The Road Home

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The men had wolfed down the raw eggs that Pohl and Sauer had brought back, they'd eaten sparingly of the bread as that had to last longer. The eggs wouldn't keep and might get broken in their night moves across rural France. So they were consumed, each man had two, there were two extra which the men decided that the men who brought them back should split. The lieutenant hadn't objected, he also hadn't mentioned the dead French farmer after Pohl had brought it up initially. None of the men had any problem with that, their bellies were full.

The next night when they had moved off from the vicinity of Tilloloy, they had all noticed the still smoldering farmhouse to the north. There seemed to be no hue and cry from the locals, after all, accidents happened. The men had said nothing, though oddly enough, Sauer had stopped and crossed himself. Pohl was surprised, perhaps the man was human after all.

Southwest of the village of Ham
(Source)

As much as they could, Leutnant von Lüttwitz kept the men to the fields off the road. Though as they progressed further north, military traffic was increasing, so now they tried to stay in the trees if there were any. Fortunately this part of France had many woodlots and stands of trees, the number of waterways was increasing as well, the area had a number of canals all leading to the Somme River, which they arrived at near the village of Tugny-et-Pont at roughly two in the morning. The lieutenant decided to stay on the western bank of that river until they were just south of St-Quentin.

St-Quentin was a substantial town of some 45,000 people as von Lüttwitz recalled. No doubt that's where all the truck traffic was headed. Often long convoys of big trucks would pass them nearby, headlights blazing as if the Luftwaffe didn't exist. In truth the Luftwaffe scarcely existed at all in the west. Except over the Reich itself.

The lieutenant decided that they would go to ground south of that city and cross over to the eastern bank of the Somme tomorrow night.

The Somme River, near the village of Artemps
(Source)

"Herr Leutnant, I was wondering..." Feldwebel Pohl still showed a great deal of deference to his officer. The man had kept them alive so far. After traveling over 110 kilometers well behind enemy lines, they were still fairly healthy, the food, Pohl admitted to himself, which was largely thanks to Grenadier Sauer's efforts, had helped immensely, but now...

"What is it Feldwebel Pohl?" the lieutenant was again studying his map, actually a Michelin guide they'd picked up from the dead Frenchman's house as their military map had not extended this far. Something else they could thank Sauer for, though it had been Pohl who found the map.

"Sir, I was wondering if we might bathe? The river is right there, we're far enough from the roads, I'm getting fairly itchy, so are the men." Pohl had gestured towards the river as he said this. Though the night was somewhat chilly, the thought of rinsing out his filthy uniform and cleaning himself as best he could, had been on his mind since they had stopped.

The lieutenant looked thoughtful for a moment, then he said, "That's a capital idea Feldwebel. I will stand watch with Sauer while the rest of you clean up as best you can. Then Sauer and I will take our turn."

As the men stripped down, Sauer took the MG 42 and he and the lieutenant manned that weapon, setting up to face down the river towards where they had left the road. Any trouble would come from there. If not, oh well, they only had the one machine gun, machine pistols and rifles in the dark would probably not dissuade an enemy attack, the MG 42 would.

As Manfred Sauer slipped into the chilly waters of the Somme, after disrobing and rinsing his filthy clothing as best he could, he remembered the stories his mother had told him when he was a boy.

At the time his grandfather had been tending the small pig farm. He had let his son, Manfred's father, take over the running of the place, but then the war came. Manfred's father had been drafted into the Saxon Army. Saxony had been an independent kingdom up until the formation of the German Empire in 1871. The king, Friedrich August III, remained, but the kingdom was subordinated to the kaiser, Wilhelm II.

All that aside, during the great battles of the Somme Manfred's father had gone missing. No record of his death existed, though other men in his father's regiment insisted that his father's entire company had been buried alive, and killed, in a British artillery barrage. Of the 750,000 soldiers the Kingdom of Saxony sent to war, Manfred's father was one of the 229,000 who never returned.

As he bathed in the waters of the Somme, he wondered if his father's body rested somewhere nearby, the thought haunted him.

"You are rather more quiet than usual Manfred." The lieutenant's whisper shook Sauer from his reverie. The two men were sitting on the bank of the river, wringing their clothing out as best they could in the dark.

"Sorry Sir, it's just that my father was here in the Great War. Here at the Somme, but he never came home, he was listed as missing in action. While the Nazis declared him dead, so that my mother could have a pension, they never found his body. His entire company went missing." Sauer shivered as he said that, whether from the chill of the night air or not, von Lüttwitz couldn't tell.

"I see," the lieutenant paused, then continued with, "my father fought here as well, but he did come home, though with one less leg than he left home with. Many suffered in that war."

Sauer looked at his lieutenant, though it was dark, there was enough starlight to see some details up close, his officer seemed like a decent enough fellow, not as fanatic as his old platoon commander, but more measured, more balanced. It was probably why Leutnant von Lüttwitz was still alive, and Oberleutnant Hermann Krafft was not. The last time he had seen his lieutenant, the man was trying to attack a British tank, all by himself.

He had not survived the burst of machine gun fire from the tank, it had torn him nearly in half. That battle had also seen the 3rd platoon reduced to five men, of whom only two still lived, himself and Grenadier Böhm.

"We should get dressed Herr Leutnant, before Feldwebel Pohl thinks we have drowned." A slight chuckle followed that remark.

Leutnant von Lüttwitz was a bit taken aback, Grenadier Sauer had just said something witty. Their was more depth to this man than the lieutenant realized. "Yes, we should. I don't want the good sergeant fretting over us." Then he patted Sauer on the shoulder, a gesture which didn't surprise either man. Though the German Army was seen as strict and disciplinarian by its enemies, in reality the relationship between officers and men in tight knit units was a lot more relaxed than in either the American or the British armies.

These seven men from Saxony had grown very close to each other over the past week, it worried the lieutenant. What would happen if any of them were killed? He had to get these men home, it was really his only purpose in life now. He didn't care who won the war, he just wanted his boys to live. He wanted to bring them home.

But they still had nearly 160 kilometers to go. Much could happen, more troops were on the roads, they would need to be very careful in the next few days if they ever wanted to see home again.