Authors: Paul Dowswell
One of the two who were still alive was a German soldier. It was at this moment Will realised, with a shiver that went all down his body, he no longer had his rifle. He could not remember where he had left it – probably in the forest when his helmet had been shot off, or close to the edge of the wood before he had crawled out here. There would be hell to pay for that. Throwing away your weapon was definitely a court-martial charge. How he had not noticed until now, he could not understand.
So far he had escaped the horrors of the day and his every instinct told him to flee. But then the German soldier called up, ‘
Hilfe!
’ and held out his hand. He sounded timid and desperate. Will looked again. He was barely older than him.
The other fellow down there was more difficult to place. The man’s head was slumped forward, but then he jerked it up, as if waking from a nap. He wore the leather helmet and goggles of an airman. It must have been him in that Yank aeroplane.
Will realised at once the two of them were stuck in the mud that oozed thick and black at the bottom of the crater. He didn’t care that one of them was German. He couldn’t leave them to sink and drown, like poor Stan.
He slipped down the crater’s side, but the closer he got the more he could feel he was sinking into the soggy earth. ‘Wait,’ he called. ‘I’ll come back in a minute.’
He heard a voice call after him. ‘Hey, pal . . .’ It sounded weak but panicky, someone who was using their last reserves of strength to beg for help. ‘Don’t go. Stay and help us. Don’t go like the other guys . . .’
Will turned around again. ‘I need a stick – a branch – something to reach you with,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He began to scramble up again.
A shot rang out, burying itself into the wet earth just next to him. Will froze and turned. The one in the flying jacket held a pistol in his outstretched arms.
‘You gotta stay and help us,’ he pleaded. He sounded desperately weary. Will shouted angrily, ‘Why did you shoot at me? We’re on the same side, aren’t we?’
‘Look, if I stay stuck here much longer I’m gonna die,’ said the pilot. ‘I already had a bunch of my own soldiers come down and then run off before they could get me out.’
Will crept gingerly down the side of the crater, as near to the two of them as he could without getting sucked into the mud. The German boy stared at him with something approaching revulsion.
The pilot was still pointing his pistol at him. Will tried to sound as reasonable as he could. ‘Please don’t do that. I need to get something to help you. I don’t want to get sucked into the mud too.’ As he spoke, he felt dried blood crack on his face.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ said the pilot.
Will realised his face must be covered in blood. That was what happened when your nose bled. It looked so much worse than it really was.
‘If you let me go, I will come back soon with something to pull you out of here,’ he said.
‘Swear to me you’ll come back,’ said the pilot. He seemed close to panic. ‘Don’t go dying on us. Don’t get killed out there.’
‘I will come back, but only if you put your revolver away,’ said Will. The pilot gave an embarrassed grin – the nearest Will was going to get to an apology – and put the gun back in his holster.
So Will crawled back across the field to the edge of the forest. He didn’t care if one of them was a German, he was determined to get those two out. Sinking into mud to freeze to death, or even worse, to drown. It was the stuff of nightmares. He reached the dense line of trees, grateful that no one had taken a shot at him. It had gone quiet, and only in the distance could he hear the occasional shell or rifle shot. He wondered if it was his hearing, but when he clicked his fingers he could hear that perfectly.
On the edge of the forest, just where the trees gave way to the open field, was exactly what he was looking for – a long thin branch, recently fallen from a tree. He picked it up and bashed it on the ground. It seemed sturdy, certainly not rotten or so weak that it would snap if anyone grabbed hold of it.
Will crawled back, still surprised by how quiet this recently churned-up battlefield had become. He heard the occasional chirp and wondered if it was his hearing playing up again. Then he realised what he could hear was birdsong.
Will reached the crater, half expecting to find both of these strangers had gone. But they were still there and the look on their faces when he appeared reassured him that they were not going to do him harm. He slid down the inside again, dragging his branch, and held it out to the German boy.
‘Hey, Limey,’ said the flyer. ‘This kid’s OK. Don’t worry about him.’ His voice seemed stronger. He seemed to have revived, now the prospect of rescue was imminent.
Will noticed a German rifle at the side of the crater. The boy had obviously put it down there when he went to rescue the pilot. He would keep an eye on him though, make sure he got to the rifle before the German, if there was any funny business.
The flyer had noticed him looking at the weapon. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ he called wearily. ‘He’s a good kid, I told you. And if he decides not to be, I still got my revolver.’
Will held out the branch to the boy and dug his boots into the mud to steady himself. He could feel his feet sinking as the boy pulled hard, but he came out eventually. ‘
Danke! Danke!
’ the boy said, then, ‘Sank yew,
Kamerad
!’
The flyer was more difficult to get out. Both of them pulled on the branch, but the man was too weak to hold on. The German boy had an idea. He took off his leather belt and fastened it to the end of the branch with the buckle, just above a knobbly lump.
Then they both held it over the flyer’s head. The pilot grabbed the dangling leather strap, and wrapped it around his wrists. With all three of them straining to get him out, they made progress – and eventually he lurched forward in a great splash of mud and water, and an agonising yelp. They dragged him by the scruff of his flying jacket halfway up the crater.
The relief on the pilot’s face was heartening but Will could see how badly wounded he was. Blood mingled with mud all along his lower legs. Will carried a small first-aid kit in a pouch on his belt, but there was no point trying to patch up this Yank until they had the chance to wash those wounds.
Lost in the moment, neither Will nor the American thought to keep an eye on the German boy, and now they were out Will half expected to find himself staring down the barrel of a Mauser. But instead, the boy grabbed him by the sleeve and said something Will did not understand. But he knew it was urgent.
The pilot looked alarmed. ‘Oh yeah. There’s a shell here, landed about half an hour ago. We don’t know whether it’s a dud or whether it’s on a timed fuse,’ he said rapidly. ‘I’d quite forgotten about it.’
Will and the other boy grabbed the flyer and hauled him up. As they reached the lip of the crater, they could hear distant cheering. ‘What’s happening?’ Will blurted out.
The flyer turned to the German boy and smiled broadly, his pearly teeth flashing against the mud and oil on his face. ‘I told you the war was about to end,’ he said in German. Then he turned to Will and said, ‘It’s all over. Look. Eleven o’clock.’ He held out his wristwatch. It was covered in mud, but he wiped it so Will could see the time. ‘We’re done. It’s all over.’
Will was dumbfounded. He thought he’d be fighting all the way to Berlin – if he lived that long. Then he felt a sudden burst of anger. Why had they sent them in to the wood if they knew the war was about to end? He thought of the men who had been killed on the last morning of the war. What about those snipers? Did they know? He had to know if the Germans knew too. ‘Ask him – ask Fritz here if he knew the war was about to end.’
‘Hey, steady!’ said the pilot angrily. ‘He didn’t know either. I only found out about nine o’clock this morning.’
With sudden horror Will thought of Jim. He wondered if his brother had been caught by the sniper.
The American interrupted his train of thought by leaning forward and offering Will a hand to shake. ‘I’m Pilot Officer Eddie Hertz, American Air Service First Pursuit Group. How do you do?’ he said in an affectionate parody of a formal Englishman.
‘I’m Will, how do
you
do?’
‘And this here is Axel,’ said Eddie. The two boys shook hands stiffly. Will thought it was bizarre, these drawing-room manners, but the whole situation was like a strange dream.
Axel eyed Will warily. He had not forgotten that the British made a habit of dropping grenades in prisoners’ pockets.
‘We can all be friends again now,’ said Eddie airily. ‘The war is over, so play nicely.’ Then he collapsed on the ground. ‘Can you boys get me to a first-aid post,’ he said, first in English and then in German. ‘There’s a town over that way.’
The ground they were on was slightly raised above the rest of the terrain. They could see a small town a mile or so over to the east.
Axel spoke rapidly to Eddie who nodded weakly. He turned to Will and said, ‘Axel thinks it would take an hour to carry me to the town. He doesn’t reckon that would do these holes in my leg much good. I guess he has a point. He says there’s a German position by the church right behind us. I can get these wounds cleaned up there at least and wait for help.’
Axel didn’t know what his soldiers were likely to do to a pilot who had just bombed them, but the war was over. They would have to take that risk.
Will was wary too. Was this a ruse? Could they trust this German boy? They had no choice. The American was deathly white now. Will tried to put Jim out of his thoughts and felt a renewed determination to save this pilot. They would make sure he was comfortable, then Will would try to find his unit and hope to God his brother had managed to rejoin them too. He wondered why he didn’t feel pleased that he was still alive. He had assumed every day would be his last. Perhaps he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it was really over.
11.10 a.m.
The two boys hoisted Eddie’s arms over their shoulders and began to hobble towards Axel’s line. They tried not to make rapid movements – every jolt through the field seemed to bring the pilot further pain. It seemed strange, unnatural, walking upright in plain view of any enemy snipers. But the war was over now and they could hardly drag the pilot along the ground.
‘Wait here,’ said Axel, and they put Eddie down. Then Axel ran forward shouting in German. ‘He’s telling them not to fire, that he has found a wounded man,’ Eddie translated for Will. ‘He’s all right,’ he said. ‘I told you.’
Axel disappeared from view, but he came back almost immediately.
‘Gone,’ he shouted. ‘They must have withdrawn.’
They would have to go to the town after all. They picked Eddie up and continued past the church where he’d dropped his bombs. The German boy seemed numb with anguish. They could see a few dead bodies. ‘
Sieh Dir das an,
’ – Look at this – said Axel, gesturing towards the fallen soldiers. Will didn’t understand but he could hear the anger in his voice. For a second or two he wondered if Axel was going to walk off and leave him alone with Eddie. He wouldn’t be able to carry him on his own.
Eddie hung his head – from shame or exhaustion Will couldn’t tell. Axel stayed with them, anger still blazing in his eyes.
The road to the town passed along the outer edge of the wood. It was all downhill, which helped. They approached a German command post, with a flag and telephone wires disappearing into a trench and dugout. Axel called out, but there was no reply. It too had been abandoned.
Axel spoke to Eddie, then left him with Will and ran towards it. ‘He’s going to see if they’ve left water or first-aid supplies.’
Will panicked. ‘Stop,’ he shouted. The warning in his voice was enough to make Axel hesitate. Over the last few weeks Will had been through several recently evacuated enemy positions and he knew they were potential death traps for the unwary.
He helped Eddie sit down on a tree stump and was alarmed to see Axel was already climbing down into the trench. ‘Wait!’ Will screamed, beckoning him back. His gestures must have made sense because Axel came out at once with a puzzled look on his face.
Peering into the dugout trench, Will could see one of the duckboards at the bottom was sticking up a little. It was a trick Jim had warned his men about soon after Will arrived at the Front.
Will took a sandbag from the side of the trench and emptied some of it out so he could pick it up. He beckoned Axel to take cover. Then he tossed it down and threw himself flat on the ground beside him. A second or two later there was an explosion and the side of the trench was peppered with splinters and shrapnel.
Patting Axel on the shoulder he said, ‘Watch this.’ Will picked up another sandbag and hurled it through the open door of the dugout. Another explosion followed, and the dugout collapsed in on itself.
‘
Danke
,’ said Axel. For the first time, he gave Will what seemed like a genuine smile.
Will had seen several of his own platoon lost to booby traps in abandoned enemy positions. Any
Pickelhaube
helmet left in an obvious place, or officer’s pistol, or bayonet – all tempting souvenirs – were likely to have a wire and a charge attached. Flags on poles were another common one. Arriving at a recently vacated German command post, Will had seen two men blown to pieces when they had hurried over to grab an Imperial German Army flag.