Homecoming ...

(Bundesarchiv Source)

Jürgen von Lüttwitz was understandably nervous as they approached the Soviet sector of occupied Germany. The war had been over for seven years, he'd been released from the POW cage after two and a half years in captivity.

As an officer he had been de-Nazified but in a very perfunctory manner. The Soviets were throwing their considerable weight around and the Amis were more interested in opposing them than their old enemies, the Germans. He had been asked if he still admired Hitler by a very young American officer.

"I never admired Hitler," he answered, far more abruptly than he meant to.

"Not even when you were winning the war?" the young officer had persisted.

"Lieutenant, I was an enlisted man during the early years of the war. The Nazis stole from my family, I have no love for them. As to Hitler, he was, to me, just another damned politician. Later on, as an officer in the German Army, I learned to eschew politics. We were too busy trying to stay alive anyway to concern ourselves with what was happening in Berlin."

The young American lieutenant nodded, made a few notes then looked up at von Lüttwitz, "Okay then, you're free to go." Then handed the bewildered German a piece of paper.

As von Lüttwitz took the proffered document, he nodded and muttered a thank you. Somehow he had been expecting more from this session. It all seemed so anticlimactic. As he turned to go out the way he had come in, the American spoke.

"Not that door, you're a free man. The door to your right exits out of the camp. Was there something you needed from the barracks? I can have my sergeant fetch that for you."

Von Lüttwitz thought for a moment, his Knight's Cross wasn't there, it was hidden elsewhere in the camp. But as he thought about it, what need did he have of that? A decoration from a now extinct government. He paused, then spoke.

"No, I have everything I need on me. There is nothing left in this camp I need to live. At least not that I care about."

That had been seven years ago, he remembered it as if had been yesterday. Now he was riding in a beat up Volkswagen Käfer¹ headed east. The man driving had been invalided out of the army in 1944, he had lost part of his foot in the East, now he ran an illicit transport service into the Soviet Zone.

Von Lüttwitz had worked as a laborer, clearing the rubble from Germany's ruined cities. He even had a brief stint working for the U.S. Army in a supply depot. He had been saving his money, which took time, his wages weren't much, barely enough to rent a small room and feed himself.

One day, he had run into an old comrade from the East. The man had been startled to see von Lüttwitz.

"Herr Major!" the man had exclaimed.

Von Lüttwitz blushed, "Those days are over Heinz, just call me Jürgen."

The former Gefreiter looked ashamed, "Sorry, er, Jürgen, it's been some years and the East was horrible, but some of the best times of my life were in your unit."

"It's alright, I know how you feel. Have you been back to Saxony, since the war ended?"

"I was living there in '45, we fled to the west when the Russians were advancing in the spring. It was horrible, but I'm still alive. Many others are not."

Von Lüttwitz glanced at the man's empty sleeve, he had lost an arm in the Hürtgenwald. "How is, that?" He nodded where the man's missing arm had been.

The former Gefreiter looked at his empty sleeve, "Ja, I miss the arm, but had I not been wounded, I'd probably still be in that damned forest. That Ami mortar round probably saved my life." He grinned as he said that.

"Have you heard anything from our old homeland?"

"Yes, Jürgen, things are pretty rough. The Russians are being, well, Russians. I can't say I blame them, we acted badly in the East. If I was you, I'd stay away. The Bolsheviks have long memories."

The two men had parted and oddly enough it was that encounter which made von Lüttwitz determined to go home. He was a Saxon, and proud of that fact.

He looked up from his reveries as the small car began to slow down.

"We're nearly at the border, my friend. You still want to go on? A few people change their minds at this point." his driver asked him.

"No, I've come this far. Let's drive on."

To be continued ...

¹ German for beetle, the German nickname for the VW Beetle.