The Shadow of War

by Jack Murray

  Manfred felt excited, or scared. He was prepared to admit as much to himself. A part of him would have liked to have told his father. Another part rebelled at the idea. It had never been that kind of relationship. Instead, their bond was based on obedience. Manfred had been a good boy insofar as he had rarely rebelled. As far as Brehme was concerned, he had fulfilled his role as a father.

  ‘Look,’ said Brehme, pointing to the sky.

  ‘Messerschmitt,’ replied Manfred. Neither said anything as they looked at the plane make manoeuvres in the sky.

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed his father. ‘Look at it go. England will have trouble against those.’

  ‘I know,’ smiled Manfred, happy to talk about something. ‘One day we’ll have fighters powered by jets, Father. Can you imagine?’

  ‘Really? Are these things possible?’

  ‘It’s possible. I’m sure our scientists will find a way. Then watch. The Luftwaffe will rule the skies. I mean, you can’t kill what you can’t catch.’

  They continued along the road; the atmosphere lightened considerably as they crossed the bridge into the town of Heidelberg. All around were young men and women: students. And army. Manfred saw his father looking at him.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes, Father. I’m sure,’ confirmed Manfred.

  They arrived at the train station and parked. The two men jogged from the car into the relative warmth of the station. Brehme left his son for a moment to confirm the correct platform. He came back from the guard and updated Manfred.

  ‘Plenty of time,’ said Brehme.

  ‘Yes.’

  All around there were young men accompanied by their parents. All were probably destined to go to the same training camp as Manfred. Brehme looked around at the scene and then glanced at his son. The partings were universally consistent: the fathers standing awkwardly as the mothers embraced their sons, often in tears.

  ‘Son, your mother...,’ Brehme started to say but Manfred held his hand up.

  ‘I know, Father. I know.’

  ‘She’s not well.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, Father,’ said Manfred. He realised he felt guilty. For the first time he thought about his father alone with his mother. The lines on his father’s face were drawn tight. He was aging and Manfred had only just noticed for the first time. There was worry too. Whether it was for him or his mother he knew not. The sorrow gave way to irritation. He wanted to be away now. Away from that house. Away from the repressive atmosphere. How he had hated it.

  The excitement he felt now confirmed the rightness of his decision. He wanted his father to leave him. But his father stood there stupidly, just looking at his son.

  Manfred knew he was desperate to say something. However, eighteen years of giving orders, of discipline and obedience are not easily overcome. Peter Brehme looked at Manfred. He wanted his son to give an opening that would allow him to say what was in his heart. The rage in Manfred died away. Perhaps it was time to forgive. He held out his hand to his father. Brehme looked down and held out his hand to shake with sadness in his eyes.

  Then Manfred pulled his father towards him and they hugged. It was just a moment, but years of castigation disintegrated. Brehme pulled back with tears in his eyes. He turned away and rushed to the car.

  Manfred watched him go and then spun around to face the rest of the station. He felt faintly embarrassed. But then he saw that all around him, parents were hugging the young men who, like him, were going to war. He picked up his bags and walked to the platform. People had started boarding already. He walked along the train and found an empty carriage.

  Within a few minutes he was joined by several other young men. They were all of a similar age. The train bumped forward to the sound of silence in the carriage. Manfred smiled at the awkwardness. He knew about this. But he felt so excited that it could not be contained any longer.

  ‘Where are you heading to, anywhere nice?’ he asked the rest of the carriage. He had a grin on his face because the answer was obvious. Everyone smiled and soon they were talking about themselves and the future.

  Matthias Klug was the oldest at twenty-one. He’d left the university two terms before graduation. Manfred looked at him and wondered why. He was tall. Very tall, in fact. The growth of flesh had easily been outstripped by the lengthening of his bones. He was skinny and bespectacled, with mousey hair. This was a long way from being the Aryan ideal. But his warm smile and unusually self-deprecating manner soon won over the carriage.

  Lothar Lenz was the youngest at seventeen. He was also the biggest. His stocky build, powerful arms and youth proclaimed vitality and strength. He had left school the previous year to apprentice with his father as a mechanic. Lothar was quiet and clearly felt a little overawed by the boys around him. But it was clear there was a good humour with the youngster and a quiet confidence based on his unquestionable physicality. No one had messed him around in a very long time.

  The other passenger in the carriage was the same age as Manfred, Gerhardt Kroos. The two boys recognised one another. Each had played football in local teams and had played against one another throughout the years.

  Gerhardt was the most confident of the three but when he spoke, he also proved to be the most interesting. After half an hour of travel he mentioned casually, ‘I have a friend at this camp we’re going to. Well, I gather he’s just left. Anyway, I’ve heard from his family what it will be like.’

  ‘Go on’ shouted the other boys in unison.

  ‘Well it’s a bit like Hitler Youth,’ he laughed as did the others. He didn’t need to add how much tougher it would be. ‘We drill, we read maps, they teach us field craft, and weapons training; a lot of weapons training, in fact. In this respect we’ve been preparing for this for years, if you. Think about it.’ This made the boys cheer as it was what they were most looking forward to.

  ‘On arrival we’ll be put into a room where we meet the rest of our gruppe and our Gruppenfuhrer. They’re formidable people. Our sergeant and commander also come. The commander gives us a lecture on the German army and its role in our society.’

  ‘Boring,’ commented Lothar, which raised more smiles.

  ‘Then comes the training. The instructors are usually people who fought in the last war. This is good because they’ll know what it’s like, but I gather they push you really hard over the sixteen weeks’

  Manfred chipped in at this point, ‘I read other armies only train for ten or twelve weeks. We have the best training in the world. The boys smiled and felt better on hearing this.

  Gerhardt continued, ‘My friend says training is planned down to the hour. At first, we drill on how to wear the uniforms, then we do lots of running. We run in all weathers, I might add. We’re taught proper map reading, and reporting, how to do range estimation, target description. Each of us is treated like a leader in our own right.’ The others nodded, completely absorbed in Gerhardt’s explanation.

  ‘We’re expected to stay neat and tidy always. The rooms are inspected regularly for cleanliness. Not just our room, either. They expect us to have spotless rifles and clean uniforms. Our uniforms are white by the way.’ This brought groans.

  ‘Probably because we are virgins,’ said Manfred laughing.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ chipped in Lothar which made everyone smile.

  ‘They won’t stay that way, I hear. They’ll be grey by the end of training even with all the cleaning,’ finished Gerhardt.

  The three-hour journey passed easily as all four shared information their background and where they wanted to be posted. Lothar, due to his background as a mechanic, had already been earmarked to join the Panzergrenadierdivision.

  ‘I’ve asked to join them, too,’ said Manfred.

  ‘Fantastic,’ said Lothar, ‘maybe we will train together. And what about you?’ asked Lothar turning to the other two boys.

  Gerhardt and Matthias both shrugged. Neither had given much thought to what happened after basic training.
The conversation turned towards the merits of the different arms of the military; the Luftwaffe, the Kreigsmarine and the Deuthche Heer with its various subdivisions. The idea of being with the Panzers began to grow in Gerhart’s mind.

  ‘Why do you want to be in a tank?’ asked Gerhardt, smiling. ‘Do you like the idea of all that armour around you?’

  ‘Damn right,’ replied Manfred which caused the whole carriage to burst out laughing.

  ‘Good plan, actually,’ said Matthias, thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I might do the same. Better than being in the infantry and walking into machine gun fire.’

  Gerhardt looked at Matthias. The reality of where they were going and what it would mean suddenly became very real. The four boys became quiet. Just at that moment they went through a tunnel. The boys laughed. Nervously.

  2

  Reinsehlen Camp, Lower Saxony, Germany: January 1941

  The room was filled with around twenty other young men. All were around the same age as Manfred and his train companions. Aside from the recruits, the room was mostly empty of furniture save for one large photograph of the Fuhrer and an enormous Nazi flag draped from the high ceiling. Everyone looked happy to be there which meant they were probably as frightened as Manfred. They stood rigid to attention. All eyes stared straight ahead like soldiers in a toy army. They were alone, waiting for the arrival of their section commander. They didn’t have to wait long.

  The door opened and in walked one of the shortest men Manfred had ever seen. He was hardly the Aryan ideal with his dark, close cropped hair, bow-legs and bull neck. He had a look in his eyes that Manfred associated with Nazi authority. Anger.

  In fact, his eyes were virtually popping in rage as if he’d just received a carpeting from his commanding officer and was about to dish out some revenge on the people before him.

  Manfred’s assessment was directionally correct but did not come close to the intensity of the next hour. On the basis of the talk, or rant, it seemed that Drexler, for he was so named, hated young people, life and the enemy in roughly that order. Manfred risked a glance at Gerhardt who was standing beside him towards the back of the group. Gerhardt saw Manfred look and half-smiled. Seconds later, Drexler ripped through the assembled men to stand in front of Gerhardt, his face inches away.

  ‘Is something amusing you?’ shouted the diminutive dictator.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Gerhard, eyes focused somewhere in the direction of Berlin.

  With a swift lateral movement Drexler was standing in a similar proximity to Manfred. He roared at Manfred, ‘What was so funny?’

  Flecks of spittle sprayed over Manfred’s face. He didn’t blink. Drexler’s was tomato-red, except for the prominent blue veins around his eyes. The eyes. Clear blue and full of a hatred that Manfred had never before witnessed, even in the most sadistic of his teachers, and there had been quite a few. But with this anger there was also something familiar and reassuring.

  As quickly as Manfred had felt afraid and uncomfortable, he quickly realised this was what he had been living with all his life. Only more concentrated. The next sixteen weeks were to prepare him and the rest of the group for life and death situations. All at once Manfred regretted his immaturity and resolved to become the best he could be.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ said Manfred in a clear voice.

  Drexler glared at both boys. He pointed at both, ‘You, you. I will keep an eye on.’

  Seconds later, Drexler was standing at the front of the group lecturing them on the importance of obedience. The message was clear. They had now to forget the carefree days of youth. Rebellion would not only be considered intolerable; it would be punished forcefully. The more Drexler spoke, the more Manfred felt at home. He knew this world. It was his world.

  As the group left the room, Manfred took a risk and went to Drexler.

  ‘Herr Commander, I apologise for my actions. I wish to be punished, sir.’

  Drexler looked at Manfred in surprise. His eyes narrowed in suspicion and he said, ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I must learn a lesson.’

  Moments later Gerhardt was standing beside Manfred. ‘Sir, I wish to be punished also.’

  Drexler nodded to a subordinate. Manfred and Gerhardt were led out of the room to another room where the other young men were being measured for uniforms. As Gerhardt had correctly forecast, the uniforms were white. They were both handed back packs and told to put them on. Manfred’s first thought was it weighed a ton. He later found out it was around thirty-six kilograms. He glanced at Gerhardt, who smiled ruefully. Their first day was not going as they would have liked.

  After they received their uniforms and pack, the same subordinate took Manfred and Gerhardt to the parade ground. They lined up together.

  ‘I am Sergeant Haag. Over the next sixteen weeks you will grow to hate me.’

  One look at Haag and Manfred felt inclined to agree. There was, whether intentionally or not, a sly, malevolence about this man that was absent from Drexler. With Drexler what you saw was a good summary of the man. Haag seemed an altogether different prospect.

  Manfred resolved to be particularly careful when around him. His arm swept around the parade ground. It was the size of six football pitches.

  ‘While your fellow recruits are eating, you will run around the outer perimeter of this parade ground. You do not stop.’

  The two set off running. It was around six in the evening and the light was beginning to fade. It was bitterly cold, but Manfred knew the running would soon warm him up. He and Gerhardt ran alongside one another.

  ‘Not too fast, my friend,’ warned Gerhardt. ‘No talking either. They do not set a time limit. We run until we collapse. This is how they do it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gerhardt. It was my fault,’ said Manfred.

  ‘Enough,’ replied Gerhardt.

  After the first lap, Manfred could feel the straps chafing against his shoulders. He had certainly warmed up and the breath was already clouding around his face. His face was set in stone. He would not give in. Nor would Gerhardt. The two of them plodded on, lap after lap.

  Around an hour later, many of their fellow recruits came out to see them. This had been a direct order from Drexler. Word had spread in the base of a punishment and they were joined by other recruits who were in the latter stages of their training.

  Both Manfred and Gerhardt were suffering agonies they had never before experienced. Their shoulders were red-raw from the weight of the packs. Their backs were also aching, and the muscles at the front of their legs felt like water. The only sound on the parade was of their steps and their breathing. Manfred no longer felt human. It was as if his mind and his spirit had evacuated his body only to be pulled back by the pain of each step.

  Another half hour passed. Many of the assembled audience were in shock. This was now beyond punishment. It was torture. For these men, teachers, accountants, factory workers, shop keepers, it was a new level of brutality they had never witnessed before. The silence became a murmur as the two staggered on, no longer jogging. They’re feet dragged drunkenly on the parade ground.

  ‘Quiet,’ screamed Drexler, as the murmur had grown louder.

  And on the two boys went until finally Manfred collapsed on the ground. Gerhardt, himself on the point of collapse stopped to help his companion up. Once up, they continued on for another lap. By now they were barely moving forward. Their bodies were awash with sweat. Both tried to gulp in large quantities of air but the weight on their backs and their lungs restricted their airways. The pain from the straps was now unendurable.

  Within a few metres of one another they both collapsed unconscious. Drexler glanced at his wristwatch and raised his eyebrows to Haag. With some disgust he saw a half smile on his subordinate’s face.

  ‘Bring them in. Take them directly to the doctor. Make sure they are hydrated. Don’t feed them.’

  3

  Manfred and Gerhardt were woken up by the sound of a tray clattering and cutlery clanging against the flo
or. They were in beds alongside one another in the hospital attached to the training camp. Manfred glanced at Gerhardt.

  ‘I think I’m paralysed. I’ll never move these legs again.’

  Gerhardt threw his head back and laughed, ‘Me too. I’m in agony.’

  A male orderly brought each of them a small breakfast of porridge. He told them that they had twenty minutes and then they would have to vacate the beds.

  Twenty minutes later, both men levered themselves off the beds and stepped gingerly onto the floor. On the table beside them were their uniforms, now laundered after the night before.

  ‘Nice service here,’ remarked Manfred.

  ‘The food could be better,’ pointed out Gerhardt.

  ‘True, and I didn’t think much of the waitress,’ said Manfred indicating the returning orderly. Both men laughed and then grimaced as they tried to put their uniforms on. This was proving a difficult task with bodies that ached like buggery.

  ‘I know,’ said Manfred, ‘I’ll help you.’

  ‘You’ve been a great help already,’ replied Gerhardt.

  Manfred stifled a laugh as Haag arrived.

  ‘Hurry up you two. The commander wants to see you immediately.’

  Haag stood and waited as the two boys tried to move their devastated bodies towards the exit.

  ‘Not so smart now, are you?’ commented Haag, laughing mirthlessly.

  Manfred glanced a warning at Gerhardt. A blink of the eye was his acknowledgement. A few minutes later they made their way slowly to the office of the section commander. Drexler sat behind his desk. Haag joined him to one side. The two men looked at the boys. Haag’s face had a half smile, but Drexler looked angry, as usual.

  Like the everything else they had seen in the training camp, furnishings and décor were minimal. Drexler’s office contained two photographs. One was a standard portrait of the Fuhrer. It was very large and behind his desk. It was almost as if Drexler didn’t want to have to look at him. Another photograph was on the wall to the side. An army battalion was lined up in three rows. It was the first thing Manfred saw when he entered. A small inscription underneath read, August 1914. Manfred glanced back at Drexler.