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Partisans (sent
by Psychouzibear)
image by Psychouzibear As the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, three figures froze as
the sudden light gave them shadows where they had none moments before. All
three men knew the risks of being out after curfew. Since the cursed Nazis
had invaded their homeland they had become as thugs, cowards all, but
emboldened by the power of the guns they held. They had separated families,
and forced the men and women to work in the labor
factories. Here they made parts for guns, tanks and other weapons for the war
machine. Flaws, when discovered, were punished by flogging or even death if
it were believed an example was needed. Since they couldn't take action against their enemies at the factory,
the three men decided they should do something about the shipments from it.
They had spent weeks stealing rifle bullets from the careless soldiers. Often
getting one drunk was enough to allow the theft of a single grenade, but the
long approach was the safest for all involved. Ten kilometers out of town the three men
approached the railroad tracks. This was where the long stretch allowed the
train to reach its highest speed. A derailment would cause a disaster of
equipment as well as kill enough of the soldiers to make a significant
contribution to the cause of freedom. If they could lay the charges in time
and get back to the barracks in time, no one would suspect them of being
responsible. Partisans were always the scapegoats. Even though the guerilla tactics of the Partisans were the most
effective, no one ever knew where they were or who. As such, they became
phantoms of almost mythical proportions. They became responsible for food
going bad to engines not starting. Rather than blame a member of the master
race of being careless or stupid, it could only be the work of Partisan
saboteurs. Everyone was on the lookout for these mysterious warriors, but the
three men in the darkness never considered themselves to be part of such a
heroic group. They were doing what had to be done, that was all. Hans, Jakob and Erik waited nervously for
the moon to pass behind the clouds again. In its light they could see the
figures ahead. The helmet made the shadowed figure look more menacing in the
dark. All it would take was the cry of one man to destroy all their efforts
and patient planning. It was decided that one would stalk close enough to the
nearest guard and keep him in sight while the other two planted the charges
and primers to be set off by the train early the next morning. That way, if
the two were spotted, the third would kill the guard and hide the body,
making him look like a deserter. If possible, the three would plant their
bombs and be away without anyone being the wiser. All three knew that getting
caught would not only get them killed, but many innocents at the factory as
well. They had discussed this at length and all three men had agreed on what
should happen should anything go wrong. The dark wool of his work sweater dragged along the ground as Erik
crept up on the sentry. Further down the track he could make out the dark
bulky figures of Hans and Jakob as they wrapped the
grenades around the track bed and buried the charges with dirt and gravel
from the surrounding area. The sentry looked about himself with contemptuous
nonchalance. He had no reason to suspect anything but a quiet night, and his
boredom allowed him to see nothing in the surrounding darkness. He lit a
cigarette, further robbing him of any night vision he had. Quick and efficient. That's what their new masters had tried to beat
into them. Little did they know how much to heart the lessons had been
instilled in their new slaves. One bundle was passed in the darkness as the
other wrapped, then moving down one wrapped while the other buried. In less
than five minutes, the makeshift bombs were set and the two moved away from the
track into the darkness. A soft birdcall brought Erik to their side as the
three looked back toward the track. Then, still on their bellies, they
retreated to the forest nearby. In the cover of the trees, they stood. All of them were big men, none
less then 100 kilos. But they all moved with the
practiced ease of men used to hard work and hard fighting. They had been
lifetime friends in school, at their respective farms, and now at the
factories. While they weren't allowed to talk, little was needed as each
seemed to know what the others wanted or needed. They did a quick job of
brushing each other off before they made their way quietly back to the
barracks. No one spoke a word the whole ten kilometers.
"HALT!" The single word barked in the darkness. The barracks
was just barely in sight as they were spotted. "What are you doing here
so late?" The lone sentry was joined by two others. All had their rifles
pointed at them. Hans was the quickest mind of the three and answered. "We missed the truck to return us to the barracks after doing the
road work we were assigned. We had to walk back." He looked closely at
the corporal pointing the rifle at his chest. He tried his best to make his
voice sound exhausted. "Please Herr Sergeant, we are very tired. We have
had a long walk." "You are too tired to see my rank then. I'm only a
corporal." The sentry returned a mocking laugh. "Step here into the
light so I can look at you." Erik and Jacob understood the ploy Hans was trying and feigned a
stagger into the light to be looked over. They all put on their best
expression of fatigue. It worked too. The corporal lowered his rifle as did
the others. "We'll make sure you don't miss the truck next time out. You'll
need your sleep for the morning." He laughed at the three again. He
motioned with his rifle that they should continue to the barracks. They
turned and began to stagger back to the safety of the house ahead. "HALT!!" Came the cry from behind. Again they heard the
rifles clicking to the ready. "What is that?" The sentry pointed with his rifle at Jakob's back. There in the light, Hans could see the
twigs and branches that had stuck to the weave of his bulky sweater. Jakob froze. The other two sentries were whispering to
each other. Jakob cocked an ear to hear. He didn't
hear much but he did hear one word in particular. Partisan. He bolted. "Jakob, NO!" Hans called out, but Jakob didn't hear him. He was running for his life. The
extra weight he carried about his middle didn't allow for speed. He barely
heard the word Halt being yelled behind him. He didn't hear the rifles cock.
He didn't even hear the shot, but came to a sudden stop as his belt buckle
suddenly exploded outward. At first he didn't feel any pain. He lifted his
sweater and saw the gaping wound just over his navel, the fur covering his
body already covered in blood. He turned around, the shock just starting to
give into the wave of pain beginning to rise from his guts. "I've been shot!" he said as he looked helplessly at his
friends. He held the sweater up as if to show to them he was telling the
truth. Hans and Erik gaped at Jakob. There was
nothing they could do for him. Jakob stood statue
like for a moment. Two more shots broke the silence and Jakob's
chest erupted in blood, lifting him into the air. He was already dead when
his back hit the dirt, pieces of his heart splattered on the ground behind
his head. "NO!" Hans cried as his friend hit the ground. He attacked
the three. Erik was right behind him but one of the sentries shoved his
barrel into his face, stopping his anger from becoming action. Hans lashed
out at the corporal, grabbing him by the front of the uniform and throwing
him to the ground, then turned to the other sentry. Not fast enough, he
received a rifle butt in the groin. A moment later he felt the hard wood of
the rifle hit him on the chin. He staggered back in pain. His senses were
reeling. Another impact. The barrel of the rifle was jammed into his middle,
driving the wind from him. Then the world suddenly flashed white like a spent
light bulb and all was pitched into darkness. Hans awoke to the splashing of water in his face. He was seated at a
large wooden table and his hands were tied behind his back. As his eyes came
into focus he could see the morning light coming in the window, striking the
surface of the table before him. A man sat on the other side, his face
invisible through the beam of sunlight, but Hans could see the twin lightning
bolts on his collar, the much feared marking of the SS. "What were you doing in the woods?" The words came softly as
though spoken by a friend. But Hans knew otherwise. "We were lost," Hans offered. His mind hadn't recovered
completely from the blow to the head the guards had given him. He thought by
keeping everything simple, he'd have to invent less of the story later. "That's what your friend said. But, there's so much he won't tell
us that we think he must be lying. If you have nothing to fear you have
nothing to hide, don't you think? After all, if he is lying, you must be as
well. So I ask again: What were you doing in the woods?" "My friends and I were assigned to road work for the day. We
missed our truck to return to the barracks. We had to walk back. We were
stopped by the sentries. They shot Jakob."
Again the vision of Jakob flying to the ground, the
bullets ripping through his body brought the anger fresh to his mind. He
wanted to kill this nameless, faceless man. Again, you agree with your friend. Perhaps you are telling the truth
after all. But if so, tell me where you were working. Hans could feel the
smile behind the man's words. He was trapped and he knew it. They hadn't
agreed on the details of the story. Anything he said might not agree with
what Erik might have told them. He decided to try another tactic. "I don't know. We drove for a while and it took us a long time to
walk back. Jakob knew the way. We followed
him." "Why did your friend run from the guards?" "They called us Partisans. He must have thought they'd shoot us
anyway. He ran from fear. Can you blame him?" "Then it was his fear that killed him, or a guilty conscience.
Your friend is refusing to tell us anything at all. Shall we go and see
him?" At that he stood and walked to the door, looking back for Hans to
stand and follow. A guard fell into step behind them as they made their way
down the corridor to a room where grunts and moans issued forth. The SS Man paused before the door, looking back at him. "You must
understand, your friend has been most uncooperative." He opened the
door. Erik was chained against the wall, his shirt removed and his arms over
his head. A large man was punching him brutally in his large stomach. His
lower belly was already a dark purple from taking many punches to the gut.
The big man paused at their approach. Hans could see his friend had taken a
beating and his face was a mass of bruises, blood and missing teeth. Through
swollen eyes, he looked up and smiled at Hans. As Hans looked at his friend,
he saw him tap his wrist. He knew the time was near and was telling him he
was still stalling. "As you can see, we have tried many forms of persuasion."
The SS man's oily voice continued. "Soon it will be your turn." He
looked at Hans' gut. "I don't think you would last as long as your
friend has." He was right. He wasn't as solid as Erik, but he could
handle a lot. He only had a little time to wait. "You will tell us all we need to know. You will tell us what you
were doing in the woods so late at night and you will tell us now. Tell me
and you will save your life and you will save your friend's. This one is of
little use to us and we might as well put him out of his misery like the dog
he is. What can you tell about where you were last night?" "We walked back to the barracks! That's all!" Hans insisted.
A guard grabbed him from behind, holding his arms. The SS man looked at him. "I don't believe you think we're
sincere in our determination to get to the truth." He calmly drew his pistol, a 9mm Luger. From inches away, he shot Erik
in the belly. The blood splashed onto his uniform as Erik grunted and bucked
from the shot to his abdomen. A look of sadistic glee appeared on the SS
man's face. He stood back as though to admire his work. Erik's belly bled
freely and was quickly soaking his corduroy work pants. It was a wound chosen
solely for the pain it inflicted. While it would be fatal eventually, a man
could live for an hour or more as he bled to death internally. The SS man
looked at Hans to me sure he had his attention. Hans could only look at his
friend helplessly. The guards holding him wouldn't allow him to move.
Satisfied, the SS man turned to Erik once more and fired again, this time to
the upper stomach. Erik cried as the lead tore through him. Another shot to
cause maximum pain. The SS man watched Erik sag against his chains, his hairy
torso now painted red with his own blood. Through the pain he managed another
look at Hans. In his eyes was a defiance, and an apology for not lasting
longer against these monsters. A third shot ripped through his heart and he
jerked against his chains, finally sagging as death came quickly. Hans looked
at his friend, then to the SS man. There was no veiling the anger he held for
this man. "Take him outside. We'll shoot him as a spy," the man said
as he removed a handkerchief to smear the blood on his uniform. Hans was tied to the post outside the compound. No, he thought to
himself, they wouldn't shoot the only source of information they had left.
Even if he were to die, he'd have to face it bravely. Two had died already
and if a third was needed to ensure they hadn't died for nothing, so be it.
As he stood there, he saw the SS man say something to the guards. It was a
scare tactic. He was sure of it now. He'd show them he wasn't afraid. He
stood straight, chest out. He looked at the men in the firing squad. An odd
assortment of characters, but nonetheless, merely thugs with guns. "Ready!" Hans couldn't let himself show fear. He had to
prove to these monsters that he and his people would never be afraid of them.
"Aim!" He took a breath. It had to be a sick joke, something
to break his will. It had to be a trick to make him confess. He suddenly heard a loud THUMP in the distance. A train whistle and
the sound of metal being torn, ripped apart. Everyone heard it. The SS man
and the soldiers looked off in the direction of the sound. Smoke was starting
to billow up from what must have been the remains of the train. The SS man
looked at him in surprise. Hans only grinned back, satisfied that no matter
what happened now, the train was finished. The SS Man looked at him, the
anger turning his face into a mask of hate. "FIRE!" The soldiers, caught by surprise, quickly looked back and fired but
their aim was completely skewed. Hans' body jerked as six rounds hit his
bare, hairy stomach, lungs and chest. None of the wounds was immediately
fatal. But the agony caused Hans' breathing to come in gasps as one lung
quickly filled with blood. His body sagged against the ropes holding him to
the post. As he looked down he could see large drops of red splattering on his
work boots. A moment later he felt his head being lifted upwards to see the
SS man staring him in the face. "I never knew such a backward country could produce such men of
iron," he said. He felt the barrel of the man's Luger pressed to his
chest, directly above his heart. "You may have won this day but we will
win this war." "Don't count on it," Hans replied. He coughed and blood
spewed from his mouth, spattering the man's uniform and face. He saw the
anger once again and knew he had won just as his chest exploded in agony and
all went black. |
