Night Raid

Der Angriff
Otto Mack
Source

One of the younger men had giggled at the sight of the three men draped in light-colored bed sheets with a faded floral pattern. One of the NCOs told the man to shut his trap.

"It's a good idea, yes, the sheets look odd but out there," he gestured towards no-man's-land, "they'll help them blend in with all the snow. It'll be dark and no one's going to see the damned flowers on the sheets."

Wolfgang nodded and added, "Besides which, it's all we've got."

Wolfgang had been sure that the lieutenant in 1st Platoon had had plain white sheets on his bunk, but to be honest he'd only glimpsed them in the dim lighting in the dugout. But these would do fine, they were white enough for their purposes.

The sergeant had told them again that they were after a single prisoner, an officer if possible, failing that an NCO. "What we don't want is some scared conscript who doesn't even know where he's posted. A more senior man will know patrol schedules, guard positions, machine gun positions, and the like. So bring me someone useful, otherwise this trip will be a waste of time."

Anton was getting sleepy, to keep from nodding off, he moved up and down the trench line, taking deep breaths to try and wake himself up. All he really did was nearly freeze his lungs, the air was incredibly cold that night.

He had to admit though, there was a fierce beauty to the night. The clouds had cleared, there was no moon but the stars shown brightly. The horror of no-man's-land was almost beautiful under the blanket of new fallen snow. He paused and looked into the wasteland, had he just seen something out there?

Wolfgang grimaced as the man in the trench ahead stopped and looked in their direction. He hoped that Hans and Johannes were smart enough to hold position until the man moved on. He couldn't imagine what might have sparked the Frenchman's interest, he could barely see Johannes not three meters in front of him.

Then he saw it, out ahead of Johannes, Hans was on point, he saw a small cloud seem to come out of the ground then waft away on the slight breeze. Damn it, their breathing might give them away.

Then he heard the sentry calling out to someone in French, he didn't speak the language but recognized its tone. Now what?

Louis pulled his greatcoat closer around his body, even with the small stove in the dugout, it was a bitter cold night. He stepped out into the trench and didn't see Anton immediately, ah, there he was, further down. He stepped towards the man, as he did, he saw a shadow slide over the lip of the trench and pull Anton close.

As he hurried forward, he realized that Anton was being attacked by a man wearing some sort of pale cloth over his uniform.

Anton gasped as he struggled with the man behind him, he had a firm armlock around Anton's mouth and neck and then it hit him. It was a German and the man was trying to stab him! He had seen the flash of the knife blade in the dim light. He dropped his rifle as he tried to pry the man's grip from his throat.

Anton felt something press into his lower back, he felt pressure and he nearly panicked as he could visualize a knife piercing his flesh. Then the German swore softly, Anton marveled for a brief second at how bad the man's breath smelled, and the pressure around his neck eased, then fell away.

Anton turned and saw Louis, his bayonet glistening in the dim light, gesturing at Anton to be very quiet.

Wolfgang wondered what was happening up ahead. He'd seen Hans attack the man in the trench, then they had fallen out of view, but he'd heard nothing. He was about to press Johannes into following Hans into the enemy trench when he heard a brief cry from up ahead. Then nothing. What was going on?

Louis had a grenade in his hand, Anton understood now. He watched as Louis removed the protective cap from the fuse, smacked it against the butt of his rifle, then tossed it into no-man's-land. He tossed it in the direction from which the dead German had come, which was clearly indicated by the marks in the snow where the man had crawled up.

Rather than the five seconds expected for the grenade to explode, the device went off while still in the air. Fortunately the lip of the trench protected the two Frenchmen. It was another story altogether for the two Germans waiting for their dead comrade.

Wolfgang thought he saw something in the air, so he burrowed into the frozen earth as best he could, to no avail. The French grenade exploded in the air, almost directly above Johannes. Wolfgang felt a number of stinging blows across the back of his head and shoulders. Reaching for the back of his neck, it felt wet. He was afraid to look at his hand.

He crawled forward to where Johannes lay. He tugged on the man's leg, nothing. As he was trying to determine whether Johannes was dead or alive, it struck him, what if the Frenchies tossed another grenade his way?

Louis gestured at Anton, telling him to wait. Taking his cue from Louis, Anton had pulled out a grenade and lifted an eyebrow at his comrade, should he toss one out there as well?

After a moment, Louis heard something out there, something scrambling across the ground, he nodded at Anton.

Wolfgang was desperately trying to get to the cover of a nearby shell hole. He was sure that Johannes was dead, at best unconscious and soon to be dead. There had been a lot of blood on his comrade's back, it seemed he'd taken the full force of the French grenade.

He was just lifting himself over the lip of the shell hole when an explosion punched him in the back, hurling him into the cover of the frozen hole. But he'd been hit again, his legs felt as if they were on fire. He patted himself down, yes, there, his left leg was very wet, he realized that if he didn't tie his leg off, he'd bleed to death within minutes, if not seconds.

As he stripped his belt off and tried to tie off the leg, he realized, there was no way he could move with the wounds he had. He had a choice, surrender to the French, or die out here in no-man's-land.

Louis listened carefully, it was now quiet out there. He wondered if there were any more of the Boche out there, he also wondered if he and Louis should go check. As he was having that internal debate, the Baron showed up.

"What's with all the noisemakers?" he hissed at Louis.

Louis gestured at the dead German lying on his belly on the bottom of the trench, "We had visitors."

The Baron nodded, then whispered, "Good work, more out there?"

"We think so, I heard something after the first grenade went off, so I had Anton toss another one out, since then ..."

The Baron gestured for silence, he had heard something.

Then Louis heard it as well, a faint voice, calling something which sounded like "hilfe."

The Baron nodded, "That's the Boche word for 'help,' sounds like you hurt one bad enough that he can't go home on his own."

"Should we send up a flare?" Anton asked.

"Dear Lord, no. That'll wake up the machine gunners on both sides, probably wake up the gunners as well. Let's keep this little affair local, shall we?"

"So what do we do?" Anton asked.

"You wait here. Louis, with me."

As Anton watched, Louis and the Baron slipped over the lip of the trench and headed into no-man's-land.

Wolfgang waited before calling out again. The bleeding had stopped, maybe he hadn't clipped an artery or maybe he'd gotten lucky with the makeshift torniquet in the dark. But his leg felt numb from the thigh down. He'd tried to shift his position but the immediate onset of intense pain stopped him.

He didn't want to die. Though he knew a few French words, most of them useful for getting a drink or a bed companion but little else. He couldn't remember the French word for help, so he called out in German. He was surprised at how weak his voice was.

He heard movement in the dark, he thought momentarily of his knife and his pistol, thought better of it and tossed both away from him. No point in getting himself killed while trying to surrender. He had no pretentions of "taking one with him" should he die out here.

"This one is dead," the Baron announced when they'd followed the tracks back to the second dead German. Going back further, the Baron saw darkness on the snow amidst the tracks. A darkness which led off along with more tracks.

"Looks like another one was hit, he crawled off that way. Take your rifle off safe. If anything moves and it ain't me, kill it." as the Baron whispered those instructions he moved off, following the tracks in the snow.

In the darkness, a figure loomed overhead, Wolfgang managed to get the words, "bitte, nicht schiessen" out of his mouth before the figure had stepped on him. The figure jumped back abruptly. Wolfgang heard a hissed, "Merde!" then waited to be killed or captured. In his pain, he didn't care which at this point.

The captain was ecstatic when the Baron reported that they'd taken a prisoner and killed two infiltrators.

"Probably on a body snatch," the sergeant major had opined.

The Baron agreed, "Knives, no firearms, though the guy we captured had nothing on him. And they were wearing bed sheets over their uniforms."

"Bed sheets?" the captain had scoffed.

"Yes Sir, pretty clever actually, they were nearly white sheets and I almost stepped on the Boche we nabbed, couldn't see him at first with that white sheet he was wearing."

As the men talked in the captain's dugout, a runner came in. The captain looked up, took the proffered dispatch and told the man to wait in case he wanted to respond.

He read the message then nodded at the runner, "I have no response, thank you."

"What is it, Sir?" the sergeant major asked.

"Well, the fellow these boys captured was quite a trove of information. The Boche are planning an attack as soon as the weather improves, the fellow was indeed on raid to snatch a prisoner."

"How is he?" the Baron asked.

"How is who?" the captain asked with a puzzled look.

"The guy we captured, the German." the Baron said.

"Ah, I fear he was handled a bit roughly during his interrogation."

"He's ... dead?"

"Yes, 'fraid so. The doctor tried to keep him alive but apparently something in his leg wasn't quite right and no one noticed. He bled out, right there at headquarters."

"Was there anything else, Sir?" the Baron was seeking dismissal, the captain's attitude disturbed him.

"Yes, Sergeant, that will be all. Again, good work."

The Baron left without another word.

"Why is he worried about some Boche prisoner?" the sergeant major asked.

"Ah, who knows? These front line types can be sentimental. Shared burdens and all that,  even with the enemy, they never see the big picture. Not like us sergeant major, not like us."

"Another cognac, Sir?"

"Certainly, and why not? There's a good lad."