Eleven Eleven

CHAPTER 15

10.15 a.m.

Axel counted the remaining men from his unit. There were fifteen of them left. Some of those who had chased the retreating Americans were returning. They looked fearful, wondering what punishment their bravado would earn them. A few wounded men were having their injuries attended to. Some still thrashed and whimpered in their agony, but the screaming had mercifully ceased.

The calm that had descended seemed unreal. Axel felt like he was in a dream. Everything, even on this dim, drab day, seemed pin sharp. His breath in the cold air, raindrops on grass, pools of water glistening in the mud, the grey clouds, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He was still alive. He had survived his first combat unscathed. He thought he would feel more upset or shaken by what had happened. Maybe that would come later.

The Feldwebel ignored the men who had come back, which surprised Axel, who had expected him to berate them with his usual ferocity. Maybe he felt they had shown the correct fighting spirit. Now he was sitting in a dip in the ground, cleaning his rifle, a smouldering clay pipe clamped firmly in his mouth. Even sitting down he still seemed like an enormous physical presence. Axel approached him with trepidation. ‘Feldwebel, my comrade Becker has been killed by a bomb. I ask permission to inspect the crashed aircraft and ensure the pilot is dead.’

The Feldwebel nodded abruptly. ‘Return shortly,’ he said.

Axel withdrew his bayonet from its sheath and fixed it to the mount on his Mauser rifle. It had repelled him when he was first issued with it. On the underside of the pointed blade were serrations. ‘What is this for?’ he had asked the drill sergeant, expecting it to be some bloody form of torture. ‘It’s a saw, you Dummkopf?,?’ the man had replied. ‘What do you think?’ Now that bayonet looked entirely fit for its gruesome purpose.

He wriggled out of his field pack and ran over the freshly churned ground. The crashed fighter plane was still burning fiercely and thick black smoke was rising into the grey sky. He could feel the heat of it as he approached.

As he reached the edge, he dropped to the ground and cautiously peered over. There was a terrible stink coming from inside the crater. He saw the grinning corpse and recoiled in revulsion. Then he saw the American airman at the bottom of the crater. He hadn’t spotted him yet.

Axel took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he was about to do. He would run straight towards the pilot and skewer him with his bayonet. He deserved no less. He tensed and hurled himself over the edge – he would be upon his enemy in a matter of seconds and then it would be all over. He ran at full pelt, his rifle raised and ready to strike.

Only when he was almost upon the pilot did he realise he was staring straight into the barrel of his revolver. Instinctively he froze in his tracks. Did he have a bullet in the chamber of his rifle? He couldn’t remember. He certainly wouldn’t be able to cock his rifle and fire off a round before the airman shot him in the face.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, frozen in time – Axel with his rifle raised and his bayonet a few inches away from Eddie’s face. Eddie, his arm out, was holding a revolver pointing straight at Axel.

Axel became aware again of his breathing and his heart beating painfully hard in his chest. But strangest of all was how calm he felt. Why had the American not shot him when he had charged towards him? What were they going to do next?

The pilot, it seemed, had the advantage, but Axel noticed how the revolver was shaking in his hand. Its weight seemed too much for him and Axel realised he must be badly wounded. Should he wait to see what happened next, or should he press home his attack? He searched his opponent’s face for a sign. His hand might be shaking, but his eyes seemed clear and well focused. Then he noticed his face. He looked strangely familiar. The man had the sort of ruddy colouring often seen in the region he came from. And he wasn’t really a man – he was only a year or two older than Axel.

‘Just put the rifle down and catch your breath,’ said the pilot, speaking German with a Berlin accent.

‘You’re German,’ blurted out Axel. ‘Why are you fighting for them?’

‘Don’t be a Dummkopf?,?’ said the pilot. ‘Put down your rifle or I’m going to have to kill you. I don’t want to die on the last day of the war, and I don’t want you to have to either.’

Axel was reeling. This airman spoke German like a native. And, he knew, he could easily have shot him just now. He began to shake a little himself. His anger was dissolving and, much to his embarrassment, he realised he was having to fight back tears.

‘What’s your name, son?’ said Eddie. He had realised this boy was his only chance out of this pool of mud. He needed to win him over quickly, before he sank further.

‘Axel,’ said the boy warily. ‘Why are you talking to me like this? Are you a traitor? Have you changed sides?’

Eddie laughed. ‘Look, my parents moved over to the United States forty years ago. I was born there. We speak German at home, and English everywhere else. I’m as American as those soldiers who were attacking you just now.’

Axel noticed the airman had a woman’s scarf poking out from the top of his flying jacket. Then another thing he’d just heard hit him like a flash of lightning. He blinked in confusion. ‘What did you say . . . the last day of the war?’ he blurted.

Eddie laughed again – this time in disbelief. ‘What! They haven’t told you?’

Axel felt exasperated. ‘Well, they didn’t tell your soldiers attacking just now, did they! They didn’t tell your artillery men . . .’ He could feel his anger boiling up and raised his rifle. ‘And if you knew the war was ending today, what the hell were you doing coming over here in your flying machine and killing all my comrades?’

Eddie’s eyes flashed with anger too. He levelled his revolver at Axel’s head again. ‘Stay where you are and calm yourself.’

Axel froze.

‘Our top brass . . .’ said Eddie, then he faltered. All of a sudden he was having to find the strength to talk. ‘Got reputations to make. Gonna keep us fighting right to the eleventh hour . . . Then it’s all over, Kamerad . . . You stay here with me and wait.’ He glanced very rapidly at his watch and his eyes returned to Axel. ‘Not long . . . then we can both go home to our mothers.’

Eddie felt guilty, making this speech. After all, he too had set out at the break of day to add a final notch to his belt. All at once he realised he was no better than any of the rest of the glory hunters – hoping to impress the other pilots by taking the life of another man.

‘I came out to help our boys,’ he lied to Axel and to himself. ‘If our boys are attacking, then it’s my job to help them.’

Axel felt confused. This pilot he had been so intent on killing was only doing his duty – like they all were. And the man could have killed him easily enough. Axel extended an arm, reaching further down to make contact. But the pilot warned him away. ‘Don’t come any closer. I’m stuck in the mud here. You need to get something, a rope and plank, a belt, to pull me out.’

Eddie wondered whether he had told this boy too much. He was at his mercy. What would he do if the boy refused to help? Threaten to shoot him?

Axel decided what to do in an instant. Otto had told him stories about the trenches. How men had fought like devils but shared cigarettes or water bottles with the enemy after the fighting. The thing that haunted him most, said his brother, was the Tommy he had killed after he had surrendered. But some other enemy soldiers, just up the line, were still fighting. Grenades were coming over. ‘Kill him,’ snapped Otto’s lieutenant, and Otto just lunged in with his bayonet. ‘He looked so surprised, and then he screamed and called for his mother. I can still hear him now. If you have to fight, be careful what you do. You’ll have to live with it for the rest of your life.’

So Axel Meyer undid the belt around his trousers and tossed it towards Eddie Hertz. He noticed Eddie’s eyes went out of focus, and there was sweat on his brow, even though he was up to his thighs in freezing mud . . . Axel knew instinctively he needed first aid. But he couldn’t risk taking him back to his own lines. His own comrades would kill him.

‘Hey, Axel, keep your mind on the job,’ the pilot was telling him.

Axel began to pull hard on the belt, but Eddie kept losing his grip. He was stuck pretty thoroughly here. ‘Wrap it round your hand,’ said Axel. ‘I’ll lean forward some more.’

Eddie did, and Axel pulled with all his strength. But instead of drawing Eddie out, he lurched forward himself and his feet sank deep into the muddy water. In a panic he tried to lift a leg. He was stuck too.

‘Jesus,’ he said in despair. He waited a moment, then tried to lift his left leg again. It was stuck in the mud like it was held there by a giant magnet. ‘Hold steady, Axel,’ said the pilot. ‘We wait. Wait until the firing stops, wait until we hear some cheering, and some church bells, then we start shouting our heads off.’

For a few moments neither said anything. Axel was wondering what sort of hellish mess he had got himself into. Then shells began to fall again, close to their own crater. The first few were far enough away to just hear, but then a brace began to fall near enough for them to hear the scream as they came in. Soil fell around them, and the air was snatched from their lungs. Their ears began to whistle with the noise, then something screamed in right close to them. ‘Dear God,’ said Eddie in English. There was a great thump right next to them, and earth splattered up. Axel looked around. Why weren’t they dead? A small crater had appeared in front of them, not two metres away. They could see the hole the shell had made as it plunged into the damp earth.

They both stared at it, expecting to be blown to pieces at any second. Axel was frozen in terrified expectation. But as nothing happened, the dread he felt gradually began to ebb from his limbs. Instead, he started to shake all over.

‘It must be a dud,’ he said. Otto had told him about shells that landed close by but didn’t explode.

‘Either that or a delayed fuse,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s hope it’s not ticking.’ He paused and tried to sound more cheerful. ‘No. It’s a message from God. He wants us to live. Sit tight, Axel. We’re going to see the end of this war. You got a girl back home? Well, I’ve got one here, and I’m not planning on dying on her.’