What We Want, We Do Not Know

[The Nerevarine]

November 13th, 1918


Armistice. Surrender. Defeat.


Defeat.


Defeat. How? They were closer to Paris now than they had ever been. The enemy didn't hold a single piece of German territory. Their latest offensives had taken ground. Surrender? How? How had in their hour of victory, did they concede defeat?


Captain Walther Schmeidmann awoke from his daze as a resounding explosion sounded in the background. But this was not the sound of cannons firing shells into a distant trench, a sound Walther had became all too used to in the past 4 years. It was the sound of landmines being detonated by vengeful soldiers who wanted to destroy as much of the French countryside as they could before leaving.


Walther was marching at the head of an expressionless column of weary, dirty, and tired soldiers. They were only a few miles from the pre-war border of Germany. It would be his first time home since the war had begun.


Walther reached up and readjusted the worn cap on his head. Walther was a young soldier, but he had seen as much war during his time in the army as any older soldier. At 23, his face was young, but lined with a serious composure which showed experience beyond his years. He had pale skin and a muscular build. He stood slightly above most other men at 5 feet and eleven inches. He had blue eyes which gazed off into the distance. His brown hair had grown long due to his time on the front, and he had a thick beard as well. His uniform was worn and ragged, and his Stahlhelm rattled at his side, attached to his belt, with a large dent on the side, where he had been hit with a trench club.


As they neared the border, the rumors he had been hearing came ever more present in his mind. Had the Kaiser really been ousted? Were the reds taking over? Were the Entente going to occupy Germany?


Walther pushed those thoughts from his mind. What was done, was done. He would find out the truth soon enough. He looked to his close friend who walked next to him. They had met at the outbreak of the war, and fought together through Belgium and to the Somme. They had both volunteered to become Stormtroopers on first learning of the opportunity, and continued to fight together all the way to the Marne and after. And now they were here, wondering what it had all been for.


Walther angrily muttered, "Goodbye to this accursed land, and may God have mercy on the wretches who inhabit it."


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German Soldiers heading off to war in 1914. How different it was now.

 

[admiral9]

November 13th, 1918


Dirt, mud, a bit of blood, a boot sticking out of the ground, probably belonging to a now long dead soldier.


These were all things he was used to seeing in these four long years, four years of excitement, of death, of murder and looting and it had all come to an end.


The kaiser, the fool that he was, had surrendered.


Second lieutenant Fritz von Haugwitz marched on, not to a new battlefront or newly gained trench, but instead he marched on, on to total defeat.


He found his hand slowly trailing down to his flask, sweat running down his face from the long march but even that small respite was not for him to have, after giving the flask a shake he realized it was empty.


This brought him to his newest predicament, would he button open his uniform allowing him to cool off or keep it closed and maintain his pride as an officer, he took the second option, after all would he really show that weakness to his subordinates at this moment, that would be a disgrace.


And so still clad in his military officers uniform, wearing a cap and with his stahlhelm strapped on to his backpack, even wearing the traditional officers sword on his belt he continued marching, Fritz was on the exterior a rather strict man, maintaining his hair to never grow too long, making sure he was always cleanly shaven and that his clothes were always as clean as the front allowed them to be, his facial features were those he shared with his father, a member of the Prussian nobility, with proud and strict facial features, albeit changed by the stress of war, he was not necessarily extremely muscular but he was taller then most of his brethren, Fritz was approaching 24 but it was still a while off, the only reason he had the rank that he had was most likely to thank to his descent, otherwise he would have at best been a sergeant, age mattered in the German high command after all.


Sighing he started humming, the song that he had always loved listening the bands perform and that all Germans were raised on, hoping to raise the spirits of his men a bit he loudly hummed Deutschland uber alles, even now, especially now the hope of a Germany that would persevere was important.

 

[The Nerevarine]

Walther listened silently as his friend Fritz hummed. The patriotic song inspired visions of the past, memories of marching with a clean pressed uniform and an innocent conscious to the front for the first time, as cheering children and prideful mothers waved the red, white, and black flag of the fatherland, and decorated the brave soldiers with flowers and farewells.


But those thoughts faded when he looked at the weary, dirty, soulless procession that marched behind him. Walther looked at the barren wasteland that surrounded them, that had once been a vibrant green forest full of life. Now it was blown into a billion shattered pieces, leaving only dust and death in its wake.


Walther then remembered the song Fritz hummed, and realized no one was joining in. So Walther too, joined in the song. Sergeant Müller, the bravest and most loyal soldier that served under Walther in his time in the military, who had earned an Iron Cross during the Somme, soon started too. Within moments, most of the company had joined. A brief revival was felt, and the company marched a little faster, and with their shoulders a little bit higher as they neared home.


After all, Germany would not suffer the same fate as this forest if there were still men willing to fight for it.


11:16 November 14th, 1918


The Company closed on to a German village where a train awaited to take them to their demobilization grounds. "Straighten up men!" Walther shouted as the column approached the village. They had to march in to meet their people with the pride that the Fatherland deserved. The column became straight, and each man marched in step.


Only now had Walther become self conscious of the state of his uniform and personal appearance. He looked over to his much more presentable friend. It was his Junker blood that had kept him with such a fine appearance, no doubt.


As the column entered the village, a meager collection of citizens lined the streets. But unlike when they had left, there was no flag waving, no singing, no patriotic gestures. The townspeople instead lined the streets silently watching the passing, a brooding silence covering them as the defeated column marched past. Walther did not for a moment look to the side at them, but only forwards, to the train station where he marched.


The solemn procession passed, and within half an hour the troops were on board a large passenger train. Walther sat down on the hard wooden bench, and leaned against the window as the train noisily started chugging along the tracks. His only thoughts now were about home.

A procession of defeated Germans march solemnly through a town.

 

[admiral9]

The march through the village was a rather depressing situation, his subordinates even when trying to look disciplined currently looked like not much more but a dirty band of armed hooligans, the people looking from the sidelines didn't appear to be particularly impressed either.


The people he made eye contact with seemed to be filled with a variety of thoughts, defeat, hunger, poverty. He knew that while he and his brethren had been dying on the front the situation at home had only deteriorated as time went on and now with a destroyed homeland and a similarly crushed army they were on their way to be disarmed... and what then?


Maybe "what then" wasn't the right question, maybe "what now" should instead be pondered, having at this point boarded their train with its destination being the military grounds around Saarbrücken, maybe they should desert in favor of fighting for a new destiny, that was a choice that went against his upbringing thought, he would never bring such shame to his father.


The possible options started shrinking more and more, they were stuck in between a rock and a hard place and for now there was no way to find a solution. Only time would show them if any solution would come, or if nothing but a dead nation awaited them.

 

[The Nerevarine]

Walther stared out the window, at the bleak passing terrain. When he returned home, what would he do? He had had plans before the war, but for some reason they were only a fog to him now, like a distant dream that was slowly fading from memory. Everything before the war seemed as if it were falling away, into a dark abyss. Was the boy he had been in 1914 the same man that he was now? Or were they two separate beings looking at each other across a murky abyss, wondering at each other, who looked so similar, yet were so far apart. To return to civilian life, that scared him, for the marching, the order, the violence, the intensity, they had grounded themselves in Walther's bones, and the sudden jarring removal of them left Walther empty and broken. Indeed an abyss had separated his inner self, an abyss that was four long years of muddy trench warfare and pounding artillery, of blood and sweat, of discomfort and of fear, of triumph and defeat.


Suddenly Walther lifted his head up, and turned to look at his comrade next to him. "So Baron, what will you do, once you return to your home?" Walther said, part of him hoping to see that there was a way to return to normal life, part hoping to see that he was not the only one left dazed and confused.

German soldiers in the trenches