Blood and Honour by Wolf Kruger

Author:Wolf Kruger [Kruger, Wolf]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Herzog guessed that it must have taken them nearly two hours to clear the trench of German and Russian corpses. In the last moments they had simply shovelled earth over the bloated bodies, hiding them from view. Now he bent over the washbasin, in the dugout, and splashed his face with cold water. He wiped his hands on his jacket and dropped it onto the bed beside him. He began scraping mud from his boots with his combat knife. The other men were engaged in similar tasks.

Zorn was cleaning his rifle, Schiller was sharpening his bayonet on a piece of sharp stone and Kahn was wiping the blade of his sword with a damp cloth.

“Where did you get this?”

The voice startled Herzog and he spun round to find Synovski sitting beside him, the Iron Cross held between his fingers. It must have slid from the top pocket when he dropped the jacket. He took the medal from the Pole and slipped it back into his pocket.

“I was curious,” repeated the Pole.

Herzog nodded. “Does it really matter?” he asked wearily.

“Why don’t you wear it?” asked Synovski, puzzled.

Herzog rubbed his bristled cheeks and stared into the eyes of the Pole. “I’m not proud of it,” he said, softly. “I didn’t ask them to give it to me.”

Synovski swept a hand through his red hair; he was smiling. “Some men die for those fucking things, yet you have one and won’t wear it.”

Herzog sighed wearily. “Have you ever heard of a town in France called St Sarall?” The pole shook his head and the former sergeant continued, “It used to have a population of over four hundred, now it doesn’t exist any more, all the people are dead.” The other men could hear his voice beginning to crack slightly. “I helped to murder them.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Iron Cross, brandishing it for the men to see. “And my reward for doing that was this piece of fucking metal. A piece of metal for four hundred lives.” With a final groan of despair he threw the medal to the floor.

The bunker was silent.

Herzog breathed deeply, he felt drained.

Synovski bent and picked up the Iron Cross, handing it to him. Herzog took the medal, studied it for a moment, then slid it back into his pocket. Schiller placed an arm around his shoulder and said quietly, “We need a few more like you, my friend.”

The Pole grunted, “So that’s why you’re here?” He paused for a moment. “So now what do you do? Carry that in your pocket for the rest of your life?”

Herzog grinned and patted his pocket. “I’ll wear it when I think I deserve it. No sooner and no one is going to make me change my mind.”

He took a draft from the bottle of vodka which Schiller offered him and turned to Synovski. “You ask me why I’m here. What is a Pole doing in the Germany army?”

Synovski considered the palms of his hands for a moment, then sighed softly.

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