The Rift Read online

  Captain von Mecklenburg had his new orders. Francois had assigned him as commander of Company B. There was no explanation given. He was handed the orders as he had walked into the headquarters of the general. For a brief moment, he felt his hands tremble, and then quickly steady. The war was six days old. He had been on its edges. Whatever the reasons, he was thankful. The war was not somebody else’s. It was everyone’s. He looked down at the sergeant who had given him the orders. At that moment, he thought of Sergeant Hoffman; maybe the man looked a little like the sergeant. The sergeant was looking at him, wondering how he would react to being sent into the meat grinder.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” The captain raised his hand to his cap, and smiled at the man.

  The sergeant noted the serene look in the young captain’s eyes. He had known a lot of officers. He liked this one.

  “Just listen to your sergeant, son, and you’ll be alright,” he muttered to himself. As the young officer walked out the door, the sergeant looked over at the general, who watched the man, too. The old general and the old sergeant nodded to each other.

  August 25

  At Eighth Army headquarters, Hindenburg and Ludendorff waited for word that Francois had begun his attack on the Russian left flank. The two had talked about Francois. They were aware that he had ignored Prittwitz when he first attacked the Rennenkampf. For Hindenburg, there was respect for a commander who took the bull by the horns. He knew such behavior was insubordination in the mind of Erich. A quick and decisive man, his desire for control was somewhat troublesome. Hindenburg knew that wars must be fought with the strictest discipline, and that generals were not exempt. But Hindenburg had observed soldiers for a long time, and he saw the German notion of auftragstaktik essential in war. Officers, noncommissioned officers and soldiers were the best judge of events, and were encouraged to act independently, even to the point of countermanding orders. Sometimes, such independence must be granted to generals, as well.

  Ludendorff picked up the phone. The old general watched his face turn florid, as he listened silently. He handed the phone to the young lieutenant and turned to Hindenburg.

  “Francois has refused to attack.”

  “Did he say why?” Hindenburg was looking at Ludendorff, whose facial muscles were twitching.

  “His artillery has not arrived. He says he will attack when his artillery arrives.” Hindenburg said nothing. He followed Ludendorff and Hoffman through the open doorway to the staff car. When his commander had seated himself,

  Ludendorff barked at the driver. “General Francois’s headquarters, quickly.”

  As they reached the headquarters in Tannenberg, Ludendorff was the first out of the staff car, bounding up the steps of the municipal building. General Francois stood in the middle of the large room as the three men entered. Ludendorff was the first to confront him. Francois saluted sharply. He looked at Ludendorff.

  “You received the message, I see.” He waited.

  “I was informed that you were waiting for your artillery. The orders were to attack, General, not to attack if you have your artillery.”

  “If we attack without artillery, General, they will slaughter my men.”

  “We do not have time to have everything in order. You will attack, now. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, General. Lieutenant, inform the battalion and regimental commanders that I want to see them at once.”

  Ludendorff stared at the man, who looked blandly back. It was Hindenburg who now spoke.

  “Erich, I think it is time we visited General Scholtz. General Francois has enough to do here.” He returned Francois’s smart salute. “I, too, General Francois, am a believer in auftragstaktik. I understand your men performed admirably at Stalluponen and Gumbinnen.”

  As the men left, Colonel Vorster spoke to Francois. “The man is a lunatic. To send our men across these fields without artillery is unthinkable.”

  “To you, me, and most it is, Colonel. To Ludendorff, apparently not.” “What will you tell the men, General?”

  “I will tell them to be prepared to attack...when the artillery arrives.”

  There was the same exhilaration as at Stalluponen, the same urge to cheer from the staff officers and soldiers in the large room. The sergeant whispered to the corporal next to him, a great smile on his face.

  “He is truly mad, you know. Our general, I mean.”

  ---

  Colonel Hoffman had made his way to the Eighth Army message center where the cryptographers were deciphering the Russian messages. The Russians, too extended for laying lines, had taken to wireless communications in the open. It was soon after the Russians first entered Prussia that the code was broken. Reading the messages, Hoffman felt depressed. Kersten had let them down. He noted that Ludendorff was showing the same symptoms of panic that Prittwitz had shown. Understanding the necessity for coordination, he had seen as madness Ludendorff ’s command to attack. Knowing Francois, he doubted that Francois would attack. Hindenburg had all but invited him to disobey the chief of staff. Auftragstaktik--the high command’s strategy to decentralize decisions once the battle begins all the way down to the squad leader. How different the world viewed the German Army! No matter, better they think that.

  One of the officers in charge eagerly handed him two messages. One from Rennenkampf to his commanders instructed the commanders to move due west, away from Samsonov. The second gave the battle plans for the following day for Samsonov’s army. Hoffman quickly returned to the staff car. He had to catch the nervous Ludendorff. The first message should relieve him of the fear of an attack from the rear from the Russian First Army. The second should assure him victory against the Russian Second Army. Following the road from Montovo to Allenstein, he spotted the Hindenburgs car in front. As he pulled beside the car, he reached over and handed the two messages to Hindenburg.

  ---

  Friederich stood by Sergeant Knebel watching the company eat their supper. The air was heavy. For the last few days, storm clouds had formed in the west, then spent themselves before they reached the bivouac area. Sergeant Knebel had replaced Sergeant Blaustein, who had been hit at Stalluponen. Shorter than Friederich, with fair skin peeling from the sun, Knebel didn’t speak; one of those men to whom silence was not a discomfort but a welcomed respite. It was Friederich who broke the silence.

  “Formation at 0300 hours, Sergeant. The artillery will begin at 0330, we will move at 0400.”

  “Do all the men understand that, Sergeant?” “Yes, Captain.”

  “Do they understand the terrain in front of them and the likely machine gun positions?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Friederich knew he was doing this more for his own benefit. He looked at the sergeant, who, like him, was fighting on his own soil.

  “Where does your family live, Sergeant?”

  “In Neidenberg, sir.” Friederich wanted to drop the formality but could not. “Is your family alright, Sergeant?” He watched the pained expression on the face of the sergeant.

  “Yes, sir, they were able to get out. We have relatives in Marienburg.”

  Friederich felt sure of himself when he spoke. “In a few days, Sergeant, we will have Neidenberg back. We will see to that, won’t we?”

  For the first time, the sergeant looked into the eyes of the tall captain. He smiled. “Yes, Captain, we will.”

  The tent was lighted with an oil lamp. Friederich lay on his stomach, braced on one elbow as he wrote. This was his third letter since the war began for the First Corps. While they waited for the Russians to cross the border, he never felt an urgency to write. Now, as the battles seem to come one upon another, thoughts of Erika and the children bubbled up at times like this. Tomorrow...

  Dearest Erika and Children,

  It is quiet now, almost peaceful. Have you noticed with the night people speak more softly? It is as if somewhere in their past when our ancestors began the day with light and ended it with the end of light, voices intruded upon exhausted
people seeking their rest. No one is asleep for the sun has not been down for long, but still the voices are soft.

  We have been very busy. Tomas, the soldiers are in high spirits, ready to push the Russians out of Prussia. Katryn, I have not forgotten your birthday. This year I will not be able to buy you a present but I do wish you a very happy birthday. Anna, yesterday I saw a pony in a field we passed that looked just like Mercury. I want you to know that I will be seeing you soon. When I return, one of the first things we will do is to take out the sailboat. I miss the river breezes and the smell of the sea. A picnic by the sea with the three of you. I kiss you all. Be very good and listen to your mama.

  Erika, yesterday I was assigned to a new task. I am a company commander. Shortly after I arrived, I was assigned to the staff of General Francois. We have both made a point of not letting anyone know that he knew my father. Please do not mention it to anyone, as it may get back here. All the officers are from Prussia and the men as well.

  I am grateful that the general gave me a command. It is hard to be a staff officer, ordering people about when you have not been with the men who have to do the fighting. I am not concerned for my safety. We are a much better army than the Russians and tomorrow we have a good chance of throwing them out of Prussia. Please say hello to mother and Maria for me. Yesterday, I do not know why, I thought of little Willie again. Willie will be nineteen soon.

  I will see you soon. Your loving husband, Friederich

  Carefully, Friederich folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. Climbing out of the tent, he gave the letter to the company clerk, then made his rounds of the company. As he walked by the tents, he could hear the breathing of the sleeping men. How soon they grow used to war, he thought. He would try to get some sleep.

  August 26

  Like a great clap of thunder, the artillery opened fire upon the Russian First Corps. Crouched behind the crest of the hill, Company B waited. It was 0330 hours. Thirty minutes before, Captain von Mecklenburg moved calmly along the line, talking to each platoon leader, Sergeant Knebel beside him, checking pieces of equipment. On one soldier, he noticed the magazine pouch snap undone. Rather than shout at the soldier, he carefully snapped it for the soldier, patting him on the shoulder. One soldier, inexplicably, still had the parade spike on his helmet. Knebel spoke sharply to the corporal, who had the soldier remove the spike and cover the helmet with the field gray matching the uniform. Now 0355 and the artillery barrage seemed to light the sky as it reached its crescendo. To the soldiers the sound numbed the mind and dampened the terror that lay within them.

  Now Friederich moved to the center of the company. All eyes were on their commander. He checked his watch. As it hit upon 0400, he raised his hand and walked over the ridge into the Russian line of fire. At the same moment, to their left, as far as the men could see, German soldiers appeared, running toward the Russian lines. Behind the men, upon the ridge over which they came, machine guns opened fire into the enemy defenses only seven hundred meters away. As he ran through the stubbled wheat field, he could see the black smoke of high explosive shells pouring from the area where the enemy was dug in.

  Friederich turned to face his men, waiting for them to come in line. He turned and raised his Luger.

  “Forward men. For Prussia!!”

  Around him, men began to shout as they broke into a run. To his right, he saw the man who had not removed the spike on his helmet go down, the helmet flying as he hit the ground. At the Kriegsacademie, they had pounded the point home. Never show fear. Lead. Always lead. Call forth all of your courage. Your will. Move the men by your will. Men started to fall now. He moved farther to their front so that all could see him.

  “Forward!! For your wives and children!! For your mothers and fathers!!” he shouted. The men were yelling now, one continuous sound flowing from their lungs. A mindless band now, caught in the timeless ritual of war. Now a hundred meters from the line where firing had been coming from when they began, Friederich was aware of the silence. There was no one there alive. The dead bodies lay about, most torn by shrapnel, some from the defilading machine gun fire.

  “Halt.” Friederich watched as the stragglers came onto line, sucking air into their lungs, relieved to be alive. They were at the far right of the line. To their front, the First Corps of General Artomonov’s army, exhausted, without food, struggled south away from the attacking Germans. The greatest corps in Alexander Samsanov’s army, it fled from the field.

  One minute’s rest and Friederich, exhilarated, walked up and down the company line. He checked his compass. They were moving due south. He knew the main force of the Russians was to his left. If the company moved south, it would move along the flank of the Russians. With the entire corps now moving south, they could cut the Second Army off and annihilate it. Behind him, he could hear the shouting of men and the pounding of hooves as the light artillery, machine guns, and supply wagons moving forward.

  ---

  The left flank of the Russian Army had broken. The right flank had broken. The center fought savagely, and advanced into the German Twentieth Corps and the Third Reserve Division. As the German center yielded, Hindenburg and Ludendorff watched, satisfied the Russian center was about to be swallowed. Francois on the Russian left, Mackensen and von Below beside Francois.

  It was Ludendorff who spoke. “Get me Francois on the phone, please.” The face was no longer flushed. There was a small smile on his face. “General Francois, turn your corps to the southeast toward Neidenburg.”

  Hindenburg was observing movement in front of him, when he noticed the silence. Erich had turned beet red.

  “Forget about the Russian First Corps! They are beaten! Move your troops toward Neidenburg immediately!” Ludendorff continued to listen then handed the phone back to the lieutenant. The color began to drain from his face. He looked at Hindenburg, who had a concerned look on his face. “He said he has ordered his troops south to cut off the retreat of the First and Sixth Corps. The man is mad.”

  Hindenburg put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “He will never become the chief of staff or an army commander, but the man has great instincts. He is doing what we want our soldiers to do. My advice to you is to allow him his head and let it be known that his victory was part of the Eighth Army plan. If you are going to deal with such a man, you had better do it when he has made a mistake. Perhaps this will be the time.”

  Company B moved without resistance to the south. As its fresh troops moved quickly along the road, it came upon groups of white-tunicked Russian troops held prisoner by a single German cavalryman, who had come upon them and accepted their offer of surrender. As Company B would come upon such men, Friederich would order the men to offer the water and rations they had to the grateful men. He looked upon these powerful men, reduced by their hunger and thirst, and cursed the stupid men who did this. Forming a detail, he made arrangements to take the prisoners to the rear.

  On the road, horse drawn artillery and machine guns passed, then set up positions to harass the Russians who would eventually pass in their direction going toward the border. The marshy land made the causeways the only way out. The company had been reduced to less than a hundred men when it approached a wooded pocket not fifty meters from the road on the right. Friederich raised his arm to halt the column and was reaching for his field glasses when the firing began. He was about to turn to shout to his men, when the nine-millimeter shell slammed into his right chest; he felt the shock, the beginning of pain, then fear for life itself.

  Chapter Four

  January 1916

  President Carranza had assured them that it was safe to return to the mines. With the new year, Charlie Thomas loaded seventeen American and twenty Mexican miners on the train from Chihuahua to return to the mines in Cusic. The Americans had returned to Mexico from El Paso. Charlie thought about the last six years in Mexico and shook his head. He tried to remember the good times, when people seemed happy to see each other, when the Easter and C
hristmas celebrations were a time of joy, when Cinco de Mayo was a time of joy. He knew that there was a lot wrong with the country, where a few had all the land and wealth, and living beside a rich country like the United States caused old wounds to fester. But what had the Maderos, the Carranzas, the Villas and the Zapatas really done? Murder was commonplace, people had chosen sides or were forced to do so, and war had made everyone worse off than they were under the old tyrant, Diaz. Most noticeable was the hate. Hate for the creoles, the church, the foreigner, the rich, for everyone not part of your group, the side you were on. Especially, there was hate for the gringo. Villa had seen to that.

  They were coming into Santa Isabel. A cattle station in the middle of nowhere, like much of Mexico, Charlie thought. He froze as he saw the riders outside the train, riding beside it. They wore their sombreros tilted back on their heads, their black eyes hard as they scanned the two cars. All carried side arms, bandoleros hanging on their shoulders across their chests, rifles carried in their scabbards. It was easy to spot their leader, who shouted at the men to ring the train as it slowed to a halt.

  One of his men was looking angrily at Charlie. “Goddamn it Charlie, I told you we should have carried our rifles. Damned shit about not wanting anybody riled up. Well, them skunks outside don’t need anybody to get them goin’.”

  He could see the other men looking at him, seeking some reassurance that everything was going to be OK. He had talked most of them into coming, although some like Auguste had been skeptical. He would try to talk to the Mexicans. He hated those bastards out there. He wished at this moment he had a gun, but he only felt more helpless when he thought about it.

  As the train stopped, men appeared from both ends of the car. The man who Charlie thought was the leader, spoke. “My name is Colonel Lopez. In the name of the Northern Army, I order you out of the car.”