The Tanker

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As they moved over the fields to get to the next patch of woods, Krafft listened. To the east he could hear the distant rumble of artillery, some other group of Germans was being pounded in preparation for yet another Soviet advance. He shuddered at the memory of being on the receiving end of Ivan's guns.

To his front, the west, the direction they were moving, he could see the flicker of flame, he imagined he could hear it as well. But with the susurration of the many men moving around him, cloth on cloth, the occasional clink of metal on metal, and the inevitable murmuring between the men - you just couldn't get them to be completely quiet when their nerves were on edge - the night was alive with small sounds. Then he heard a voice.

"Ein bisschen Hilfe hier, Kamerad?"¹

The voice was to his front, he focused in that direction, he could make out the dark hulk of a vehicle. He was ready with his StG 44 but felt that somehow he wouldn't need his weapon.

"Hold up lads," Krafft hissed at the men following.

The battalion came to a stop, he could hear someone hissing, "Hauptmann to the front."

He activated his torch, he'd thrown away the clear lens a long while back, the red lens didn't carry far, but then again he didn't like announcing his presence to any nearby enemy. It would do.

He saw that there was a man, sitting next to a destroyed Panther, oddly enough, the vehicle wasn't burning. The man on the ground seemed to notice his look, "Wasn't any fuel left to burn, we'd fired our last round before that T-34 over yonder hit us. Spalling killed my crew and f**ked up my leg."

Krafft knelt next to the man, a tanker from the insignia on his collar. The jawless skull of the Panzer arm was often confused with the SS death's head insignia. But the Panzer arm's insignia went way back to the days of Prussia and Frederick the Great and beyond.

Krafft shook his head, his mind was groggy with fatigue.

"Are you going to stare at me, or might you spare a sip from your canteen, friend?" the man on the ground spoke again.

Krafft looked at the man as he reached back for his canteen. The tanker had a crude, but apparently effective, tourniquet around the middle of his right thigh. Effective as most of that leg was missing below the knee and the man was still alive.

As the tanker gratefully accepted the canteen and took a swig, he nodded his thanks, then said, "Don't suppose you've got a Sani² with you by any chance?"

Hauptmann Oster joined the group by the destroyed Panther, "What's going on, Staber?"

The man on the ground spoke, "Don't mind me, Hauptmann, I just wanted a sip of water and perhaps ask your Sani to tell me how long I have left."

Oster refocused on the man, whom he hadn't seen at first, he noticed the man's shoulder boards, "My apologies Herr Oberstleutnant³, I didn't see you there." Oster turned and hissed for the Sani.

"We saw you fighting those Soviet Panzers, I assume it was you." Oster pointed to the east where he could see the flickering glow of three dead T-34s.

"Ja, genau⁴, that was me and ... ," the man choked back a sob, "me and my boys. The lads didn't make it, I was 'lucky' and was thrown clear, minus the lower half of my right leg, guess my footballing days are over."

"Thrown, Sir? I don't see any sign of an explosion."

"I'd offer a look inside, but you wouldn't like that I think. There was an explosion in the turret, Thomas had an armor piercing round ready to slide up the spout when he, and the round, were hit. It went 'boom,' Thomas was killed, my leg was ripped off and I was tossed into the midnight air. So mind you, it was only a little explosion. As our hatches were open, there wasn't enough pressure to damage anything that wasn't steel. Did scratch the paint I imagine."

Oster chuckled, he liked this man. To have such a sense of humor when he was probably dying.

Obergefreiter Adolf Schurz, the Sani, stood up after examining, and rebandaging, the taker's stump. He couldn't do anything about the tourniquet. He stepped over to Oster.

Whispering in the captain's ear, he said, "Even if I could get him to a hospital, he'd probably die, he's lost a lot of blood. I'm amazed he's still alive. Nothing I can do for the man. Sorry, Herr Hauptmann."

Oster nodded and patted Schurz on the shoulder, "Not your fault, son." Then he turned back to the tanker.

"My apologies, Herr Oberstleutnant, but we have to be moving, there's is nothing we can do for you."

The tanker nodded, "Can I have a word with your Stabsfeldwebel before you drag him off to the wars?"

Oster nodded, "Least I can do. Männer, let's move out."

Lang and Liesl waited nearby as Krafft knelt next to the tanker again, "What do you need, Sir?"

"I'm afraid I'm out of pistol rounds, could you spare one? And perhaps another sip from your canteen ... My God, is that a woman?" he said upon noticing Liesl.

She stepped forward, "Yes, I am a woman, though it isn't that obvious with this hideous cap and bulky overcoat. Is there something I can do for you Oberstleutnant?"

"Just hold my hand for a moment, you look so much like my oldest daughter. It might be the light, or the delusions of an old man, but ..."

Liesl nodded, trying hard to hold back her emotions. She knelt next to the man and took his hand, "My name is Liesl."

"And I'm Manfred, a pleasure to meet you," he nodded at Krafft, "your man?"

"Yes, we only met recently but ..."

"It is war dear, grab what happiness you can, now go, take care of him, he seems like a good man."

"He is, mostly," she smiled as she stood up, "may you find what you're looking for, Manfred."

"I think I already have. Now go. Krafft, a word?"

Liesl and Lang moved off as Krafft knelt next to the dying man. He handed the man two things, his canteen, and a single pistol round.

"Danke, Stabsfeldwebel, this is only if I can't bear the pain, at the end you know." Then he took a long sip from the canteen, handing it back.

Krafft stood up and gestured with his weapon, "I could, you know, help you, Sir."

"I would not want that act on your soul, Junge."

"I have done far worse ..."

"No, run along, I've got this. I have done too much and seen too much to have any hope of redemption. This," he held his pistol up and loaded the single round, "this is nothing. Thank you for the drink."

Krafft came to attention and snapped a salute at the man on the ground, "Zu befehl, Herr Oberstleutnant, an honor to have met you."

The tanker returned the salute with a sardonic grin, "Run along lad, I have business to attend to."

Krafft nodded and joined his comrades standing some meters away. Lang started to speak, then held his tongue when he saw the bleak look on his friend's face.

Liesl pulled at Lang's arm, "Let us go from this place."

"Yes." Lang looked back at the dim outline of the wrecked Panther, then turned and began walking west.

He jumped at the sound of a single pistol shot behind him.

The rest of that night's march was made in silence, no one felt like speaking. Not even the youngsters.

They had perhaps seen their own future.

¹ A little help here, comrade?

² Short for Sanitäter, German term for a military medic.

³ Lieutenant Colonel.

⁴ Yes, exactly.