.

This is a work of fiction that is loosely

based off of the German side of the Second World War. Any resemblance to persons, places or events are purely coincidental. This story may contain historical inaccuracies for the sake of the story flowing more efficiently. This is not for the faint of heart for this fiction contains scenes that are graphic in nature. This fiction also contains vulgar language, suggestive themes and violence. Reader discretion is advised. Though keep in mind that though this is a work of fiction, the inspiration for this work was based on very real experiences for millions of people of all nations that participated in the Second World War. This story was written so that their memory is not forgotten. Thank you for reading.

PART I

"What if everything you knew, everything

you cared about, your whole world, suddenly burned to ash. Would you remain the same?"

-Sergeant Gunter Obrenski.

1. THE QUIET CITY

1944 Toter Garten, Germany.

My name is Franz Henkel and I am an eighteen year old private that is a part of the 43rd Auxiliary Anti-Aircraft Battery stationed in the town Toter Garten. We are one of eight anti aircraft guns that sit on the outskirts of town to defend the city like an iron ring.

The small town is an ancient one, its name is translated to Dead Garden and it originated from a local legend. There is a small castle on the outskirts of the city, its pointed black towers and white walls stands like a long forgotten knight overlooking his realm. It gleams proudly out of hilly forests that surround it. That is where a princess lived and was suited to marry a dashing prince. But the prince had fallen in battle and the princess wept for an entire year. For a whole year nothing in the city grew, no crops, no flowers. The town was a dead field. It was a long hard winter and many died from starvation. A new prince arrived and married the princess and that year the flowers bloomed a plenty and the crops grew bountifully. Everyone celebrated and named the town in remembrance to those who died in the long winter.

The city has grid square set up where in the middle sits an old cathedral that must be two hundred feet tall. Its tower rises above the mostly two to three story buildings like a beacon. Its dark stone bricks and stained glass windows, depicting the life of Christ, let rays of light pass through in a most holy manner. Outside of the cathedral sits a large fountain with a statue of one of the ancient kings.

Around the cathedral is the market district that forms a large box around the fountain. Shops line the square are crammed together for the only separation is little cobblestone walkways that let out into the sidewalks and road. There is a paved road that passes along in a box on the other side of the shops. The rest of the town is formed like square webs of roads and buildings until they branch out to two highways that both run north and south. The city is only five miles across and sits in a bowl-like valley where farm fields surround it on the outskirts a few miles outside of town.

Seven miles past the fields are dense hilly forests. In the north east sits the castle and not far from it is the rail line runs that through the forest to the east and north. The entire town's population is about fourteen thousand.

A small railroad station sits to the south east outskirts of town. This is where the rail line passes from the east and takes a sharp turn north. The train station has an ornamented glass ceiling and gray stone bricks form its outer appearance. Several rail lines with various different engines line the track. Most are for military use and there is a track that leads directly to the munitions factory that is only a few blocks away. There, another few blocks down, sits a tank factory where it smelts unrefined steel and forms them into tank chassis. To the north of the train station is a small park which possesses a lake by which the rail line runs parallel to.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

To the northern center of town sits the government building, a rather large rectangular building with a set of limestone steps and a garden out front. The Party has taken over the building and several large swastika banners are draped outside it. In the north east of town sits the residential sector that includes mostly apartment buildings and several small houses.

In the northwest sits the hospital that can support just over seven hundred people. Nearby are two nursing homes that house our aging elderly population. And near that is the sanatorium that houses the mentally disturbed. To the south west sits our power plant, its coal powered turbines give off a smog that rises above the plants two funnels.

Just outside of a farmers field three miles from the city sits our outpost. It is a thirty by forty foot rectangular trench that is three feet deep and possesses an earthen ramp that leads to a road that provides a dirt route to the city. A field of white and yellow flowers surrounds us and a hundred yards in front of us is the fence wire that separates us from the farmers field.

In the right side of our trench is our beautiful 88 millimeter flak 36 special model F cannon. [It is set on four hard metal support beams that jut out like a large plus sign. In the middle of the beams is the gun itself, its sixteen foot barrel is aimed skyward. Above and below the barrel are two four foot cylinders that aid the breech and recoil mechanisms with hydro-pneumatics. On the right side of the gun are two hand wheels, one for elevation and the other for rotating the weapon. Above the elevation handwheel is a proctor which with a needle reads the elevation in degrees. The rotation hand wheel clicks for every degree turned. On the left side and rear is the breech which is auto locking and ejecting. All one has to do is load a shell into the breech and a mechanism closes the hatch and when the gun is fired, it spits out the used shell with quite some force. To the left of the breech is the small firing lever, a simple pull causes the weapon to fire forth its deadly projectile.]

Behind the gun are wooden caissons on metal trailers that can be hitched to our kübelwagon that rests near the ramp outside the trench. In the wooden caissons are the three foot brass shells with yellow cone time fused caps filled with high explosives. There sixty shells can sit in the seven by three foot metal box. To the side of the gun are dozens of wooden boxes that contain three shells each. We probably have about one hundred and twenty shells before we have to run to the supply depot in town to get more.

To the left side in the trench is a small wooden barracks that is thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide. It is there where we few reside. There are ten cots with small lockers beside them. There is a small kitchen that has a gas stove, and a sink that has a line to the water tank that sits on the earth right above the barracks. Pin ups, calendars, and patriotic posters decorate the wall of our home away from home. There are four evenly spaced small glass windows that face north. Our wooden barracks is poorly insulated and the spring heat seeps through. A small doorway sits in the middle of the barracks facing the northern side. Under a tarp on a table is a small radio where we get our orders from the radar station in Patersborn which is fifty miles north of us. It is from the box of wiring in which we receive daily reports of enemy aircraft formations and the direction and altitude they are flying.

Beside the radio is a map of the surroundings and standing over it studying carefully is our commander Lieutenant Odel Sprieg, a veteran of North Africa and Russia. He is thirty six years old and stands six feet tall and has a slim frame. He possesses a sharp jawline and blond hair, brown eyes. He commands our gun and informs us on where to fire. He always has a calm demeanor and only speaks when he has to. He is always sharply dressed in his gray officers uniform and gray officer's cap, never a wrinkle to be seen. He resides in a small ten foot by ten foot shack, that separates officers from enlisted, attached to the barracks. He is usually manning the radio or signing papers.

Inside the wooden barracks, lying on his cot drawing yet another scandalous pinup is Sergeant Gunter Obrenski, the gunner. Don't let his russian sounding name fool you. He is every bit of German for his Russian parents emigrated to Dresden at the start of the century. A bachelor at forty four years old, he has a twenty three year old son on the eastern front. He himself is a veteran of the first world war and possesses a scar over his left eye as a momento from his time in combat. He passionately despises the Nazi party and openly announces it whenever the opportunity presents itself. He has been detained by the police several times but somehow he always comes back. When he is not drinking or lusting, he makes a pretty good gunner. He is five foot nine and has a burly build to him, he has hazel eyes and dirty blond hair. He has been here with the Lieutenant for several months and always dons his gray uniform in which a rusted medal dangles from his left breast. He is a constant smoker, never too far from a pack of cigarettes and indulges himself in vulgarity and perversions.

The youngest of our group is Kurtz Von Krieger, a twelve year old kid drafted from the Hitler Youth, who seems too innocent to be a soldier. He is our assistant loader who fetches the shells for me to load into the gun. He is short and skinny, puberty has not grabbed a hold of this boy yet for he still has a baby face. He is always eager to prove himself and as a side effect is constantly clumsy. He possesses blond hair, blue eyes and dons a field cap and uniform that is far too large for him causing him to roll up his baggy clothes in an almost humorous way. He visits with his grandmother, who lives in the residential district, when he is on leave. He as of current is greasing the gun’s gears.

Then there is me, I come from Frankfurt and this is my first assignment for which I have only been here a few months. I am five feet eight inches tall and possess a skinny frame. I have brown hair with brown eyes. I am the loader, I slam the shells into the breech and fire the weapon. I know we are losing this war and I know the allies mean to crush us but I want to do my duty to defend my homeland.

It is just us four to man and operate a gun that requires a group of ten. With a shortage of manpower from this constant struggle, the higher command has turned to recruiting old men and boys that are barely fit to fight. Lucky for us, this is a relatively quiet sector for the allied bombers go after the bigger industrial cities. Little did we know that all would change.