Wash of a Gremlin
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“We have them on the run, Sir.” Corporal Roeder reported. “Their communications are still up and we’re ready for an assault drop any time you say.”
Bjorn nodded with satisfaction. They’d done it! With just two hundred men he had driven away nearly fifteen thousand Union troops. It was almost enough to make him smile, except that this little victory would probably cost his men their lives as soon as reinforcements arrived… if they could survive long enough for that.
If things went south, all of these gains wouldn’t do anyone much good anyway.
It’s not over yet. He thought hopefully. But there were no signs out in the valley of anything but one enormous enemy camp being overrun by small ones like ours.
He made up his mind on what to order before he even asked about morale or supplies. If all else failed I’ll march them into Berlin to defend my capital. The idea cheered him some despite how futile it might be.
His command was at its peak now; both new recruits who hadn’t been with us since day one and experienced soldiers from elsewhere who came forward to help after our defeat last week. We need to build more permanent garrisons here until the war is won. Or… until they throw me out?
No matter what happens here I’m going home eventually… if the goddamned Germans will let me leave.
No doubt all around him men wondered whether their own respective nations would fight a battle with each other instead of fighting the real German army.
To which Bjorn only muttered something about “maybe tomorrow” without getting excited at the prospect. Instead, he focused again on his tactical map while waiting impatiently for his next orders. For now, it didn’t look as though another major operation was coming.
Björn got worried when word finally did come through hours later from General von Lettow Vorbeck—his commanding officer—that they were sending a mixed group of cavalrymen and infantry northward in pursuit of their fleeing enemies. Even more worrying was the message sent directly to him personally:
Captain Bjarni Gunnarson, HQ Southern Front, Wolfhauzen: Your unit must also stay in place during this mission because it is vital to maintain a hold on this area. Should the enemy appear along the planned route of retreat then your forces must destroy those elements first.
Once they flee into the hills you may pursue any remaining men as well. Do not wait for others if an enemy attack breaks through your lines, launch counterattacks on their flank regardless. This will tie down large amounts of enemy troops.
Only after both enemy wings are tied up can your wing strike at a vulnerable rear guard element or follow them back toward Berlin. Make sure to clear the route between here and there.
With respect, General von Lettow-Vorbeck
Despite his commander’s implicit reprimand, the captain would go ahead anyway. There was simply too much riding on getting a grip on the line running roughly north-south from Thuringia through Saxony to keep marching new men into that territory until they were all dead.
At least now he knew where to start and could try to get his units deployed along key stretches.
The problem was that a couple days of rest wouldn’t do us any good. Bjorn’s cavalrymen might be tired but they were mostly fresh recruits who had fought hard twice already. That left his own battalion and one platoon of artillery as the most expendable parts of this plan.
And once the enemy was gone, would that really matter? As far as the North is concerned they don’t exist anymore. The big boys are not coming any time soon and if anything they want to wipe out this entire sector and get moving again. But damn it, I have to try… we can’t surrender like those dumb Prussians at Grafenwöhr!
With a sigh, Captain Gunnarsson took off his hat and rubbed his neck. I swear every decision gets harder every day. All I ever wanted was to fight for my country against another country’s army. Not to carry out the orders of idiots like Colonel Kottwitz… If only he were here right now so I could give him a piece of my mind.
Of course, it doesn’t have to be this way—he added to himself bitterly. Those aren’t my orders anyway but Von Lettow-Vorbeck’s… and God knows why. The last thing this region needs is to be split in half and turned into some kind of buffer state between the Russians and ourselves.
Hell, there’s nothing west of the Elbe except more German lands—if our plans go according to the military textbook! Which they haven’t.
Again the young officer considered the possibility of returning home before this nightmare was all over. But it’s only temporary. Better than having the whole world turn into a battlefield. I hope…
When his commanders told him to launch attacks south of Regen and north of Leipzig to draw the bulk of the enemy away, Bjorn accepted these commands, even though the orders sounded like madness.
In theory, it’s probably better to send reinforcements in pursuit of the enemy as soon as possible, especially after two weeks of walking and fighting on our feet. So it’s less likely we’ll fall into a trap. Still…
Finally, the orders came in. While his brigade organized itself for action, Bjorn packed his personal gear into one of the supply wagons. When Bjorn asked where he should put everything, the officer merely grunted and waved him off.
With a small salute and a smile, he departed to join his company, riding out eastward at a trot. As always, he noticed how thin the ranks looked compared to what they were capable of being. Maybe after a break, those lads will actually have the strength to bring the heat.
Meanwhile, he made sure to pass along the news that things were under control to his aide, Haukur Sigurdson.
The first order of business was to locate and secure bridges and crossings. Under his supervision, the engineers set up several blockades while the infantry advanced slowly and carefully up the steep slopes separating the small rivers flowing parallel to each other.
It didn’t take long to spot the ruins of the old river bridge at Hornberg. A large amount of debris washed ashore near its footbridge in a shallow bay, revealing that someone tried to use the wood to repair the piers which no longer stood out in the open air.
An improvised pontoon bridge led to a tangle of wreckage from an old barge. Without the boats tied nearby, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway, but at least the crews seemed to have gotten everyone else safely downriver during their retreat.
We’ll be cutting them apart later to make a barricade or something if we have the need. But for now, I’m just going to leave the bastards’ tracks alone.
An hour passed. To the west, the hills got steeper. Beyond that lay a valley that offered plenty of covers. If anyone comes back here after dark it won’t be by surprise, said Bjorn silently, confirming to himself that everything was ready.
After waiting to see if others would show up to defend the area, he ordered the cavalry to dismount and search out the enemy’s rear areas, marking targets for artillery strikes if necessary. He wanted to push deeper but instead found himself looking forward to resting his horses before doing so.
His legs and feet were both swollen. For what it’s worth, this is certainly a comfortable place to sleep. But it doesn’t matter—the enemy will never camp here tonight. Not with all those boulders sticking out over the fields, he said to himself, thinking about how the Swedes used such terrain effectively whenever they encountered similar formations.
A single soldier wearing the green uniform of a Ukrainian Hussar rode toward him a little way across the flat plain. What a strange sight to find a rider in a foreign cavalry outfit. But he recognized him instantly—as did Captain Gunnarsson, who was also watching out of the corner of his eye.
This must be some local mutineer who joined von Lettow-Vorbeck. There was no way he could blend in with the soldiers of the 7th Hussars. That was evident enough to both of them. The captain dismounted from his horse and motioned him closer, smiling nervously.
“Hello. Can you speak?” asked the young officer.
The soldier nodded and gave a barely perceptible shrug, then gestured with a hand toward a field on the opposite side of the hill. On top of a stone monument engraved with runes stood the bodies of several men and women.
They had apparently been lined up facing east as they awaited crucifixion. Their hands were tied behind their backs and each was held with a pair of ropes around his or her ankles. Most were naked. Some wore helmets, but most were without them, and several faces showed visible torture wounds.
A few corpses still clung to life, coughing blood. One woman wept openly as she waited to face her death, refusing to look at the other prisoners. Another man simply stared blankly ahead as his lungs struggled to survive one last second. Behind their bodies stretched a deep trench from wall to wall.
Holes large enough to accommodate one or more of the prisoners to kneel in front of them opened in the center of the wooden crosses. Several smaller trenches dug directly into the earth formed rings around the cross. The bodies of the condemned and the freshly buried dirt had turned dark brown. Atop the grave marker read “Commander Karl von Schönkopf.”
After receiving this news from Lieutenant von Grünewald, the German commander had ordered him and all of the surviving prisoners to kneel and pray that the Angel of Death might grant them mercy before delivering the coup de grâce. During the solemn mass, they heard the sound of cannons and muskets firing to the south.
They’d later learned that the Swedish army had emerged victorious from the previous day’s battle at the outskirts of Hornsberg and made their way north in full retreat. With the approaching threat of starvation and freezing cold, the captives all prayed for deliverance even harder than before.
A ragged voice pierced through the wind and snow. “Quiet!” snarled the man commanding the men standing guard atop the monument, holding an enormous revolver in his meaty fist. He looked down contemptuously at the captive commander. It seems their prayers were not meant for him.
Karl sat up quickly, trying to free his bound wrists, but the heavy chains remained firmly wrapped around his body. In desperation he reached out toward the sky with two shaking hands and called out loud to the angel of death:
“Fáa, fáai, kun, min niði óru ola, rún!”
He begged for his soul as he gazed upon the heavens. “Send me your wrath! Come now and take my spirit. I am certain of nothing except this—I want to live through these nights alive! Save me! Take any other wish away from me but this!”
Nothing happened. Fearing that the ritual wasn’t going to work, he glanced upward again, gazing at a giant cross hanging above him with a bright red flag flapping at its foot. Now the only thing he was afraid of was dying. Without ever having known love, family, or friends, he was convinced that the next world would welcome him immediately.
To escape death, however, first, he needed to overcome this humiliation. He desperately sought out anyone among the enemy to strike a conversation with. If it was someone of low rank or a common soldier, he couldn’t help himself. Only a fool would believe that talking to enemies posed no danger in war.
Yet instead of doing anything foolish, he opted to speak quietly to those wearing uniforms similar to his own. By exchanging looks and gestures, he attempted to avoid antagonizing those watching over him, until finally, he discovered someone sympathetically.
After chatting idly about matters such as food, weather, and the war raging further west along the Baltic Sea shoreline, they parted company when it became clear there was no deeper meaning to the conversation.
His eyes met the face of another prisoner who had just finished praying alone beneath the crucified commander’s marker.
“Kobalt!” he whispered urgently. “You have to escape. You can make it back to Germany with your wife and children! Everyone is looking for a miracle right now, but nobody will ask too hard if they think something good came from me being here.” His words ended abruptly.
He saw a group of guards approaching in the distance. Their footsteps carried the stench of alcohol on a still, cool evening. A short man walked in front. He had a gray beard and looked worn out, much like the rest of them. The others appeared to be soldiers’ sergeants and officers.
The newly appointed head of this particular unit commanded them to bring some kind of firewood or logs from somewhere nearby, but none could come up with a plausible explanation. As they spoke together in German, they observed the captives standing frozen in terror.
In response to this unusual commotion, the sergeant, whom Karl recognized by his gait and stature, stormed over to the captured soldiers.
“What are you looking at?” He puffed on an expensive cigar and glared at the prisoners.
The prisoners didn’t answer. There was nowhere to flee and their bonds were too strong for them to slip through even a narrow opening in the thick bars. Still, one brave prisoner tried to stare straight through the ugly drunken bastard and mutter a greeting.
“Well? Who wants to tell me what’s going on here?!”
Their jaws dropped open in shock. That got their attention, and for long moments all but five remained silent while staring at the ground.
“Owls?” said the drunkard. “That’s how we’ll learn each other. Owls and lizards. Look into their faces and guess which animal they most resemble. For example, these poor men look a lot like owls, so tell me, does anyone know why?”
Some of the soldiers cackled nervously, clearly remembering an earlier time when a few unlucky fellows had been chosen to provide proof of their intellect.
“Good,” answered the drunkard. “Do you see that iron grill above the hole in the wall?” He gestured to the grating covering a drainpipe that led down several flights of stairs. “They’re taking us below, and then they’re going to fill our heads with gunpowder. Do you know why?”
Most of them shook their heads. One of the guards shouted in disbelief, “No, sir! Why?”
“Because when we’re dead, our spirits will fly off and live where it’s nice and warm.”
The shouting intensified as more of the soldiers gathered around. Even one of the sergeants joined the group. When the conversation went completely silent, the sergeant continued, “We are marching because the camp commander said he wanted us to build a barricade outside this town. What do you suppose that might mean?”
Karl was shocked by his strange question, but he held his tongue. He wouldn’t give in easily. Perhaps a spark of hope lay just beyond reach. In his mind’s eye, he saw the dark clouds breaking apart overhead. Isolated from reality, Karl dreamed that maybe tonight would be different.
Maybe even God Himself, whoever that actually is, might intervene for them. At the very least, a god he believed in would surely step forward to save them, for, without faith or belief, nothing has power.
One of the guards put his hand on top of the cage to grab a few pieces of wood lying beside it. It slipped free again before it ever reached its destination. Without missing a beat, the man shouted in rage, “Your lord Jesus Christ isn’t helping you?! Well, neither am I!!” With that, he drew out his sword, slashed the remaining wooden boards free, and hurled them against the bar. The whole thing collapsed within seconds.
Two of the guards grabbed onto the drunkard to stop him and keep him from running away.
“What the hell are you trying to do?” They shoved the bearded leader into the cell, where they roughly pushed him to the ground before putting handcuffs on his wrists and legs, pinning his arms behind his back. In no time at all, everyone was lined up in rows: dozens of prisoners in cells and twenty-five officers scattered about the courtyard with their hands bound.
With a final punch from one of them, the guards hurriedly took off their leather gloves, wiped the blood spatter from their swords, and handed them inside a pair of canvas bags used to carry firewood. Then they tied the bloody sacks closed with string.
A captain followed behind them as they headed down the steps toward an entrance to some cellar in the back. A group of four other soldiers was standing guard outside. Two of them looked like they hadn’t taken off their coats yet; the cold night wind still blew under the door flap. The others watched the inmates carefully, ready to jump and run if necessary.
The main gate slammed shut loudly as the first prisoner finally slipped away into darkness.
The End