The Border

Bundesarchiv
(Source)

The two men ate quickly, Herbert making the excuse that they had to get back to the farm before sundown.

"Ah, afraid of the patrols, are you?" Rudel scoffed.

"No, Herr Rudel, afraid of stumbling in the dark and breaking my only leg. Now, if you will excuse us? Danke, Frau Rudel, the food was excellent. My cousin and I must be off." Herbert stood up, getting his crutches under him, he made for the door.

Rudel grabbed von Lüttwitz's arm, "Remember Junge, I can help."

Von Lüttwitz shook himself free of Rudel's grasp, "I am no man of influence, but I can pass your name along."

At that, Rudel's face went pale, "Not really necessary, just, well, if you know someone."

Von Lüttwitz turned to look at Rudel, with a look that froze Rudel's blood, "Like I said, I shall make inquiries, if you might prove useful, someone may, or may not, contact you. But we were never here, and you never saw me. Is that clear?"

He had barked that in a voice he hadn't used since he'd commanded a battalion. Rudel snapped his heels together and gave a short bow, "Jawohl, Herr Major! Zu befehl!"

When they were out of earshot, Jürgen turned to his cousin, "Well, for all his bluster and self-importance the man was, at some time, a soldier. Did you see him snap to?"

Herbert chuckled, "From what I understand, Herr Rudel was a supply sergeant, a good one mind you, but not a fighting soldier. Do you really think he knew Hauptwachtmeister der VP Keller's father?"

"I'm sure he did, dropping the names of senior police officials is not a healthy practice here in the East."

"What is this Gehlen Organization he mentioned?"

"An organization one does not mention, here or in the West. Very secretive they are, and they wish to remain that way. If you have further conversation with Herr Rudel, tell him to mind his manners when he speaks of things the Stasi¹ would be very interested in."

Herbert visibly shuddered at the mention of the Stasi, 'Real bastards that lot, they'd inform on their own parents. Rumor has it that some of them have."

Jürgen shook his head, "Enough of that, it's too nice a day to trouble our thoughts with such things. We're almost to your farm."

"Are you sure you won't stay the night, Jürgen?"

"I'm afraid I cannot, Tante² Elsbeth. I've spent too much time here already."

"Well, you're in luck then, Junge. That train you boys saw in Dresden? It's been delayed, some big shot from Berlin wants to see them set up the checkpoint. Of course, die Bonzen³ can't be bothered to be on time. So the train, and the troops, sit at the siding and wait. So you can go back via Bayern," the elder Lüttwitz explained.

"Still a long haul, must be 150 kilometers." Jürgen said.

"Closer to 170 if you go with my friend Wittelsbach."

Jürgen looked closely at his uncle, "There are already far too many people who know I'm here, Onkel⁴ Kurt."

"Nonsense Junge, Wittelsbach has a trucking company, he runs goods down to the border every day. I have already arranged it, he should be here any minute."

Von Lüttwitz would have to report all of this upon his return, if he returned. The country people tended to believe that politics was for the city and that the authorities would leave them alone. They all seemed rather lackadaisical concerning the new regime in the DDR.

Before he could say another word, everyone turned as a heavy vehicle pulled up outside near the gate. Von Lüttwitz half-expected to hear the crash of a tailgate followed by the crunch of hobnail boots and the shouting of sergeants. He was relieved to hear instead ...

"Lüttwitz, you old bastard! Why aren't you in the fields where you belong?"

The elder Lüttwitz got to his feet, laughing, "That would be Wittelsbach. Wait here Jürgen."

Some hours later the truck carrying von Lüttwitz and a load of potatoes for the Red Army pulled over at a wide spot in the road deep in the forest.

"I'm afraid you'll have to walk from here, Jürgen. The village of Föhrig is roughly two and a half kilometers from here, due west. If you pay attention, you might see the old stone border markers which marked the boundary between the Kingdoms of Sachsen and Bayern. Not a word of this to anyone, ja? My job is hauling produce, not spies."

Von Lüttwitz did a double take at the word "spies."

Wittelsbach grinned, "Who else would go traipsing through the forest to cross the border. If you're not a spy, then you must be a smuggler. If that's the case, look me up next time you're in Sachsen, I'm not averse to making a few extra marks!"

Wittelsbach then thrust his hand out, which von Lüttwitz took.

"Geh mit Gott, Hals und Beinbruch!⁵"

"Danke, Herr Wittelsbach, gleichfalls⁶!

Föhrig was small, but it had a post office, which had a phone. After calling his superiors, von Lüttwitz repaired to the local pub. The proprietor, used to seeing all sorts of odd things near the inter-German border didn't blink an eye at Von Lüttwitz's torn trousers and badly scuffed shoes.

"Beer?" he asked.

Von Lüttwitz nodded, "Danke."

"Next time maybe dress like a laborer, you'll blend in better over there."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," von Lüttwitz protested.

Laughing, the proprietor walked to the other end of the bar to serve one of the locals, "I was born in the morning, Junge, but it wasn't this morning!"

As he drank his beer and waited for his ride, von Lüttwitz realized that the man had a point. He'd put that in his report as well!

¹ Stasi = Staatsicherheit, the Ministry for State Security. A very dangerous east German organization.

² Aunt

³ Big shots

⁴ Uncle

⁵ Go with God, break a leg

⁶ The same to you!

The Businessman

The border before fortification: inter-zonal barrier near Asbach in Thuringia, 1950.
Bundesarchiv
(Source)

As they got off the train, von Lüttwitz noticed another train on a siding. It was familiar to him as he had ridden a number of troop trains during the war. This one was carrying soldiers, German and Soviet, and had a number of flat cars loaded with materials. The sort of materials combat engineers used to put up fortifications and barriers.

He said nothing to his cousin, but he noticed that the train had not gone unnoticed by Herbert. In town they discovered that the buses weren't running that day, so they would be walking the five kilometers out to the farm.

Jürgen was concerned for his one-legged cousin, but he'd noticed over the past few days that the man had almost no problems with mobility.

"Any problems, Herbert?"

"Heh, I lost my leg almost ten years ago. I've gotten pretty good at getting around with these crutches. Great upper body workout, you know?" Herbert winked at Jürgen when he said that.

When they were well on the road and clear of the town, Jürgen brought up the topic of the troop train.

"I saw it," Herbert shook his head, "I'm afraid it confirms the rumors we've been hearing. People are not happy under the Soviets and their German lackeys. Thousands are fleeing and it's causing lots of problems with the Soviet drive to get us up and running again."

"How does a troop train confirm those rumors?" Jürgen asked, knowing the answer.

"That siding is off the main line for Bayern,¹ no one is fleeing to Czechoslovakia, people want to get away from the verdammte Russen.² Where would you block the routes west from Sachsen³?"

Jürgen nodded, then said, "And that presents a problem for me."

"How so?"

"I took the long way in, through Thüringen⁴, I had hoped to get out over the border into Bayern. But if those troops are heading that way, I'll need to go back out through Thüringen, which might take a few days to set up."

"You can stay with us, that's not a problem."

"I need access to a telephone, one that I can be sure isn't being monitored too closely. You don't have one, I noticed."

"Old man Rudel has a phone, he's a man my Father has done business with for years. Any excess crops we produce, he buys. He's trustworthy, he hates the Russians, lost two sons in Russia."

"Well then, when we get back to ..."

"His house is on the way, we can stop ..."

Jürgen interrupted his cousin, "Let's play this by ear, Herbert. We'll see when we get there."

Von Lüttwitz was concerned, to say the least. He had agreed to this mission thinking that if he could keep the people who knew he was in the East to the bare minimum, there would be less risk. He trusted his uncle and his family, he trusted Klaus-Peter Keller. But this Rudel fellow was a different thing altogether.

"That's Rudel's place, just ahead." Herbert said, pointing at a neat set of buildings alongside the road.

Jürgen took his cousin's arm and said, "Hold up. What unit were his son's in?"

Herbert looked puzzled, "The 223rd, same as us. Different regiment, I think they were in the same regiment and battalion, different companies though."

"Both of his sons were killed in action?"

"No, both went missing in the Third Battle of Kharkov, presumed captured or dead."

"So they might still be alive?"

"Anything's possible, but how many men have come back from the East?"

"I met one the other day, he ..."

"Was he an official of some sort?"

"Yeah, for the bus line but ..."

"I'm betting he was a Red before the war. The Russians let their own go home first. From what I understand, they're still holding thousands of our boys in Siberia."

Jürgen simply nodded, his cousin had a point. Being somewhat well-dressed, it's possible that the bus official had determined that Jürgen might be a Red. He could use that, if he had to. Something to look into when he returned to the West.

Nodding at his cousin, Jürgen said, "Let's stop in and say hello to Herr Rudel."

"Herr Rudel!" Herbert shouted as they walked through the gate, "Are you home?"

From one of the outbuildings a graying older man stepped into the sunshine, "Young von Lüttwitz, is that you?" He was wiping oil from his hands with an old rag as he spoke.

"Yes Sir, and this is my cousin, Jürgen. You know we're not supposed to use the 'von' anymore, right?" Herbert said as Rudel grasped Jürgen's hand.

"Bah! Pleasure to meet you Jürgen, you have the look of a soldier about you. You're not 'the' Jürgen von Lüttwitz are you? Knight's Cross, Landser to Major, the tiger of Saxony, that von Lüttwitz?"

Jürgen was blushing, his face felt like it was on fire. "I don't know about all that Sir, but yes, I guess I am that von Lüttwitz."

"Come in, come in. Wilhelmina! Break out the schnapps, we have a war hero visiting us!"

"Herr Rudel, you shouldn't shout so ..." Herbert began.

"Nonsense boy, any man who served with my boys is a hero!"

"I was in a different regiment, Sir, I ..." Jürgen began, only to be cut off.

"Were you at Third Kharkov?"

"Yes Sir, but ..."

"That's enough, that's where those Red bastards killed my boys."

Frau Rudel rescued von Lüttwitz, "Now, now, Papa, hush and go inside. These boys look hungry."

Turning to von Lüttwitz she said, "You look like your father."

"You knew him?"

"Yes, before the war."

That gave von Lüttwitz pause, she noticed.

"The first war, the Kaiser's war, not that filthy man Hitler's war. Are you boys hungry? I have a pot of Leipziger Allerlei ready, Papa and I were just going to eat, there's plenty."

"Does it have crab?" Herbert asked.

"Of course it does. Come inside."

Herr Rudel said, "In a moment Mama, you and Herbert go ahead, I need to talk with Herr von Lüttwitz, won't be but a moment."

After the two went inside, Rudel turned to von Lüttwitz and said, "We have a mutual acquaintance in Dresden."

Seeing von Lüttwitz's raised eyebrow, Rudel continued, "Klaus-Peter Keller, I served with his father in the first war, the Kaiser's War as Mama calls it."

"I see ..."

"I'm sure you don't, but as a businessman, I have many contacts throughout Sachsen and Thüringen. Hauptwachtmeister der VP⁵ Keller said to give you this, should you pass this way. He was sure you would."

Rudel removed a small packet of documents from his coat pocket and handed it to von Lüttwitz.

Von Lüttwitz gave them a quick glance and then put them away.

"Where did you get these? These are worth a fortune."

The documents now in von Lüttwitz's pocket were blank identity papers, East German identity papers.

Rudel looked von Lüttwitz in the eye, "Klaus-Peter has contacts in Berlin, former soldiers and the like who found work with the Soviets and the new government. For certain considerations they can provide other things. Things of value that I'm sure the Gehlen Organization could make good use of, for certain considerations I can get such things to the west."

"For money," von Lüttwitz stated flatly.

"I'm a businessman, but I'm also a patriot. I can get things to the West, for a price, I can bring things into the East for my Fatherland."

"I can't promise anything."

"I know, now come on, let's eat."

¹ Bavaria

² Damned Russians.

³ Saxony

⁴ Thuringia

⁵ Chief Constable of the People's Police (Volkspolizei)

The City

The re-erected Luther monument and the ruins of the Frauenkirche, 1958
Bundesarchiv
(Source)

Von Lüttwitz and his cousin Herbert caught the train to Dresden, though it was only 20 kilometers from the family farm, his uncle had said that the trains were more reliable than the buses.

"You could go days without seeing a bus, whereas the trains are running fairly regularly. There's talk of requiring travel papers in the near future, but so far we can come and go as we please." The elder Lüttwitz had explained all this the evening before.

As the train entered the outskirts of Dresden, von Lüttwitz was surprised at the amount of destruction remaining from the war. He turned to his cousin with a quizzical look.

"The State is concentrating their efforts on rebuilding factories, the cleanup is taking longer than expected because of that. But we can talk about that later."

Von Lüttwitz noticed how Herbert kept shifting his eyes around to make sure no one was overhearing them. He decided that he should be a bit more circumspect about the questions he asked.

After they left the train, it was a short walk to the small café which von Lüttwitz had been tasked with visiting. He mentioned nothing of this to Herbert though, he just said he knew of the place and was it still around.

"Yes, they just reopened in January. I'm not sure what happened to the old owner but the place seems much like it was before the war."

After they ordered coffee, the two men sat at a small table all the way in the back.

"There are better tables ..." Herbert had begun, but Jürgen shook his head and nodded towards the rear. Herbert followed without another word.

After they had seated themselves, the man working in the café, turns out it was the proprietor, came to their table and asked if they'd like to see a menu.

"No, thank you. Just coffee. With cream, if you don't mind?" Jürgen said to the man.

Herbert thought it odd that Jürgen would ask the man if it was all right to have cream with his coffee, that seemed like a normal request.

"Cousin, we're in farm country, of course there is cream ..."

Jürgen shook his head and pointed, two policemen had just entered the café. They immediately came to the rear of the café, straight to where the two cousins were sitting.

"Your papers, please." said the older of the two men. Jürgen was shocked, he knew the man, knew him well.

"Klaus-Peter? Is it really you?"

Klaus-Peter Keller, who had been Jürgen's first sergeant during the war, smiled.

"I didn't think you'd recognize me, Herr Major."

"The police uniform doesn't suit you."

"I have a family to feed." Keller chuckled then turned to the other policeman, "Hans, why don't you go down the street and check that Ackermann isn't watering down his schnapps,. I need to talk with this fellow, we were in the army together."

Hans Winkelmann nodded and turned to go. Jürgen raised an eyebrow as if to ask Keller if the man could be trusted.

"He's all of 18 years old. I knew his father in France, 1940. He's a good kid, I got him this job."

"But you're a cop, in the East?"

"The Russians are a pain in the arse, yes, but they're people. Just avoid their stinking commissars and some of the junior officers. Did you bring something for me?"

Herbert Lüttwitz was a bit disconcerted that the two army comrades were ignoring him. Jürgen noticed and said to him, "Herbert, this was my Spieß from when I had my company and on to having my own battalion. I'd trust him with my life."

Keller looked at the younger Lüttwitz, "If you ever need anything Junge, contact me." Then handed him a small printed calling card.

Herbert nodded, "I will. Danke."

Now, Herr Major, I believe you have something for me?"

Von Lüttwitz pulled a pencil and a scrap of paper out of his coat pocket, then scribbled something on the paper. "Call that number, at any time of day or night. Someone will answer and give you another number. Call that number. Whoever answers can help you get what you need and will take any information you might be able to provide. Are you sure you're willing to take this risk, Spieß?"

"How long do I need to do this?"

"As long as you want, if you want out, we can get you over into the West in a week or so, any family included, up to five people."

"It's that easy?"

"It is now. Our informants in Berlin tell us that the Soviets are talking about tightening up the border. Barbed wire, mines, sentries with dogs, everything, getting over the border will get much harder and soon from what we're hearing."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you Sir. I owe you for this."

"No, you don't Hans-Peter, you earned this during the war. Just be careful."

As the two cousins headed back to the train station, Herbert was still flabbergasted at what had happened. "How, what ... I don't know where to begin."

"Best you say nothing, Herbert. That was government business.'

"You're with the government in the West? You work for Bonn?"

"Not exactly, I'm back in the army."

"Really, the army? Are you a Major again?"

"No lad, I got promoted. But don't tell your father, or anyone else for that matter. The fewer who know, the better."

"But why tell me?" Herbert protested.

"We may not have served together, but we wore the same uniform and we share the same blood. How could I not tell you?"

Herbert thought about this moment a lot in the months to come. He understood now why his cousin was such an effective leader. For now he simply looked at his elder cousin and said, "Danke, that means a lot to me, Jürgen."

The Farm

Walter Ulbricht visits the "Red Banner" production cooperative in Trinwillershagen.
Bundesarchiv
(Source)

Von Lüttwitz stretched as the bus drove off. He watched as it rolled down the road, he figured that the shock absorbers on that bus had last been serviced in the '30s. His back had felt every mile on the road from Leipzig.

"You there!"

He turned, the voice had been in barely understandable German. Of course, here he was, in the land of his birth being accosted by a Soviet soldier. But the man seemed furtive, looking around as if were doing something he shouldn't.

"What?" was all von Lüttwitz said.

The soldier looked around again, then at von Lüttwitz, "Sigareta?¹"

Von Lüttwitz was about to shake his head and tell the man he didn't smoke, then he remembered. Someone, he couldn't remember who, had advised him to buy some cigarettes in the first East German town he visited. While he didn't smoke, one could often bargain with the lower ranking Russians with cigarettes.

Von Lüttwitz grinned and reached into his coat, he pulled out a pack which he had purposely removed a few cigarettes from to make the pack look used. He pulled one out and handed it to the soldier.

The soldier smiled and shook his head, then he held up three fingers. Von Lüttwitz noticed that the man's mouth was full of metal, classic Soviet dental work.

After handing over the cigarettes, the soldier thanked him, again in really bad German, then walked back to a small sentry box that Von Lüttwitz hadn't noticed before.

"Were the bastards everywhere?" he muttered under his breath.

There were two roads leading off of the main highway, the one the sentry box sat next to, which was cobbled, and another, dirt, which he knew led to his uncle's farm. As he started walking, the smell of manure was heavy in the air. The farmers were prepping their fields for the spring planting.

As he walked he wondered if his uncle was even still alive. The last he had heard from him was in the early winter of 1945. He knew that his cousins were home from the war, one minus a leg, the other minus his sanity. The letter had been unclear on that, perhaps his uncle was talking about shell shock and was trying to avoid anything which the Gestapo² might take umbrage with.

He turned a bend in the dirt road and saw his uncle's farm house. He could discern a man harnessing a horse to what appeared to be a plow. He could see someone else, sitting on a chair near the front door, a man with one leg?

"People are saying that we'll be forced to join the collective when it's mandated across the country." Herbert Lüttwitz said as he shifted himself in the chair. His missing leg still ached at times.

"Das sind ungelegte Eier.³" Kurt Lüttwitz said to his eldest son.

"Vati, someone's coming down the road." Herbert shaded his eyes as he looked. Then he grabbed his crutches and began to move towards the figure on the road.

"It's Jürgen, Vati. I'd know that walk if I saw it from a thousand meters!"

The elder of the Lüttwitz's stopped what he was doing and stared. When he saw his son hugging the man on the road, and being hugged in return, he knew it had to be his younger brother's son.

"Mutti! We have company for dinner!" Herbert shouted as he ran to greet his nephew.

As the family sat down to eat, Jürgen couldn't help but notice that the interior of the farmhouse was missing many of the precious knickknacks that his aunt loved to collect. He didn't want to ask what had happened to them, afraid it might upset her.

She noticed anyway, "Don't fret my nephew. We sold or traded many of the little things we kept around the house when the Russians came. We were lucky, the men who came here were more interested in getting a crop in so that they could feed their soldiers. Terrible things happened in the cities but not here."

"Annaliese Krupinski was raped over in Reinsberg, Mutti. How can you say nothing happened?" Herbert protested.

"Yes, and they shot the soldier who did it. We're farmers, we work the land, we feed the people, even the bloody Bolsheviks understand that. Cause unrest and crops don't get sown and people don't eat. The local commander understands these things." Kurt Lüttwitz barked at his son.

Herbert shrugged, he was tired of arguing with his father. He turned to Jürgen, "We thought you were dead, Junge. A telegram from the Army said that you were missing in action. What happened?"

Von Lüttwitz wasn't sure if he should tell that story, how he had surrendered his battalion in the late stages of the war rather than see more of his men die.

"We were surrounded in the ruins of Köln, most of my men were dead, or missing, all of my vehicles had been destroyed. There was no hope, the Amis mopped us up and into the cage we went."

"I read about those," Herbert said, "the Russians made a big deal out of it. Inhumane treatment, caged like animals, that's what they said at any rate."

"They were bad, make no mistake, but the western Allies had no idea of the number of prisoners they would have on their hands when resistance collapsed."

Von Lüttwitz shrugged, "The war is over, I've put that behind me."

"Do you plan on staying here, in Saxony?"

"I don't know, there is nothing left for me here. But there is nothing in the West either."

"Stay with us, work the farm with me," Kurt suggested, "Herbert can't manage it, not with one leg, and Heinz ..."

The older man paused and looked out a window before continuing, "Heinz is in an institution, in Dresden. The war, I don't know, unhinged him. He sits all day, staring at nothing. He awakens in the night, screaming. In his mind, the war hasn't ended. It never will end."

Herbert chimed in, "I visited him last month. The doctors keep him sedated, he sits and stares ..."

"And shits himself." Kurt added, deeply angry.

His wife snapped, "Enough of that in my house, Vati."

"Ja, ja, sorry Mutti. But it is true. Ah, forgive us Jürgen, we are bad hosts. Can you stay?"

"Certainly, but only for a couple of days. I have business in Dresden, then I must return to the West. The Amis have a hold on me, they want this little thing taken care of. If I refuse, they report me to the Soviets. No doubt I would then be transported to Siberia, or shot."

Kurt looked alarmed, "But why, you were captured by the Amis ..."

Herbert interrupted his father, "Jürgen invaded the Soviet Union, yes, with millions of others, but the Soviets don't care. To them he is a war criminal. The only reason I was released was ..."

Herbert's mother spoke again, "That's enough, Herbert."

"No, it isn't Mutti, it will never be enough. You see Jürgen, after I was wounded, I joined the Reds. I hated Hitler and his ilk, and not just because of the loss of my leg, I saw what they, what WE did in the East. I thought the Reds would be different."

Von Lüttwitz shrugged, "They are but two sides of the same coin."

"Exactly. But it helped my parents keep their farm. Do you know that Ulbricht and his gang of thugs plan to collectivize the farms in the DDR? Ours is small enough that we will be in charge of it still, but the Party will decide what we grow, and how."

"We do what we must to survive." von Lüttwitz answered his cousin. "We can do no more."

To be continued ...

¹ The Russian word for cigarette.

² The German acronym for the Secret State Police, Geheime Staatspolizei.

³ Those are unlaid eggs = We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

The Bus

Ernst Thälmann Pioneer Organisation Parade
Leipzig, Deutsche Demokratische Republik, 1953
(Source)

If von Lüttwitz hadn't have known better, he could have sworn that he had gone back in time to the 1930s. The only difference between the youth parade marching down the street before him now, and what he remembered from his youth, was the absence of the swastika. The cult of personality in East Germany was still strong, Communist leaders had replaced the Nazi leaders, but the similarities were striking. It made him sick.

He had grown up near Leipzig, he'd gone to university here before the war started, things were somehow the same, yet different at the same time. Most of the rubble and destruction had been cleaned up, no doubt by Germans employed the same way he had been after release from the American POW cage. Not exactly volunteers but driven to return order and cleanliness to their cities and towns.

The Americans found it amusing, the Soviets used it as a tool to get the people to accept the transition to Communism. Most Germans were glad the war was over, some, like the East German leadership, were happy to help the Soviets construct what they just knew would be a worker's paradise.

Von Lüttwitz scoffed and shook his head at the thought. He better get moving, he had a bus to catch.

"Something bothering you, Comrade?" said a man nearby.

Von Lüttwitz turned abruptly and gave the man what his troops used to call his "officer's look."

"Yes, today is a work day, I'm surprised these youths have the time to parade up and down the city streets. It's frivolous." Looking at the man with disgust, he added, "Comrade."

The man lowered his gaze and muttered, "My thoughts exactly, Comrade."

Without waiting for any further interaction with the man, von Lüttwitz walked to the corner where the bus for Dresden was loading. The officials at the bus depot had assured him that the bus made a stop at Reinsberg.

"What is in Reinsberg, Lüttwitz?" The official had glanced at his identity papers when he handed von Lüttwitz his bus ticket and his papers.

"My uncle has a farm near there. I haven't seen them since before the war."

"Just how long were you in the American camps, Lüttwitz?" The man had seemed genuinely interested, he looked around cautiously to make sure no one was in earshot. "I was held in the East until '50, after Stalingrad."

"I was captured near the end of the war, damned Amis kept me in a cage until '48. Then it was clearing rubble. When the West went capitalist, I decided to come home, to Saxony."

He had learned well the lessons they'd taught him about how to get along in the DDR. Thing is, they weren't that different than when they had been under Hitler and the Nazis. The only thing he had trouble getting used to was the loss of the "von" in front of his name. No nobles under Communism they'd pointed out to him when they had given him his papers.

"Have a safe trip, comrade." The way the bus official put it made it sound like what they'd called each other in the Army, not the "Comrade" of the Soviets and Communists.

Von Lüttwitz tucked his papers away in an inside pocket and gave a brusque nod and a quick smile to the bus official, "Danke, Kamerad."

As he boarded the bus he saw a Soviet patrol just down the street, two men and an officer. It took all of his self-control to keep from staring in hatred at the three men. He knew, deep down inside, that the two men were probably conscripts, just doing as they were told. But the officer, it was him, and bastards like him, that had subjugated the eastern provinces of Germany and were diligently molding them into a Communist state.

"Is this seat taken, Comrade?"

A young man gestured at the seat next to von Lüttwitz, he had a look that von Lüttwitz was familiar with, that of the young fanatic. Youths like this had help drag his Germany down into the sewer that was Nazism, now they were intent on replacing that fanatical regime with one imported from the Soviet Union.

"No, it is not, Comrade."

The youth obviously wanted to engage von Lüttwitz in conversation, something he'd rather avoid.

"Look, sorry Comrade, but I've had a long day and I'm off to our field headquarters near Dresden. I'd rather sleep than chat. Is that going to be a problem?"

The light went out of the youth's eyes, thinking that he was dealing with a Party official or, worse yet, a member of the police, he immediately apologized. For the rest of the trip, he kept  to himself.

Von Lüttwitz was starting to doubt the wisdom of this trip.

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.

Glimpse of a Stark Future

(Source)

"How much more of this do they expect us to do?" Obergefreiter Sepp Wittman knelt on the ground, though the weather was brisk, he was sweating profusely. The unit was in the middle of yet another field exercise.

Fahnenjunker-Unterfeldwebel Jürgen von Lüttwitz, paused next to his assistant squad leader and pointed, "That next hill, we go up, over, and on the other side is a road."

"Where we'll be met by LKWs to take us back to our bivouac?" Wittman asked hopefully.

"Of course not Mensch," Jürgen mopped his brow with the small towel he kept wrapped around his neck before continuing, "there we will pitch our little squad shelters, spend a restful night beneath the stars, while we take turns with 1st Squad patrolling the perimeter."

As soon as he said that, it began to rain.

Wittman shook his head, "So much for sleeping under the stars."

"Oh, I assure you, the stars are still up there, you need to look on the bright side Sepp ..."

"What, that we're not in Africa, or heading east to Poland? You've heard the rumors."

Jürgen gestured at Sepp to keep his voice down, "Africa is no rumor, the Wehrmachtbericht¹ has announced that General Rommel is in Africa this very moment, sent to rescue our valiant Italian allies."

"Rommel, all by himself?" Sepp asked in a scoffing tone.

"Why no, he has a light division and a Panzer division to help."

"The Tommies must be shaking in their boots." Sepp laughed.

"I doubt that, they don't have the French tied around their necks this time." Jürgen had little regard for the French Army, though he had to admit, many of the French soldiers, when well led, were excellent material. Fortunately for the Germans, they had been anything but well-led in last year's campaign.

"Think we'll be sent there?" Sepp asked.

"It's a side show, the next big deal will be in the east. Mark my words." Jürgen had heard the rumors, he'd talked to a couple of other officer candidates at the little officer's course regiment had put them through just after Christmas.

Pausing in his thoughts, Jürgen turned to Sepp, "Ever read Mein Kampf?"

"Why would I, it's all political isn't it?"

"The Führer spells out his plans in there. He hates the Communists, believe me, we shall be going at the Reds hammer and tongs before the year is out."

Sepp shook his head, "Russia, I've been there you know."

Jürgen didn't know that. Apparently Sepp Wittman had been a salesman for an agricultural firm before being drafted in early 1939.

"Yup, toured the Ukraine, visited Moscow and Leningrad. Leningrad is pretty enough, but the Ukraine and the southern steppes, they stretch on forever. Don't you think the Führer has studied his history? Charles XII, Napoléon, both failed, Russia is huge."

"What about the First War, they quit, we beat them?" Jürgen knew his history as well as Sepp.

"Ah, but the Bolsheviks wanted to quit the war so that they could take over from the Czar and the nobility, they were busy in their rear areas fighting each other. They had to quit to establish their so-called 'Soviet Paradise,' right?" Sepp countered.

"A quick campaign, defeat their armies on the frontiers, they should collapse like a house of cards." Jürgen actually believed the Nazi propaganda he'd read about the unpopularity of Soviet rule.

"We shall see Herr Unterfeldwebel, we shall see."

Shortly thereafter they both heard the platoon leader's whistle, time to march. Jürgen's squad got to their feet, all groaning.

"Come on ladies! Over the hill then we can rest!" Jürgen bellowed out.

One of the men shook his head, "You'd think he was already an officer." A sharp glance from Obergefreiter Wittman silenced any further complaints.

A man in 3rd Squad began to sing, no doubt at the prompting of his squad leader. Soon the 3rd Platoon was stepping out smartly to the Westerwaldlied.

If only the men could have looked into the future.

¹ "Armed Forces Report," A daily mass media report put out by the high command. Much propaganda spiced with some actual news.