El Alamein, Jack Murray [best autobiographies to read .txt] 📗

was reluctance in the eyes of the little schoolteacher. He smiled and handed Brehme one bag. It was full of potatoes.

‘I hope you’re not distilling alcohol,’ laughed Brehme.

Becker paused a moment but then his face broke into a grin.

‘I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps I should.’

‘Let me know, I’ll come and drink a shot with you.’

They walked along the street. There was music coming from somewhere. It was a Christmas carol. The two men trudged along, their feet crunching through the dirty snow. Neither spoke as they passed a group of soldiers. They were loud and clearly in good humour. Brehme looked at them with barely concealed distaste.

‘Any former pupils of yours there?’ asked Brehme to the schoolteacher.

‘I don’t recognise any of them,’ said Becker. Brehme wasn’t sure if this was because they’d grown up or something else. The changing face of youth in the country had been more than physical. He barely recognised what they’d become. And what he saw appalled him. There were a few other young people in the street. Interestingly, the younger people were in casual clothes. It seemed odd to see young people not in some form of uniform. Perhaps the fashion for dressing up like a soldier was passing. A good thing, too, thought Brehme. They arrived at the large house belonging to Becker that he shared with his wife.

‘Well, I suppose this is you,’ said Brehme.

‘Would you care to come in and have a drink with us?’ asked Becker. He hoped the answer would be ‘no’.

Brehme was policeman enough to recognise that Becker did not want him to accept and polite enough to decline in a manner that gave no offence. They parted company and Brehme returned to his own, empty, house. The sound of his boots on the wooden floor echoed harshly in the permanently dark hallway. He saw a note from Leni, his housekeeper. She’d prepared some food that needed to be heated up in the oven. For a moment he felt a swell of anger. What was he paying her for if she was not here to cook? Then he remembered it was New Year’s Eve. The anger dissipated in seconds to be replaced by a feeling of ennui. He took off his coat and walked into the kitchen. A quick look inside the oven confirmed the presence of something to eat.

He shut the door of the oven and left the kitchen. Maybe later. He went to the front door remembering that he’d forgotten to check for post. There was none. He exhaled and went into the living room. He flopped down in his armchair and stared out of the window to the back garden. The day slowly gave itself up to the darkness of night. The snow provided a purple glow that Brehme found oddly comforting. It was hypnotic and he sat for a while absorbed in the strange lilac light. How long he sat he could not tell but he was jolted awake by the sounds of revelry on the street.

Leaning over the chair he switched on the radio. A voice that he knew so well was speaking to Germany.

-

‘German Volk! National Socialists! Party Comrades! For the third time, destiny forces me to direct my New Year’s Proclamation to the German Volk at war. It is clear to the German Volk that this fight, which was forced on us by our old greedy enemies, as so many times before in German history, is truly a question of life or death.’

A dozen people crowded round the radio to listen to the speech. The Fuhrer spoke about the rightness of their fight and the inevitability of victory. The Mayer household and their guests listened mostly in silence.

‘Perhaps this year you will have a chance to face those enemies, Erich,’ said Mayer.

‘I hope so, Herr Mayer,’ replied Erich without flinching at his outright lie. Erich was dressed in a black uniform. There was a strip of medals emblazoned on his chest. He had yet to face the Allies.

‘Then after the war is over and our enemies are defeated…’ Mayer left the sentence unfinished. He glanced meaning fully at his daughter and then at Herr Sammer who was standing beside his son.

‘I hope the war will be over soon, Herr Mayer,’ replied Erich with a smile, ‘But not so soon that I can’t get at them myself.’

‘Well said, young man,’ replied Mayer, nodding in approval. Gerd Sammer clapped his son on the back, pride leaking from his eyes. And he was proud. His son had met a young girl as beautiful as she was dutiful. She would bring many fine young men into the world. He’d done well. A son to be proud of. The match between the Mayer and the Sammer households would cement his position both within the town and the party. He felt so happy that he barely listened to the rest of the speech from their leader.

Anja Mayer was still a schoolgirl. She would leave school at the beginning of summer. Then she felt Erich take her hand. It felt cold. She turned to her fiancé and smiled dutifully.

When the speech drew to its uplifting conclusion there was spontaneous and excited applause in the room.

‘Time for some music, I think,’ announced Mayer. He leaned over towards the radio.

-

Captain Johannes Kummel, commander of the first company in Regiment 8 of 15th Panzer Division switched off the radio. He was with the heads of the other companies in the tank regiment.

‘So we’re going to win the war this year, apparently.’

‘That’s good to know,’ replied Lieutenant Stiefelmayer, in a voice that was barely audible. ‘I was worried for a while.’

Kummel looked at the drawn features of the man before him. Grime-encrusted hands rubbed sunken eyes. His face was buried into his chest. Silence fell on the group. Kummel listened to the sounds of the regiment. It was eerily quiet as midnight and the New Year approached. In place of high-spirited chat or the sounds of engines being made ready there was,