The Nazi Boy
May 23, 1940, my life changedMay 23, 1940, I was sent to the front lines at Boulogne, near Belgium. It was pure hell. Bombs flying, bullets whizzing. I operated my guns as commanded. It was cold, and so wet in the trenches, I got just enough to eat and usually fell asleep sitting up, or even right behind my gun. Lice and rats were every day things. I often wished I could just die. I thought about deserting as I watched the men around me fall at the hands of the allies. I kept to myself, it was too dangerous to talk. I could get attached, and if they died, I would be alone again. Not that I could hear anyone over the fire.
My life drastically changed December 8th, 1940. I was now nineteen. I was on the front lines when the bomb hit my part of the trenches. I lost my left leg. I knew it then; I could feel the open wound, my life-blood flowing out. It hurt worse than hell and I screamed bloody murder until there was no voice left in my throat. Hours passed, the flow of blood stopped and staunched itself. Stretcher-bearers passed me by, thinking I was as good as dead. As one pair passed, I was able to bang an object-what it was, I will never know- and they stopped, placing me on the stretcher none too gently. I wish now I didn’t, but I passed out from the loss of blood, and sheer exhaustion.
I awoke some time later, soaking wet. A nurse had thrown water over me, she said to wake me, but I could smell alcohol on her breath. Both feet were gone.