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The Unknown Soldiers
“Sit by the fire, soldiers. It will all be over soon,” A commander said to his soldiers, with the fire lighting the darkness around them, “We fight for those who have lost their voices, their country, themselves. We fight this Dictator named Hitler—but we all know him as Satan,” He pauses and looks around at the faces of terrified men, fighting something they did not start but are willing to stop, “Let me tell you of a story, of men that are unknown by history and by all of the army, the story of The Unknown Soldiers,” he paused once again and began the story, “It all started the night of July 22nd 1943…”
The night grew on. The moon still hugged by the blackness of night, the dew moist on the meadow, the tall grass grabbing the pants and boots of the platoon as they moved through it. Close to the trees—and cover from air attacks—they held their guns tight in anticipation of the enemy. Putting one foot in front of the other, they pushed through the landscape of Germany, trying to get to their check point of Stuttgart. They were approximately one to two kilometer from the Danube River and a little more than 100 kilometers from Stuttgart.
They passed through cities that were marked and destroyed by the war. Blood was spotted across the streets and bodies lay motionless on the sidewalks. It was too much for some of the soldiers and had to stop to catch there breathes. But that wouldn’t stop the smell in the air, the stench of death and war fill every ounce of the atmosphere and there was no getting away from it.
But then there was movement on the streets and a noise filled the heads of the soldiers. “Help,” the voice called out, “Please…help me. Who ever you are please help me,” the voice seemed to fade in and out. The soldiers quickly ran over to the voice and saw a man mortally wounded from gunshots.
“Help,” was all the man wanted but it was something that the soldiers could not give. Their medic died while they were back in France and was limited to medical supplies that they knew how to use. Even if they bandaged the man the bullets would still be in him and could kill him later.
“Is it bad?” the man asked in a mixture of German and English.
“Well sir…what we are able to do you will either die now or die later,” one of the soldiers told him.
“Oh god,” the man covered his face with his hands and tears began to run down his face, “There is no point…my wife and two children are dead from the bombing and now I am dying from bullets of my own country’s soldiers.”
One of the soldiers look down and saw a Star of David on the man’s clothing, “Put sir, you are Jewish…your country wants to kill and enslave your people.”
The man removed his hands from his face, “This is no longer Hitler’s, nor Nazi’s country. With the invaders coming, Hitler is running and is leaving his soldiers to fight,” the man coughed blood, “Germany is ours—the citizens of Germany—country once more all because of you and the Allies. I am just happy I lived to see one of the Allied Soldiers…thank y-o-u,” the man died with blood on his chest and tears on his check. Hopefully he is with his wife and children in heaven looking down seeing the war end.
All became quit once again. The soldiers buried the man and placed a stick with a Star of David on the tip over the grave, in respect of the Jewish man. The soldiers determined to stay the rest of the night, sleep and continue to the check point in the morning.
The sun broke through the broken building but the soldiers were still asleep. They were awaken, not by the sun, but by another noise that struck fear into the German people, the sound of marching footsteps. The soldiers grab their guns and rifles and hide behind building and stairs, awaiting for the Nazi soldiers to come around the corner. Moments past and the marching footsteps only get louder. Sweat starts to slowly run down the faces of the soldiers and the waiting is starting to kill them. The rhythm of the stride, the enemy is making, turns into murder for the soldiers’ ears.
Finally, the Nazi’s walk on the street, two blocks down. The soldier in charge whispers for the other soldiers to wait. More time that kills the soldiers. From what the soldiers can tell half of the Nazis have past. The soldier in charge now roars over the marching, “Fire!” and a barrage of bullets hits the wall of enemies. The Nazis completely stop but because of the shock the Nazis were slow.
Then the bombardment of bullets stop and the Nazis wait for the soldiers to shoot again. The enemy did not know how many soldiers there were and that increase the chances of the soldiers, but not by much.
After a few minutes one of the soldiers, that hid behind one of the building, launch more bullets from his rifle and the Nazis shot and killed that soldiers. Enraged, all eight of the soldiers that remained in the platoon, raised and fired at the Nazis, killing most of them.
“One by one they fell. They all knew that they weren’t going to see their family, their lover, and their friends. But they fought for something greater,” The commander said sitting on a log that encircled the fire, “They didn’t fight for either of them nor their country. They fought for the people in the Concentration Camps, the people in the ghettos, and the people who are dying from this vile and despicable enemy. That is why we are where today,” he stood and again looks at his soldiers, “We want to go home and see our loved-one, our friends. But we are here to fight for the same people that they fought for,” the faces of the soldiers, they where ready to fight, they wanted to fight, “Now lets destroy those vile and despicable Nazis!” he raised his arm and the soldiers cheer in excitement. The commander lowered his voice and the soldiers claimed down, “Now sleep, for tomorrow we will accomplish our mission and end this war.”
There were over 73 million soldiers died, for both the Allied and Axis powers, and more than 6 millions people died in the Concentrations Camps. Many Allied soldiers saved the enslaved people and yet they still died, from eating too much too quickly. This story is dedicated for the 78,000 missing in action and 16 million dead soldiers because of World War Two. For the greatness of the soldier is not measured by medals and awards but what the soldier fights for and what he/she does for those people.