Josef

Have you ever wondered how all the redwings know how to fly south for winter? Like really, how does every single one of them know where to go at the exact same time? And what do they do if one gets lost, or injured?

These are all things I wondered as I sat tensley against the crumbling wall. My back aching pressed against the wall and my frozen toes gripping the bottom of my boots for just a bit of balance. A hazy fog left my lips as I exhaled, though it hurt my stomach to even breathe at this point; I hadn’t eaten in over a week. To my right sat Reiner, who was once again playing with his gun - gripping it and aiming it at no one in particular, ready to shoot. Ever since we were kids he had loved to play soldier more than anything else. In fact, half of the sticks in the forest had probably been used by him as model guns. Though I suppose by age only, we really were still just kids.

As darkness began to enclose us, the scrap of warmth we had from the Russian sun soon left, leaving us blanketed in a brash and bitter coldness, the wind hugging our flaky bodies from every angle.

“Reiner?” I asked anxiously

“What do you want now Josef?” he answered dismissively, probably sick of the weird questions I seemed to ask rather frequently.

“Could we perhaps sit closer? For warmth?”

He sat there and stared into the distance for a minute, then turned to face me.

“Sure, but you don’t tell anyone about this, I’m already the laughing stock for being your mate”.

I decided not to come out with some witty comment, I was just grateful to have some form of warmth again. Huddled next to him, my eyes felt heavy, and before I knew it we were both asleep.

That was until the wall behind exploded, and we were sent flying forwards with an army of shrapnel. Slowly my eyes opened, my head splitting with the pain. Looking up from the floor slowly, I saw a T34 tank heading towards us. Without hesitation I leapt up and ran towards Reiner, who was still lying on the floor unconscious. His foot was at a gruesome angle and his eyes wouldn’t open to anything, not even the wimpy sound of me crying and screaming for him to wake up. As I grabbed his upper body and tried to pull his dead weight, I could feel my arms giving in to exhaustion. I slumped to the floor and stared at Reiner. My eyesight was covered in a thick veil of tears as I watched Reiner unsure if each breath would be his last.

In an ideal world I would’ve become some superhero and single handedly taken on the tank and all the men inside, avenging my childhood best friend and saving his slowly slipping life. But war is not ideal, so I did what any boy would do.

I ran.

My weak clumsy legs suddenly had no feeling, yet they carried me swiftly through the harsh winding roads of Stalingrad. This sort of overwhelming fear was something I had never once felt in my life. After what must have been a good twenty minutes of sprinting I collapsed in an alleyway, keeled over vomiting. Whether it was the running, lack of food or guilt, my stomach couldn’t handle it. Once I had finished I slumped down, regaining my lost breath. My fingers felt the cool cobbles underneath me, feeling every nook and line, wondering where they may lead to.

Well I must’ve collapsed once again because the next thing I remember is waking up in some poor old Russian woman’s house with her overgrown son. She had a scrappy old dress on and a headscarf covering her grey greasy hair. Her son was sitting in the armchair facing the couch I lay on, and was comfortably holding a rifle in his hands pointed at me. Quickly I sat upright, my chapped lips too frozen in fear to make any noise despite how hard I tried. On top of me was a thick red knitted blanket with the USSR logo on it - the irony of me, a German soldier being saved by the Soviet crest was not lost on me, though something told me this was not the time for jokes. Under his breath the 6’5 son who had a beard like a bush muttered something in Russian to his mother, his eyes not leaving me once. A sweet smell was growing stronger, along with the comforting sounds of running water and a fire crackling.

After what must’ve been a good 10 minutes of this bear talking to his mother while I pretended I didn’t know he was looking at me, he got up from his chair and stood towering over me.

“English?” he asked calmly in a thick Russian accent.

“Y-yes” I replied clumsily, lisping the S in sheer nerves.

He demanded me to stand up, which I did as swiftly as I would to my superior officer, and he grabbed me by the arm and roughly dragged me towards a wooden bath next to the fire. Silently, the old woman left the room and the giant man pointed at the bath, and muttered “get in”.

Awkwardly he watched as I undressed and bathed myself, his rifle in his hands ready in case I made a quick move. I don’t know what he was worried about though, I was naked in a bath and hadn’t eaten for seven days, there wasn’t much I could do against him. Once I was clean and no longer bringing the smell of mud, blood and sweat into his house, I put on my uniform that had been hung next to the fire, all warm and cozy for me to wear. The best part though was the socks, my feet were screaming with joy to have warm fresh socks on with no holes. Kindly, the sweet old lady gave me a bowl of vegetable soup which I ate graciously. Back at home before the war I ate with such manners, but that was all forgotten now as I inhaled the warm vegetable soup like it would be my last meal.

Once I was finished, her son - I found out his name was Ivan - informed me I had overstayed my welcome and must leave immediately. I understood of course, i’ve held no grudge towards either of them, they saved my life afterall. With nowhere to go and no one to see I wandered aimlessly along the streets once again. I was getting quite accustomed to this whole lone wolf persona I had now taken on. Not by my own choice of course! I’ve never quite liked being on my own, never. It’s always gotten me down, as it was at this moment. However I just pretended I was a detective in one of those film noir, hunting the murderer to put him behind bars, leaving me as the smart and handsome hero of the story, with my fedora at a jaunty angle and a cigar hanging out my mouth.

This illusion was broken when I saw the most beautiful sight I could’ve asked for; A group of German soldiers heading towards me. If it weren’t for my pride, slowly depleting but still there, I would’ve cried, dropped to my knees and licked their boots clean. Marching towards them, I did my best to keep the growing smile on my face concealed. I didn’t want to show how relieved I was, I didn’t want them to know how scared I had been. As they closed in on me, they asked me why I was alone and smelling of lavender. Unable to tell them the truth, I spun some great story about how I was the only one of my group to escape alive from around 30 russian soldiers and I was taken in by a young russian woman who fed me and bathed me. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t far from it.

They led me to where they were stationed, hidden in the ruins of a large building. As I was the only one who was wide awake and had recently eaten, it was only fair that me and the other young private were given the job of nightwatch. Illuminated by the bright moon, the russian landscape seemed to loom on for miles. As I was zoned out, wondering what my mother back home was doing (I decided she was probably writing poetry, as she often liked to do, or braiding my younger sister's hair), I heard a faint sniffling. Just by instinct I looked towards the young private near me, but he was not crying, nor were any of the soundly sleeping soldiers. It was then I noticed the tears running down my cheeks, and I turned my face away from the others.

We were in hiding for around a week, maybe two. It wasn’t too bad I suppose, it beat being alone. We hadn’t had any food or ammo arrivals, so everyone was tired, hungry and moody. Myself included. The group slowly began to get smaller and smaller. A small group of 3 soldiers wandered off to find any other groups we could join, but they left four days ago and none of them have returned, so we decided to assume them deceased. I was quite sad by that, the young private I was on watch with that time was with that group. We weren’t close or anything, but he didn’t tell anyone about my crying which I really appreciated.

As I dreaded happening, the group turned to me to go out and find resources. I didn’t want to accept, but I had no choice really. They sent me alone due to our depleting numbers, which was alright, as it meant I could wander around without having to worry about making conversation. My feet were heavy and my stomach was empty, my walking growing slower and clumsier, my vision growing blurry. I would’ve thrown up if I had had anything in me to throw up. After a while I came across a frozen pond, and I quite liked how the sun lit up the cool blue ice. Noticing a tree next to the pond, I slumped down with my back against it; I gazed at the pond longingly, wishing I could stare at it forever.

I could feel my eyes growing heavy, but I wasn’t confident that if I closed them they would ever open again. Pondering a bit longer, I wondered what my mother was doing once again. I pictured her with my sister singing old nursery rhymes and embroidering table cloths like they always did. I wondered if anyone would tell them I'm gone, or whether they would spend their lives waiting for me to come home. I’ve never quite liked being alone, and at this moment I felt lonelier than I had ever felt.

It was a comforting thought though, knowing this loneliness would be over soon.