Downfall: Johann's War, #7

Downfall

Johann’s War Book 7

Copyright © James Farner 2017

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CONTENTS

Johann and Erich Brandt January 26th 1945

Johann Brandt July 1944 – April 1945

Erich Brandt April 1945

Johann Brandt April 1945 – May 1945

Johann and Erich Brandt

January 26th 1945

1

Johann Brandt crossed with his unit over the border of Brandenburg. A sign in German told him so, with a couple of bullet holes planted right in the heart of it. This was it. They had crossed into Germany, once again. So many years had passed since Johann had returned to his homeland. The Third Reich was crumbling under the weight of the war on three fronts. The Fuhrer’s days were numbered. But Johann couldn’t be happy. This was his home falling into the abyss.

The column of tattered field grey uniforms marched down the road and into the heart of the Reich. No soldier walked with a straight back anymore, or slammed their boots into the ground as if to crush the throat of the world. They trudged and could only look at the ground.

What few Panzer tanks Hitler had left squeaked as their tracks trundled over the hard ground. The soft purring of their engines broke the air and provided some relief for the shouts of the fanatical officers who still believed they had a chance of winning the war.

To Johann’s right, a soldier who looked to be in his fifties straightened his back. His face was dull and grey, belied by wrinkles and bloodshot eyes. Johann knew they all looked the same. The normal process of aging had accelerated.

Back into Germany we go, Ganzfried said. No victory march for us this time.

Did we ever expect anything different? Johann kept his voice low so as to avoid the wrath of the commanders. The war was lost after Stalingrad.

Ganzfried spoke more to himself than to Johann, never really looking at him and never really addressing him. Stalingrad. That mess broke our backs. Even the German soldier can’t stand against those numbers. It’s only a matter of time. I just wonder when the date of our deaths will be.

Johann gulped. He hadn’t wanted to think about the day of his death. By rights, he should have died already. Most of his colleagues had long gone from this world. He was rapidly running out of friends. They marched for the rest of the day until they reached a small camp in a rural area.

A collection of farmhouses acted as the headquarters for the latest defence line and the men were forced to encamp in the fields. Most of them didn’t shiver. They’d become used to the cold of Poland, Belarus, and Russia by now. Even a January freeze didn’t faze them. Their greatcoats were more than enough to protect them from the urge to cry out.

Johann stumbled over to an upturned barrel with a battered radio sitting on top. It was tuned to the evening news and, as usual, the propaganda master Goebbels was attempting to make the best of a bad situation. Any soldier could read between the lines. Goebbels had moved from talking of the final victory to holding the enemies of the state where they were. A subtle but devastating change.

Ganzfried was among the soldiers crowding around the radio. It crackled with static, making it difficult to hear. In a twist that Johann hadn’t expected, Goebbels announced a radio address from Hitler himself. Johann raised his eyebrows at the prospect.

When was the last time he made a speech? Johann asked Ganzfried.

Ganzfried shook his head. Sometime last year. The Fuhrer almost never comes out in public anymore.

Hitler began his speech and the cloying voice of the Fuhrer made its way into Johann’s ears again. It didn’t have the power it once did. Hitler may as well have been reading his words from a piece of paper, rather than indulging in the passionate oratory that had once been his hallmark.

The horrid fate that is now taking shape in the east and that exterminates hundreds of thousands in the villages and market places, Hitler said in a monotonous drone. ...in the country and in the cities will be warded off in the end and mastered by us, with the utmost exertion and despite all setbacks and hard trials.

Johann didn’t miss the smirks and the tossing of heads amongst the soldiers assembled. That would have never happened only five short years ago. That person would have been put up against a wall and shot. Oh how times changed so quickly.

Johann, like others, withdrew from the radio. The Fuhrer couldn’t even hold his own soldiers in awe any longer. Ganzfried walked with him as they moved back to where they had chosen to sleep on the stony ground for the night. Ganzfried let out a cough that sounded as if his lungs were about to break.

Where were you serving before this? asked Johann.

Got all the way into Belarus and over into Russia. I was never at the front, though. I’m forty-five, you know that?

Johann stopped and put his hands on his hips. Forty-five? I thought that was the war.

Ganzfried smiled weakly. Hard to tell these days. Men twenty years younger than me look my age.

Why are you fighting at your age? You should be retiring.

You don’t know what they did? They raised the retirement age for soldiers. Soon enough they’ll be asking for every man who can still hold a gun. Look around you. How many trained and experienced soldiers do you see here?

Johann looked around him and for the first time he really understood it. The only soldiers with experience had been promoted to lead this ragtag group of old, young, and inexperienced Germans. He wasn’t terribly sure how young or old anyone was here.

Do you hear that? Ganzfried angled his head to the sky, as if to sniff the air. They’re getting closer.

Johann’s heart started to race at the mere mention of the advancing Soviets. Their division of Army Group A conducted a fighting retreat back towards Germany. Closely pursued by the Soviets, Johann knew he would have to fight again soon.

A general cry went up. Pick up your weapons!

Johann grabbed his rifle with dried, encrusted dirt on the side. The relentless pounding of the guns in the distance paused at the sound of tanks and the movement of enemy soldiers. Johann could even hear their voices as a relatively small group of Soviets broke through the nearby woods.

The weary soldiers dropped to the ground and began firing back in return. The faint sound of the Fuhrer’s voice on the radio sneaking underneath the sounds of battle did its best to spur them on. Johann crawled forward as the radio exploded from a direct hit by a Soviet bullet. Johann fired his rifle at the advancing figures in the low light. He and the men dropped to the ground and yet more of the enemy broke through the trees.

Vorwarts! A commander yelled.

Only a few soldiers obeyed upon command, and then the rest of them followed. Johann neared the front of the advancing pack and quickly found himself in amongst the attacking forces. He unclipped a stick grenade from his belt and threw what some called a potato masher through the air. It spun into the darkness and blew two Soviets into oblivion. A smoking crater served as their headstones.

The farmer’s field quickly became littered with Soviet and German bodies. Ganzfried was still standing and advancing, as Johann followed him towards the treeline to push the Soviets back. Johann crouched behind a tree, its wood splintered from fire, and shot his final bullets at the silhouettes dodging from trunk to trunk. Johann dropped his rifle and pulled his pistol from his pocket.

Johann, come over here, Ganzfried gestured from three trees to his right. They’re breaking through from this side.

He sprinted from his cover as an explosion threw him from his feet and he hit the ground, tumbling and rolling towards Ganzfried. His ears hurt and he heard nothing from his screaming ally. Johann turned his head towards the Soviets and fired the last of his bullets from his pistol, unsure if he was hitting anything. When he scrambled to his feet the communist tide seemed to have thinned.

Ganzfried’s muffled voice finally reached him. They’re retreating. Another one of their suicide charges.

As Ganzfried declared victory, a Soviet with murder in his eyes threw his arms around Ganzfried’s neck and tried to strangle him with his forearm. Johann lashed out with his fist and caught the Soviet square in the nose. The soldier released his grip instantly and Ganzfried dropped to his knees clutching his throat. Johann jumped on the Soviet and proceeded to smash his fist into the man’s head again and again. He didn’t stop punching until the Soviet’s hands dropped and the soldier groaned.

Ganzfried had regained his footing and offered Johann his pistol. Johann looked at the weapon in Ganzfried’s gloved hand and locked eyes with him. He took the pistol and cocked it as the sounds of battle ebbed away with the retreat of the Red Army.

The barely conscious soldier thrashed his head from side to side. Knowing that the Nazis no longer took prisoners, Johann fired a bullet clean between the eyes of the soldier, and carved another name on a future Soviet memorial.

How did it ever come to this?

––––––––

The chimneys of Auschwitz had stopped billowing black smoke. The endless flakes of ashes that fell like the first snowfall of winter had long faded, opening up to a grey and moody sky. Yet fires raged across Auschwitz. Erich removed his hands from his ears as he watched yet another one of the crematoria explode in a ball of fire from his dining table placed in the middle of the wasteland. The SS ran from place to place, destroying records and planting the explosives for the next crematoria.

Erich clasped his hands behind his back. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. His grand plans of returning to his position in Warsaw were in ruins. Warsaw no longer existed for the Third Reich. The Soviets had already captured it and Germany’s armies were in full retreat. Now it was his turn. As the commandant of Auschwitz he had to take responsibility for what had happened here. Righteous? Yes. Would the world understand? Never.

How much time do we have left, Gris? Erich spoke as Gris arrived.

Gris, with his usual scowl, grunted. Hours, at best. Reports have told us that the Soviets are preparing to begin moving towards Oswiecim and to complete the capture of Krakow.

Erich stiffened at the news. Krakow had served as the primary headquarters of Hans Frank, the governor general of Poland. With the fall of Krakow, it symbolised the end of their occupation of the Polish territories. The Soviets would be free to undo all their hard work.

There are no records left. Gris sounded impatient to break the silence. Should we put out the fires?

No, Erich snapped. What use is there in putting out the fires? Fire will cleanse everything. Besides, who could die from it other than vermin?

Erich retreated to a table with a bottle of poor quality vodka sitting next to two dusty tumblers. He slumped into a chair and watched as all around him the barren ground continued to scorch, with the prisoners looking on, lost. Gris remained where he was until Erich beckoned him to the table.

Gris reached down to poor them each a glass of vodka. Erich’s eyes moved to some of the half-starved prisoners in their striped uniforms. Their uniforms hung off them like rags, the yellow stars on their breasts peeling at the points. He so dearly wanted to slaughter them all.

Are these the ones we leave behind? Erich lifted his glass and pointed it in the direction of the prisoners some distance away.

Gris raised his glass to toast something, but Erich didn’t move to join him and he necked it with a clench of his teeth. They’re too weak or old. We wouldn’t have the bullets to kill them. It’s best we keep them should we run into any Red Army soldiers. Better to stay alive than to shoot a rat.

Erich swallowed the vodka. His drinking had become a habit during his time as commandant of the camp and he didn’t grimace when the fiery liqueur seared his throat. He dropped the glass on the table and gestured at Gris to pour another one.

Do you already have a way out? said Gris.

Erich glared at Gris for asking such a probing question. Yes, I have a car waiting for me. You, of course, have a place in that car.

What of the rest?

Erich licked his lips. Sacrifices have to be made for the Reich. They can cover our retreat. He paused. But say nothing to them. The last thing we need is mass panic now. We have control and I’m not going to risk that, do you understand?

Gris nodded. His rarely changing facial expression made it impossible for Erich to decipher what he truly thought of the plan. Any sign of rebellion and he would shoot him dead. The normal order of things had fallen. He wouldn’t have to worry about getting away with it.

A Jewish prisoner lumbered over from the mass of hobbled skeletons in pyjamas. His right leg gave way beneath him, causing a limp that threatened to topple him over with every step. Erich put his gun on the table.

What do you want, Jew?

The Jew carried a small radio under his arm. He couldn’t speak any German but gestured at it. That radio was Erich’s own. Erich’s countenance softened and he nodded his head. Anything to distract him from this wicked work.

The prisoner spent a good few minutes connecting the necessary parts for them to get a signal from German radio. Auschwitz was in the south of Poland, but if Nazi infrastructure persisted they could still find something to listen to from somewhere. It all depended on how far the Soviets had managed to penetrate along the front.

The radio crackled into life and instantly Erich recognised the voice speaking. The Fuhrer himself. The static almost blocked out his voice, but Erich would never forget the sound of the man who had led them this far. Erich turned his chair to the radio and leaned towards it.

However grave the crisis may be at the moment, it will, despite everything, finally be mastered by our unalterable will, by our readiness for sacrifice and by our abilities, said Hitler. We shall overcome this calamity, too, and this fight, too, will not be won by central Asia but by Europe.

Hitler’s voice trailed off as the signal lost its strength and white noise echoed from the speakers. The Jew fiddled with the radio in a desperate attempt to get it to work. Erich’s breathing grew heavier with every passing second. His connection to the Fuhrer hung by a thread. The Jew’s eyes bulged with fear as he tinkered and the Fuhrer didn’t return.

Erich roared and seized the gun from the table, blasting the Jew off his feet onto his back. Erich threw his hands to his head and kicked the Jew’s legs. A gaping wound in his chest, where his heart once was, stained the earth red.

Jew shit! Erich swept the radio from the top of the little table. The black box shed some of its parts as it skittered across the ground. He threw an accusing finger at Gris. It’s time to go. Say nothing.

Erich marched past Gris and into the main part of the camp. Gris hurried to keep up with him. Erich didn’t care whether Gris came with him or not. He would throw him to the wolves at the first opportunity. The SS guards remaining barely noticed him as they hurried to conceal as much of Auschwitz as they could. Erich had agreed to meet his car well away from the camp. For now, the absence of Soviet guns and the roar of communist planes allowed him to keep a leisurely pace.

They followed the path of the main railway line towards the gates. Cattle trucks from the final prisoner transports stood abandoned. Bodies still lay next to the tracks in various states of decay. They had abandoned their daily routines weeks ago upon hearing of the quick Soviet advance. Erich had never expected to have this much time to get away.

Where are we going to go? said Gris. Do we have an escape route?

Of course we have an escape route. Erich cut himself off as he ordered the SS guards next to the gates to open them up. They didn’t question their commandant as he squeezed through the gap and out of the main camp. They didn’t speak until they got well clear of the camp and were beginning their walk towards the town of Oswiecim.

Are we clear? said Gris.

Erich coughed. The car will take us as far as it can. From there we’re going to make our way as far as we can back into Germany. Let’s not forget that there’s still a war going on and this is not about hiding. We still owe a duty to our families and our country.

So where will you go?

Erich raked his tongue along the edges of his teeth. "To Berlin, where my family is. I still have