Changes, Good and Bad

German troops training with an MG 34 machine gun, 1939
(Source)

Jan felt very strange wearing the uniform of the German Army. Just weeks before he had been actively involved in trying to kill men wearing this very uniform. If he thought about his situation for very long, it tended to give him a headache.

So he tried very hard not to think about it, he would blend in, he would survive.

His new unit, the 140th Regiment of the 62nd Infantry Division had been held in reserve during the fighting in Poland and had seen no action at all. The division had been newly raised in August and had not been up to strength. As the bulk of the men in the division were from Silesia, it made sense to some Army bureaucrat to assign the handful of Poles from the region to this division.

Unfortunately, he was the only Pole in his company and the native Germans at first barely tolerated him. After a few weeks, he had begun to fit in. As his German was excellent, the Germans in his unit began to treat him as almost an equal. Save for one man, his squad leader.

That man was a constant annoyance to Jan, if there was a crappy job which needed doing, Jan was chosen. He also received more than his fair share of sentry duty. Which led to him being tired and irritable most of the time.

"Hey Polack, I've got a job for you!" Unterfeldwebel Johannes Erlach bellowed as he came into the squad's bivouac.

Jan wearily stood up and wondered what shit job the sergeant had for him today, "I'm here, Herr Unterfeldwebel!"

"Grab your kit, you're being transferred to the weapons platoon, they need more mules to haul ammunition around." Erlach was laughing as Jan gathered his kit.

Once Jan was ready, Erlach simply pointed towards the company command post and said, "Bye now, have fun in your new job you stupid Polack."

Jan reported to the company clerk who bade him sit, the captain would be out shortly. After  a few minutes a captain emerged from the closed door behind the clerk. "Ah, you must be the new man."

Jan came to attention and rendered the proper military greeting. The captain surprised Jan by extending his hand and saying "I'm von Hausser, your accent, Tarnowitz?"

"Jawohl Herr Hauptmann!" Jan barked.

"At ease soldier, my family is from Kattowitz, we're practically neighbors. Name?"

"Schütze Jan Kołodziej, Herr Hauptmann!"

"Ah, Polish yes?"

"My father changed the family name when Tarnowitz was taken over by the Poles after the First War. He thought it prudent, Herr Hauptmann." Jan had settled down somewhat, sensing that this German officer was nothing like his former squad leader. But he remained cautious.

"What experience did you have in the Polish Army with machine guns?"

"None Herr Hauptmann, I saw them in training but never fired one."

Von Hausser thought for a moment, "We're going into the field for an exercise tomorrow, I'll assign you as an ammunition carrier to Gefreiter Paulus' gun. He's a good teacher, he'll have you up to speed on the MG 34 in no time. Do you know where the weapons folks are camped?"

"From the signs Sir, I'd say down the track in that direction?" Jan was pointing in the direction he had seen outside.

"Yes, oh, just a moment, Wolf, do you have the Schütze's orders ready?"

Unteroffizier Wolf Schneider nodded and handed the captain a piece of paper, he also said, "I've made the appropriate entries in his pay book as well."

"Thank you Wolf," turning to Jan the captain said, "Give this paper to Leutnant Spahn, this officially assigns you to his platoon. I believe he is expecting you."

Jan saluted and set off for his new unit. Things were looking up, hopefully he was free of the Pole-hating Erlach for good.

"What's the matter Wallace? No smart remarks today?" Sergeant Greaves was marching beside Billy, looking for any sign of weakness in the man. The Army had decided that enough trenches had been dug and that the men were in need of daily route marches to build up their stamina for when the Germans attacked into Belgium.

"I'm fine Sar'nt, never better, this cold air is bracing, brings a fellow to life!"

Inwardly Billy was furious, after weeks of doing nothing but digging, now they were marching all over bloody France. What he really would have liked was a pass, get the chance to maybe go into Lille and see the sights. Especially see the mademoiselles and drink the local wine. Now that would cure many an itch he thought.

"Ye worry me Billy boy, if a soldier ain't whinging, then he's up to no good. Are ye up to no good Billy boy?"

"Not me Sar'nt, I'm happy with life in the Army, I'm fit, well fed and at least the accommodations are dry enough." Even if they were not much more than a hole in the bloody ground covered with logs and turf, but he didn't say that to Greaves. Billy had learned to keep his thoughts to himself these days.

Jürgen came awake as the train braked, nearly throwing him off his feet. He was still amazed at the ability he'd developed of being able to sleep almost anywhere, even on the march! As the other men stirred, Jürgen tried to look out of the car to see where they were. As he craned his neck, someone bumped into him from behind. It was Hartmann

"We're near Görlitz according to the Spieß¹, from what he's been told, we're stopping in Dresden, spending a couple of days there, then a route march from there to Chemnitz, where we shall board yet another train. But I've also heard a rumor that anyone in the division from Saxony will be transferred to a new division, the 223rd which was mobilized in August but is still short of men." Unteroffizier Hartmann was, as usual, well-informed.

Jürgen cleared his throat, Hartmann spoke first, "You're from Dresden, I know ..."

"Near Dresden, but that city is like home to me. But leave the 30th? This is my unit now ..."

"We go where the Army sends us Junge. I've suggested to the Spieß that if you must go, you should go as an Offiziersanwärter² and not a Gefreiter. You've earned those straps Jürgen. You should be an officer, you have what it takes."

Jürgen blushed.

"Enough of that Junge, modesty is one thing, but you know that you don't belong in the ranks."

"If you say so Uffz."

"I do and so does the regimental commander."

"I'm no hero Uffz ..." Jürgen started to protest.

"No, you're more than that, you're a leader who cares about his men. Don't ever stop doing that Junge. You'll go far."

Guillaume was sick to his stomach, the very thought of the fate of his man, Eugène Bachelot, being convicted of such a crime as rape. But there it was, he had snuck out of camp and crossed over into Belgium. There he had gotten drunk then attempted to hire a prostitute, the problem was, he had no money, he had spent it all on the cheap local wine.

When the girl had refused him, he had raped her.

He had snuck back across the border easily, the only problem was, the girl had managed to break off half of his identity disk in the struggle which had led up to the crime. She had reported the crime to the Belgian authorities who had complained to the local French authorities. The identity disk made solving the crime easy.

That had been three days ago, Bachelot had been unrepentant until the day before. He simply assumed that he would be sent to a military prison. In that way, he could avoid the coming fight.

Unfortunately, because the French needed the good will of the Belgians, Bachelot's court-martial had been swift and unforgiving. He was to be shot tomorrow, at dawn. The firing party was to be made up of the men from his very own squad. Which included Guillaume.

The company commander had given the command of the firing party to Guillaume's platoon leader, who had decided that Guillaume and his rifle section would be sufficient for the task of executing their erstwhile comrade. Pour encourager les autres³.

"Just get it over with Caporal, Bachelot deserves his punishment. Stupid bastard, if he'd waited until the shooting started he could have raped to his heart's content. In the chaos of war, there will be no one to complain to. C'est la fortune de la guerre⁴. Isn't he the biggest troublemaker in your section anyway?" The squad leader had spat into the dirt after saying that.

Sergeant Pierre Brasseur thought it fitting, shoot a few troublemakers before the Boches attacked, it would settle the men's nerves and make them angry enough to kill the Germans. Heh, he thought, in Marseilles we would have just knifed him and dumped him off the pier. Not because of the crime, but because he was stupid enough to get caught.

Guillaume didn't care for this new sergeant, the man was nearly a criminal himself. In fact he probably was, wasn't everyone in Marseille a criminal of one sort or another? But still and all, Guillaume knew that he wouldn't sleep much that night.

He had never even seen a dead person before he had joined the army. Now he was to be a killer himself.

¹ The first sergeant, senior NCO in a unit. (Spieß)

² Officer candidate (Offiziersanwärter)

³ To encourage the others (not to do the same). An old Army saying.

⁴ That's the fortunes of war.