Desert

Voice work by Sara Raz.

Voice work by Sara Raz.

There he is again, slithering directly behind me.

 This soldier won’t leave me alone.

 I scurry a little faster, hoping to lose him in the crowded street, but he keeps up, maintaining an uncomfortable distance.

 I just want to get home.

 His eyes, dark under the pulled down military cap, stare intently at me when I glance back to see if he’s still there.

 Seek help from a stranger, that is the only answer.

 Reaching out to the first man I see, I plead “Monsieur,can you please help, this soldier is following me.”

 Looking up, surprised from the distractions of his ground-focused attention learned through years of NAZI occupation, the gentleman is a bit startled.

 The soldier comes closer.

 He’s not keeping his distance any longer.

 “What is the problem, madame?” the gentleman says, just as the soldier sidles up to tower over him.

 “Move along buddy” the soldier says, “my girlfriend and I are having a lover’s chase, if you know what I mean.”

 “This soldier is not my boyfriend” I exclaim with all authority.

 The gentleman is dazed, confused, and clearly wants to get somewhere away from this soldier.

 Shoving the gentleman on, the soldier turns to me, his back to the other man.

 “Look here sweetheart, we’re going to resolve this.” He says as he grabs my hand.

 “LET GO OF ME!” I scream.

 The gentleman stands there, stunned.

 “Come with me Lucille!” the soldier projects loud enough for all to hear.

 A crowd begins to gather around. The gentleman is still standing there, not knowing what to do.

 “My name is not Lucille. I will not go with you. I don’t know you. Let go of me!” I demand.

 Yes, a lot of noise, a crowd, attention. The last things he wants!

 The soldier lets go of my hand as he turns to the crowd.

 “Fine, have it your way honey. I’ll see you at home.” He says as a parting blow to my status among the strangers in the crowd.

 It worked, I am free of this monster.

 “I do not know him.” I plead as the crowd dissipates with knowing expressions.

 How dare he besmirch me near my home, this Cretan!

 Scurrying home,I turn on several wrong streets to make sure the soldier is not following me.

 I can’t have him know where I live.

 Finally turning onto my street, I see my building entrance in the distance.

 Home, safety, freedom.

 Making my way toward the entrance, I look around me.

 The soldier is nowhere to be seen.

 I walk through the outer gate, entering the front courtyard of the building.

 As I approach the front door, I look around again.

 I’m not opening this door until I know I’m safe.

 No one is around. I am alone.

 I reach into my purse, clasping the key to the door in my right hand.

 Looking up at the lock, a shadow breaks over mine on the door.

 NO!

 Swiveling around, I am prepared. The key to the door is locked between my forefinger and my middle finger.

 It’s not much, but it would hurt if jabbed in the eye in a quick thrust.

 Thrusting my arm, I see whose shadow it is.

 “Good evening Monsieur Horbac” I say in a startled voice as I let my hand fall to my waist.

 Thank god!

 “Allow me to get the door, Madame.” The kindly old gentleman says to me as he reaches up.

 How did he surprise me?

 We enter the building, Monsieur Horbac heading to the elevator, and me to the stairs.

 “Good evening Monsieur Horbac” I offer as I start up the staircase and he enters the open elevator.

 I’m almost home.

 My right foot just touches the first stair as the door behind the entrance to the staircase closes with a loud slam, and I hear “Hello again Lucille.”

Following the liberation of Paris in August 1944, the fighting units of the Allied armies pushed on through Eastern France toward Germany. Some of the soldiers from these armies decided to make their way back to the City of Lights, rather than fight on the front. For most, this was a chance to get out of the fighting, keep a low profile, and simply sit out the remainder of the war. For others, this was a chance to take advantage of the military uniform to steal, assault, rape and murder without compunction. Paris and other liberated cities were hit by a wave of violence and crime not often discussed after the war. Up to 50,000 American and 100,000 British soldiers deserted their units during World War II. Between June 1944 and April 1945 the US Army investigated over 7,900 cases of criminal activity. Forty-four percent of these were violence, including rape, manslaughter and murder. Eventually, law and order were restored in the liberated cities of Europe, but it took to the end of the war, and the reintroduction of strong civilian police authorities, to make this happen.

The Deserters: A Hidden History of World War II by Charles Glass was the source of information for this story.

Today's 1932, 1936, 1938, 1939, 1940 . . .

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, combined with the weak response from the West, parallels Imperial Japan’s invasion of China in 1932. Or is it Fascist Italy’s invasion of Ethiopia (Abyssinia) in 1936. Perhaps it’s Nazi Germany’s Sudetenland demands of 1938 and annexation of the rest of Czechoslovakia in 1939? Maybe it’s parallel to the German invasion of Poland later that same year, the Soviet invasion of Finland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania in 1939-40, Hungary in 1956, Czechoslovakia in 1968, Afghanistan in 1979, the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003, Russia’s invasion of Georgia in 2008 or Ukraine in 2014. Now that I’ve listed those (admittedly missing many other examples) I have to say, there are a lot of parallels to pull from. In all cases, sovereign countries were invaded in wars of choice by those conducting the invasion.

What right does any country have to invade another? What right does any leader have to inflict harm on the civilians of another country? The answer is: None.

What obligation does the rest of the world have when yet another egocentric, self-isolated, dictator with zero regard for human life other than his own orders an attack on others? The answer is: We all have a responsibility to stand up and say “THIS CANNOT STAND.” If we fail to stand now, we will have to stand later for more cost, inducing more suffering, and we will hold the responsibility for all those extra who suffer because of the variance between standing now and then.

Standing against Russian aggression in Ukraine will be costly, both economically, and potentially in terms of human lives. Yet, not standing invites more aggression by Russia and others. The world learns from precedent. If those in charge of countries see little to no cost in invading their neighbors then this will not end here. In the 1930s the West was still shocked by the cost of what they referred to as The Great War (World War I) and no rational person wanted to have a second. Unfortunately, they were dealing with irrational people. We are in the same space today. Those who launched this war of choice are not acting rationally. They are acting from delusional fear. The world cannot allow a dictator’s personal fears lead anyone but themselves into suffering.

The rule of law, democracy, international law, and human rights demand we stand up as a United Nations again, like we did in the 1940s to stop this naked aggression. Ukraine was a founding member of The United Nations in 1945. Ukraine, like every other country, has the right to exist in peace and security. No other country, no matter if it has nuclear weapons or is a permanent member of the Security Council, has the right to act otherwise.

History does not repeat, but there are plenty of parallels. Let’s not condemn millions of people to suffering because we are too week to stop the parallels here and now. Stand with Ukraine against Russian aggression. Stand with the United Nations to support the right of states to exist. Stand with humanity to protect the lives of all the innocent civilians caught up in this tragedy brought to life through the mind of yet another dictator.

Disconnected →

“I can’t get any units on the line!” Hennig calls out from the radio room of the command bunker.

“Damn, I have to know what’s going on!” General Stumme, temporary commander of Panzer Army Africa, replies.

What’s going on is that we’re under attack. The British have finally started their long-awaited assault with a massive artillery barrage that has taken out our communications with every division and regiment under the Generals command.

“Buchting come with me, we’ll go to the front ourselves!” Stumme belts out as Colonel Buchting, his communications officer, steps forward to take up his position at the General’s side.

Moving at a quick pace, the General leads Buchting and I out of the bunker to his waiting Mercedes coup.

I rush forward to beat the General to the car, grasping the still warm door handle before opening the front door for the General.

The general likes to sit in front rather than the back of the car. I’m not too happy having him up there because I don’t have a poker face. He’s already caught me laughing at something he said more than once since he showed up a couple of weeks ago.

Colonel Buchting scrambles into the back of the car as I run around to the driver’s side, before sliding into my seat.

As I turn the key to start the ignition the General’s red face seems to deepen to an almost crimson color.

We call him Fireball because of the natural redness of his face. Poor old many with high blood pressure was ordered to a battle front.

At least he’s more personable than Field Marshall Rommel.

General Stumme likes to joke and spend time with us, whereas the Field Marshall is all business all of the time.

Colonel Buchting calls out in a raspy voice “Head to 21st Panzer first, we’ll be able to communicate from their command bunker.”

General Stumme turns his head, bobbing his blood colored face up and down in agreement with the Colonel.

My foot slams on the gas, propelling the coup forward, leaving a whirlwind of dust behind us. Even thought it’s after 10pm, I put on my dust goggles to keep the sand out of my eyes.

I wish I’d brought my jacket. These desert nights can get nasty cold!

As we turn a gully to come under an outcrop about 3 miles from 21st Panzer, a strong of bullets riddle the road near the car.

Cracckity, Cracckity, Cracckity. . . The bullets come whizzing by.

Damn it, our guys are so nervous from the artillery barrage that they are shooting at anything that moves, even behind the lines.

The bullets keep whizzing by, a few hitting the side of the Mercedes.

“General, get down!” Colonel Buchting screams.

I can’t get down far enough to escape these bullets.

The General does not move an inch of his short and stubby upright frame. In the backseat, the Colonel turns to look to the side.

Neither of them are crouching in any way. I would if I could right now!

“Those aren’t our gu. . . ” the Colonel stops short, his body slumping forward to hit the back of my seat.

General Stumme turns frantically toward the back of the car.

“He’s dead!” the General announces in a voice faltering with excitement.

Taking my eyes off of the road, I turn to look at the General sitting beside me.

I’m not sure what caught my eye, but there’s something about him that is striking. I have to look.

“General, are you ok?” I ask.

His hands move swiftly to his bulging chest, clasping toward his heart.

“I. . ., I . . . , I. . . “ He can’t get the words out.

Crrrraaacccckk, CCCrrrraacck, Crackkkkk - the bullets are streaming by.

Could he be having a Heart Attack?

I slam on the brakes, jolting the car, and halting us right in the path of the machine gun fire.

There’s a small outcrop on the left, maybe we can hide in there.

“General!” I yell, “get down!”

Pppppiinngg, Pppinnng, Ping - the front of the Mercedes is taking direct hits.

“We’ve got to get out of this car!” comes out of my mouth as I grab, then yank, the General’s arms to drag him across the front seat.

“I. . ., ha. . . , t’. . . , com. . . “ His eyes start losing their color.

Manhandling the hefty little incapacitated General is no challenge given the amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I’ve got to get him under that outcrop!

“Stay with me Sir!”

His eyes are turning almost steel gray.

RRrriiiiffftt, RRrriiiiffftt, RRrriiiiffftt. . .clumps of sand and dirt geyser up from the ground directly in front of me. Each round approaching me as I rush toward the cover while dragging the General’s listless rotund body.

I can’t pull him any longer.

PPPpffffttt, Pppfffffttt, Piffftttttt, pifffttt. A tingling sensation enters my arms and stomach.

Warmth, warmth in the cold desert night.

My grip loosens on the now completely immobile officer before me.

Pppffffttttt, blood begins streaming forth from my left shoulder.

I can make it to cover. I can make it.

General Stumme’s body was found the next day without any bullet wounds. He appears to have died of a heart attack within the very first hours of the British offensive at El Alemain. Panzer Army Africa was without a leader for those hours, until another General took command in General Stumme’s absence. His disappearance from the field of battle led to an initially disorganized defense of the Axis positions in the African desert, and a nervous Hitler ordering Field Marshall Rommel back to the front early despite still recovering from a medical procedure in Switzerland. Despite weakened command following a lack of command, the Axis forces put up fierce resistance before eventually succumbing to the gritty grinding onslaught of the overpowering British assault.