Heroes Without Honour

by Alan David

  At precisely three that afternoon the sections climbed into their trucks and left the barracks in convoy, making for their allotted areas. When they arrived they found a cordon of armed troops around the streets. Whistles were blowing and NCOs were shouting orders.

  The SS formed up in their sections, the Polish policemen accompanying them looking apprehensive. Captain Dantine was with an orders group by his car, and the signal to commence was given. Jackboots pounded stairs and rifle butts crashed open doors as they moved in. Eckhardt remained in the street which was the centre of his platoon area, and very soon his men began to return to the trucks leading civilian prisoners.

  Eckhardt studied the prisoners closely and unemotionally. They looked like ordinary men and women, and most were surprised by the fact that they had been arrested. The Polish police were kept busy answering a barrage of questions, but nothing they said gave any satisfaction to the prisoners.

  When they had accounted for their area, Eckhardt reported to Dantine. The Captain was cheerful, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched the prisoners being loaded into the trucks under the watchful eyes of guards. They were in a part of the city that was largely undamaged, a good-class area.

  ‘Have you checked all the names on your list, Leutnant?’ Dantine demanded.

  ‘Yes, sir. We have arrested everyone on the list.’

  ‘No trouble?’

  ‘None, sir.’

  ‘Very well. Your trucks can go back to barracks. Place the prisoners in the compound and guard them until the rest of the Company returns. You have done very well. You have completed your duty first, as usual. I am pleased. Your name will go into my report, Leutnant.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Heil Hitler!’ Eckhardt saluted and returned to the three trucks belonging to his platoon. Some of the female prisoners were crying and the males were trying to comfort them. The men of the sections were standing around, weapons ready, but Eckhardt called to Meyer and gave the order for them to return to barracks. The men climbed into the trucks, surrounding the prisoners, and Eckhardt sat with the driver of the leading truck as they went back to barracks.

  The prisoners were held in a compound behind two long barrack blocks, and Eckhardt had sentries posted. Three machine-guns were set up in the back of the trucks to cover the prisoners, and they settled down to await developments. Thirty minutes later another platoon came in, bringing about sixty prisoners, who were herded in with the same number Eckhardt’s platoon had arrested. Some of the prisoners had bruises and blood showing.

  Eckhardt’s brother officer, Leutnant Hartwig Flensheit, checked his prisoners against his list, then came across to where Eckhardt was standing. He was tall and powerfully built, about thirty years old, and his blue eyes were dull as he studied Eckhardt’s composed features.

  ‘Have you heard the rumours about this lot, Max?’ Flensheit demanded.

  ‘You know that I never listen to rumours,’ Eckhardt retorted.

  ‘Well this is one you should hear. All these prisoners are going to be shot without trial.’

  Eckhardt studied Flensheit’s worried face and saw concern apparent in every line of his countenance.

  ‘We were told that those lists were made up before we invaded,’ he replied. ‘If executions are to be carried out then I expect the guilt of those to be executed has already been determined.’

  ‘Then the guilty would already be in prison,’ Flensheit said, smiling grimly.

  ‘No.’ Eckhardt shook his head. ‘They are guilty of crimes against us, Flensheit, so you cannot expect the Poles to have arrested them.’

  ‘These people are not working class and therefore unfit to be slave workers. That’s why they have to be killed. The others are going to be forced to work for Germany, and they’ll be content doing just that if there are no upper classes amongst them to organise resistance.’

  Eckhardt shook his head. Other trucks were appearing, and the third platoon of the Company arrived to disgorge a similar number of prisoners, who were herded into the compound. Some of the women had to be carried by other prisoners. There were about two hundred people inside the wire, and three quarters of them were male. Eckhardt stood watching them impassively, awaiting the return of Captain Dantine. When Dantine’s car appeared, Eckhardt glanced at Flensheit’s pale face and smiled grimly.

  ‘Now we’ll learn the truth of your rumour,’ he said.

  Dantine approached, flanked by his second-in-command, Oberleutnant Roess, whose handsome features were marred by a thin scar which bisected his right cheek and vanished into the hairline at his temple. Roess stood head and shoulders over Dantine, and had massive, square shoulders and a splendid physique.

  ‘All prisoners accounted for?’ Dantine demanded, and it was Eckhardt who stiffened to attention and replied.

  ‘Yes, sir. What orders now, Herr Hauptmann?’

  ‘Some of the prisoners will be removed from the barracks immediately,’ Dantine said. He glanced at Roess, who looked down at a sheaf of papers in his hand, then continued, ‘Leutnant Eckhardt, I place you in command of this detail. I want your platoon to handle this duty.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Eckhardt saluted.

  ‘Roess, have those people on that special list called out of the compound. The Polish police can tell them that they are about to be released. But hurry. I have a dinner engagement later and this whole operation has taken longer than I anticipated. In future we will try to organise this business better in order to save time.’

  Eckhardt glanced at Flensheit, then turned away to where his platoon was waiting, the sections at ease. He called to Meyer before he got within earshot of the men and explained what was to be done.

  ‘Are we releasing them then?’ Meyer demanded.

  ‘I have not been informed of the full situation, Sergeant. You’ll have to do what I’m doing — wait and see.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Meyer saluted and turned to bawl at the men, who formed two lines between the gateway of the compound and the trucks.

  The prisoners came reluctantly, and were forced to climb into the trucks. Thirty were called in all and distributed between the three trucks. Dantine came across, returning Eckhardt’s salute.

  ‘I want your trucks to follow my car,’ Dantine said. ‘Be quick, Leutnant.’

  Eckhardt saluted and turned to see that Meyer was chivvying the men, who were boarding the trucks with the prisoners. He gave orders to Meyer and then climbed into the cab of the leading truck. Dantine’s car pulled away and they followed, leaving the camp in gathering gloom, and were soon speeding towards the outskirts of the city.

  They entered a wood and halted in a clearing where a wide tank trap was situated near the trees. A narrow track led from the main road to the clearing and the trucks bounced and jolted until they swung into line. Night was descending and the headlights of the vehicles were switched on. Eckhardt climbed out of the truck, shielding his eyes against the glare of the headlights, and Dantine came across to him.

  ‘Make this quick, Leutnant,’ his superior ordered. ‘Take them in tens and line them up on the lip of the ditch. They are to be executed immediately.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Eckhardt turned to shout orders to Meyer, and the soldiers unloaded one truck. Guards stood around in case there was any attempt at escape, and the headlights gave the scene a garish atmosphere of unreality.

  The first ten prisoners, including two women, were forced to stand on the lip of the ditch. One of the women collapsed hysterically, and two of the male prisoners lifted her and held her. Eckhardt took charge of the firing squad. Dantine walked up and down by his car, waiting impatiently for the whole affair to be concluded. Some of the women were crying, and the harsh sounds echoed against the silence that pressed in about them. But the prisoners were quite calm; probably shocked by this swift turn of events in their lives.

  ‘Aim ... Fire!’ Eckhardt rapped, and rifles blasted, sending a string of echoes through the wood. The prisoners crumpled and fell into the ditch, and Eck
hardt ordered the men to reload. The second batch of prisoners was hurried forward and they, too, were quickly dispatched. Eckhardt called the orders as if he were taking a drill parade on the barrack square. He was intent only upon obeying his orders. The third section hurriedly brought up the remaining prisoners, and again a volley of shots smashed the silence, causing the line of prisoners to pitch forward into the tank trap.

  ‘I’m going back to barracks now, Leutnant,’ Dantine called. ‘I’m late as it is. Check that all prisoners are dead. Finish them off if you have to. Report to my office at eight in the morning. Heil Hitler!’

  ‘Yes, sir. Heil Hitler!’ Eckhardt saluted, remaining stiffly at attention until Dantine’s car had departed. Then he turned to Meyer. ‘Have the men check the prisoners, Sergeant. Shoot any who are still alive.’

  Meyer saluted and snapped an order. The trucks were brought closer so that their headlights illuminated the ditch, and Eckhardt stood on the lip of the deep hole and watched his men finishing off those prisoners who had survived the firing squad.

  ‘All the prisoners are now dead, sir,’ Meyer finally reported.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Let us get back to barracks.’ Eckhardt walked to his truck and climbed into the cab. The driver switched on his engine and the section hurriedly jumped into the back. They returned to the barracks.

  In the officers’ mess later, Eckhardt, after eating, sat with a schnapps in his hand, resting. His head ached slightly, and he concluded that the rifle-fire, coming after several days of peace, had disturbed him. In his mind he could see the prisoners falling into the ditch, and idly wondered what their crime had been. But it was really none of his business. He had merely been obeying orders.

  Leutnant Flensheit entered and came to Eckhardt’s side. He looked as if he had been drinking heavily. His tunic was undone, his tie loosened.

  ‘What did I tell you, Max? You took out the first detail, and it’s my turn in the morning. I’m under orders to command a firing squad.’

  ‘Are you concerned about that?’ Eckhardt demanded.

  ‘This seems to be a hurried affair. The prisoners have not had a trial.’

  ‘Captain Dantine said those I executed had already been tried and found guilty. No doubt the others are being tried summarily.’

  ‘We’re going to murder the whole Polish middle and upper class,’ Flensheit said thinly.

  ‘We are executing enemies of the State.’ Eckhardt spoke sharply. ‘You sound as if you disagree with the orders, Hartwig. If that is the case then I suggest you speak to Captain Dantine about it.’

  ‘I wish I had your dedication. You’ve always seemed a lot harder than the rest of us, Max. Was it your upbringing?’

  ‘There was nothing wrong with my upbringing.’ Eckhardt felt a pang of anger strike through him. ‘My father fought and bled for Germany in the Great War, and came home from a French prisoner-of-war camp in 1919, a disillusioned man. He taught me a great deal, and one of the most important lessons I ever learned, and probably the very first, was to obey orders without question. Do that and you cannot go wrong.’

  Flensheit turned away and left the room. Eckhardt stifled a sigh and signalled to the waiter to bring him another drink. His mind flitted back to his youth and he pictured his father’s gaunt face, could hear his voice speaking in the back of his mind ...

  ‘Life never turns out to be what you want, Max,’ Major Klaus Eckhardt had said, talking to a seven-year-old boy who had just lost his mother but gained a baby brother. ‘You must be brave like a soldier of the Fatherland and take your orders without flinching. What is the first duty of a soldier, Max?’

  ‘To obey orders, Father.’ The young Max had enjoyed being treated as a soldier although he could not understand the necessity for some of the discipline.

  ‘And if those orders should seem wrong to you?’

  ‘Orders are never wrong, and have always to be obeyed.’

  ‘That is true. You will make a good soldier, Max, when the time comes. Make no mistake about it. One day you will be called upon to do your duty just as I was in 1914 and your grandfather in 1870.’

  ‘Grandfather fought the French, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and bravely.’

  ‘And so did you. Why are we always fighting the French, Father?’

  ‘I couldn’t begin to explain all the reasons. Be satisfied that it is necessary for Germany, and never question an order.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Eckhardt started, jerking himself out of his reverie as the mess waiter came to his side. He took the drink, blinking his blue eyes as he thought about the past. Everything his father said had come true. Germany was great again and he was doing his duty like his father and his grandfather before him. Then he thought of his brother Kurt and wondered if he had survived the month’s fighting that had seen the downfall of Poland. For a moment unaccustomed emotion filled him, but only because he had been thinking of his father. The incontrovertible fact which had been drilled into him was that being a soldier was not easy. But, with so many enemies, a true German had always to do his duty.

  He sipped his drink and thought back to his mother’s death. It had been the hardest thing he had ever been forced to accept. When his father told him they were going to the farm to visit his mother his heart had almost burst with happiness, but, upon their arrival, Aunt Gretel had taken him into her arms and cried, her tears salty upon his lips. His father had taken him into the parlour to see his mother, lying still and cold in her coffin, and Max could not understand why she did not open her eyes and greet him.

  ‘She looks as if she’s just sleeping, Father,’ he had said, with the simplicity of a child of seven. ‘How can she be dead? Grandfather was old when he died. It is only old people who die.’

  ‘Not always, Max.’ Klaus had put a heavy hand upon his young son’s shoulder. ‘You must learn to accept whatever Fate gives you. In life you cannot turn away from reality. Face up to it like a good soldier, Max.’

  They had stayed three days at the farm, and Max’s mother was buried in the bleak graveyard behind the little village church in Dettfeld. The wind howled bitterly and Max was half frozen. He had watched impassively as his mother’s coffin was lowered into the long, narrow grave which had been dug to receive it, and the sound of the heavy earth being thrown in upon the polished casket echoed in his mind for years afterwards.

  There had been one last shock for him when his father took him back to Berlin. They left Kurt, the baby, to be reared by Aunt Gretel.

  ‘We cannot bring him up, Max,’ Klaus had said in a severe tone when Max protested. ‘He is too young and our housekeeper is too old to care properly for him. She has enough to do with you.’

  ‘But I love the farm,’ Max had protested in his boyish voice. ‘While you were away in the war Mother always brought me here. Why can’t I stay too? Kurt will be lonely with only Aunt Gretel. I could play with him when he gets older.’

  ‘I could take care of Max also, Klaus,’ Aunt Gretel had interposed, and Max held his breath as he awaited his father’s reply for his whole future depended upon it. He loved the farm and wanted to remain.

  ‘No.’ The single word had sounded like the knell of doom. ‘Max is growing up. I shall need him. He is my eldest son and I will attend to his upbringing. We will visit regularly, Gretel, but Max must stay with me.’

  Aunt Gretel had been crying when they left to return to Berlin, and Max was filled with resentment because Kurt was staying while he could not, and the baby had been the cause of his mother’s death ...

  ‘Herr Leutnant!’ The mess waiter spoke apologetically at Eckhardt’s side, causing him to start nervously, so deeply engrossed was he in the past. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but Sergeant-Major Leun is asking for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Schmidt. Where is he?’

  ‘Waiting at the door, sir. He’s on duty.’

  ‘I’ll go out and see him.’ Eckhardt suddenly felt stifled, and picked up his hat, leavi
ng the room and striding towards the solid figure of Leun, standing by the outer door. Leun saluted stiffly, and Eckhardt wished he could take the older man into some quiet corner so that they could talk about the old days. But he set his face in an expressionless mask and clenched his teeth against the sigh which tried to rise in his throat.

  ‘What’s the trouble, Sergeant-Major?’ he demanded.

  ‘There’s someone at the guard-house who wants to see you, sir.’

  Eckhardt frowned. ‘Explain yourself,’ he retorted.

  ‘Your brother Kurt. He learned that our regiment was here and obtained permission to come and see you.’

  ‘Kurt! Here?’ Eckhardt was startled, for his previous thoughts were still powerful in his mind and the past seemed to be reaching out with ghostly hands to clutch him.

  ‘He’s a sergeant in the Panzers, and looks fine, Herr Leutnant. When I set eyes on him I was reminded of your father at that age. Shall I walk along to the guard-room with you, sir?’

  ‘Thanks, Leun, but I can find my way by myself. I’ll go and see him.’ Eckhardt straightened his hat and squared his shoulders.

  ‘I had a few words with him, sir. I remember him as a young lad. I’m glad he came through the fighting in one piece.’

  ‘It’s been a long time since I saw him,’ Eckhardt said. ‘More than five years. I didn’t visit the farm very often.’ He clenched his teeth again, cutting off a flow of sentimentality. ‘Thank you for fetching me, Sergeant-Major.’

  ‘My pleasure, Herr Leutnant.’ Leun grinned and saluted, then departed.

  Eckhardt strode through the barracks towards the main gate and paused to peer through a window into the guard-room. He saw Kurt, who was smartly dressed as a Sergeant of Panzers, and a sigh escaped him as he prepared to enter and confront his brother. They had nothing in common except the blood of their father in their veins, but blood ties were strong to any German, as the Führer was insisting, he reminded himself, and made an effort to feel brotherly as he opened the door and entered.