A day on the battlefield

Dear Mr and Mrs. Ryan,

Corporal Matthew Ryan was with Able company in the 4th since the D-day landing. Starting out as a Private, his distinguished valor earned him first the rank of Private First Class and then Corporal. His XO had his eye on him for Sergeant, too. Tragically, he was struck down during a battle and Belgium, taking a severe gut wound and blacking out. Figuring him already dead, they left him behind. This is when I encountered him.

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- Goddamn Nazi bastards!

I heard the yell from over the hill from where I lay wounded. I had taken one or two bullets in the leg and could no longer stand. I screamed and screamed for help for a long time but none arrived. I had been quiet for awhile and was drifting unconscious when I heard the yell and perked up a bit. I spoke a bit of English from my university days, so I called back:

- Damn right!

No answer. I could practically hear the gears in his head turning. Did he hear an accented in my voice, or not? Finally:

- Who's there? What unit are you from?

I paused, weighing whether or not to answer, then realizing I may be dead soon, answered:

- Grenadier Hans Amsel, Heeresgruppen B.

- Nazi Scum!

- Yes, that's us. The scum of the earth. Forced to fight to the death for a bunch of murderous thugs or lined up and shot.

- Don't make excuses you fucking Kraut! You assholes are trying to take over the world and we're going to stop you! We're going to win!

- I hope so.

This did not fit with his preconceived notion of the brutal Nazi killer, so he was again silent for a moment. Then he said

- What?

- I hope you do win this war. I hope there is no such thing as National Socialism in a very short time. I am here against my will, ordered to the front for protesting the government and its policies. This was my first campaign and here I am already, prepared for the grave.

- Bullshit. All Nazis are unbelievers once they're captured or wounded. It's all 'I had no choice' and 'I was only following orders'. Not a one of you believes a damn word of it once we got over here.

- *sigh* Believe what you like. We will both be dead soon in any case. Scum though I may be, it would be nice to know who I am talking to.

Again, I get the distinct impression he is considering my words. It is interesting how much a silence can tell you as much as words can.

- Matt. Matt Ryan.

- Pleased to meet you, Matt. Call me Hans. How did you find yourself here? Enlisted to help crush my fascist overlords?

- Yes! I mean, no, but..the farm wasn't doing too well, so I joined up for the pay and to see a bit of the world. I figured Mama and Daddy could use the pay I brought in, 'til things got a little better.

- Ah, yes. Admirable to look after one's family. My father sold linens in Vienna. I was attending school when the Nazis annexed.

- Why the hell didn't you fight back?

- I did. All of us did at that time. But it was to no avail. They marched in, arrested our professors and executed them. They threw the rest of us in jail until they needed meat for the American grinder.

- Bullshit

- No my friend. Nazis forcibly conscript from the places they conquer. That is why you see so many nonbelievers in your prisoner ranks. Given the chance they surrender immediately. I would too but I am finished.

- Where were you hit.

- The leg, somewhere near the knee. I am not sure and I am afraid to move too much and find out. What about you?

Nothing. Then:

- I..don't know.

He sounded panicked now, strained.

- I can't move. I don't feel anything below my neck. It hurt like hell when I went down but now nothing! Am I gonna die?

His breathing was rapid and shallow. Sounded like a shot in the spine. Paralysis. To soothe him I said:

- I was joking before, my friend. The medics are probably coming now. Be patient and stay calm.

- I don't wanna die! I've never even..been with a girl.

- You will have many chances yet, my friend.

- FUCK FUCK FUCK! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE! HURRY!

I tried to tell him not to use up his remaining energy shouting but it was no use. He went on bellowing for a few minutes before falling silent. I waited a little, then said

- Matt?

- Help me, Hans.  It's so cold. Help me.

This was it, I knew. He was finished.

- Talk to me, Hans, please! I can't see anything but I can still hear! Please!

So I did. I told him about my life. I told my hopes and dreams, my fears and my loves. I spoke of things I never told to another person on this Earth. I talked and talked until there was nothing left to say and fell silent. I listened to see there was any response. Nothing. I knew he was gone. I sighed and shut my eyes, ready to go off to my final reward, feeling lighter than I ever had before. I had given away a piece of myself to a complete stranger from a world away and I was ready for my death. But it was not to be.

At some point, I must have passed out, for when I awoke I was in an army hospital, surrounded by other wounded Germans. A couple of armed Americans stood at the end of the half dozen beds, glaring at us. So. Taken prisoner. I lay back down and went to sleep. As I started to recover, I decided to write this letter to the parents of this stranger friend of mine, who had heard my most intimate confessions and asked for nothing but the right to them. I felt they had to know what kind of man he had been so they could mourn the hero he certainly was and could have been. I hoped, that you would come to see that even though we were on opposite sides, we were nonetheless part of the same coin. I can never forget the bond we shared on the battlefield, reaching out for human connection in any shape we could grasp. I want to impress on you how much had meant to me. I would like to hear from you, if you are able, but if not, I will understand. Take care and best wishes for fall harvest.

Sincerely,
               Hans Amsel

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Mrs. Ryan had been holding her breath the entire time she had been reading without realizing, and as she reached the end let out a slow exhale. It had just arrived in the morning mail. It was December now, and other than the telegram informing them of Matt's death in September, they had no idea what had happened to their son. It was a relief finally to know. she thanked this German boy silently to herself as she tore it up and threw it into the fireplace. Some stories are made to be told once and never again. It was part of her now and would remain so forever.