The Train

Bundesarchiv

The soldiers of 2nd Squad were still groggy after their long train trip. They were milling about on the platform with other members of their platoon, waiting for the rest of the company to assemble. Unusually, the other platoons were on a different train. It seemed that an over-worked, distracted station manager had a number of ammunition wagons attached to their train, rather than the cars containing the remainder of the company.

Schütze Bodo Hermann noticed a broadsheet on a bulletin board nearby, he decided to wander over and read it. "Let's find out how the war is going," he muttered, "no one tells us shit."

"Hey, Karl, Hans, come look at this, we're winning the war!"

The two privates began to walk over to the bulletin board but stopped short when their company commander came out of the stationmaster's office, "What's this Bodo? We're winning the war? If we're winning the war than why the f**k are we in Russia?"

Karl Wachsmuth couldn't help himself, he burst into laughter. "Good point Herr Hauptmann! If we were winning we'd still be in France."

Hans Warstadt looked confused at first, then it struck him. If they were indeed winning the war, as the Feldzeitung¹ claimed, than why were they here? Before he could ask any questions, the captain turned as he saw the stationmaster step out of his office.

Oberwagenmeister² Kurt Panzinger stepped onto the platform and looked for the scar-faced officer who had been in his office. Spotting him, he walked in that direction, "Hauptmann! I have word on the rest of your company!"

While the captain huddled with the stationmaster, the three soldiers rejoined their squad. Sepp Wittmann greeting them with a wry smile.

"Reading that Army propaganda sheet? Goebbels mention how many Russians we've killed or captured? How much territory we've conquered? Did it mention that the Russkis are still fighting tooth and nail but the war is nearly over, we just need one more big push?"

Hermann  blushed, "Something like that, Sepp. But we are very deep in Russia, are we not?"

Wittmann shook his head, "You boys have no idea how big this country is. Bodo, you're from Köln-Aachen, right?"

"Sure, originally, before my parents moved us to Leipzig."

"If you enter Germany and go to Köln, are you deep in Germany?"

"Of course not, you haven't even crossed the Rhein until you get to Köln."

"Well, from where our farthest advance is, it's another six thousand kilometers to the other end of Russia. Six thousand. How far from Köln is Berlin?"

"I'm not sure exactly but ..."

"Less than 500 kilometers Junge! To the other end of Russia is twelve times that distance! We've barely scratched the surface of the Soviet Union."

"But we've killed or captured millions of their ..."

"And they have millions more, trust me Bodo, it's going to be a long, hard slog. Victory my arse, we'll be lucky to survive."

Von Lüttwitz couldn't help overhearing all of that, but he cautioned his men, "Be careful who you say such things around. I've heard of people being sent to prison for less. It's defeatism to those running the show."

"What our glorious squad leader says is ..."

A loud train whistle interrupted Wittmann before he could continue. The men looked to the east,  wondering if this train was to take them farther into Russia.

As the train huffed to a stop, the men noticed that men were getting down from the train and taking up positions facing the train, almost as if they were guarding it.

Wittmann hissed, "F**king SS."

They were indeed SS troops and they were guarding the contents of the train. As the men watched, one of the SS, obviously an officer by his bearing, walked over to their company commander.

"Heil Hitler, Hauptmann!" The SS officer threw his hand out in a proper, though rather ostentatious, Nazi salute.

Busch nodded, then saluted in the Army fashion, "Good afternoon, Sturmbannführer³, how may I be of assistance?"

The SS officer seemed taken aback that this Army captain had not greeted him properly, but he decided to let it go. "I need your men, who I see loitering about, to guard my train while my men relieve themselves and get something to eat. This dump does have food doesn't it?"

Busch looked at the SS man intensely, "I wouldn't know, Sturmbannführer, we are heading for the front. We are waiting for the rest of our battalion. We've been here scarcely an hour."

"Well, I shall have a look, in the meantime, guard the train, keep your men away from it, anyone tries to leave the train, shoot them." Then the man stalked off, waving at his men.

Busch looked at Leutnant Acker, then nodded at the train. "You heard the man, have the men keep their distance. Questions will not be asked, for no answers will be given by these Asphaltsoldaten⁴."

In short order, Acker had his platoon watching the train.

"Dear God, what is that smell, Martin?" Schütze Helmut Schneider clipped his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"Unwashed people, Helmut. This train is carrying people back to the Reich. What the Party calls 'undesirables.' They will probably be worked to death in the armaments factories, provided they make it through Poland."

"Why, what's in Poland?"

Von Lüttwitz placed his hand on Schneider's shoulder, "What did the boss say Martin? No questions, remember?"

"I know Herr Feldwebel, but ..."

"Best to stay mum lad, or you might join those people on the train. Don't give those SS shits any ideas."

As von Lüttwitz walked over to speak to Acker, Martin Busch (no relation to the company commander as he always reminded everyone) nudged Schneider. "They're Jews, or Gypsies, or some other group of people that the Party hates. Read the Führer's book, then you might understand. If you can stomach reading that mess." Busch looked around to make sure no one heard him.

A shiver went down Schneider's spine, in one of the small barred windows high on the side of one of the freight cars, he saw a bearded face. A man, disheveled and filthy, but unmistakably a man, looked out at the scene with a haunted look in his eyes. As his eyes met those of Schneider, a look of utter hatred filled the man's face.

Schneider was not the first soldier to wonder exactly what it was he was supposed to be fighting for.

Nor would he be the last.

¹ Field newspaper

² Superintendent in the Deutsches Reichsbahn (German Rail), equivalent to an Oberfeldwebel or senior sergeant.

³ SS rank, equivalent to a Major.

⁴ Literally "asphalt soldiers," a name reputed to have been given to the SS because of their presence in Berlin guarding State-owned property. That is, they weren't real soldiers as they spent their days mounting guard on the asphalt streets of Berlin. Might be apocryphal, but I like the story.