A Broken Band of Brothers

[*This is a war story, and not necessarily a happy one, be warned there is death and uncomfortable scenarios*]

I want something good to die for, to make it beautiful to live. Steadfast in the face of desperation, I will persevere. Hand in hand, brother to brother, we will make our stand.

With a heart of iron and everything to give. Forget not why we crawl, for if it was easy to stand, He would not share. Glory above all else! To make our last hoorah ever grand!

“Jonas! Get it together brother!” Dust swept into his eyes, the sounds became a numb ache, gravel rained around them.

“Jonas! Come on man! Pick your feet up, don’t let this be it man!” A crooked arm dragged him up, feet as uneasy as the flow beneath them. Minutes, no, hours? Who is that? Can’t I just get a few more seconds… “If you don’t get your shit together, I swear to God Almighty I’ll show you what real hell is! Move your feet god dammit!”

“Alright, alright! I’m up! What the hell are you going on about?” Stinging dryness pulled him back into consciousness.

“Good God Jonas, you took a shell to the head. How in the fu-” thunder erupted inches from their position, Jonas was sent reeling yet again, this time with a body on top of his. “Push dammit! Get us out of here!” A hard hand beating on his helmet breathed life back into him. “Jonas you useless hack, get moving now!”

“Sir, yes sir!” Jonas snapped to. “Lukas! Point me in the right direction, my mind’s a mess.” Jonas had Lukas by the waist, pulling him through rubble and bones. “Lukas, man, speak up! I’m lost here, say something!” Every step is a little lighter, every corner a little easier to travel. Shell shock? Where am I? Lukas? When did you get here? “Oh God… Lukas, oh man you’re- oh hell” Jonas crumpled, heaving and sobbing, an uncontrollable mess. He tried to pull him back together, piece by piece, bone by bone, to no avail. Jonas placed his hand on Lukas’ dog tag and pulled it from his body. Barbed wire hung overhead, not a building in sight but an open field of rubble and mortar holes surrounded him.

No man’s land, oh God what have I done to deserve this? Give us back Lukas and take me! What prayer do you want? What can I do to- a hand on his back froze him solid. Turning around he saw the whites of another man’s eyes, a union jack on his uniform. Jonas shot himself back, scurrying to find the nearest weapon. The soldier put a finger to his mouth, hushing him, he points to his union jack and gives a sideways look. What is he doing? Does he want to know mine? Is it not visible? Lukas checks his shoulder finding a missing uniform, he’s down to a muddy white tank, tattered slacks, and a single boot.

If I speak, he’ll know. Jonas points to the soldier’s uniform and then to himself, giving him a thumbs up. I’m one of you, for now. The soldier points his fingers to his eyes and then to a foxhole just over the ridge. Jonas returns a nod and turns his prone body towards their objective. This tommy’s my best bet, gotta find my division… I’ll get these dog tags back home, gotta get my ass home.

Jonas’ temporary ally, now known as Tommy, pushes forward. Tommy loosens his belt and ties it around Lukas’ body. Jonas’ knee jerk response is to free his brother, but a whistling thud tells him to think twice. Tommy pulls Lukas’ body in front of him, pushing forward out of the trench, he holds still and motions Jonas to follow. Jonas creeps over the crest and positions himself vertically to Tommy, holding his pant leg. Tommy uses his fingers to count down from three, after the count of one he pushes the body sideways and shimmies with it, Jonas close behind. Another whistle, but no thud. Three, two, one, shimmy. An artillery shell rips through the air colliding with a foxhole a rock’s throw away. This repeats a handful of times and finally Jonas rolls into the foxhole and drags Tommy down with him.

As they both slide down into the hole, Jonas quickly grabs Tommy’s mouth, and eyes wide, points to the farthest corner ahead of them. Three Russians, no guns, no knives, trench shovels and a bucket. Looks like they didn’t hear us. Jonas slowly lets loose of Tommy, pointing to the shovel on their left. Tommy, eyes locked, slithers his way to the shovel, Jonas positions himself over the closest combatant. Tommy gives Jonas a nod and the fight blows up, Jonas wraps his arm around the Russians neck and Tommy swings for the second, taking the enemies jaw with it. “Blyat!” The third Russian jumps back and digs through the dirt wall, unveiling a grenade. Tommy lunges for him, knocking the grenade loose, Jonas has yet to finish his target, struggling to keep him down. The pin! Did he pull the pin?! Tommy and the Russian trade blows, the Russian scrambling and kicking trying to reach the grenade. Jonas’ enemy goes limp, and after tossing the body aside he finds himself jumping atop the grenade. Give my life for a damn Tommy?! The pin! I feel the pin! Tommy locks his legs around the Russian and tries his hardest to drag him away from Jonas, but Jonas spins around and lands a nasty punch on the enemy’s face, and then another.

Fox hole clear. Was I really about to? Hell… I don’t know anymore. The hole they’re in leads to a system of tunnels, mostly vacant except for a few of the weak and delusional. Tommy’s eyes are wide and his breathes are short, holding his side and grunting through every step. Broken rib? Punctured lung?

Are we headed further into enemy territory? Shit, is anywhere I go with this guy safe? He’s going to want me to speak eventually. He’s been good to me, and I to him, how in God’s name do we get out of this safe? Tommy finds an opening to a small town, mostly destroyed save for a small house and its garden. Lukas signals Tommy to stay, pointing to the house, he moves his hands as if to show a door opening and then points to himself. Making his hands act as a running man he signals he’ll return after surveying.

Tommy painfully sets himself down, stretching out his injured side. Pained breathing gets a bit lighter and some color returns to his face. Knife wound; poor guy took one near the kidney. By the looks of it he should make it. Jonas crests the hill, looking frantically side to side. Empty artillery shells and track marks leave evidence of an encampment, yet not a soul in sight. Mustering up some courage, Jonas jumps the hole and rushes, crouched, to the house. In broken English Jonas shouts out “Allo? Eh… allies? Americas?” No response. Pushing around the building, the porch reveals a deep crater and strewn silverware. Movement, and quick at it, shocks him to attention. He pulls himself back to the wall, this time in fluent German “Genossin? Anybody?” Shuffling stops and both sides now can hear each other’s breathing. “Gewehr! Eh… uhh… Springfield! Hah! Mosin! Weapons, we weapons!” a frantic mix of languages breaks the silence. They’re armed… oh hell he’s got a Russian accent. We?! Jonas tears at his tank, pulling free a tatter of clothed surrender, a makeshift flag. Waving it around the corner he shouts surrender in as many languages as he can think. “No shoot! Surrender, da!”

The war itself could’ve passed in the time it took Jonas to muster the courage to turn that wall, but he closed his eyes and arms raised, turned to fate. Standing in front of him were three men, two had large rocks in their hands and the third stood large with a stick in the form of a gun. Jonas lowers himself to his knees, the three men come around him and search his person finding on him two dog tags with the names Jonas Müller and Lukas Mayer. “German!” Jonas braces for impact. Tommy pulls the corner, hand in his pocket in the form of a gun “Hey! Step back!” The three men freeze, look to Jonas, then back to the injured Brit. The man wielding the oak rifle shows shock, then confusion, and then looks back to his allies. “Put the stick down,” Tommy motions his faux gun to the floor, “two of you got Italian flags and big boy’s got a Russian one, this shouldn’t be something new to you.” Touching his flag and motioning to the others’, Tommy reveals the lack of weaponry on him. “We can’t understand each other quite right, but I’m hoping you can read the room.” Tommy gets himself down on his knees and the two Italian men come to search him; no weapon, no knife, just a picture of his lady and a dog tag named Thomas Bridger. Jonas lets out a hushed chuckle.

The Russian loosens up, removing the branch from Jonas’ face, takes a long sigh and throws his head back in relief. Pointing to himself now, the Russian identifies himself as Anatoly, then lazily waves to the two Italian men.

“Donte.”

“Santo.” Pointing to Donte, Santo clasps his hands together. “Grasso, Donte Grasso and Santo Grasso.”

Trading suspicious glances with each other, everyone finds a corner of their own. Some minutes go by, and Jonas finds his voice. “Not that you can understand me,” the men look over to him, “but I have the fullest bladder” he makes a motion of holding his privates and waves side to side, “now if you don’t mind.” Jonas walks the wall closest to the crater and steps a few inches outside, unravels what’s left of his pants and relieves himself. Snickering and a couple laughs are heard back inside the house, turning back inside Jonas catches the brothers swiftly moving their hands back to their sides.

Anatoly positions himself with his helmet over his eyes and pushes up against the foot of a broken chair. Donte and Santo both tease Tommy over the picture of his woman, Santo holding up a fake pair of breasts and Donte squeezing them. Tommy points to Santo’s mouth and then to Donte’s privates and before he can finish his charade the brothers burst out into laughter. Lucky to have each other, bittersweet considering the situation but beats nothing. Anatoly adjusts himself causing a clang of different metals, on his hip hang a bevy of dog tags; all Russian. His people? God damn he’s seen hell. Jonas sits back in his corner and cleans under his nails, unsure of what to do next. Tommy puts his photo back into his helmet and the brothers give each other a playful slap and sit back down. Santo pulls out a map and tries to find himself, marks all over the map don’t lend hope to the others. “It’s the thought that counts, I guess.” Tommy stands up and checks over the map, tracing a path with his fingers he finds the only correct mark.

“My platoon and I got dropped just shy of the Rhine, I’m sure some of you saw plenty of Germans around here.” Tommy gives Jonas a quick glance, pointing to him and then back to the map. Lukas nods, moving an inch higher than Tommy’s finger was. “If we’re all to survive this,” Jonas moves his finger from it’s spot and drags it slowly down to Switzerland, “we’ll need to make it to a neutral country, either Switzerland,” now moving his finger far up north, “or Sweden.” Circling both countries with his fingers, Jonas tries to motion safety, thumbs up, hugging himself, a big smile; the brothers find this humorous but Tommy nods in agreement and Anatoly feigns ignorance, remaining in his seat. Tommy circles Switzerland and motions everyone together. Anatoly peaks an eye out and leans himself forward, tearing off his flag, he signals the others to do the same and falls back into his slump, the brothers pull their flags off along with Tommy, a handful of possibilities are handed to Jonas.