Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Private Rickmers
Title: While We Are Marching
Summary: A seventeen year old German infantryman and a sixteen year old
Jewish girl hiding from the Gestapo find a love that is stronger than war.
Keywords: MF, hist, nosex, rom, teen, viol
Copyright: 2011
   Patches of snow flecked the dirt road in rural France as a squad of
German soldiers rode by on motorcycles.  A land mine exploded, destroying
the first motorcycle, and killing the rider.  The other motorcycles
crashed. Their riders tried to shoot at unseen enemies.  French resistance
fighters quickly mowed them down with submachine gun fire.
   The resistance fighters fled to avoid the approach of more Germans.  All
was silent.  Each of the German soldiers had been killed but Private Hans
Rickmers, seventeen years old, slender and slight, 5'7".  He had been
wounded in the leg.  When he was sure the resistance fighters had left he
began calling out to his older brother, `Karl!  Karl!" When he discovered
the body of his brother, Hans began to cry bitterly.
   After he composed himself, he applied a first aid bandage to the wound
to slow the bleeding.  Using a rifle in addition to his own, as a makeshift
crutch, be began to hobble painfully down the road to find a farm house.
   When he found one, he walked to the front door and knocked, knowing that
a French man on the other side might kill him.  A girl opened the door. 
She was as old as Hans, or slightly younger.  She had a slender body, a
pretty face, and the dark eyes and straight black hair of people who live
in countries bordering the Mediterranean.
   In his best school boy French, Hans said simply, "I have been shot.  My
brother is dead.  May I come in?"
   "Of course.  Come in and close the door.  I will do what I can for your
wound."
   Hans walked in, and found a chair to sit in.  The girl found a bowl to
wash Han's wound, some bandages, and some rubbing alcohol.  "Here are some
shorts you can wear, but you will need to remove your trousers." The girl
went into another room while Hans changed.  When the time came to apply the
alcohol, she said, "This will hurt."
   Hans winced, but made no sound as the girl applied the rubbing alcohol.
Then she wrapped a bandage around the wound.
   "I do not know what the couple that owns this house will think of you,"
she said.  "Their son was in the French Army.  He was killed when the
Germans invaded.  You are wearing his shorts.  I will show you his room. 
Stay there until I talk to his parents."
   While Hans and the girl waited for the return of the French farm couple,
there was a knock at the door.  The girl opened it to greet a young French
man.  "Hello, Louis," she said.
   "Ruth," the man began, "We ambushed a squad of Germans.  We thought we
killed all of them.  When we went back to collect their rifles and
ammunition we found that one had left.  He left a trail of blood leading
this way.  You must be careful."
   "Thank you, Louis.  I will be."
   Several hours later Ruth went into the room where Hans was waiting. 
"The French couple said you can stay until you can walk better.  Then you
must leave.  The man will drive you near to where a train depot is. 
Remember that if the neighboring farmers learn about this the couple that
is hiding you may be killed."
   "My company commander will think I have deserted."
   Hans had been struggling with French, so Ruth said to him in German,
"Write a letter.  Tell him you have been taken in by a family of German
sympathizers, who do not want you to be picked up because they may be
killed.  Do not write a return address on the letter.  I will mail it."
   "Your German is flawless," Hans said.  "Why is a German girl here?"
   "I am Jewish."
   "Why didn't you kill me?"
   "You have a gun.  Why don't you kill me?"
   "I do not hate Jews," Hans replied, as if insulted.  "I love Germany."
   "My father did too," the girl said.  "He was a soldier like you on the
Western Front in the last war.  He was wounded too.  He and my mother were
killed at Dachau."
   "My parents died in a bombing raid."
   "Well then," the girl said, "I guess we are both orphans.  My name is
Ruth."
   "I am Hans.  Why are you doing this for me?"
   "Everywhere in the world millions of people are being killed, Hans.  If
I can save one life I think it's a good thing."
   By now Hans had unpacked the contents of his knapsack.  Ruth picked up a
book with a black leather binding.  She read the title.  "Serviceman's New
Testament." Are you devout?" she asked.  As she leafed through the pages,
she said, "Yes.  You've been reading it.  It even has the Psalms."
   "Read me your favorite one."
   Ruth turned the pages and said, "This is the beginning of Psalm 137, "By
the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered
Zion.  We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.  For they
that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us
required of us mirth, saying, Sing one of the songs of Zion.  How shall we
sing the Lord's song in a strange land?  If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let
my right hand forget her cunning.  If I do not remember thee, let my tongue
cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief
joy."
   When it was time for Hans to leave the farm house he told Ruth, "I know
a minister in Germany who makes counterfeit passports.  You can easily pass
for a French girl.  If you go to Spain you will be safe."
   "Come with me," Ruth said, "Leave that army."
   "I cannot betray my comrades."
   "Get me a passport, and I will leave.  I will write letters to you."
   Several weeks later, when Hans was back in Germany on leave he entered a
large wooden church that had been built during the Middle Ages.  The
minister was at the organ playing "Now Thank We All Our God" by Johann
Sebastian Bach.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzX42Z0McFU&feature=related
   When the minister was finished Hans walked down the aisle of the church,
and said "Hello Pastor."
   "Well, hello Hans," the minister said.  "You look quite handsome in your
uniform.  Do you have a photograph of Ruth?"
   "Yes, Pastor.  Here it is."
   The minister looked at the photograph.  "Ruth is quite beautiful," he
said.  "Are you sure you want her to go all the way to Spain?"
   "Yes Pastor"
   "Very well.  I will have the passport ready in a week."
   As Hans left the church he passed the minister's wife.  After he left
she walked down the church aisle.  "Yes wife," the minister said in a
subdued tone of voice.
   "Another one?" she asked.
   "Yes."
   The woman said, "Someday the Gestapo will come for you.  What will I do
then?"
   "The same thing I am doing."
   When Hans and Ruth went to the train depot everyone thought she was just
another pretty French girl.  When it was time for her to get onto the train
Hans wanted to kiss her, but did not try to.  She wanted to kiss him, but
did not take the initiative.  "Please live." She told him.  "Please love me
forever." Hans gently squeezed her hand.  She got into the train, and waved
to him from a window as the train left.
   Several weeks later the other soldiers in Han's company were ordered to
depart for fortifications on the French coast in preparation for the Allied
invasion.  Hans was ordered to remain alone in the barracks.  Two days
later he was ordered to speak to the battalion commander in private.
   When Hans walked to the colonel's office, and knocked on the door, the
colonel was listening to Johann Strauss's "Vienna Waltz," on a small
portable phonograph. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U4J0MKsG_is&feature=related
   Hans knocked on the door.  The colonel turned off his phonograph, and
said, "Come in."
   Hans entered, and stood at attention before the colonel's desk.  The
colonel was tall, lean, broad shouldered, looking every bit the ideal
Prussian Junker.  "Private Hans Rickmers, I have some good news for you,
and some bad news.  The good news is that your Jewish girl friend made it
safely into Spain."
   "And what is the bad news?"
   "Private Rickmers, you are a credit to the German Army.  You know how to
smile at death.  Close the door."
   When Hans complied, the colonel continued, "All letters to German
soldiers are read.  Your girl friend should not have signed her name as
`Ruth Cohen'."
   The colonel continued.  "I lied about my age so I could serve in the
last war as an enlisted man.  My father was a colonel like I am now.  As
long as there is any historical record, my ancestors have fought the
enemies of Germany.  There is no record we have offended against harmless
civilians.  There are things going on that I do not like.  Unfortunately,
at this time Germany has no choice but to keep fighting and hope for the
best.  I am taking risks by doing this, but I am covering this up.  And
besides, you remind me of my son, who will be seventeen forever beneath the
grass of Italy."
   The colonel motioned to a chair.  "Sit down Private Rickmers, please."
   When Hans complied, the colonel opened a drawer of his desk, removed
Ruth's letter, and handed it to Hans.  "Write a response to her.  I will
see that it gets past the censor.  Invent the name of a Gentile French
girl, and tell her to use it.  When this war is over, find her.  Marry her.
I do not expect to outlive the Third Reich.  The two of you will be needed
to help rebuild the world after this war is over."
   The colonel reached into the drawer of his desk, and brought out another
envelope.  "These are your orders, Hans.  You are in luck.  We expect the
invasion to be at Calais.  You are to go to Normandy."
   Hans awkwardly stood in front of his cornel, gave the Nazi salute, and,
and said, "Heil Hitler."
   "Do you belong to the Party?" the colonel answered.
   "No sir."
   "Neither do I.  We belong to the profession of arms.  Military courtesy
discourages saluting in doors." The colonel stood up, walked over to Hans,
shook his hand, and said, "Be safe, my son."
   Two days later, Hans went to the nearby train depot to get a train to
his new destination.  He was early, so he stopped at a small inn to get
something to eat.  A phonograph was playing "Lili Marlene."
   Hans listened to: "Underneath the lantern by the barrack gate Darling I
remember the way you used to wait Twas there that you whispered tenderly
That you loved me You'd always be My Lili of the lamplight My own Lili
Marlene." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUsePoATbrU&feature=related
   A middle aged German couple was saying goodbye to their son in uniform.
He was about Han's age.  He tried to look brave.  The woman was crying. 
The father was the right age to have fought in the First World War.  He was
sitting in a wheel chair.  Both of his legs had been amputated.
   Finally the train came.  Hans picked up his rifle and duffel bag, and
found a seat.  Next to him was an older soldier, who must have been in his
thirties.  His uniform showed the evidence of much sun, and many washings.
Two less discolored areas on both shoulders gave evidence of where sergeant
stripes had been.  He also wore an Iron Cross.
   The soldier wanted to talk.  "My mother died when I was born," he began.
My father died when I was your age.  The Army has been my family ever
since. I have worn the sergeant stripes and lost them twice.  Drinking and
fighting.  That is my problem.  Drinking and fighting.  But when we push
back the invasion, there will be lots of promotions.  I will be a sergeant
again."
   The older soldier held his Iron Cross with his fingers, and said, "This
is one thing they can't take away from me no matter how much they try.  Do
you know what this is?  Of course you know.  But do you know?  This is the
Iron Cross, that's what it is.  I got it on the Russian front, and believe
me it wasn't easy."
   Another soldier, who was in his twenties turned around with an amused
smile.  Several other soldiers were watching."You're not going to tell him
that same old story about the Russian front, are you?"
   "Now you hold your tongue!  You hold your tongue I say.  He hasn't heard
it before, so it is not an old story for him."
   When the older soldier did not continue, Hans asked, "How did you win
the Iron Cross."
   The older soldier smiled, took a deep breath, and began, "The Russians
had us surrounded, do you understand?" Then he looked at the amused
expressions on the faces of several soldiers.  "Oh, never mind," he said,
"Ask one of them.  They've all heard it before."
   Hans decided to ask the older soldier about it later, when they were
alone together.  He sat back in his seat, and looked out the window.  The
sun had set in the west, where they were going to the bunkers on the
beaches at Normandy.  In his mind's eye, on the horizon he saw the face of
Ruth.  He heard the strains of "Lilly Marlene.  "When we are marching in
the mud and cold, And when my pack seems more than I can hold My love for
you renews my might I'm warm again.  My pack is light It's you Lili Marlene
It's you Lili Marlene." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBi5j7yPwd0
   The End
   Please comment: private_rickmers@yahoo.com 
  
WhileWeAreMarching