The Great Retreat

Once, long ago, there was a great war in which I fought. Although it occurred long before any of you children were ever born, I still remember it vividly…squatting there, in my helmet, surrounded by my company, the 102nd infantry division. It was the day we lost our morale on the eve of defending ourselves against a massive frontal assault, and I’ll never forget it. At one time we were a well united company, held firmly together by our forced proximity and common interests, but after years of mustard gas and trench warfare the strain was beginning to show, and rifts in the company began to take hold. I can not condemn these rifts, however, for I, your old grandfather, led one of the minority’s splitting factions after catching wind of some of my fellow company members fraternizing with the enemy. After seeing it first hand, with my own eyes, I decided it was time to abandon the trench and make a formal retreat, away from the enemy, and away from those on the brink of desertion.

Come brothers! I heroically decreed, The enemy is upon us! If we do not retreat we shall be consumed, imprisoned, and later enslaved to their ranks!

The company, wet and fatigued, murmured to themselves…

We have nowhere else to go! Said one.

What’s the point? We couldn’t retreat if we wanted to, they’d just hunt us down eventually. Said another.

I’m too cold and hungry to move, at least the enemy prisons have food and shelter. Plus I hear the Germans have really good beer! Said another.

You’re crazy! Said another.

And somewhere during the pause in which I was attempting to gather my thoughts and explain the direness of the situation, while simultaneously making the case for my own sanity in order to be convincing, another member of the company injected another comment in the form of a question.

Anybody want to play cards?

This was followed by praise and laughter, and as I stood stammering and irritated the bulk of my company organized in the shadow of a dirt mound and began turning cards. A small handful, however, remained standing and attentive, with sharp understanding in their eyes, very much unlike the dull apathy that had beset the rest of my outfit.

We understand! Said one.

Yes, we are like you! Said another.

Let us stick together and run away! Said another.

And so it came to pass, moments later, as the enemy legions poured over the mound and descended on my company, that I, and a handful of like minded souls, abandoned the platoon and retreated south. It was a long and hard retreat, and several of the remaining handful fell along the way. One got himself caught in barbed wire, and begged us to stop and help him, which we simply could not do under the heavy fire. I heard later that he died of the self inflicted wounds from twisting and thrashing in the net. Another, who was known for being wild and carefree, wasn’t wearing his helmet and was abruptly shot in the back of the head as we ran. He dropped without a sound, and we pressed on without looking back. Another caught a breath of mustard gas, and although he was able to keep up for a while, he fell away eventually. Another broke away from us and took off in the wrong direction, where he stumbled into a land mine and disintegrated on the spot. Forgive me for tearing up, kids. He was my best friend at the time, and it still hurts your old grandpa to remember.

At last we reached the safety of an enclosed grove, what was left of us at least, and we made camp. I unshouldered my pack and began rifling through my precious possessions to make sure everything was in order. I found my tin of belongings riddled with bullets, my photographs of home and family rendered charred and indiscernible. Other trinkets and sentimental tokens lay crushed and mangled in the bottom of my pack. Dismayed, I withdrew a can of soup and ate it cold before crawling into my ratty sleeping bag and at last taking rest for the evening.

I awoke in the middle of the night to stifled snickering. German soldiers sat around our camp fire, toasting marshmallows and laughing with my remaining company members.

What the hell is going on here? I shouted, and all went silent with shock.

We thought you were asleep… Whispered one, nervously.

What business is it of yours what we do anyway? Said another.

But how can you associate with this FILTH? I angrily spouted, I thought you said you understood?

I think I understand, said one, but I understand them easier, and it’s all in fun. Like you, I just find them interesting to have around. What’s the problem?

I didn’t really understand at all, said another, I just always go with the minority. More chance of attention that way.

Furious with myself for having been successfully deceived, I raised the rifle to my shoulder and personally gunned down the lying remnants of my company.

Alone in the grove, stillness and silence followed, holding me closer than anything had ever held me before. It penetrated me, and filled me, until I was litereally singing the staticly charged song of solitude…yet this song was never my native language, and when I could be filled no more I was once again set afire by motion; another erratic phantom behind the controls of a wrecking ball. Smiling, I picked up one of the dead German’s helmets, and put it on. I ambled casually and cheerfully out of the grove and back the way I came, whistling as I went. When at last I came upon the enemy camp I threw up my left hand in a respectful salute, and bid them a genuinely amicable greeting.

Gutentag! I called, as curious soldiers hurried over to see about me.

Gutentag! And I smiled, as the hand behind my back coiled around a grenade…