New beginnings

At sixteen years of age, on March 21, 1944, I found myself aboard a train packed with other teenagers now a part of the German army. My uniform had blood on it, and I realized that they would not put effort into getting new ones, just when one died they were passed on.

None of the other boys were alike to me in any way, other than the fact we were all teenagers taken away to be fighting soon enough. We were all afraid then. I was told so many times that only my country mattered, my life could be put on hold.

The war was mainly between Russia and Germany. And I was born half German because of my father. And my mother's side made me half Russian. I could speak both languages, although since I lived in Germany I was more fluent in that.

Britain, America, and Russia all attacked us, and rather than being the ones to fear, we were the ones losing strength.

Anyway, I found myself in a train, sitting tight with another boy named Jakob. He spoke a lot, none of what I really cared to hear, but we became fast friends. He told me of his life, but I only said what was necessary. I wasn't really in much of a mood to speak, I guess.

When Jakob got up, a veteran with two fingers on his hand took a seat next to me and told me horror stories about the war and what he had been through. I wasn't really up for it before, but after hearing that I definitely was not very keen to go to war after.

After that, when he stood up again, Jakob sat back down next to me and we sat in silence. It wasn't until we saw a wooden cart flooded with corpses that either of us said a word.


~Erik