The War: Michaels Book

THE WAR - Michael’s Book

Published by John Simonsson at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 John Simonsson

Impatiently, he looked out of the train window. In the morning light, the passing countryside with its large, wide-open fields had the appearance of an enormous patchwork quilt, its colours varying from pale yellowish green to a yellow bordering on orange. To absorb the scene even more, he lowered the pane and let the scent of the sun-warmed fields waft into the carriage. A joint in the rails jostled the carriage, causing a snuffling sound that made him turn round and, from his position out in the corridor, peer into the adjacent compartment. His friend David Fletcher shifted his weight a little, soon finding a slightly more comfortable posture that allowed him to continue sleeping.

They had started their journey from London late yesterday afternoon, and had been travelling by train and ferry since then. A lengthy delay on the border between France and Germany had given them an opportunity to visit the buffet car, and exhilarated by their little adventure they had had one glass too many. Close friends that they were, they had chatted until long into the night and dropped off bleary-eyed at dawn. Michael Saunders regarded in slight envy his friend’s obviously restful sleep. He himself had woken up as soon as the bright morning light had entered his compartment. True, this time he had not minded too much; he was travelling through the landscape of his childhood and he was wallowing in the joy of the reunion.

It had been four years since he last visited his maternal grandfather Helmut Brückner in Nordhausen, and despite the circumstances that prevailed in the summer of 1939 had managed to persuade his old school mate David to accompany him. It was the end of August, and he would once again be celebrating his birthday during the village’s great harvest festival. The last time he did that he had just turned fifteen, and as he and his parents returned home he had been utterly convinced that it would, as usual, be another year before he was back in Nordhausen. The train chugged through a tunnel and in the temporary darkness his thoughts rewound to the incident that had made such a profound impact on his young life.

The day it had happened had been just like any other day. Looking back at it, he could think of nothing distinguishing about it. They had eaten breakfast together and, as usual, his parents had got up from the table a little earlier than he did to go together to work.

As a relatively young man, his father had taken over the family business and turned their modest machine workshop into a minor industry. He had met Michael’s mother on one of his business trips to Germany and, despite the surrounding sea of disapproving frowns, married her. The wounds left by the Great War had not yet healed, and Michael assumed that his parents, as a wedded couple, had been especially careful to nurture their relationship if only as proof of the healing powers of reconciliation. They had been happy together, and shared their daily hardships both at home and at work.

The train emerged from the tunnel and Michael had to close his eyes against the bright morning sunshine that fell on his face. That familiar lump in his throat appeared as the sorrow and pain resurfaced once more. The police had said that both of them had died instantaneously. The driver of the heavy lorry had fallen asleep at the wheel and just as his parents had rounded the long bend the two vehicles had collided head on.

The time after the accident had been chaotic, and the only relative able to help had been his grandfather. His father had been an only child and he had no real contact with that side of the family. The agreement was that the company’s board would take over the day-to-day running of the business while he was packed off to a boarding school. That was how he had come to know David Fletcher, and to spend almost every major holiday with Fletcher’s family. Nothing had come of Germany. His grandfather had tried on several occasions to entice him down, but Michael had declined, preferring to build a new life for himself at home in England. He had not felt ready to confront his grief and longing in that place where he had spent so many happy days. Now, in the summer of 1939, he had felt, with the threat of war hanging in the air, an almost irresistible urge to journey down. He was, after all, half German, and the idea that a war was going to break out and deny him the possibility of seeing his friends and beloved grandfather had impelled him to travel.

How was it again? Neville Chamberlain didn’t want to go back to Germany. He’s tired of it and so we have to do it for him. Is that right? A merry voice breaks through Michael’s reverie. David stretches and peers with curiosity through the window before continuing spiritedly: Looks just like Kent. Did we really have to travel so far just to see the same fields?

Michael smiles in appreciation of his friend’s little jest. It was precisely why they had become friends. They shared a sense of humour, and David’s breeziness can bring him out of his sometimes overly serious disposition. The train’ll pull in soon, we’ll get out, someone’ll meet us and you won’t understand a word. Stick close to me and you’ll be safe.

Presuming, of course, that England and Germany haven’t declared war on each other while we slept like babies on the train. In which case we’ll immediately be attacked by hordes of…what were they called again?...Hitler Jugend… that’s right. David gives a self-amused smile, notices the shadow of pain on Michael’s face and adds: It could actually happen, Michael, there is a small chance…now I don’t believe it, of course, but… Before he has time to develop his thoughts, he is interrupted by an animated Michael. Can you feel it? The train’s slowing down, we’re getting close.

Michael leans through the window to get a better look while David slowly rises, walks up to him, lays a companionable arm around his shoulder and says: Joking aside Michael, I’m  looking awfully forward to this. God knows, you’ve gone on so much about this place, that if you hadn’t suggested the trip I’d have probably come on my own.

With one last squeal, the train stops and the two friends take their bags from the rack and hurry towards the doors.

Even before the train rounded the final curve before the last stretch towards the station, Helmut had risen from his seat in expectation. Four long years he had had to wait. Now at last his beloved grandson was coming back to him. The pit of his stomach twinged and he rubbed his hands to help dissipate his surplus energy. When the doors opened and he saw Michael and his friend amongst the first to alight, he stormed towards them with great strides. When they met, he could not help showing his surprise.

My word, Michael, how you’ve grown. The last time I saw you were just a little whippersnapper, but now you’re…

Just a bigger whippersnapper. Michael interrupted, completing the sentence, eager to speed up the emotional reunion in front of his friend.

Helmut put out his enormous paw and shook Michael’s hand vigorously while embracing him with his left arm. His mouth ended up close to Michael’s ear and in more hushed tones said: I’ve missed you my boy, it’s lovely to have you here. Contenting himself with this – it was enough sentimentality for the moment – Helmut looked over his shoulder and noticed how Michael’s friend had remained at a discreet distance so as not to interrupt their first meeting. Helmut released Michael from his embrace and took a few steps forward to greet David.

Welcome, young man. Nice to get to know one of Michael’s friends. If I’m not mistaken, Michael spent much of his free time with your family, so I’d…

Michael quickly broke in. He doesn’t understand the language so well, Grandpa. I can explain to him what you said afterwards.

Helmut collected himself a little, reached out his hand and said simply: Welcome.

David smiled back and said in his best schoolboy German: Thank you very much, it is very nice to be here.

Helmut turned to Michael and said: The cart’s parked behind the station house.

As they followed the old man, Michael looked around him. The countryside surrounding the station had not changed, no new buildings had been erected. One big difference was that the new Germany was all too apparent. Something that they had also noticed on the train. On the main line before changing to the local train, they had encountered a large number of uniformed groups. Some adult soldiers but mainly youths, both girls and boys, all dressed alike with the distinctive swastika sewn onto their blouses and shirts. Michael stopped in front of a poster urging German youngsters to join the Nazi youth organisations. Helmut turned back to face Michael when he noticed that both his guests had come to a halt. The numbers have grown recently, I daresay you met some of them on the train. His observation carried a touch of fatigue and with a faint hint of dutifulness in his voice he continued: It’s most obvious in the bigger towns and cities, but even in Nordhausen they’ve started to become better organised.

Michael could not help wondering. Has anyone I know joined the party? Helmut gave him a sorrowful look. They had not even made it round the station, and already those accursed Nazis had darkened his mood. In the immediate joy of meeting Michael, he had momentarily let go of his everyday troubles, but naturally he was not that naïve to think that he would get away with not discussing politics. The truth was that Michael’s hastily written message that he was coming to visit had taken him by surprise. The winds of war were blowing fiercely, and he really should have tried to persuade Michael to hold off his trip. With a gentle sigh he said: "Our neighbours Franz and Gerda are two of the village’s leading Nazis. Or rather Franz is. He’s been appointed Gauleiter here in Nordhausen, which gives him considerable power, you understand. His word is quite final when it comes to building new things, who gets to buy land or do anything whatsoever of importance to everyday life here in Nordhausen."

Michael had many questions on his tongue, but when he saw Helmut’s miserable expression decided to hold back. The answers would probably come by themselves during his visit anyway. So he contented himself with a little reflective nod and they continued round the building. As they turned the corner, he cast a glance at David, who was taking in their surroundings with considerable sang-froid, seemingly unmoved by what Helmut had just told them. David’s knowledge of German was not non-existent, and he had probably understood most of what was said, but his reaction was true to character. He was not one to fret unnecessarily. He himself would need a strong dose of that faculty. But now they were approaching the station concourse and Michael’s thoughts were interrupted; for there, neatly parked by the entrance, stood the usual old hay cart, the old workhorse replaced by a shiny new red tractor. Helmut paced scooted over to the new vehicle and patted its bonnet. Grinning widely he turned to David and Michael: Well, what do you think?

Michael and David beheld the scene. The meeting of the old and new. The coupled hay cart was from another era. Michael registered the British Leyland badge on the tractor’s front, and taking a few steps towards the vehicles noted that the old hay cart had been adapted for hitching on to the tractor. That must have cost a pretty penny, Grandpa, although I guess it makes the harvesting a bit easier for you. He repressed his sorrow at the loss of the big, old workhorse, as Helmut was clearly proud of his new acquisition. What’s happened to the horse? Is it still alive?

Michael’s disappointment had not gone unnoticed by Helmut, who said reassuringly: The old boy’s still around, I use him now and again for dragging logs, but I let him spend most of his time nowadays in the paddock. When I realised he was getting old and weary, I was faced with choosing either a new horse or a machine, and so I ended up with this. As he talked, he walked to the back of the hay cart and opened the tailgate. Enough talking now. Jump in the back and let’s get you back to the farm.

David and Michael tossed their bags onto the cart and then vaulted up on board to join them, settling opposite each other on the wooden benches that ran along the sides. Helmut climbed into the tractor and pushed the start button, the engine chunking into action at the first attempt. They turned onto the main road and were soon leaving the station far behind. Michael and David sat in silence, turned away from their direction of travel to let the warm morning sun play over their faces.

Half an hour later they arrived at a large residence with adjoining barns on the right side of the road. David poked Michael with his foot and asked, Hey, sleepy-head, are we here now? Michael looked up, a little peevish at having been woken just when he had been rocked into a state of slumber. He cast a glance at the buildings and saw that they had arrived at Franz Pleil’s farm. Not yet, right now we’re passing the local Nazi bigwig. Duck in case he sees you. David looked back at him with an amused smile. He liked it when Michael became grumpy. It made him more distinct, somehow. What about the rest of his family, his wife and kids?

They never had any. I guess his wife, Gerda, isn’t too happy about it. When I was younger I played with her niece, Hilde. Her family spent the summer holidays here, just like ours. David shot forward, his interest piqued. Aha, a pretty little lass, eh? Can’t recall you mentioning her before. Excited, he continued. Let’s see. Last time you were here you were fifteen. Did you pal around with her then? What’s she like? Is she the buxom farm-girl type?

Yes, we did things together, and she’s not buxom. She doesn’t live in the countryside, her family’s from Berlin.

You didn’t say anything about what she looks like.

It suddenly struck him why he had unconsciously avoided talking about Hilde. David found it easy to relate to the opposite sex. Michael himself was less of a natural, and had more often than not freeloaded on David’s charm. Somewhere, apparently, he was afraid of having a rival for her friendship.

They passed by the farm without seeing a soul; everyone was most likely out gathering the harvest. David frowned at him to urge him on. There was no clearly getting out of this, so he took a deep breath and began talking. The last time I met her she was fourteen. I’ve not seen her since then, and so I haven’t the foggiest what she looks like now. David started to protest. Michael raised a shielding pair of palms and continued. She’s always been pretty in my eyes and we’re the best of friends. David gave a chuckle and added cautiously: We shall just have to hope that she’s here as usual so you can introduce her to me.

The last leg of the journey was spent in silence. Michael found it impossible to doze back off, and decided to lie back and soak up the beautiful countryside instead. The tractor pulled the cart patiently around a sharp bend and as it straightened up again Helmut’s farm began to appear ahead of them. Michael let his gaze wander with the joy of familiarity from the yellow-painted farmhouse over the courtyard, dominated by its enormous chestnut tree, to the dull red barn opposite. The farm was similar to Pleil’s, but it was possibly its setting that made it feel more harmonious and charming to Michael. The hill it was situated on seemed more defined and there was a closeness to the forest that the Nazi big shot’s farm lacked. If he had been offered a choice, he would definitely have taken this place over the other. The cart came to a halt in front of the farmhouse under the welcome shade of the tree. Helmut bounded down from the tractor’s high seat and walked back to unlatch the tailgate.

He and David leapt sprightly down onto the ground. Nothing had changed and he was bathed in a sense of calm. His first spontaneous thought was that it was nice to be back home, and the realisation of how strongly attached he was to the place almost overwhelmed him. He turned to Helmut with a grin and asked: What now? Shall we go out into the fields to work?

Helmut pulled out a highly polished fob watch from his waistcoat pocket, opened its steel case and said: It’s just past nine, which means that the others have been hard at it for over two hours. It’ll soon be time for them to take their first break to get a little rest and refreshment. Take your things upstairs, I’ve made up two beds in your old room Michael, get changed into your work clothes and hurry down again and we’ll set off straight away. With a little luck, we’ll make it in time for the break.

David are Michael were already on their way before Helmut had finished speaking. Michael had effused to David about the almost ritualised harvest gathering, how the entire village pulled together regardless of the size of their farms. Everyone did their bit, fully aware of how the age-old custom was the very bedrock of their existence. Originally it stemmed from an existential need – to gather the harvest in before a storm lay waste to it all. To secure the supply of winter food. Everyone in the village profited from no one being in anyone else’s debt, and that need trumped personal gain. The operation was planned to the smallest detail. Certain sections of the fields were harvested first so that no landowner would end up at the back of the queue. So the small farms were finished first, while the biggest naturally had to wait until the end before they could have their larger acreages cleared. The harvest season ended with a traditional festival, at which the local families all came together. It was not uncommon for most of the villagers to tell of how they had finally managed to woo their beloveds at this or that festival, which made the occasion one of shifting power-bases. Favourable marriages created new conditions of ownership.

Franz Pleil’s marriage to Gerda was one such affair. Franz came from a poor family and Gerda was the eldest of two daughters from the second largest farm. Gerda had let herself be charmed by the handsome young Franz, and had, to the chagrin of her parents, insisted on wedding the rough-shod peasant boy. As the years passed with no sign of Gerda ever falling pregnant, relations cooled off between them. Franz made sure to behave himself as long as the old ones were still alive, nervous about jeopardising the power that he had acquired. But when Gerda’s parents finally passed away, he saw his chance of a less fettered life without someone’s watchful eye on his every step. His disappointment was therefore crushing when the lawyer presiding over the estate inventory announced that the eldest daughter was to have sole inheritance of the farm. Franz needed to keep his marriage to Gerda alive.

Gerda’s younger sister, Renate, had left the countryside long ago to settle in Berlin, where she had trained as a secretary and where she had met and later married her colleague, engineer Ernst Baier. Unlike her elder sister’s, their union was both happy and fruitful. Renate and Ernst’s youngest child, Hilde, had two brothers, Gustav and the first-born, Karl. Renate had repeatedly urged her sister to leave Franz, but she had decided to try to make their marriage work and avoid at all costs the shame that she associated with a divorce.

The tractor hauled the cart effortlessly up the last steep slope. As they rolled over the crown, they saw the fields spread out in front of them. Michael noted that labour had been suspended, as there and there gangs of workers were resting, some having sought the shade of a tree, others reclining on hayracks. Helmut steered the cart deliberately towards a small cluster sitting eating in the shadow of one of the larger racks. He turned his head slightly and shouted over the noise of the engine. We’ll be working with the Pleils, so we might as well join them for a snack. Michael raised his eyebrows: What about your own team, shouldn’t we be with them? Helmut was busy parking the cart at a suitable distance from the Pleil gang and it was not until he was standing receiving the tools that David and Michael were unloading from the cart that he replied. A lot has happened over the years you’ve been away, Michael. He shot a glance at the others and calculated that they were too far away to hear. Since Franz’s appointment he’s done all he can to bolster his position. He wanted to buy me out. He had his new barn built a couple of years ago, it’s much bigger than mine, and ever since then he’s been scheming to get more land. Helmut walked around the cart and lowered the tailgate. I managed to block the purchase by offering him a favourable leasehold agreement, and now I’m playing second fiddle and to be honest I’m quite happy to do so. As long as I have my farm, he’s welcome to strut around playing the big shot farmer as much as he likes.

This little coda had a bitter ring to it in Michael’s ears, but he let it pass. His grandfather seemed generally content, so why go around opening wounds? The group approached the others.

They walked over the freshly cut field, the stubby grass carpeting their way. Michael counted eight people, six men and two women, and gave a start when he realised that he had chosen the word woman to describe the person he shortly afterwards recognised as Hilde. As they came closer to the enormous drying rack, the two women shot to their feet to welcome them. With a sunny smile, Gerda came to greet them, resolutely approaching Michael first and embracing him extra generously. How wonderful it is to see you again, Michael! Hilde and I have been on tenterhooks watching the road all morning! She released him and let Hilde say hello. Hilde gently hugged Michael and said with a teasing lilt to her voice: Really, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Michael, leaving me in the lurch like that for four summers in a row… She was about to continue when she spotted David. Instead, she asked: …and who is your friend?

Michael half turned and started to speak as Hilde and David courteously shook hands. This is my classmate and best friend David Fletcher, who’s had to suffer my romanticised descriptions for so long that he more or less forced himself upon me. With a stab of disquiet, Michael watched how David, true to form when meeting a person of the opposite sex for the first time, delivered his most enchanting smile. The secret was, he supposed, that there was nothing calculating about his behaviour. He liked women, that was all there was to it. It was not so much the possibility of bedding them that motivated him as the pleasure of discussing their tastes and philosophy of life.

With Michael so deep in thought, David and Hilde had released each other’s grip. Everyone in the little group was now standing welcoming the newcomers, inviting them to sit and share in the meal that they had brought with them: dark, sourdough bread, garlicky sausage and a delicious smoked ham, all washed down with beer for the men and apple juice for the women. Michael savoured the food and reclined gracefully against soft hay. He looked up at the blue sky and lazily regarded the cumulus clouds overhead. He drank from his flask and felt the alcohol lift his spirits. He revelled in the strong smell of newly mown grass and when he turned his gaze back onto his surroundings, he was rewarded with a happy smile from Hilde. They both raised their flasks in a silent toast and downed the little that was left in them. The break was over and it was time to do their bit.

The group was divided into two work teams. Hilde, Michael and David laboured alongside each other collecting the mown grass. Hilde was an old hand at this and chuckled as she watched the lack of technique made up for with strength. Michael and David were soon both drenched in sweat, their concentration entirely focused on keeping pace with the other harvesters. There was no time for chat and the morning raced away at breakneck speed, interrupted only by brief rests to replenish their body fluids. The men continued to drink beer with the exception of Michael and David, who decided after a while to switch to the juice. All to help them cope better with their work.

A piercing whistle brought the teams to a standstill and in the ensuing silence the Pleil foreman announced that it was time to eat and rest. Michael and David gratefully dropped their loads and lay their tools to one side. David was the first to speak. Thank heavens for that! If that whistle hadn’t blown, I’d have had no choice but to make up some excuse or other.

Hilde sidled up to him. I heard that, David. With a little luck, maybe you’ll get a genuine excuse after the lunch break. Ears pricked, David looked up as Hilde continued. Today’s the last day of harvest, and if you look around you you’ll see there isn’t an awful amount left.

Michael and David did as she said and saw that she was right. They also saw that the other working party had managed almost twice as much as they had during their time in the field together. Hilde smiled when she saw the relief start to creep over their faces. Michael turned to Hilde and asked: How much longer will we have to work, do you think?

I don’t think we have to do any more work at all. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I think we’ll be able to go home any minute now.

Michael and David silently took in what Hilde said, and with fresh vigour in their step joined the others. Helmut came towards them and said, You look beat! So I daresay you won’t mind coming back with Hilde and me to join the party preparations at the Pleils.

Germany, Friday 20th October 1944

Michael rested his head against the cold steel wall. The engines of the bomber thundered, sending vibrations through the narrow wooden bench on which he was perched. Above and to the right of him a lamp glowed a steady red. When they approached the jump zone, he would be staring at the light, and when it switched to green it was time for him to leave the aircraft’s temporary sanctuary and throw himself out into the cold night.

The Lancaster had taken off with a regular squadron of bombers, but had been specially adapted for the journey. It was lighter and fitted with extra fuel tanks so that it could take a safer, and therefore longer route over Germany. It was also being escorted by two fighters to protect it against German night fliers. The flight had passed uneventfully and the little group of planes had safely rejoined the main squadron. His thoughts were spinning so violently around in his head that he had to put off the rest he so badly needed until later.

A scraping sound made him glance up to the left where he could make out in the faint red glow the turret gunner briefly leave his position and climb down from his seat. He started to fuss over his pack again, aware that it would soon be time for the off. His mission required a large amount of explosive, too much to be kept on his person. This had led to discussions about releasing two parachutes simultaneously, one for him and one for the extra equipment needed to carry out an act of sabotage. Mission command had opposed the double jump. Earlier attempts had proved less successful, and the man and his equipment had landed far from each other, and in some cases the equipment had been lost. Instead they agreed on the more hazardous solution of one jump with an extra packing tube. Something that would increase the speed of descent and the risk of injury on landing. His weight was almost doubled, but in test after test, Michael had demonstrated that he could handle perfectly well the greater impact velocity that jumping with the heavy explosives container entailed. However, the successful test jumps notwithstanding, headquarters had been extremely concerned about the first stage of Michael’s operation, and had ordered him to dispatch two code words via his portable radio on landing, the one denoting that he had sustained a serious enough injury to jeopardise the operation, the other that he had landed safely and had avoided discovery as he touched down.

The turret gunner went over to Michael and leaned down to talk to him. The combined roar of the engines and rushing wind made a normal conversation impossible.

Soon time to head downstairs, Lieutenant. The skipper asked me to tell you that we’ll be arriving at the jump zone in about ten minutes. Is your gear all in order? Anything else you need before you bail out?

Michael was grateful for the gunner’s concern, but he had no further needs and gave a slight shake of his head. He was as ready as he would ever be. It was too late to change his mind. All at once, explosions were heard outside the fuselage and the red light was swallowed up in the glare. The bright flashes illuminated the bomb bay, and looking over to the cockpit Michael saw the heads of the two pilots silhouetted against the night sky. The explosions made him all two aware of how vulnerable bomber crews were, and he was gripped by a sudden urge to throw himself out of the plane. The formation they were flying in would suffer inexorable losses, the question was which planes? The gunner recognised the look on Michael’s face: First time on a raid for you, right, Sir? Not to worry, we just passed Göttingen and their flak’s a piece of cake. We’re heading to Berlin, and that’s where it’ll get hairy. They’ll be sending us a nice welcoming party of night fighters and… He left his sentence hanging and shrugged in resignation.

The explosions stopped abruptly and the relative calm returned. The situation that Michael had found unnerving suddenly felt safe and peaceful. He was overcome with relief that they had not been hit and was struck by a desire to remain in the plane and not leap out into the unknown. Irked by his irrational thoughts, he fixed his gaze on the as yet unlit green lamp.

He saw the gunner out of the corner of his eye take a few steps to the right to pull down firmly on a lever. The bay doors opened without a sound and the cold night air washed over him. The red light went out and was immediately replaced by the green. As if in a dream, he watched the gunner prised the tube into position in front of