1941 Comes to an End

(Source)

His mother was in the kitchen, after telling his parents what it was that he intended to do, her eyes had gotten a faraway look. She had gone to the kitchen muttering that she would have to start getting dinner ready. It was obvious that she didn't want to, or perhaps couldn't, talk about the subject at hand.

He had come home to the small family ranch just outside Divide, Colorado when school had finished. He had talked to the principal at his high school, who was very supportive of what the young man wanted to do. The principal had also mentioned that the young man probably had enough credits to receive his high school diploma early, if he was insistent on his desired course of action. But the older man, a World War I veteran, had insisted the boy talk to his parents first, without their blessing he couldn't go forward until his 18th birthday.

Though his mother hadn't really taken it hard, it was obvious that she was upset. Rather than make a scene, she had retreated to her domain. She needed to stay busy, she didn't want to think at the moment what this might mean for her oldest child.

His father had nodded as his mother withdrew, "I somehow knew that you would want to do this. It is what I would do, were I a younger man. But it is war mi hijo,¹ I have seen war, it is nasty, it is brutal, and it could mean your death. You know that, yes?"

"Sí padre, lo sé.² But this is something I must do, this country has been good to us, she has been good to me. If I don't do this, I could not live with myself."

The father looked at his oldest child, his son, "I know Stephen, I know. When I changed your name from Esteban, it was meant to mark you as an American. You were born a Spaniard, now you are an American. You have my blessing, I will sign whatever it is that must be signed. Your mother knows that this is the right thing to do, but still she is sad. She knows war as well as I do. You were so young when we left Madrid, we tried to shield you and your sisters from what was going on, but you witnessed some of the horrors, even though you never spoke of it. We got out before things got really bad."

"Yes Father, now the Germans and the Japanese want to inflict upon the world what Franco inflicted upon Spain. I know that I must fight this evil, I cannot wait."

Hector Hernandez nodded sadly, he had raised his son a certain way, he was proud of the boy, but he would miss him terribly.

Seven days later, Stephen Hernandez enlisted in the United States Army.

Nathan Paddock, a plebe at the United States Military Academy at West Point, was anticipating the Christmas holiday. His last class was over and he could start packing so he would be ready for the train ride to New Hampshire in the morning. He looked forward to seeing his family. He also needed to have a serious conversation with his father.

Should he stick with West Point? Something deep inside of him wanted to leave the school and enlist immediately. But as his roommate had said, why leave now, it was going to be a long war, better to go as an officer than as an enlisted man.

Paddock wasn't so sure, he read the papers, he saw the numbers of men volunteering for service. He almost felt like a shirker being at school when the rest of the country was going to war.

He thought, Dad will know what to do, I'm sure Uncle Bill will have a lot to say as well.

Uncle Bill was his Dad's oldest brother, he'd been a Marine in the Great War. Wounded in the Argonne fight, he would have good advice. Then again, so would his father, he had been too young to go to war in 1917, but he was well-read and loved history.

He would speak of this to no one until he'd talked to them.

For now, he would enjoy the Christmas holiday.

"What the f**k did you just say?" Johnnie Mastriano said as he threw his cigarette into the gutter.

"I said I'm gonna enlist Johnnie, the country's at war, or ain't ya been paying attention?" Flavio Gentile was short and dark, the neighborhood kids liked to say that he was as wide as he was tall. He knew that his decision wouldn't go down well with the guys he ran with.

"Go off to war with those other suckers? I thought you were smarter than that paisan."

Gentile stood up and poked Mastriano in the chest, "This is my country paisan, I was born here, unlike you."

Mastriano bristled, he'd been born in Naples, Napoli as his parents called it, but he had come to America when he was a baby. "This is my country too, don't forget that. I just don't want to go fight the Germans or the Japs, or anybody. Life's too good here in Philly. Why you gotta leave?"

"I just have to, you might understand some day ..."

Two days later Flavio Gentile enlisted in the United States Army. Two weeks after that,  Giannini "Johnnie" Mastriano enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.

"Frohe Weihnachten, Herr Leutnant.³" Unterfeldwebel Georg Hansen raised his canteen cup. Somehow the platoon's horse holder, Schütze Phillip Dessauer, had acquired a bottle of cognac. Von Lüttwitz suspected it had come from an officers' mess, but probably not within the regiment and certainly not within the battalion. Dessauer was very good at "acquiring" things the platoon needed.

Von Lüttwitz lifted his cup and said, "Prosit!⁴"

It was a quiet day before Leningrad. The Russians were conserving their ammunition, the intelligence von Lüttwitz was given was that a large Russian attack northeast of the city was expected, across the frozen Lake Ladoga. Russian efforts within the encirclement would most likely be directed at the German lines in that direction.

He couldn't complain, they might have a day of peace, even if the cold was enough to freeze your piss before it hit the ground.

It was his third Christmas at war, but the first that he had not been able to go home. He had written his family to let them know not to expect him. The letter he had received from his uncle, his mother's oldest brother, told him just how proud the family was of him. They understood the sacrifices he was making for the Reich.

His uncle had actually referred to Germany as "the Reich," not the Fatherland, not Germany, but by the term Hitler liked to use. Well, at least he hadn't referred to it as the "Thousand Year Reich," that would have been too much, even for his Uncle Otto.

The two men looked up as Schütze Max Ober came into the dugout, a brief gust of wind, laden with snow, came in with him.

"Snowing again, Max?"

"A complete white out, Herr Leutnant, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. It started just moments ago. The Major was going to come this way, 'celebrate Christmas with my boys,' he said, but he might stay at headquarters if this keeps up."

"Sit down Max, have a drink."

The three men sat in companionable silence, listening to the wind and the distant crump of artillery, each man lost in thoughts of home and better times. Praying that this madness would end some day, sooner rather than later.

End of Part One

¹ My son (Spanish)

² Yes Father, I know. (Spanish)

³ Merry Christmas Lieutenant. (German)

⁴ Cheers! (German)