On Saturday morning the detonations could be heard much earlier than 10.00, and they were not caused by FLAK firing blanks, as hundreds of civilian casualties discovered too late. The Red Army had reached the outskirts of the Capital and were shelling non-stop. War Veterans, only too familiar with the sound effects, scrambled to get their families and neighbours into basement shelters and phoned other loved ones elsewhere in the city, to warn them.
It was heavy artillery fire that woke everybody up, not the Sergeant’s whistle. The boys tumbled out of the barracks, blinking in the sunshine of this beautiful April morning.
“Sergeant must be sick,” said Gus, lining up at the wash basins with his towel.
“Or on the phone,” offered Axel. “He’s got ears.”
Lilly and Anna were in the galley, blowing at smoking twigs.
“That’s the last of the dry-ish kindling. Not a scrap more,” said Anna. “I don’t know what we’ll do tomorrow.”
“Listen,” said Lilly. “It won’t matter. Do you hear what I’m hearing?”
“The Serge will have to be told,” said Anna.
Just then Corporal Peters stuck his head in the door.
“Have you seen the Serge?”
“Not this morning. Why? What’s up?”
“He’s missing,” said the Corporal.
The girls ran out, looking for Ulli. He raised a hand.
“The Serge’s not coming back. I’m sure,” he said.
“Have you seen him then?”
“Nnno.”
“Ulli?”
“No.”
Moments later, Cpl. Albers yelled across the compound for assembly in the Mess Hall.
“So who’s in charge,” shouted Toni to no one in particular, pushing and stumbling inside.
“I expect we’re about to hear,” said Axel. Lilly and Anna were the last through the door. Cpl. Peters emerged from the office, a scowl on his face, holding notes scrawled on a piece of paper.
“Attention!” he yelled, and got it in a hurry.
“The Sergeant reported to headquarters this morning. In his absence Cpl. Albers and I are to assume joint responsibility for the orderly, the orderly conclusion of this mission. At ease.”
The room erupted. Chairs slammed against the wall. A hundred and thirty-seven pairs of feet moved at once. Cpl. Albers found the whistle and mayhem subsided somewhat. No one was thinking of breakfast.
“With the — um — operation approaching,” he said, stony-faced, “and you all know Cpl. Peters and I are veterans of the Eastern front lines, we are expecting deployment within twenty-four hours. At 8.00 sharp we’ll set off to retrieve all bazookas from storage. Four teams will move them forward to our trenches.”
“Additional ammunition will arrive by rail later tonight,” announced Cpl. Peters in a similarly firm tone of voice.
“By RAIL? How’s THAT going to help?” yelled Toni.
“It’s just over there. See those trees? The barracks? There’s tracks down the embankment,” said Ulli.
“How do you know? Do you live around here?”
“Oh, no,” said Ulli, shrugging.
There had been a lull in the heavy shelling. Now that it resumed, it sounded closer, much closer, firing over their heads, detonations in the distant city.
At 11.45 sharp, the supply truck lumbered down the mud road and was met by Lotte and Emma. Swearing at the top of their lungs, the two men jumped out of the cab, yelled for help and unloaded the two massive thermos soup kettles, boxes of bread, liverwurst, sealed x-rations, and a crate marked with the red cross. The corporals moved this crate into the office, and returned to hear the drivers’ parting words to the effect that they wouldn’t guarantee this bunch would see them or their truck again.
A low flying plane appeared, circled, left. No FLAK.
“Gus and Ulli, you two are coming in here to help us slice this bread,” said Lotte. “We have to make 140 double deckers. Anybody else around?”