous.
            “What kind of bloody gun breaks in the trench, damn it!” the colonel snarled shoving the pistol back into his holster. Carrying on through the trench he could feel the rain beginning to soak his officer's cap turning it into a limp mess on his head, if he had known this was going to happen he would have damn well worn his steel helmet out into the field.
            Suddenly the crack of rifles alerted him and the shouts of men that followed. His curiosity won out and he peered over the side of the trench to see a one of his ally battalions making a charge into enemy trenches. Schreiner could only thank his lucky stars the battle was far enough away he hopefully would not be caught up in it while he was alone. From his position he could just barely make out the gray shapes of men as they ran at one another, but in all his years of training the allied German soldiers were unmistakable although they had left their human selves deep in their trenches.
            Breaking into a run Bernhard carried on towards the sounds of battle, if anything he could at least be of use to the commander of the battalion up ahead. The screams of soldiers drew nearer as Colonel Schreiner moved swiftly between the earthen walls but in the next moment they seemed to die out altogether. The colonel knew that his senses were often unreliable in the trenches; seconds could just as easily be minutes and minutes, hours.
            The moans of the wounded filled the air and the stench of blood would not be washed away by the falling rain. Bernhard turned swiftly on the heels of his boots hearing the rustling of a cloak and the loud thud of the body that accompanied it fall behind him.
            A huge English soldier rose up from the dirt, inhuman noises gurgling from his throat, a long bayonet was clutched in the man's hand and the soldier's eyes were glazed and dead yet its body remained animate.
            Yes, it, there was nothing human left of the creature stumbling towards Bernhard, the officer realized. In horror Schreiner stared at the thing's head, a large portion of the skull was gone exposing the brain beneath. As an instinct Bernhard reached for the Luger in its holster but snatched his hand back reminded that the weapon was useless.
            The dying soldier still moved forward the bayonet glistening in the pounding rain. Bernhard's ice blue eyes darted to the side, falling on an abandoned long-handled spade. Lurching sideways the colonel gripped the weapon and raised it over his shoulder before running at the moaning man.
            His step never faltered and his hands never wavered as he brought the blade down into the creature's flesh. His blue eyes blazed and his feet almost left the ground as he slammed the spade into the enemy's body. His trench coat flapped softly behind him as the world slowed. Wet corn silk strands of hair fell loose over Bernhard's forehead and the cool rain was replaced by the sudden hot spurt of blood.
            The muddied steel cleaved the soldier's neck in two and the metal buried just above the chest. The officer could not be human in these moments, he had to be unmerciful even if it meant being unjust.
            The English soldier's mouth opened in a silent scream as blood gurgled up from its severed throat. The colonel winced as the Englishman choked on his final breath and the blood spattered onto his face. Bernhard leapt agilely backwards as the man stumbled forward. The dead man seemed to lose mass as he sank to his knees and fell face first into the mud clouded water below.
            The colonel's breaths came in strangled pants as he stood staring at the collapsed body impaled on the bent spade.
            “Sir!” a sudden cry came and Schreiner's head flew up to lock eyes with a disheveled soldier.
            “Weich! Oh, thank god you're here,” Bernard's shoulders slumped as the battle tensed muscles relaxed.
            “Colonel, are you all right?” Weich's rifle hung loosely in his hands as if he had just lowered it. His old trench coat clung to his thin body and stuck up in places like wet fur. Weich the dog suddenly was more comparable with a wet cat.
            “I'm fine, First Lieutenant,” Bernhard smiled weakly, “Just a little shaken.”
            “But he all but cut your leg off with that thing!” A new private peered his helmet-clad head around Weich's shielding body.
            “Hm?” Schreiner glanced down at his “wounded” leg. Opening up the front of his trench coat he sighed, “No, it's just a tear; the bayonet only went through my coat.”
            “Oh,” the young soldier crept out from behind Weich along with several others; Bernhard was struck for a moment by the strange thought of Otto's small form hiding so many others from view. But the thought passed as he looked mournfully at the pitifully small recruits, each couldn't be more than sixteen.
            “Weich, have you all your men?” Bernhard asked counting heads as they appeared and spread out in the narrow trench.
            Weich nodded, “Yes, sir, all men are accounted for. Our battalion is not far from here, we passed them before finding you here. Brennan is restless; the units beside us have begun taking trenches.”
            Schreiner smiled, the young Lieutenant became irritated when he wasn't allowed to man a machine gun, but the colonel needed all his officers, especially after the losses of other units' own. “Well, we'll just have to discuss our next attack with him, won't we? It's not only him who's restless; General Schreiber has sent several messages reprimanding me for our lack of movement.”

            Weich shook his head in agreement and turned to the young soldiers, “You heard the man, let’s get back to camp, is everyone here?” The boys glanced around before meekly nodding their heads and clustering around the first lieutenant who began ushering them down the trench. Schreiner smiled sadly, these boys were much too young to be here, more than once during a barrage he had seen them scatter and run to the comfort of the officers who would give it to them.

            The mists began to creep into the trenches as Bernhard followed his men back to uncertain safety and soon gray enveloped them.

***

            Days passed uneventfully and Bernhard’s battalion found themselves out of the trenches in time for the colonel’s twenty-third birthday. Not that Bernhard cared much at all, winter was upon them and preparations had to be made for the coming months. Preparations, now that’s a laugh, supplies were thinning and soldiers were going hungry in the trenches, the young recruits and even the old soldiers were becoming painfully thin, their ragged gray coats hung from their wilting forms and the flames of war that once blazed in their wild battle-hungry eyes had died, leaving only burned poisoned scars behind.

            Now the only thing that could numb their aching hearts was the burn of alcohol. And so he let them drink. Colonel Schreiner watched as a pile of splintered wooden furniture and other unrecognizable items rose in a dusty clearing where rain and sleet had not yet fallen. The men’s voices were raised in passionate songs as they built a fire for their commander and crates of scavenged alcohol were brought out from hiding places. Bernhard watched from a distance and shook his head in defeat, there was no reason they should even build him such a monstrosity, he didn’t deserve them, he was the cause of their pain after all. Though Otto and Fritz argued that he was only following orders, that Bernhard had nothing to do with this wretched war.

            “Quite a good batch of men we’ve got here,” Major Asche chuckled startling Schreiner with his sudden appearance.

            Bernhard snorted, “I guess you’re right, though I wish that they’d forget about me and just drink, there’s no reason they should celebrate their murderer.”

            The major shrugged his shoulders, “You have not brought death upon any one of their heads, sir, this war is not your doing.” Asche turned his head to face Bernhard, “If any one of our leaders had a head like yours on their shoulders this war would be long over.”

            “Ay, Fritz, you don’t give our boy enough credit, if our Wilhelm had a head like Bernhard’s this war would have never started.” Both men looked toward the source of the thickly accented German, layered with English drawl. Lieutenant Brennen and First Lieutenant Weich made their way up the gray knoll the officers stood atop. Brennen marched up to Major Asche extending one hand to shake the major’s own and clapped the other over Fritz’s healed shoulder.

            “Welcome back, just in time for our little drinking party, eh? Say, how’s that shoulder, of yours?” Edward laughed releasing the old soldier’s hand and patting his arm.

            The major grimaced and shrunk way from his harsh touch, “It’d be better if you stopped slapping the stitches.”

            Lieutenant Brennen drew his hand back quickly, “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize it still hurt. Well, you won’t be feeling anything for the next few hours so what’s a little pain to you?” The lieutenant took a step back and laughed hardily with his hands on his hips; Asche just shook his head and mumbled obscenities under his breath.

            Weich smiled apologetically for the Englishman’s rudeness and turned to his commanding officer, “Well, happy birthday, Bernhard, if it could be that.”

            Brennen’s lonely laughter finally left him out of breath and he shook his head disappointedly at his friend. “Weich, you really have no sense of fun. What he really means, sir, is happy birthday, we hope you have many more! And drink even more beers!” The raucous British laughter began again and the other three officers let out a collective sigh.

            “Oi, Brennen, stop your giggling and we’ll go down to get beer for our colonel,” Fritz suggested staring longingly at the cases of dark bottles being brought out by the soldiers.

            “Best idea I’ve heard all night, my dear Major,” Edward nodded violently, “We’ll be back!” The lieutenant and major disappeared over the ridge of the hill and into the crowd.

            Bernhard turned to Otto, “What am I to do without you?” he laughed.

            “I feel sorry for you, sir, that Brennen really is a handful, but I haven’t seen my family in a year, maybe longer. I have just as much a duty to them as I have to you.” Weich smiled and rubbed at the thin mustache sprouting on his upper lip, “That and I haven’t used a sharp razor or bathed in warm water since, I can’t recall.”

            The colonel laughed, “Well your wife I wish her the best, and those little girls of yours as well.”

            At that Weich frowned, “They won’t be so little anymore, I’ve missed so many years with them, Aloïsia will have outgrown all her old skirts. I wonder if they sell any material at the train stations, Ivonne will need it.”

            Bernhard smiled, “No worries, Otto, they sell just about anything they can get their hands on at those stops, the soldiers need souvenirs, you know. Its customs you should look out for, they’ve been taking up anything that the Empire can use, be sure to hide your things in your pack.”
            Otto nodded just as Brennen came galloping up the hill towards them, the major trudging behind him. “The boys are just about to light the fire,” Brennen sang out, “Why don’t we go down there?”

            Bernhard shook his head and took two bottles from the crate that Asche was carrying, “You go on ahead, I don’t like crowds, besides I’m sure Bauer needs a drink as much as the rest of us.”

            “But, sir,” Edward protested, but the colonel had already turned his back to them and was making his way to the ramshackle hut that Bauer had left in.”

            “Its odd how attached he has become to that girl,” Fritz muttered and dropped the crate onto the ground with a crash.

            “Careful…” Weich huffed, “I’m not surprised, the two of them are very much alike, stubborn as all hell.”

            Fritz let out a low laugh, “He’s young, and stupid at times, but I didn’t think that he would be this stupid. He’ll only get his heart broken, it’s a miracle the girl has survived this long.”

            “Maybe they’re meant to be.” Otto suggested and the major scoffed.

            “You’re starting to sound like Bernhard’s brother, all that “written in the stars” nonsense.”

            Brennen stared blankly at the two older men, “Or maybe he wants to share a drink with a girl.”

            The other two officers glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. “You’re not married,” they sighed on unison and the British Lieutenant had to take a swig from his beer.

 

***

The twilight had just begun when he made his entrance in her makeshift cell.

            “Happy birthday, sir,” Annemarie scoffed at him.

            The colonel snorted in annoyance and sat himself down on the opposite end of her cot. He tossed her one of the bottles beer he had been carrying.

            Annemarie caught it with ease, “What is this? You don't like celebrations?” she laughed icily.

            “Hate them,” Colonel Schreiner answered just as coldly. Cheers came from outside the cell causing the colonel to growl something unintelligible and pop the cap from his bottle.

            Taking a swig he looked toward the ceiling and sighed, “Weich is on leave in a few days.”

            Annemarie grimaced; Colonel Schreiner knew how much she despised Corporal Steif and allowed the lieutenant to take hours from his schedule to guard her.

            “God, why am I here?” snarled Schreiner, suddenly the walls were close together and he wished he had just gone alone into the forest.

            “Because outside a pointless war is being fought over a king killed for even more pointless reasons,” Annemarie said carefully prying the top of her drink off as well.

            “No, I meant, why am I here in this cell?” the colonel snapped back, that certainly was not the answer he was looking for. In fact he really was not looking for any answers, so what drew him here?

            “Where else would you go? Outside a bunch of alcoholic pyromaniacs are testing how drunk they can get before spontaneously combusting,” Annemarie answered dryly in her broken German.

            Colonel Schreiner laughed quietly the alcohol was beginning to lighten his mood.

 Annemarie grinned and took a sip from her bottle.          The two engaged in fleeting conversations until their drinks were almost empty. Annemarie suddenly became solemn; raising her bottle she proposed a toast.

            “To an end to this god-awful war,” Annemarie muttered.

            “To a peaceful end,” added Schreiner.

Annemarie nodded, “Prost!” she cried.

            “Prost!” echoed Colonel Schreiner and their bottles clanked together. The darkness was upon them and the candle was sputtering in a corner. Bernhard could tell that Annemarie wasn’t much of a drinker as her cheeks flushed and she began to mutter things to herself. Finishing his drink quickly he took the bottle from her faltering hands and drinking the final drops he mumbled a good night and left.

            The colonel stepped out into the darkness of the night and let the air cool his alcohol warmed cheeks. Shouts and laughter erupted from below the hill and Bernhard turned towards the bright glow of the bonfire. The men leapt and danced before the laughing flames and their shadows seemed to pull away from their owners, stretching and contorting their vaguely human bodies along the torn ground.

            Schreiner’s lips curled into a soft smile and the fire brightened his ice blue eyes, but he turned away from the warmth that the flames and his comrades offered him. The dark forests were calling their child and Bernhard answered. His heavy boots seems light as he entered the woods and for the first time in years his heart felt free. Free of the iron chains that bound him to his brother, free of the barbed wire that tied him to the battlefield.

            Here in the forests he had no commander, no king, no duty. The songs of his childhood filled the air and whispered in the leaves. The free man walked until the darkness had engulfed him and he only feared the light that would realization of the horrors that still haunted this land. He would return to that reality in the morning in the morning as the sun rose and brought its piercing rays, but until then Death with his bloody eyes would have to find some other prey to stalk.

 

***

            The gray truck growled and lurched forward. Weich sat smiling as the machine carried him away from the broken and scarred land and towards those he loved most. Splintered trees and shell craters blurred to black and gray in the morning mists and Otto felt his thin shoulders relax and the nervous shutters that wracked his narrow frame slow and fall way. Brown eyes closed and his senses faded. As Otto fell into oblivion all his anxieties were left behind. For once Weich seemed calm, no longer a nervous wreck in a gray trench coat. He was no longer the loyal dog, Weich, nor First Lieutenant Weich, he was Otto.

            “Wire!” The men standing called and even their military tone could not bring back the nervous shaking as Otto bowed his head and the wire above was lifted. The trucks snarled again as brakes whined and the smell of oil and coal filled the air.

            Otto leapt from the back of the crowded truck, careful to gather all his bags, heavy with mud spattered clothing. The men heading for their homes did not wait long for the train, luck was on the their side when the clanking train appeared only minutes later on the horizon belching greasy black smoke . The stationmaster congratulated the conductor on his first on-time arrival in months as Otto leapt aboard the train.

            Men crowded nearly every available space and the thin officer managed to squeeze himself into a warm corner. An hour behind schedule the engine emitted a piercing whistle and the carriage lurched forward, rocking as its chains crashed against the car in front of it. Soon the train pulled away from the ramshackle station, crowded with crates of supplies, and made its escape deeper into the country. The gentle rocking of the train car and the engine’s rhythmic chugging began to drown out its raucous occupants and lulled Otto into a deep sleep. 

Station after station passed him by and the stuffy boxcar slowly gave up its occupants to freedom. Cigarette smoke and the stench of sweat filled the humid air inside the car. Otto, awake once more, reached into his pack for a cigarette to calm his reawaking nerves.  The thin soldier leaned back against the vibrating wall of the car and let his smoldering cigarette droop between his chapped lips.

Shuffling beside him roused him from a hazy stupor and he stared up into the eyes of a young soldier.  “Sir, you don’t happen to have a cigarette to spare, do you? The young private asked in a rather charming country accent. In the trenches cigarettes, good ones especially, were a soldier’s treasure but Otto nodded his head, charmed by the young boy and handed him a thin cigarette.

“Thank you, sir,” the soldier smiled and happily sat himself beside the officer. The boy took out a box of matches and Otto watched as he expertly struck the flimsy stick against the slightly soggy matchbox, igniting it instantly. Otto laughed quietly as the boy lit his cigarette and smoked happily way. Hearing the officer chuckle the private turned to look at him.

“Something funny, sir?” he asked politely with confused eyes.

“How long have you been out at the front, soldier?” Otto smiled, playing with the cigarette between his thin lips.

“Three years, sir. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

The brunette nodded, “Yes, you certainly are, soldier.”

After a few moments of silence the soldier turned back to Otto, “I’m Paul, by the way, Paul Wolf.”

The officer smiled and shook the offered hand, “Otto, Otto Weich.”

Paul grinned cheerily, “It’s very nice to meet you, Otto,” the soldiers let the formalities drop and felt themselves become a little more human.

“And you too, Paul,” Otto agreed.

“So, are you on leave to visit your family?”

Otto nodded, “I haven’t seen them in what feels like forever. Mail has been slow lately and I haven’t gotten a letter in months.” Otto had been worried when the mail had first stopped arriving but the colonel had assured him that the mail was having trouble getting to the front, especially with their ever shifting position Nonetheless the young officer had worried.

Paul smiled, “My mother and father are waiting for me back home, I’m their only child, you see, so times have been hard for them.”

Otto shook his head knowingly and took a long drag from his cigarette before producing a tattered photograph from his breast pocket. The officer handed it to his companion who took it gently in his callused, dirty hands.

“My wife and daughters,” he explained pointing each one out in turn, “Sommer, Aloïsia, and Ivonne.”

Paul let out a low whistle and grinned wolfishly at as the officer pointed to his wife last. Otto snatched the photo away immediately. “I see why they call you Wolf,” he growled threateningly in response, but it only elicited more pealing giggles from the boy. “That’s my wife, soldier, and don’t you forget that.”

Paul finally calmed himself and offered his own photograph in recompense, “My mother and father, Louisa and Adolf.”

“Did your father join the army?” Otto asked glancing at the man’s simple clothes.

Paul shook his head, “No, his leg got him out, an old farming accident,” he explained.

Otto handed the photograph back as the train began to slow and huddled masses of soldiers awoke from their slumbers. Paul shifted beside Otto and began to collect his bags. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Otto, but this is my station.”

Otto nodded and shook the young man’s hand again before Paul turned to push his way through the crowd of men. The thin brunette gripped his bags and hurried to the window to watch as Paul leapt from the train and walked across the platform. The soldier glanced over his shoulder to see the officer there and waved, a bright smile lighting his face. Otto waved back and the train jolted forward as Paul made his way down the dirt road and past the expanse of fields, the sun setting slowly behind him.

 

***

The following day driving rain fell in sheets and rattled on the roof of the train car. Otto placed his cap on his head to keep off the water that ran through the gaps in the roof. Soon the slow trickles turned into steady streams of freezing rainwater and the already soggy officer filled his steel helmet with the icy water to keep it from soaking his damp luggage. In his lap lay a warm sack of mismatched cloths and worn fabrics that he had bought at the station where the train had stopped to refill its load of coal. The cloth wasn’t much but he could almost see his wife’s smiling face as she crouched over her sewing machine, humming along to the quick purring of the machine.

Glancing out the window of the train Otto watched in interest as thick smog began to envelope the train and the warm smell of faraway smoke filled his nostrils. His brow creased and he stood to peer out the watery glass. A bright yellow lantern swung over the tracks and the train slowed as the shape of a man emerged from the smoke and rain. Otto opened the window as the man began to speak.

“Last stop is here!” he shouted at the conductor, “Tracks are destroyed up ahead! Can’t go any further!”

Otto’s heart dropped into his stomach and lurched back up his throat. His town was the next stop away, he didn’t come this far to turn back for some broken up tracks. Grabbing his bags and emptying his filled helmet on the floorboards of the train Otto threw open the car door and leapt to the ground.

The man with the lantern heard Otto’s hasty approach and turned to see to the officer barreling towards him, shoulders forward and hunched in deadly determination. The man gave a start and stood in Otto’s path, arms spread wide to stop his advancement. “Sir, I cannot permit you to go further!” he shouted, voice trembling, but his body stiff and unwavering.

Otto growled under his breath and marched up to the man, “Are you defying a superior officer?” He snarled, lips curling to bare his teeth at the man who seemed to be shrinking under him every moment.

“Sir, orders are to turn back! Bombings have made the area dangerous!” replied the man with the lantern, his arms still spread as if they had locked and he could move them no more.

“I don’t care! That is my family past here and I am seeing them!” the clouds roared and heavy raindrops fell like stones from the sky, stinging on bare skin and running down Otto’s face, twisted into a horrible snarl.

“I understand that, sir, but-”

“There is no question about it, let me pass!” The soldier with the lantern trembled as he tried to summon a new argument when shouts erupted from the train cars.

“Let us through! Let us through!” shouted men of all ranks as they leapt from the car doors. A few of the train’s officers tried to beat the sudden rush of men back but some threw open the windows and tumbled out, hitting the ground with dull thuds before leaping to their feet.

A uniform-clad crowd began to surge forward, towards the man that attempted to block their passage, “Let us through, let us go to them!” The soldiers chanted and the line of officers that had run up to defend the trembling man with the lantern once again tried in vain to push back the chanting mob. Finally the line of officers scattered and the soldiers leapt forward with a cheer. Rain streamed from their glowing faces and some began to spin and twirl in their long gray trench coats, dancing with imaginary lovers that waited just miles away.

Otto spoke with a few of the other soldiers who patted his shoulders and kissed his cheeks in their elation, but as the miles wore on the group began to thin. Many left for their farms and their gentle wives along the way while others, with little to go home to, turned back to the train as bomb craters deepened and lightening slashed the sky with brutal claws. The acrid air was heavy in Otto’s nostrils and the rain weighed the ash down but still embers cackled in the blackened husks of houses that they passed. After what seemed like hours Otto and his small group of companions climbed the ridge that overlooked their village and stopped.

Brick houses lay in ruins and wooden homes had burned to the ground. The buildings that still stood were boarded up; sandbags lined the streets like the plentiful sacks of vegetables that vendors once sold on the cobbled lane. A strong wind blew up from the ruined town carrying stinging soot into the soldiers’ eyes. Pained tears welled in Otto’s brown eyes as ash clung to his eyelashes and he sneezed as he inhaled the sickening smoke. Death had taken the town.

The ragged and muddied soldiers slowly made their way down the ridge and into their town, muffled silence was broken by occasional murmurs of disgust, disgust that no one had protected their home. Disgust in the fact that they themselves had not been there to fight for the town.

Otto stood motionless upon the hill until the wooden creak of a farm cart moved up beside him and an old man stood by his side. The white haired man turned to stare into the blackened depths of the city where choking black smoke rose from the rain’s extinguished fires. His grizzled sooty mustache twitched in a murmur of remorse for the wounded land.

“Nothing much to go back to, son, I wouldn’t stay long.” The old man finally said, his voice wise, but Otto’s ears heard no wisdom.

“Who did this, old man, who did this to us?” Otto’s watery brown eyes faded and became cold, glassy, and dead.

The old farmer shrugged, “They came in the night, buzzing and swooping, lights weren’t turned on ‘til it was too late. Son, you should’ve heard the guns going off, all ack-ack, but nothing else, all bright lights and smoke.”

“Have you seen them?”

“Seen who, son? I’ve seen a lot of people in my time.”

“My family, have you seen them?”

“Families are no different, soldier, used to have one of my own.” The man still looked up at the straight backed soldier asking for a better description but only stifled silence met him so the stooped stranger reached up a callused hand and rested it upon the officer’s shoulder before pulling his creaking cart down the hill.

Otto stood upon the ridge for a moment more until he could stand it no longer. His long spindly legs seemed to pull him forward as he raced over the bristling dead grass.

***

Dead, dead, they were all dead, even he, with his beating heart, was dead. The blackened asylum truck bounced over broken cobbles, taking him away from the town filled with its unmarked graves. The soldier was left to wallow in his diseased grief. He had no voice; words were strained and painful in his raw throat. He had screamed for hours, howling their names, shaking every passing stranger pleading them to tell him where they were, but pleading had fallen away and he begun to demand them to tell them where they had hidden his family, where they had taken them. But no one in the town had taken them, the planes had stolen his family from him, Ivonne, Aloïsia, Sommer, they were gone. No longer would he see Ivonne’s long brown hair, or her defiant dark blue eyes. Aloïsia would not greet him on the step of their house and refuse to wrap her arms him with pouting lips, as his punishment for returning home late, and her sister Sommer, with her soft golden hair so unlike her mother’s and sister’s. He would no longer attempt to braid the corn silk strands when she asked him to do so. No longer hear his wife’s chiding voice when she playfully smacked his hands away and braided her daughter’s hair correctly.

No more, no more, no more. Death had descended upon his town and alighted in his heart as well, a heaving black bird, ever growing, its sharp dirty claws tearing at his innards and its stiff greasy feathers filling his throat and choking him.

Otto glanced about the asylum truck; most of the patients were quiet, grief ridden soldiers like himself. One man had his knees drawn up to him was rocking back and forth, murmuring and counting on his fingers. Occasionally he would laugh quietly or let out a broken whimper, as if he was torn between giggling hysterically and brokenly wailing. In the far corner of the truck a man was crouched, staring at the passengers with an animalistic gleam in his eyes. Drool ran down his chin and he occasionally reached up to wipe the foamy spit from the corners of his mouth with a damp sleeve like a child. If a man leaned to close to him the patient would bare his teeth in a twisted snarl and growl like a rabid dog, gurgling and choking. In the farthest corner a huddled mass of ragged uniform and soldier smelled heavily of urine.

Otto reached a hand into the folds of his thick, coarse trench coat and felt the heavy lump that rested there. He rubbed his hand against it a few times, feeling how his own warmth and the coat heated the bitter steel, before finally drawing the pistol. A few of the soldiers glanced up and followed his movements with deadened eyes. One let out a whimper and drew his legs up in front of him, his entire body shivering and quaking, terrified eyes peeped up from behind his kneecaps to check if the gun was still there and if it was pointed at him. The man counting on his fingers giggled for a few moments before falling back into hushed silence as he stared in awe at the man with the pistol, his fingers still counting, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

The dog man stopped growling and watched him with wary eyes, curiously sniffing. A young man, not even twenty yet, sucked in a breath to call out to the drivers but the elderly veteran beside him nudged him with an elbow and shook his head, his eyes cold and sharp.

There was nothing left of Otto but his heavy uniform. He was no longer a father, a lover, he was not even a man, just a soldier, just a pawn, used until he could not fight any more. And this was him, being brave, saving himself; this was his final act of bravery. That was the only way he could rationalize what he was about to do. Slowly and carefully, so as not to make a mistake the soldier placed the muzzle of the pistol against his left temple, feeling the cool steel numb his skin.

The soldier drew in a suffering breath, his body shuddering. Faded brown eyes shut slowly and a small whimper escaped his throat. The trigger clicked softly beneath his finger.

The bang resonated in the gray truck and chaos erupted. Barks and howls woke the ragged soldier with his stained, stinking clothes. The dead eyes of the shell-shocked veterans watched the slumped form that rocked with the jerky stop of the asylum truck. The terrified boy screamed and cried, his bony fingers tearing at the old soldier’s uniform beside him and crazed screams rose from the once silent idiots. The fingers tapped out a steady beat, one two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, a new tap was added and the crazed soldier giggled softly.

 The drivers ran to the back of the truck and threw open the back of the truck. The motionless body of the thin first lieutenant fell to the ground with the dull thud of a dead body, his pistol held loosely in his hand.

More screams came from inside the truck as the mad dog man rushed the drivers snarling and barking, saliva ran from his twisted mouth in thick foaming ropes. He hurled himself upon a driver, biting and tearing at the man’s uniform. The driver fell screaming onto the hard dirt road as he attempted to pull his pistol from his pocket to defend himself. His companion looked on for a moment in stupid fear before pulling his rifle from where it was slung on his shoulder. Another shot cracked in the thick humid air and the dog man turned to face the other driver, saliva now red with blood, his eyes glazed in pain. He coughed once, spattering the road with bright red droplets before he fell heavily on the man beneath him.

The driver squirmed under the dead weight to free himself and kicked his feet wildly to move away from the bleeding broken body. The two drivers stared at the crumpled men that lay before them as rain began to fall in torrents and thunder drowned out the screams of the idiots in the truck. Despite the horrors that they had seen the eyes of the dead soldiers were peaceful and their mouths opened in silent thanking for their release from their tortured world. And the rain fell.

 

Part XIII

Letters That Shall Not be Forgot

To: Colonel Bernhard Schreiner

From: First Lieutenant Otto Weich

 

First, sir, I must apologize. I have defied your orders. I have turned against my country, I have abandoned Germany. But, sir, you must understand, I have nothing, everything has been taken from me, but I don’t feel hatred, just grief. Its cold, sir, grief is so cold. My blood is frozen in my veins and my hands are shaking, hatred for my family’s killer is not enough to warm me, to burn this ice from my heart. My heart seems to have stopped beating, it sits heavy in my chest and my gun is pressed against it. The lunatics are watching me as I write this, their eyes are dead and all humanity has leaked from them, making bloody puddles on the floor. I wonder if my eyes look like that.

Sir, is this what you felt when your brother left you? I hope not, but I also hope that the flames of hatred aren’t the only things keeping your blood warm. God, does everyone feel like this? Help me, sir, it hurts, too much. Sir, if you can possibly help it, if it isn’t too much to ask of you, ensure no one ever feels like this, not Brennen, not Asche, not Steif, and especially not yourself. And Annemarie, the girl we found in the poppies, she mustn’t meet the same end as I. I want to die, I cannot live any longer, everything about me is dead and yet I am still trapped in this broken, tired body. I’m so tired, sir, so tired. Promise me, this is my dying wish, my will, promise me that Annemarie will be happy and that she my live a life that my daughters will never have. Promise me and forgive me.

Sincerest apologizes,

Otto Weich

***

To: Colonel Bernhard Schreiner

From: Army Headquarters

 

It is with great sadness that the general must inform you of the death of First Lieutenant Otto Weich. Weich took his own life on an asylum truck not form from his home town. Though it is certain that the cause of death was suicide we assure you that his death is being looked into as there was a related death soon afterwards on the same vehicle. Once again we send our deepest regrets as the death of any soldier is the death of one of our own brothers.

***

Bernhard, the whole of my office sends their condolences. I feel your loss as if it were my own. Dearest brother, I will ensure that First Lieutenant Weich is buried along with the remains of his family with full military honors, despite the circumstances of his death. But Bernhard, I must warn you, the rumors are growing. The Belgian woman has become a regular subject in my office, if you a keeping this woman as prisoner, get rid of her, soon. The general has grown suspicious but I assure him that you would never keep a spy in your camp and refuse to send her to Headquarters or execute her. Bernhard, little brother, I’m begging you, do not attempt anything that you will regret. I worry there will come a time when I cannot save you.

Sincerely, your loving brother,

                          Astor G. Schreiner

***

            “Full military honors, sir?” Fraulein Weiss glanced over the paper at her superior sitting before her, hands clasped tightly in front of his fox-like face.

            “Yes, Fraulein, as much as I would like not to, my brother… He needs some way to cope with this situation.” The first lieutenant’s thin fingers ran through his mussed blond hair and his chest swelled in a sigh.

            “You care about your brother very deeply, don’t you sir?” Weiss commented as she gathered up the papers and letters that she was to send out for him. A strand of light brown hair fell from behind her ear and she reached up instinctively to brush it back.

            The pale hands stopped on the top of Astor’s head, pulling his fair hair back and out of his sharp blue eyes that gazed up at the secretary. He let out a small laugh, “I guess I do Fraulein, Bernhard is my world. His eyes are the blue in my skies.”

            Fraulein Weiss giggled chirpingly at the poetic statement and the flashing white grin he gave her. As she bent to gather up more papers a bony hand, strained from years of writing at a desk reached up and clasped her cheek. Thin, cold lips were pressed against her own and her bottle-green eyes, tinted with dark golden flecks widened to stare at the man leaning across his desk. They parted and brutally cold eyes pierced her through.

            “Of course, Fraulein, I’m sure there is room in my heart for you.”

***

Bernhard stared at the three letters held in his trembling hands. Tears threatened to seep from his china blue eyes. The first letter was handwritten, the words slanted and shaky. Otto had barely been able to hold the pencil as he was writing. Dark spots stained the oily paper where rain and tears had fallen upon it. Bernhard silently thanked the stars that no blood had touched the letter.

The second letter was typed on thick yellow paper. Some unknown general’s signature gave the letter its blessing. Bernhard resisted the urge to tear the sheet into shreds or pitch it at the stoic major who stood like the reaper in a corner of the tent. The lying words were printed so neatly, so perfectly, so disgustingly on the pious paper, like a letter sent from an uncaring god, from a nonexistent heaven.

And the third. The third message, from an angel of that indifferent lord, for some reason it elicited unwanted feelings of thanks and sadness, even more so than the letter from the late lieutenant. Bernhard did not want to believe his brother’s words, but just the promise of honor for one of his beloved officers, a warm buzz began in his chest and he tried to force it down, wanting only to hate his brother. The word “loving” was written in minuscule lettering between the printed template that Astor had set up specifically for letters to his brother. And the final sentences of that letter made fear course through his veins, not for himself, but for Annemarie, the girl from the poppies. What if he was not able to save her? What if even Astor was not able to help her? Something would have to happen soon, and he needed a plan to save Bauer from harm’s way.

“Sir?” Asche’s gravelly voice broke through his thoughts and Bernhard looked up to see the major’s dulled gray eyes, sunken into his grim face. “Sir, what are your orders?”

Colonel Schreiner fixed him in his tired lifeless gaze and spoke, “Get the girl.”

The major disappeared in a flutter of gray flapping wings.

***

“Get up, girl!” Asche snarled standing the sleeping prisoner up. Annemarie was too tired to snap back a retort and followed him as he forced her through the compound to Schreiner's tent, his hand was heavy and tight on her frail shoulder and her blue eyes darted up to his severe face as the hurried through the camp. 

            When they arrived the major sat Annemarie down in a chair and straightened, “I brought her, sir!” Major Asche barked.

            The colonel was seated in a chair across from her. On the table were spread maps with marked hills, pins, and on top, three letters, the colonel stared at them as if they were Death itself.

            “Bauer,” Colonel Schreiner rasped, his voice was tired, and bags had begun to form under his eyes marring his pale face. Lifting his head he looked straight into her eyes, the dappled blues just clearing from sleep's mists. “Read,” Schreiner pushed a yellow letter towards her, running a hand through his mussed blond hair, soft strands sticking up at odd angles and falling about his face.

            Taking the paper Annemarie began to read the black, typed font. “My god, no,” the girl gasped and immediately she began to chew at her trembling bottom lip. Annemarie's hands shook, “Why? Why him?” she rasped, tears choking her throat like weeds.

            “Because this is war and it does not choose its victims, innocent or guilty,” the colonel growled. Suddenly he stood nodding to Asche. “Major, fetch me Brennen,” Schreiner ordered.

            “Yes, sir,” Major Asche saluted and flew out of the tent.

            “Unfair, isn't it? One man loses all, while the other takes his place,” Colonel Schreiner sighed, having regained his composure.

            “But why Weich?” Annemarie choked out, wanting so badly for it to be untrue, for the man who had become like a father to her to return, to tell her stories of his children and what his wife had made for them out of cloth he had brought her.

 “I've already answered that, Bauer, war is an awful sport.”

            Annemarie shuddered and placed the paper back on the colonel's desk. “Brennen will be taking his place,” she repeated looking away from him, feeling as if it had been his fault. Weich had been his soldier after all. Weren’t commanders supposed to protect their men, to save them?

            “Correct.” The harsh word made her flinch away from reality.

“May I go now?” Annemarie asked, pushing herself up from the chair, slowly.

            “Yes,” replied Schreiner and so she left, wobbling on unsure feet, clenching her fists and grinding her teeth loudly to prevent a sob from escaping her chapped lips.

            For a few cold moments he stood alone and desolate in the empty tent. Finally the shuffle of heavy boots drew near and the major appeared with the lieutenant. Major Asche saluted but Brennen stood with his head lowered and an angry flame burned in his green eyes, his mouth set in a hard grimace.

Colonel Schreiner gave a dismissive salute to the major and their hands dropped to their sides.

            “Sir, Second Lieutenant Brennen as you-”

            “Is he really dead?” Brennen snapped, cutting off the major.

            Schreiner nodded tersely, “Yes, Brennen, he’s dead.”

            “Oh, god, how?”

            “Suicide…”

            “And his wife?”

            “Dead, along with his children.”

            “Damn it all, damn it all to hell…” Brennen’s voice cracked with the strain off his loss, his hands, clenched in fists of rage, opened and he reached up, kneading his callused fingers through his hair. “When did it happen?”

            “Five days ago, the letters just arrived,” Colonel Schreiner replied.

            “They won’t bury him like he deserves, they’ll just throw him in another grave, no military honors, just mud and a goddamn cross.”

            “I’ve been assured that Weich will receive an honorable burial,” Schreiner countered.

            “By who, some general with another generic name, another Mueller or Stein?” the lieutenant growled, his teeth showing beneath his thin lips.

            Schreiner’s brow creased, “A reputable source…” He replied vaguely and the lieutenant stared up at him.

            “Why am I here, Colonel?” he rasped, the color draining from his green eyes as the anger slowly faded into mourning.

            “You will take Weich’s place as my first lieutenant,” Schreiner answered, “The papers will arrive soon; I suggest you go and console your new charge.”

            Brennen’s eyebrow rose and he studied the colonel, “I am to look out for Bauer?”

            “I expect nothing less, Brennen, hers is a life we must protect, it was Weich’s last wish that she live a life his daughters will not have.”

            Brennen nodded quickly and his hands dropped down to his sides, “I promise no harm will come to her, I promise that to Otto.”

            “You are dismissed,” Schreiner nodded.

            “Thank you, sir,” Brennen gave a short salute and stalked quickly out of the tent.

            As the new first lieutenant’s footsteps faded Major Asche turned to the colonel, “Are you sure you are doing the right thing?”

            “What do you mean, Major?” the colonel sighed glancing at him.

            “The girl, Bauer, are you sure that this is best for her?”

            “Major, it is my duty to protect her,”

            “You also have a duty to your men, and to yourself, you are placing them in danger by jeopardizing your position as commanding officer.”

            “Do you not believe in your ability to lead this battalion?” Colonel Schreiner asked, raising an eyebrow at the major.

            “Sir, that’s not-”

            “The point? Major, I am relying on you to look out for my men, I am falling from grace, my angels from on high may not be able to catch me.”

            Major Asche stared blankly at the colonel, “You have certainly become rather religiously minded, Colonel.”

            “I wouldn’t call it that, Major, it seems to me that the heaven we have all prayed to is on this earth, flawed and corrupted. Angels are milling around the Kaiser’s offices with paper and pens.”

            “And your brother, is he your guardian angel? Your reputable source?” Fredrick questioned.

            The colonel snorted and a grin alighted upon his face, his canines gleaming in the dying light. “I’m sure you could call him that.”

            “These angels seem more like demons, sir.”

            Colonel Schreiner glanced up at his dearest friend, “Major you are missing my point. No one dies in heaven. We are the devils, trapped in hell, where the sinners are left to fight and rot. The angels enjoy the pearly office buildings and wars fought on paper.”

            “What is Bauer then?”

            The grin dropped from Bernhard’s face and he stared at the major, but as quickly as the smile vanished it reappeared again, “She is human, undecided whether to live in hell or rest in pieces with the angels.”

            The stoic major blinked and chuckled darkly, “Well then, sir, it has been an honor to burn with you, and tell your brother that it would delight me to see the angels here in hell.”

 

***

            Brennen opened the creaking door that lead into a small storehouse where Annemarie had been put up. He glanced at the sleeping girl, feeling pity for the tired and frail girl. The fire had died from her eyes, all life drained out of her during the passing years, she had lost the fight that she once had. Often they left the cell door unlocked, knowing that she hadn’t the energy to escape, or even try.

            The lieutenant took a pace forward before he noticed the stream of deep red blood seeping from the girl’s heel, pooling on the canvas cot. He turned quickly and exited the storehouse. Brennen set a brisk pace for the medic’s station, inside a burned out brick house. Opening the door he glanced about the sagging cots and brownish sheets, a few nurses were reading sheets with small scrawl looped across it, many men lay condemned by the quick and nearly illegible writing.

            “Brennen, sir, how may I help you?” the head medic appeared seemingly from nowhere and walked quickly over to the lieutenant.

            “Bauer seems to have cut her heel, its bleeding quite a bit.” Brennen replied, “She’s sleeping right now, but could you treat her?”

            The medic cocked his head, “Of course, let me get my bag.”

            “Thank you, Bach,” Brennen said as the medic stooped to pick up a brownish satchel from where it sat by the door.

            “No worries, sir, this is my job,” Bach answered with a quick smile and the two headed out the door.

            They hurried across the compound, the shorter medic trying to keep pace with the lieutenant’s long stride. Bach had always found it funny how tall the officers seemed to be in comparison to everyone else in the battalion. The only officer he could ever keep pace with was the thin Lieutenant Weich, who walked slowly so to not overtake his superiors.

            Upon entering the storehouse Bach immediately hurried over to the sleeping girl’s cot. “You were right to call me, sir, the cut is deep. I’ll have to disinfect it first, you really shouldn’t let her walk without her boots on, there is so much debris here that can cause infection.”

            The medic wet a cloth with alcohol and rubbed it gently over the wound; Annemarie whimpered in her sleep but did not awake from her sleep. “She’s tired, isn’t she?” Bach sighed wrapping the girl’s heel in gauze.

            “Yes, she used to be such a fighter, but now, she doesn’t even have the strength to snap at the colonel.”

            “Have you considered sending her to a POW camp?” Bach asked as he tied off the ribbon of gauze.

            “She wouldn’t last any longer there, but I can’t help but wonder if we should have done that long ago,” Brennen sighed. The creak of the door alerted the lieutenant and medic and the tell-tale thud of boots accompanied the pale blue eyes of the colonel.

            Bernhard stepped in and nodded a greeting to the medic, “I noticed you with the medic, Brennen, is there something wrong?”

            The lieutenant shrugged, “Bauer cut her foot, I asked Bach to treat it.”

            Bach stood, “The cut is deep, but with the right care it shouldn’t become infected.”

            Schreiner nodded, “Thank you, Bach. Brennen, stay here and watch her, she’s under orders not to let that become infected.”
            “Of course, sir,” the lieutenant replied and the medic and colonel left.

***

Brennen reached down and shook the girl’s shoulder gently a quarter of and hour had passed and the lieutenant had grown tired of waiting. Annemarie’s blue eyes fluttered opened slowly before realizing that she did not recognize the man. Gasping, the girl flattened herself against the wall of the storehouse and stared directly into the fierce green eyes.

            The man rose slowly to his full height, “The colonel said you might react like that,” he huffed with an irritated sigh.

            “Who are you?” Annemarie demanded.

            “It's no surprise you don't recognize me,” the man laughed, “Everyone says I'm quite average.” He was right everything about the man was average, average height, average weight. Even his hair was a completely forgettable shade, a dirty blond, except, of course, his eyes, a startling green like spring grasses.

            “Allow me to introduce myself; I am newly appointed First Lieutenant Edward Brennen.”

            “He's already replaced him...” Annemarie whispered.

            Lieutenant Brennen looked at her gently, “Colonel Schreiner mourns the loss of Weich, but you have to understand that we have to move onward,” he said softly.

            They sat silently for a moment, staring at the hard dirt floor. Finally Annemarie pulled her legs up toward her, examining the white gauze that clung to her once bloodied foot.

            “You're not from Germany, are you?” she asked. There was a strange accent to his words, something foreign, almost like a fog hung on his sentences.

“Very perceptive,” Brennen complimented. “Do you speak English?” he asked in his native tongue.

 Annemarie's head snapped up, she stared at him. The language was foreign and strange, not harsh like German, but not soft and liquid like French.

 “Excuse me?” Annemarie was utterly confused.

            “That would be a no,” Lieutenant Brennen laughed. “I was born and raised in England, London to be exact,” his accent filled the room. “My father was offered a well-paid job in Berlin and so we transferred,” Brennen explained.

            “Why didn't you leave Germany when you had a choice? Everyone knew war was coming.”

 “I never said I don't like this country,” Brennen replied, “And I always felt a profound respect for the military, so I joined.” He looked away, “But that was when I was young and foolish,” the lieutenant smiled regretfully.

            Annemarie nodded, she understood, people saw at the military as those who protect their country, but when the plague of war strikes and they realize what terrors it brings, it not only becomes about saving their homeland, but also themselves.

            After a very uncomfortable silence Lieutenant Brennen straightened, fixing Annemarie in his bright gaze. “Stay off that foot, you're under orders of Colonel Schreiner not to cause that wound to become infected. Understood?”

            Annemarie gave him a slight smile, “Understood, Lieutenant Brennen.”

            And with that the officer turned on his heel and promptly left.

***

            “It’s infected,” sighed Bach, looking down at the feverish Annemarie.

            “Well, what can you do, Bach?” the colonel asked, looking hopefully at the young medic.

            “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do anything here, she’ll have to be taken to a hospital.”

            “You know I can’t do that, Bach, she’ll be in danger of-”

            “You don’t have choice, sir, if you want to save her she must be taken to a hospital, if the infection spreads she will lose her leg, any further, and her life.” Bach replied, cutting off the colonel.

            Colonel Schreiner glanced mournfully at the fatigued girl, “Fine, I’ll get Major Asche to drive her to the nearest hospital.”

***

            The clank of artillery filled the misty morning air as Colonel Schreiner’s battalion made its way down a desolate road, days had passed since Annemarie had been taken to the hospital and the colonel had been on edge ever since.

            “Do you think she’s safe, Major?” Schreiner asked glancing over at Fritz from atop his horse.

            “Sir, I’m sure she will be fine, if we receive word of trouble you can be assure I will retrieve her.”

            The colonel sighed and stared off into the gray mists. “Major, do you see that?” Bernhard asked squinting.

            “What, sir?”

            “That black thing,” Schreiner repeated, “There,” he pointed, “It seems to be moving toward us.”

            The major reached into his coat and produced a pair of binoculars, “It looks like an animal to me, sir, I’ll go look.”

            Major Asche placed the binoculars around his neck and lowered himself off his horse, handing the reins to Colonel Schreiner. “Be careful, Major,” Bernhard warned.

            “Of course, sir,” Major Asche hurried forward, keeping his eyes trained on the black object in front of him. As he drew near the form stumbled and fell, lying motionless on the dirt road.

            Heavy boots moved closer and stopped, the major looked down at the great pile of tangled fur that lay at his feet. “Poor old thing,” he muttered, seeing the dog’s dry pink tongue lolling out of its mouth and its sides heaving as it gasped for breath. Reaching down he gathered the dog into his arms and walked back toward the convoy.

            The colonel halted the horses when the major reached them and looked down at the dirty animal in his arms. “Major, what is that thing?”

            “It’s a dog, sir.”

            “Looks more like a bear, is it dead?” The colonel asked turning up his nose at the limp dog, its coat matted and torn.

            “No, sir, it just needs some food and water, it should be fine.” Major Asche replied.

            “We’ll be arriving at the area the general asked us to be in an hour or so, can it make it that long.”

            Major Asche nodded his head, “Yes, I’ll take it to the wagons and give it some water, but we can keep moving.”

            Schreiner’s brow rose, “Are you planning on keeping it, Major?”

            “Yes, sir, I’m sure the dog will be worth its keep, once I train it.”

            Bernhard shrugged, “All right, Major, I hope to see an improvement soon.”

            Asche grinned, his mustache twitching, “It won’t be long at all, sir.”

***

            Bernhard, I have received word from a field hospital that a Belgian prisoner has been left there for treatment. She has been described as having light brown hair and blue eyes. There is an infected cut on her foot and she is extremely fatigued both physically and mentally. The doctor reports that she was dropped off by a Major Asche. I assume that he would be one of your officers, am I correct? Bernhard, this is a mistake. I can only keep this from the general for so long, he will find out. I suggest you come up with a way to get rid of her before the general investigates. Hurry.

Sincerely, your brother,

Astor G. Schreiner

***

            “I order you to return Bauer immediately!” Major Asche snarled.

            “Sir, I cannot do that! She should be sent to a POW camp or executed! This is against regulations!” the doctor shot back, his small eyes gleaming with malice behind his glasses.

            “You have no authority over me here! Take me to her this instant!” the major yelled back and turned on his heel, marching down the hall of the hospital, leaving the nuns and nurses to leap out of his way.

            The doctor grabbed onto the major’s arm and attempted to pull him back but Asche swatted him away and entered the ward. “Sir, I said this is against regulation! I can have you court martialed!”

            “I like to see you try, doctor!” Major Asche snapped, seeing Annemarie leap up from her cot and stare across the room at him. “Bauer, you are leaving, now.”

            Annemarie nodded and slid her feet into her boots. The major grabbed her coat from off the bed post and handed it to her before they walked briskly out of the hospital, passing by the doctor hurriedly attempting to dial a number into the phone on the wall.

            “General Schreiber will hear about this! Just you wait!” he shouted down the hall after them.

            “Tell the general to stuff it!” Asche snarled back and he slammed the heavy wooden door with a bang. Annemarie jumped at the sound but Asche guided her back to the truck and helped her inside. He started the roaring engine and looked seriously over at her, “You’d best be thankful, Bauer, that Colonel Schreiner cares so much for people like you, otherwise, I would have left you there.”

***

“So how was your stay?” Colonel Schreiner grinned at Annemarie from across his desk.

            “Not as pleasant as I had hoped,” Annemarie responded sourly. Upon returning to the camp Asche had taken her to the colonel’s tent for her report, and to meet a rather unlikely new comrade.

            Schreiner smiled laughingly, “This is a war zone.”

            “It's more peaceful on the front lines than in the matchbox they called a hospital,” she replied bitterly, Annemarie paused before saying quietly, “There was so much blood there.”

            Schreiner clenched and unclenched his gloved fist, “Here we stare into the muzzles of guns, there they sow together what's left when it's all over.”

            Annemarie looked away, “Without peace we would not know war. Without war we would not know peace,” she whispered.

            Colonel Schreiner sat in silence for a long time before finally standing, “Bauer, follow me,” he commanded. She shot to her feet and followed on his heels. The barking of a dog became apparent to her as they neared the center if the compound.

            “Quiet!” came a shout and the baying ended immediately. In the middle of the camp Major Asche was rattling off orders to a large black dog at his feet. Its intelligent eyes, black as coal and clear as glass, studied the major’s every move. The dog's muscles rippled as it obeyed every command without hesitation.

            “How is everything, Major?” Colonel Schreiner called to Major Asche.

            “The dog responds perfectly to every command. He will easily earn his keep,” replied the Major saluting.

            The colonel nodded approvingly, “Bauer, this canine is our newest addition.”

            Annemarie felt a smile creep onto her lips. “What is his name, sir?”

            “Kleiner Hund,”

Annemarie tried her hardest not to laugh, “Little Dog?”

            “Yes, well,” Colonel Schreiner's eyes flashed embarrassment; even he knew the poor thing's name was idiotic, “The dog's name is still up for debate.”

            Annemarie was surprised at the rare show of emotion in Schreiner's eyes. She watched for a moment more as the embarrassment faded into the ice. Suddenly Annemarie realized she had been staring into the pale eyes for much too long and the colonel was beginning to notice.

            “Uh, yes, I'll think about it. If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like to return to my cell.”

            Schreiner looked at her, his icy eyes hard. “Asche, take her back.”

            “Yes, sir!” and with that Annemarie was whisked to her cell in a flurry of gray fabric. Leaving Colonel Schreiner completely confused with a black bundle of fur sitting near his heels, waiting impatiently for the command that would release it.

***

            The dog was howling. “Goddamn,” muttered Colonel Schreiner shifting in the wooden chair he had fallen asleep in. “Major Asche better tell that thing to shut up before I...”

            Blue eyes widened, there was a noise other than the incessant baying coming from the dog. Buzzing, the sound of propellers buzzing filled the air. Bernhard rushed out of the tent hearing the sound of boots striking the ground.  He watched as the men rushed from collapsed houses and barns into basements and underground stores. Voices were raised and spotlights tore through the black sky, searching for the planes. The anti-aircraft guns thudded and the ground shuddered.

             But amidst the chaos and violence Bernhard could only think of one thing, Bauer was sleeping in an exposed storehouse.  Rushing across the compound, the colonel threw open the door and the flash of a bomb behind him illuminated the room. Annemarie sat silently upon her cot, her eyes blank.

            “Bauer, get out of here! It’s dangerous! We have to find a cellar!” Bernhard shouted but she just looked up at him, uncomprehendingly. “Bauer! Listen to me!” he shouted again but the result was the same.

             He leapt across the room and pulled the girl into his arms, gripping her shoulders tightly and the rolled under the cot. The sudden physical pain of hitting the ground woke Annemarie from her stupor and she realized what was happening around her.

Fabricated birds, bombs, fire and Death rose on the horizon of her mind and the shapes of her demons became clear. The thunder began, the ground shook, Annemarie screamed. She kicked, punched, scratched, and bit the man who was, in a last desperate attempt to keep her from the flames, holding her so tightly.

            Annemarie Bauer was gone, a shell of her former self, and she wanted to die. Like her parents had, in a rain of metal, in a fog of smoke, in pools of blood, amidst the burning flames, sanity gone. Still he clung to the hope that some part of Annemarie was there, that he could still save her. Maybe it was that hope that pulled her back from drowning in her own madness.

            Annemarie's mind began to clear. There was something else besides the sounds of her mad screams, the buzzing, the ack-ack of guns, the raging fire pounding in her ears, there was a voice, pleading her to remember.

            “Remember the flowers you love, the poppies? Remember the farm you were born on, the one I burned? I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Remember the beer we had on my birthday? How terrible it was? Remember Weich? Remember Asche? Remember Steif, that awful corporal?”

            Annemarie looked up, her eyes clearing from the madness. Schreiner was holding her tightly; tears ran from his pale eyes.

            “Weich made me promise, his dying wish, that you wouldn't meet the same end. You just have to wake up. You can't end like this; I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

            “Bernhard,” Annemarie said, she'd heard Lieutenant Weich use it sometimes, Bernhard Schreiner.

            “My God!” the colonel exclaimed moving back from her to see Annemarie's face clearer, “You're alive!” He slid out from under the cot and she followed. “I'm sorry for that, I-”

            “No, I'm sorry,” Annemarie cut him off, “you were only protecting me. I shouldn't have broken down, sir.”

            Colonel Schreiner understood and nodded formally, “It is understandable given the circumstances.” By now the bombs had stopped raining.

“The bombs have receded for now,” he said, “But stay here and if the dog howls again more are on the way.”

            He turned to leave, but Annemarie spoke again. “Colonel Schreiner, you mentioned Weich's dying wish, what did you mean by that?” the question spilled out, one she did not want the answer to.

            Bernhard Schreiner did not turn to the young woman, “I received a letter, his suicide note, the only thing he asked for was your happiness that was his will.”

            Annemarie stood in a thick silence, full of grief and dread. “Thank you, sir,” was all she could muster without her voice cracking, and he left.

            When the tramping of the man's boots had faded and the orders he was shouting were no more than a whisper carried on the wind. Annemarie knelt to the ground and wept, letting her tears flow freely down her sunken cheeks. She mourned for her father, her mother, Lieutenant Weich. And finally she wept because of what she had nearly become, the one she had hurt and almost lost.

            Finally when she could cry no more she rose and lowered herself into her cot. Annemarie was nineteen and the year was 1917.

***

            Bernhard, brother, I don’t know what to say. The general knows. We’ll arrive in a few days. He knows, Bernhard, about Annemarie Bauer… You must truly love this woman… Do you? Did you even realize it was love? You see yourself in her; you see that abandoned loneliness, that desolate look that haunted your eyes when I left you. And you don’t want her to be lonely anymore. I think I understand. I will help you, but Bernhard, I can only do so much, you have to realize that. I am not our mother’s god. Choose your next move wisely, Bernhard.

            It will be good to see you after all these years… I love you, brother…

 

Sincerely, your brother,

Astor G. Schreiner

***

 

A general was coming. General Schreiber was coming. The entire battalion was in a panic. General Schreiber was coming with the intention to kill. He'd heard of this, “Belgian spy,” from a doctor at the medical unit Annemarie had been sent to and now he wanted her dead. As for the doctor, he received a rather large promotion.

            Colonel Schreiner was dogged; he'd spent nights on end trying to plot Annemarie's escape. She had spent just as many nights awake thinking of what would happen if she didn't escape.

            Now she sat in the old chair in her cell staring at the scissors gleaming in Lieutenant Brennen's hand.

            “No,” Annemarie growled, “I'm not a coward. I'm not running I'd rather die here.”

            “I'm not going to let that happen,” another voice snarled next to her, “You're stupid to think like that, dying is not an option, now shut up!” Colonel Schreiner forced her to sit still in the chair, “Brennen!”

            “Yes, sir!” the Lieutenant immediately began cutting Annemarie's hair short. She was determined to make it hard for him, to buy time, but Lieutenant Brennen was done quickly. Now Annemarie's hair fell choppy and short.

            Annemarie had promised herself she would die for Belgium and now she stood in a German uniform, hair cut short in an attempt to disguise her as a boy soldier.

            “Why won't you just let us save you?” Schreiner shook her shoulders.

            “I promised I would die for Belgium,” she answered simply, her blue eyes flashing.

            “By dying a dishonest death?” the colonel growled, “You really are stupid.”

            The growling of tires alerted him and suddenly they were running out of the tent and across the compound, “Get in the truck!” he shouted shoving her in. Brennen leapt in beside her, pushing a military hat onto her head.

“No!” Annemarie screeched, but Schreiner had already slammed the truck door and was darting away. With a roar the vehicle came to life as the general's car was passing by, the driver stared straight ahead with military stoniness, his light blond hair waved beneath his cap.

            Brennen couldn't move the truck fast as to seem suspicious and Annemarie watched in horror as the general leapt from his car and the driver followed behind him.

She could almost hear Colonel Schreiner say, “She's escaped.”

            Schreiber's howl was loud enough that Annemarie could hear it from the truck.

            “You fool!” he screamed at Schreiner and the air was between the two men was sliced by a thin strip of leather, the general's riding crop. It ended with a sickening sound on the colonel's left cheek. The skin split and a red petal slid from the cut. It fell to the ground and blossomed on the hard dirt.

            Schreiner didn't flinch from the sting, his ice blue eyes didn't blink, and he stared straight at the general’s attendant as Annemarie wailed.

***

            Bernhard stared into his brother’s cold eyes as the crop connected with his cheek. Astor winced as blood flowed from the wound but the younger stood stock still. “How could you possibly have let her escape?” Schreiber shouted.

            “She got away when a tire blew on the truck she was in, returning from the hospital.” Bernhard replied, not taking his eyes off of Astor’s pale face.

            “You expect me to believe that? Lieutenant, check the prisoner’s cell!”

            “Jawohl!” the elder Schreiner gave a snappy salute and Major Asche lead him towards the storehouse.

            “Where is she, Colonel Schreiner?” the general growled threateningly.

            “Not here, General, she’s most likely miles away.”

            The tread of two pairs of boots announced the return of Astor and the Major, “The prisoner is not in her cell, sir,” Lieutenant Schreiner reported.

            The stocky general’s eyes narrowed at the colonel, “We’ll continue this conversation in your office, Colonel.”

            “Yes, sir,” Colonel Schreiner turned and the men marched across the compound.

***

            “You will be demoted, I should destroy your career, I should destroy everything about you, Schreiner, but some other higher-ups have convinced me not to. You are a very lucky man, Colonel.” General Schreiber said, spitting the last word.

            “I’ll keep that in mind, General.” Schreiner replied calmly, “Major, would you escort the general to his car?”

            Major Asche nodded, “Yes, sir.”

            “Lieutenant Schreiner, ensure that the colonel fills out the proper documentation, I will be waiting in the car.”

            “Of course, General.” Astor replied and the two brothers watched as the men exited the tent.

            “It’s certainly good to see you so well, Bernhard.” Astor smiled as he watched he younger brother sign the last of the documents.

            “No thanks to you, brother,” Bernhard growled, standing.

            “Bernhard, you know that I-” Astor let out a choked gasp as Bernhard lunged forward and wrapped his gloved fingers around his brother’s throat, forcing him against a thick wooden stilt on the tent.

            “You left us, you let mother and father die, and you didn’t care, don’t tell me you did it for me, you did it for yourself, for that sick mind of yours. How many people have you killed? How many have you tried to kill?” Bernhard snarled.

            Astor locked eyes with his brother and gave a strained smile, the toes of his leather boots brushing the ground. “Oh, brother,” he rasped, “I gave you everything, I gave you this life, don’t you see? I helped you along; do you know any other man who has skipped a rank to become a colonel? Or was so loved by such a respected general?”

            Bernhard’s pale blue eyes widened, “You bribed General Heiden?”

            “They all work for me, Bernhard, all of them, there is no general who doesn’t bend to my whim, they know I can destroy them, I know all their secrets.” Astor smiled, his sharp white teeth flashing.

            “I should kill you right here, Astor…” Bernhard hissed, he could feel the warm pulse of his brother surging under his fingers, “I should kill you…”

            “I know you want to, brother, but you can’t. You can’t even bring yourself to hate me.” Astor grinned maniacally as the fire dulled from Bernhard pale eyes.

            Slowly he was lowered and Bernhard finger loosened from around his throat. The elder brother rubbed his bruised throat gently as he turned to go. “Go see the medic about that cut, Bernhard, and don’t pick at it, it might scar.” Astor whispered, his back towards his brother.

            “Get some help, Astor, you need it, you’re suffering, you need help, brother…” Bernhard replied quietly.

            Astor turned his head, looking over his shoulder, “I could say the same for, Bernhard, this war is taking its toll, I couldn’t bear to see you like the idiots in the asylum. You need it, get help, and don’t think that dying will make it any better.”