The Smuggler of Reschen Pass by Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger

Author:Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger [Lucyk-Berger, Chrystyna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inktreks

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The Glockner boys, Klaus Blech, and Jonas Thaler were just some of the fellows who were with our company. Johi Thaler stood with us, cursing himself for not being able to leave. Being the eldest son on the farm, he had not been called and was to stay in the valley. We were beholden to tradition, tied to our land. What else were we off to protect?

We met more of our friends and colleagues in Reschen as Company Two joined us on the road north. All in all, we were jovial, excited, and happy to be with good friends.

When we arrived in Nauders, we found more of our comrades, Marius amongst them. Max Junior and I pulled him aside and inquired about what would happen with the cigarettes.

Marius nodded. “I’ve been preparing for it. I’ve got a couple of trusted associates.”

We heard him out, but Max Junior and I were pretty nervous about losing our business. What would be left when we returned?

Marius shrugged. “This won’t last long,” he said. “We’ll be in and out and back at it before anyone can take over our territory.”

Our companies were called to order. The battalion’s commander had arrived. An older man in Tracht and wearing the two stars of a lieutenant on his collar called us to attention.

“I’m your commanding officer,” he said. “Eberhardt Müller.”

I started. Cecilia’s husband! Her keeper!

He focused on me right away. “You have a problem, boy?”

I could not look away, though I knew full well I had to. He was maybe in his late forties. Cecilia was about seventeen now. Lieutenant Müller had a full beard and was built like a bull, and though he was at least two heads shorter than me, I knew he was trouble.

He stalked up to me and stared upwards. Max Junior squirmed beside me, and Eberhardt Müller’s eyes shifted to him before glaring at me once more.

“We know each other, boy?”

I shook my head.

“I asked you a question! Do you have a problem with me, boy?”

I looked straight over his head.

“That’s a ‘No, Lieutenant’ then, rifleman. We’re not drinking schnapps on the shooting range! You will learn soldiering right here and now!”

“No, sir,” I barked.

“What’s that? Are you defying me?”

I was confused. “No, sir!”

“You want to cause trouble with me?”

“No, sir!”

I could smell him beneath me. Farmer smells. His feathered cap just reached my throat.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

I swallowed. What did he know of me? “Fritz Hanny, sir!”

The feather tipped to the left. He was squinting at me. “Maximilian Hanny’s son?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Well, well.” He turned on his heel, and I breathed again.

To the rest of the battalion, he proclaimed, “This is war now, boys. And you will learn discipline. Your play days are over. Do you understand me?”

We all barked in the affirmative.

He marched on up and down the lines, preaching about how we were hardly recognized as troops but as patrols. That we’d be conducting drills on a regular basis because—he stopped before me again and eyed me up and down—we were going to learn discipline.

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