1901

The day was not over. The Americans came again and again. The subsequent attacks, however, lacked the strength and ferocity of the first one and were beaten back almost easily. Even so, Ludwig’s company and the rest of the 4th Rifles took more casualties. It was small comfort that the Americans had suffered far worse. The 4th Rifles had been mauled.

Before sunset and after it was confirmed that the Americans were indeed withdrawing from the area, a few Americans appeared under a flag of truce and asked to remove their wounded and dead. The request was quickly granted. “Let them care for their own,” sighed an exhausted Captain Walter. “We have enough to do with ours.”

Ludwig watched as the sad caravan of American carts took as many of the moaning wounded and dead as they could. He was deeply saddened and shaken by the cries coming from the blood-soaked field. He had not truly realized that so many men would call for their mother in such circumstances, and it tore at him. For once, even Kessel had nothing to say.

In the early afternoon of the next day, the mangled company was withdrawn and replaced by fresh troops, who stared at them in disbelief. Do we look so awful? Ludwig thought. Are we the walking dead? Do they not know we are the victors? His uniform was covered with dirt and blood, some his own. He found a small cut on his neck that had probably been caused by a piece of spent shrapnel. He still carried the American’s rifle, which he’d shown to the captain. The fact that it was a British Lee-Metford was disturbing. Just where the hell were the Yanks getting British equipment? The captain had no answer, but Ludwig could see that he too was puzzled and disturbed. If the damn Brits were arming the Yanks, there could be real trouble.

As they marched slowly and out of step along the dirt road a few miles from the fort, Ludwig found himself alongside Captain Walter, who suddenly raised his right hand and signaled a halt.

“What the hell?” Ludwig gasped.

In a field alongside the road lay bundles of American dead. Some were in small, neat rows; others were piled in heaps. A troop of dismounted Uhlans idled nearby, and Ludwig noticed their lances had been replaced by rifles. Then it dawned on him. The Americans had been executed.

“Who is in charge here?” asked Captain Walter, his voice almost breaking.

A young lieutenant rose from the ground and saluted insolently. He had a sulky, pouty face and looked upon the infantry captain as if he were some lower order of life. He was a Uhlan, and to a Uhlan all riflemen were shit soldiers. “I command here, Captain. Lieutenant Sigmond von Hoff at your service.”

“Are you responsible for this? This murder?”

“An execution, Captain.” Hoff smiled benignly. “Nothing more and most certainly none of your concern.”

The man’s casualness was outrageous. “And by whose orders?”

“Why the kaiser’s, Captain, the kaiser’s.”

Captain Walter seemed rocked by the answer. “It cannot be. What was their crime? When was their trial?”

Ludwig noticed that several of the other Uhlans were gathering around, grinning, while others had turned away, possibly ashamed of what they had done. Ludwig wondered if these were some of the group that had gotten whipped by the Americans a few days ago. If so, that would account for their behavior, although it did not justify it.

“Captain, their crime is treason. They are Germans fighting for the Americans. The kaiser has decreed that one who is born a German will always be a German. A German cannot renounce his citizenship and be justified in taking up arms against the Reich and our beloved kaiser. If he does that, he is a traitor and, by the way, no trial is necessary under these circumstances. Their guilt is obvious.” He again saluted, this time even more casually. “If you will excuse me, Captain, my men and I have much to do.”

As the Uhlans walked away, Ludwig turned to the captain. “Sir, has the kaiser gone mad, issuing that kind of order?”

The captain’s voice was stern, but Ludwig could see the concern and hurt disbelief in his eyes. “Corporal, you will watch your tongue. Our kaiser is surely not mad. He may have received bad counsel, or an order may have been misinterpreted. Do you understand me, Weber?”

Ludwig nodded. Indeed, he understood quite well. One did not call the kaiser insane, no matter what, unless, of course, one wanted to be considered a traitor as well. Ludwig looked at the captain and saw a small, sad smile on his face and he quietly shook his head. Then Ludwig knew that the captain was in complete agreement regarding the kaiser, only he had the wit and discretion not to say it.

Ludwig turned again to the field where so many dead lay in prim formation. What will the Americans do when they find out about this atrocity? His body chilled at the thought of the vengeance that could be wreaked upon them. What if he were captured? Would they kill him as well? Oh, Jesus, what is going to happen now?