The Dominafuhrer - THE GODMOTHER

Episode 38 - Return Of The Undefeated

Essen, 1918

“Hey Rot! Do you think that the Girls will be all over me when they see my leg?”

Feldwebel Erik Boshaft grinned at his friend, Wilhelm Klein, who was sitting in the cart in front, with the Gefreiter’s bandaged right leg stretched out across the tailboard. Although it was nearly six weeks since a piece of American shrapnel had sliced through Wilhelm’s boot and calf muscles, he still winced each time the cart’s wheels hit a bump in the road and the leg was jolted.

“You had better hope so”, Erik replied. “You certainly won’t be doing any running after them”.

Erik, nicknamed ‘Red’ because of the colour of his hair, shifted the weight of his rifle from one shoulder to the other and wished that he had another pair of feet that could change with his own aching ones. It seemed that they had been marching forever, although it had been just over two weeks since they had left their armistice positions in the Argonne where their opponents had the been the tactically naive but incredibly brave and superbly equipped Americans. Erik’s Division had marched north along the valley of the Meuse to Liege, taking their wounded, all of their equipment and as much spoils as they could carry with them and crossed back into Germany at Aachen.        

At Cologne there had barely been time to reorganize and form columns with all of the other units returning from the front and move out before the occupying British troops crossed the Rhine by the Kaiser Wilhelm Bridge. North again to Düsseldorf and then along the Ruhr to Duisburg, smaller columns peeling off as they reached their destinations, and now only those bound for Essen and Dortmund or beyond remained on the road. What had been amazing was the reaction of the German citizens in the cities and towns and even villages that the troops passed through. Erik and his comrades found that they were being greeted as if they were returning conquerors instead of an army in retreat. Flags were waved, bouquets were thrown or flowers were pressed into webbing on uniforms or helmets and refreshments were handed to the weary soldiers. The further into Germany that they went, the greater the celebrations and the better the soldiers felt despite the cold wind and rain.

Now, in the distance, Erik could see the foundry and factory chimneys and pithead towers of his home city, Essen. For a few moments he could not think what was so different about the familiar sight that he had known all his life. Then he realised that, even though the usual yellowy brown smog hung over the city, there was no smoke rising from the chimneys towards the winter sky. He could not remember that ever happening before during daytime as, except for maintenance, the furnaces usually worked ceaselessly, creating steel plate, bars, girders, tubes, barrels and wire for the German war effort. Even at night, when the furnaces were opened so that the sludge and clinker could be raked out and the sky above turned red, there were plenty of other chimneys to spew their foul fumes upwards. Erik should know, he had worked for Krupps since he had left school until, late in 1917, the Army had finally decided that his engineering skills would be more suitably employed in one of their pioneer battalions. Known as storm troopers and armed with sub machine guns, flame throwers, stick grenades and demolition charges, these soldiers spearheaded the main infantry attacks, seizing or destroying strong points or causing chaos behind the enemy front lines. They had particularly been responsible for the initial success of the Kaiser’s offensive in the spring of 1918 but had, not surprisingly, suffered higher casualties than ordinary infantry battalions. Very few of the men that Erik had gone into his first battle with were still alive at the armistice.

The Essen column detached itself from the rest of the formation and moved through the suburbs of their city, more and more people lining the streets to cheer their heroes home. Past the Railway station and into the town centre through the Kettwiger Tor, they marched, the soldiers’ weariness dissipating, their backs straightening and their steps getter smarter. Bunting was being hung out from buildings; old Imperial flags, flags of the new Republic, Green, White and Black Westphalian and even the Red flags of the Socialist and Communists.

On they marched, past locked factory gates and the open sewered, cobbled streets where the workers lived in factory owned and disease ridden slums. Erik shuddered, a good education and hard work had meant that he had never had to live in one of them but many unskilled workers had no choice but to accept one of these tied cottages. He felt an anger that, with all the money that the steel and munitions Barons must have made from the war, none of it seemed to have benefited the labourers who actually produced the materials and finished wares. It was yet another thing to be angry about; the troops already felt betrayed by the armistice signed by the Socialist Government, The Kaiser had taken flight to Holland rather than suffer with the nation that he led into this war and the Navy had mutinied when they had been ordered to sea but the Army had still fought to the final moments before the armistice. Then there were the lies that the Army had been told about how the U-Boats had strangled the sea lanes to England. Yet, when Erik and his comrades had stormed the English trenches in the spring, they had found them stocked with food, weapons, fresh clothing and home comforts that the Germans had not seen for over a year. In fact, it was Germany that was starving, rations were short enough at the Western Front, but the civilians here were nearly all thin and grey faced. Erik knew that he was not the only one who felt his anger but he had his doubts whether either the Socialists or the Communists, who were fighting each other for power, had the answers for a defeated Germany.

The narrow Kettwiger Strasse opened into the KornMarkt and the column wound its way around to form a hollow square. When the orders to halt, face left and finally parade rest, were given, a collective sigh of relief came from the thousands of civilians packed against the walls of the square and in the side streets off it. The square was so full that there was no room for the transport vehicles, mainly horse drawn, and they remained on the Kettwiger Strasse with their drivers although those wounded that were able to, dismounted and hobbled forward as far as they could.

The column commander, an Oberst of one of the Infantry Regiments, rode his horse into the centre of the square and addressed the troops.

“Officers and Men of the Thirteenth and Fifteenth Divisions and other units of the Fifteenth Army Group; under the terms of the Armistice we were required to withdraw from our positions on the Western Front to behind the German Frontier. The Armistice also required the evacuation of all military establishments on the Rhine so that they can be occupied by the Allied Armies advancing behind us. Those were our barracks so your commanders decided that; rather than send you marching further into the Fatherland, you will be dispersed to your home towns until Area Command at Wiesbaden takes a decision on the future of your formations. All Regular Troops will report to the Local Regimental Barracks on the second of January, Landwehr will await orders from your Parade Rooms and all Conscripts are to keep in touch with their Regimental Headquarters. You will be informed as to whether your services will be required again or when to turn in your weapons, uniforms and equipment. I have no information on when past or future Pay will be made. I thank you for your service and I wish you ‘Ein fröhliche Weihnachten und ein gutes Neue Jahr!’ “

The Oberst brought his hand up to the rim of his helmet slowly turned his horse in a circle so that his salute went to all parts of the square. There was a burst of cheering and applause from the watching civilians and return of the seasonal greetings but the parade remained silent. The Oberst brought his halt to halt and waited for the noise to subside.

“Officers and Men, you have come home but not as defeated army. Not one enemy soldier stood on German soil at the Armistice. We were betrayed by the politicians and those who used the red flag….” There was an outbreak of booing and hissing from some sections of the crowd and then counter calls from others. The Oberst straightened up in his saddle and raised his voice over the noise. “Those who used the red flag to ferment unrest in our fleet and on the streets of our cities. They are our enemies; they are the ones who stabbed us in the back. The war on the Western Front may be over but the fighting is not….”

His voice was lost in the rising tumult of noise and he gave up, throwing another salute to the assembly and riding his horse slowly out of the square.

The parade was called to attention, dismissed and Erik was at last able to ground his rifle and use it to support his weary legs. The formations broke up and civilians swept amongst them looking for their loved ones or just someone to love in place of those who would never come home.

“Rot! Rot!” Erik turned to see Wilhelm supported by two very pretty nurses. “Look what I’ve got. They want to drag me off to hospital. I‘ve told them that I’m a wounded hero and should be treated gently; shall I see if I can find one for you?”

Erik shook his friend’s hand and gave a sad smile as he limped away before scanning the crowd with his tired eyes.

“Feldwebel!” Hauptman Gerlich stepped into his vision “Well, we brought them home.” Erik liked and admired the Hauptman; he had done his best to minimise casualties in the company and had even refused to send his men on some suicidal and futile missions.

“The Oberst might be an old blowhard but he is right”. The Hauptman’s face was grim and he looked even more exhausted than Erik but his eyes were bright. “The fighting is not over yet. You will not believe what I have just heard. When the Government cancelled all the contracts, the factory owners locked their gates and some communists here, who call themselves the Soldiers and Workers Council and claim to run the Town, tried to seize the factories on behalf of the workers. There’s going to bloodshed on the streets, the Government cannot control it and the Army is refusing to intervene. Its men like you and me who are going to have to band together and stop them, we have got save Germany! Then, after that, if they carve out all these new countries like Poland out of the east, there is going to be fighting to defend our frontiers. They will need trained soldiers to keep Germany intact. Will you come with me Erik?”

Erik declined and watched the Hauptman move on to another group of soldiers. ‘Will it never end?’ he thought to himself and then resumed his search. Suddenly, a gap appeared in the crowd and there they were; a tall brown haired woman and a little girl standing together, both wrapped up against the cold but so incredibly thin.

His jackboots clattered on the cobbles of the square as he ran towards them, it was ten months since his last brief leave but his daughter seemed to have shot up in height. How old was she? Five? But she would be six in two months time. He flung his arms around his wife and they clung to each other in silence until he felt a tugging at his sleeve. He knelt down and gave his daughter a hug.

“Papa, you came home for Christmas, just like you promised”.

It was the first time that Kathi Boshaft had ever seen her Father cry.

To continue this story, click Growing Pains

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