A Soldier's Fortune

A soft summer breeze carried the scent of farms and fields through Saxonburg, about 100 kilometers west of Berlin. The Allies hadn’t reached the farming suburb yet, but it wouldn’t be long. It was August of 1945, and it was clear to everyone on both sides that the end was near.

A British Royal Army Scout platoon hid in a wooded area 5 kilometers west of Saxonburg, sending information from the front to the trailing forces on the way to the German capital.

Commanding was Captain Thom Walker. The reports collected by his men showed the community was hosting a German militia, and at least one German Army officer was spotted, making his way about on a crutch as he was missing a leg.

Captain Walker would decide whether to engage Saxonburg or to take the inhabitants as prisoners of war. With victory so close, the Royal Military Academy graduate didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks to his men.

The Allies had come across similar situations in the past months as they closed in on Hitler. These militias were the Fuhrer’s last-ditch effort to fight off the invaders. Most of the German army had been killed or captured, and the only way to get numbers back up was to recruit those previously seen as unfit for war.

Hitler called these militias the Volkssturm, or People’s Storm. Most males were over 55, and the rest were 14 and 15.

Present in Saxonburg were plenty of women and children, also expected to fight for the Fatherland if needed.

The Volkssturm was required to maintain their arms and be ready at a moment’s notice to defend against the Allies. The German command could call any day and order the militia to their almost certain deaths.

Until then, the militia and townsfolk would tend to their fields, animals, and shops, much like they did before the war. After all, none of them were ever in the German military.

Everyone but Major Klaus Bergman.

Major Bergman, or Dr. Bergman, as he preferred, was in command of the Saxonburg Volkssturm platoon. Such a high-ranking officer leading a small group of militia spoke to German forces' dire circumstances.

The 53-year-old was a medical officer, having served most of his time in the war on the Eastern front tending to injured men. It was there he lost his leg to hypothermia.

While the Major still wore his uniform, his support for Hitler and the Nazi party had long gone, as with his morale in general. Still, he knew he must keep up appearances for fear of being labeled as an enemy of the state.

Reports from Saxonburg to the German command were always the same; no activity to speak of. Even if they spotted an Allied patrol, they wouldn’t have engaged them or even reported their presence. It wasn’t just Dr. Bergman that had enough; everyone in Saxonburg just wanted to survive and live in peace.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

On an early July morning, a British bomber buzzed above, heading for Saxonburg. Everyone jumped out of bed, clutching each other and their Bibles if they could reach them.

The Germans were hoping to be captured by the Americans or British specifically. Being rounded up by the Russians gave them little hope of fair treatment, assuming they lived.

It now appeared the Allies opted to take them out instead, specifically the British by the sound of the distinct Rolls-Royce engine.

The lone bomber dove quickly toward the town through the bluish-grey morning clouds while everyone on the ground covered their eyes and ears, muttering their last words.

The bomber now screaming at them, people scrambled to get under beds, tables, or storm shelters if they could.

As the sound of the plane began to wane, heads began to pop up from under tables and beds.

Dieter Faulkner, a militiaman, said to his wife, "Could be a dud."

"Maybe a scout plane?" Dieter’s wife, Ava, offered.

Dieter cracked open the door to have a look, and the plane didn’t sound like it was coming back. Suddenly there was movement above a streetlamp, a piece of paper blowing in the wind. Then, another following it. Soon, hundreds of white papers floated to the street, on houses, and fields.

People excited to see darted from shelter to snatch one out of the air.

Dieter grabbed one so hard he crumpled it. Straightening it out and turning against the light, he read aloud: “Attention German Militia and People, your country has abandoned you and left you to die in vain. Your liberation is near, but only if you want it. You have the choice, lay down your arms or die as intended by the failed Nazi regime.”

Shouts of joy began to pop up around the town as more people began to race through the leaflets.

The Allies had spared them after all.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

After the sun fully rose, the group of about 150 people stepped out of their homes, carrying what food and water they could. The women held babies, and the men flew white flags.

Families slowly marched to the town entrance, exiting into a large open field. Doctor Bergman was the first to exit, and he stopped as he noticed what looked like 500 British troops lined up at the far end of the field.

Some looking through binoculars, some looking through rifle scopes.

As people lined up against the wooden fence that bordered Saxonburg, a single Jeep puttered toward the entrance. The dark green vehicle with no windshield pulled up to Major Burgmans side as if the occupants were going to ask for directions.

“Morning Major,” Captain Walker said as he checked the time on his pocket watch.

Perplexed, Major Bergman lowered his flag. "Guten Morgan...Captain" the Major hesitated as he looked for the man's rank.

"People’s Storm?" Captain Walker inquired.

"More like a London Fog," the Captain chuckled to himself.

"How long have you been saving that one, Captain?" Major Bergman said with a half-smile.

"Let's get to work, shall we?" Captain Walker asked the Major as he stood up to offer him a seat in the back.

"Thanks for sparing us." Major Bergman said as he offered his pistol in surrender."

"Give it to your grandkids." Captain Walker said as he cranked the Jeep into first gear.

With that, the men sped off to meet with other members of the British Army.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The Allies searched the town, processed the militiamen, and separated the women and children. Since Major Bergmann was the only official service member in the village, he would be the focal point of Allied questioning.

While the British searched the village, Captain Walker sat down with Major Bergman in a field tent, prepared to cut a deal to gain information on the German retreat.

"Are you prepared to give a statement or answer any questions at this time? The captain asked as he unscrewed a bottle of whiskey.

Without thinking, Major Bergman said, "I can give you radio frequencies, maps, and the location of other high-ranking German leadership. You can even have the key to my safe, which is full of US currency and other spoils of war left by my superiors. I don't think they'll be back for it."

"And what, may I ask, are your demands in return?" Captain Walker questioned.

"None of us are in any position to make demands, Captain," the Major replied. "I suppose all of us are complicit in some way or another. I assure you I only aspired to serve my country many years ago and never intended for any of this."

Captain Walker figured he and the Major weren't so different after all; they were both men that set out to serve, and now they wanted to go home.

"All I really want is to start over, to re-write the rest of my life. Even if chapter one is in a jail cell, " the Major confessed.

"I can’t tell you what will be next for you, but we will continue to occupy your village for the remainder of the war, and your people can use it as a safe haven," the Captain said as he looked up from jotting notes in his field book.

Major Bergman wouldn't be arrested, and he and his fellow countrymen would more or less continue to live as they had before, without the need to clean weapons or radio status reports.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

A few weeks later, as Doctor Bergman was tending to a young British private shot in the leg in a nearby firefight, the radios started going wild.

It was official, Germany surrendered, and their war was over.

Germans and British alike cheered and cried, some celebrated with long saved bottles of champagne, and some just prayed. Most people did all of the above.

Major Bergman would be punished, but not with jail time. The Allies had no reason to suspect that he ever did anything but follow orders, and there was no evidence he was involved in any war crimes.

Due to his leadership skills, Doctor Bergman was to command his militia once again, only this time it would be to clean up the post-war mess.

During the evenings and weekends, the ex-militia continued to live in Saxonburg with meager rations, although better than before the American Red Cross's aid. The middle-aged man continues to hobble on his crutch between home to home, caring for the sick and those that injured themselves doing manual labor in Berlin.

While the people of Saxonburg worked, Captain Walker toured the area, checking on other posts. Occasionally he would visit Saxonburg, and each time Doctor Bergman could be found, caring for others with no pay.

On such an occasion, Captain Walker came to visit Doctor Bergman and asked if he could meet him for coffee.

The two sat in front of a cafe, fit with new trimmings thanks to the help of Dieter’s handy work and salvaging skills from Berlin.

"You know, Major," Captain Walker said as he sipped his coffee, "most people would have used the money in that safe to buy their way to freedom, and you gave it all up to stay here and work."

Captain Walker hesitated, then asked, "Why?"

Doctor Bergman lit a cigarette and took a deep inhale. "As I said, sir, we all had a hand in this one way or another. It was only right."

"An honorable act," Captain Walker said, then added, "Germany needs people like you to rebuild."

"I don’t know that I’m in any position to do that. I just hope to get back to my family and start over."

Then, Captain Walker stood up, set his duffel bag on the chair, and said, "Go on then," and turned around to leave.

"Love to chat, but I must be going now, Major Bergman. Take care."

With that, Captain Walker hopped in his Jeep and sped off, as he did so many times before.

Confused, Doctor Bergman opened the bag, which was full of cash. On top of the green bills was a little black notebook made of sleek Italian leather.

Stunned, Doctor Bergman opened the notebook, first noticing black ink behind the cover; "I was tasked with boosting the economy; this should help. Enclosed is the $20,000 from your safe. Don't worry, it spends. Now you can start over. I’ve even got you started.

An arrow pointed to the first page: "Chapter One."